Chapter 12 Chapter Twelve

"Picnic? Monsieur Poirot?" Emily Brest stared at him like he was mad. Poirot said in a very moving tone: "Don't you think it's wrong to do this? But I do think it's a very good idea. We need to do some ordinary things, ordinary things, so that We are back to normal life. I really want to go to the famous nearby Da De Mo, and the weather is good. This will definitely—how should I put it? This will definitely make everyone feel better! So, on this matter Help me, help me convince everyone." With the unexpected success of his idea, everyone was a little skeptical at first, but then agreed that the idea wasn't such a bad idea.It was not thought better not to ask Mr. Marshall.But he himself said that he happened to have to go to Plymouth that day.Mr. Blatt of course participated, and with great enthusiasm.Decided to become the soul of this group, besides him, Emily Brest, the Redfongs, Steven Lane, and the Gardners were also persuaded to postpone their departure for a day. There was Rosamund Daly and Linda.

It took Poirot a long time to convince Rosamund that Linda would feel better in this way.Rosamone agrees on this point, saying: "You are quite right, this shock is quite severe for a child of this age. It makes her nervous." "It's very natural, miss, but a child of this age will soon forget it. Advise her to play together. I know you can persuade her." Major Barry refused. He said he didn't like picnics. "There are a lot of baskets," he said. They gathered at ten o'clock and called three cars, and Mr. Blatt shouted loudly, happily imitating the tone of the tour guide: "This way, ladies and gentlemen—this way is to Da Demo , there are delicious, good-looking, and fun. Gentlemen, please bring your wives, or bring something else! Everyone is welcome! The scenery is picturesque! Come everyone! Come everyone !"

At the last minute Rosamund Daly came downstairs with an anxious look on her face, and said, "Linda is not going, she says she has a terrible headache." Poirot exclaimed: "But it will do her good if she goes to play. Go and persuade her, madam." Luo Shameng said firmly: "It's useless, she has made up her mind not to go. I gave her some headache medicine, and she went to bed." She hesitated for a moment, then said: "I think, maybe I I'm not going either." "No, miss, absolutely not," cried Mr. Blatt, grabbing her arm. "This young lady must participate, you are not allowed to refuse! I caught you, ha, ha, ha, and sentenced you to go to Dademo."

He drew her towards the first car, and Rosa dreamed a bitter look at Hercule Poirot. "I'll stay with Linda," said Christine Redfern. "I don't care." Patrick said, "Oh, come on, Christine." Poirot also said: "No, no, you must go, Madame. It is better for a person with a headache to rest alone. Come, let us set off." The three cars drove out, and they first went to the genuine goblin cave in Xupu Shituo. After a long time trying to find the entrance, they finally found it with the help of a picture postcard.Hercule Poirot did not climb down to the mouth of the cave, which was in a mass of rocks below.He watched Christine Redfern jumping lightly up and down the boulders, and saw her husband always by her side, never leaving her; Rosamund Darley and Emily Brest I searched with everyone; but Emily slipped on a rock and twisted her ankle slightly; Steven Lane was not tired, his slender body twisted and turned between the boulders.Mr. Blatt only walked a short distance, shouting loudly to encourage everyone to continue to work hard, and took many photos at the same time.

The Gardners were sitting with Poirot on the curb, and Mrs. Gardner raised her voice and resumed her unsteady monologue, interrupted only by her husband's tame "Yes, dear."— "Mr. Poirot, I've always felt that Mr. Gardner agreed--it's just that it's annoying to take pictures of people. I mean, unless it's between friends, that's a different story. That Brad Mr. Turt is simply not sensitive at all. He walks up to everyone, talking nonsense, and takes your picture. I told Mr. Gardner the other day. Upbringing. Did I say so? Odys, didn't I?" "yes dear."

"The other day he took a picture of us all sitting on the beach, well, that's all right, but he should have asked first, and Miss Brest was about to get up, and the picture came out, of course Turn her into a freak." "Indeed." Mr. Gardner grinned. "And after Mr. Blatt developed the picture, he gave it to everyone without asking first. I noticed that he gave you one, Mr. Poirot." Poirot nodded, and said: "I value our group of friends very much." Mrs. Gardner went on: "Look at his behavior today--so loud, so vulgar, my goosebumps, it gives me goosebumps. You should make arrangements to keep him in the hotel, Mr. Poirot."

Hercule Poirot murmured: "Oh, madam, that will be very difficult." "I think so, too. The man drills all over the place, and he doesn't feel it at all." At this moment, there was a burst of cheers from below, and they found the Fairy Cave.Then, under the guidance of Hercule Poirot, the large group of people continued to drive forward, and when they arrived at a place, they got off and walked down a small hill, and they came to a beautiful place beside a small river.There is a narrow single-plank bridge over the river.Poirot and Mr. Gardner helped Mrs. Gardner across the river, and they came to a place where the heather was blooming, but there were no weeds and thorns. It seemed an ideal place for a picnic.Mrs. Gardner sat down on the floor as she recounted how frightened she was when she crossed the plank bridge.At this time, there was a scream from the other side, and the others ran across the single-plank bridge briskly, but Emily Brest stood in the middle of the bridge, her eyes closed, and she swayed back and forth. Poirot and Patrick Redfern hurried to help her.Emily Brest was both unhappy and embarrassed. "Thanks, thanks, sorry, it's always like that when you go across the river. People get dizzy, it's stupid, isn't it?"

Lunch was laid out and the picnic began.All secretly wondered, because everyone found that they enjoyed playing like this, perhaps as an escape from an atmosphere of doubt and fear.Here, with the sound of babbling water, the soft fragrance of the air, and the colorful heather, the world of murder and police investigation and suspicion seemed shut out, as if it didn't exist.Even Mr. Blatter forgot to be the soul of the group.After lunch, he went aside to take a nap, snoring slightly in his sleep. By the time it was time to leave, the men, full of gratitude, packed up their picnic baskets and congratulated Poirot on his brilliant idea.The sun had begun to set by the time they returned to the winding path.On the top of the hill outside Picomb Bay, they saw the island with the white hotel on it, peaceful and innocent in the sunset, and Mrs. Gardner, who was rarely chattering, sighed and said: "Thank you very much. You, Monsieur Poirot, I feel so at peace, and it is so beautiful."

Major Barry came out to meet them. "Hey," he said, "how are you doing?" Mrs. Gardner said: "It was a great time, it's so lovely in there. It's so British and old world, and the air smells lovely, and you're too lazy to hide in a hotel and not play." Be ashamed." The major chuckled, "I'm too old for this kind of thing--how can I sit in the mud and eat a sandwich at this age." A maid rushed out of the hotel, a little out of breath, hesitated, and then hurried to Christine Red's side, whom Hercule Poirot recognized as the The maid named Gladys Narecord spoke quickly and unevenly: "Excuse me, ma'am, but I am a little worried about the lady, Miss Marshall, I just sent her some tea, Can't wake her up, she looks—seems weird."

Christine looked around in bewilderment, and Bai Roman immediately rushed to her side, supported her elbow with his hand, and said calmly, "Let's go up and have a look." They went up the stairs quickly, down the corridor, to Linda's room, and one look at her told both of them that something was wrong.Her face was strange, and her breathing was so weak that it almost stopped. Bai Roman immediately reached out to feel her pulse. At the same time, he noticed an envelope standing beside the lamp of the bedside table, and his own name was written on the envelope. Mr. Marshall burst into the room. He said: "What's the matter with Linda? What's the matter with her?"

Christine Redfern let out a terrified sob.Hercule Poirot, looking back, said to Marshall: "Get a doctor--seek a doctor quickly, but I'm afraid--I'm afraid--it may be too late." He took the letter with his name on it, opened the envelope, and inside was a few lines written by Linda in a child's handwriting: "I think this is the best way to get rid of it, please forgive me my father, I killed Elena. I thought I'd be happy—but no, I'm sorry for everything..." They were assembled in the drawing room—Marshall, the Redferns, Rosamund Daly and Hercule Poirot, they sat silently—and waited . . . the door opened and Dr. Neston left Entering, he said very succinctly: "I have done everything in my power, and she may make it through—but I must tell you that there is not much hope." He paused for a while, Marshall had a straight face, his eyes were as cold as ice, and he asked, "How did she have those medicines?" Ni Sidun opened the door and beckoned, the maid came into the room, she had just cried.Neeston said, "Tell us what you saw." The girl sobbed, "I didn't think at all—I didn't think there was anything wrong at all—although the young lady looked a little strange." The doctor waved his hand impatiently for her to continue. "She was in the other lady's room, Mrs. Redfern's, your room, ma'am, and got a little bottle from the little bathroom cupboard. When I went in, she gave a start, and I thought It's a strange thing for her to come to your room to get something, but maybe it's something she lent you, and she just said, 'Oh, that's what I was looking for—' and went away out." Christine said in a low voice, "It's my sleeping pill." The doctor asked abruptly, "How did she know you had sleeping pills?" Christine said: "I gave her one, and the night after the murder, she told me she couldn't sleep, and she -- I remember her saying -- 'Is one enough?' -- —I said, oh, that's enough, it's strong—and I said I'd been careful not to take more than two.” Ni Sidun nodded. "She played it safe," he said, "and took six pills." Christine sobbed again, "Geez, I think it's all my fault, I should have locked up the sleeping pills." The doctor shrugged his shoulders. "It might be wiser to do that, Mrs. Redfern." Christine said in despair: "She's going to die—it's all my fault..." Gan Yishi Marshall moved slightly on the chair, and he said: "No, you can't blame yourself like this. Linda knows what she's doing. She ate it on purpose. Maybe—maybe it's best." He looked down at the note that was crumpled in his hand - the note that Bai Luo handed him silently. Rosamund Dai Li exclaimed: "I don't believe it, I don't believe Linda killed her, based on all kinds of evidence—it's impossible." Christine said eagerly: "Yes, she couldn't have done it. She must have been overly frightened and imagined these things." The door opened, and Colonel Winston came in, saying: "What the hell is what I've heard?" Neestone took the note from Marshall and handed it to the chief of police.Winston looked it over, and exclaimed in disbelief: "What? This is nonsense--absolute nonsense, impossible." He repeated confidently: "Impossible! Is it, Poirot?" Hercule Poirot moved now, and said in a low, mournful voice: "No, I'm afraid it's not impossible." Christine Redfern said: "But I was with her, Monsieur Poirot, until a quarter to twelve, and I told the police." Poirot said: "Your testimony gave her an alibi—yes, but what is your testimony based on? You based it on Linda Marshall's watch, and you yourself did not leave her when you left her. Didn't know exactly it was a quarter to twelve—you only knew it because she said so. You've said yourself how time flies." She stared at him, and Poirot said: "Just think about it, Madame, after you left the beach, did you walk back to the hotel quickly or slowly?" "I—er, I think, rather slowly." "Do you remember what happened on the way back?" "I don't quite remember, I'm afraid, I—I was thinking about something." Poirot said: "I'm so sorry I have to ask you this question, but can you tell us what you were thinking on the way back?" Christine blushed. "I thought—if it was necessary. . . what I was thinking—was the question of getting out of here. I wanted to walk away without telling my husband. I—I was very unhappy at the time, you know." Patrick Redfonne cried, "Oh, Christine! I know... I know..." Poirot's voice broke in, "That's right, you're thinking about taking an important step. I think it's fair to say that you don't see, you don't hear, you don't hear everything around you. Maybe you're going very slowly. , occasionally stopping for a few minutes to think about things." Christine nodded. "You're so smart. It happened just as you said. When I woke up from a dream, I was already at the door of the hotel, so I rushed in quickly. I thought I might be late, but when I saw the lobby Only when I saw the clock in my home did I know I still had time.” Hercule Poirot added: "Exactly." Turning to Marshall, he said: "I must now tell you that after the murder I found several things in your daughter's room. In the fireplace There was a large piece of melted wax, some charred hair, pieces of cardboard and paper, and a very ordinary needle. The paper and cardboard may not be special, but the other three things represent something — especially after I found a little book hidden in the back on the shelf that I rented from a local bookstore about witchcraft and magic. It was easy to turn to a certain page , and on that page again there are various methods of killing, such as making a human figure out of wax to represent the victim, and melting the figure—or perhaps sticking a needle into the wax figure's heart. Thus would kill that man. I heard later from Mrs. Redfern that Linda Marshall had bought a pack of candles that morning and was embarrassed to be found out what she had bought. I can imagine what happened afterwards. Situation. Linda fashioned a human figure out of candle wax—perhaps adding a little strand of Elena’s red hair to enhance the magic—and stuck a needle into the heart, and placed In the fireplace, put some shredded paper and cardboard under the bottom, lit a fire, and melted the wax figure. "It's childish and superstitious, but it shows something: the desire to murder! Is it possible that there was more than just a desire in the heart? Is it possible that Linda Marshall actually killed her stepmother? At first look at It looked as though she had a good alibi--but in fact, as I just pointed out, the proof of the time was provided by Linda herself, who probably put the time an hour later than it actually was. "It is probable that as soon as Mrs. Redfonne left the beach, Linda followed her, and then crossed the not-too-wide space to the ladder, and descended it quickly to find her on the beach. Stepmother, strangle Elena and climb the ladder back before Miss Brest and Patrick Redfern's boat comes. She can go back to Gull Bay again, swim, and when she pleases Go, go back to the hotel. "However, there must be two prerequisites for this. She must be sure that Elena Marshall will be in Little Demon Bay, and she must have the ability to actually commit murder in physical strength. The first point is very possible—for example Well, Linda Marshall can write to Elena in the name of someone else. As for the second point, Linda has a pair of big and strong hands, as big as a man. As for physical strength, people of her age People are often mentally unbalanced, and mental stimulation often produces unusual strength. Another small thing is that Linda Marshall's mother was charged and tried for murder." Gan Yishi Marshall raised his head, and said harshly, "She was acquitted and released." "Not bad," agreed Poirot. Marshall said: "I can tell you, Monsieur Poirot, that Mattindale—my ex-wife—is innocent, a matter of which I am absolutely clear and certain, if anything, during the time we lived together. She is an innocent person, but she is also a victim of circumstances." He took a breath: "I don't believe that Linda killed Elena, it's ridiculous—it's ridiculous." Poirot said: "Then you think this letter is a forgery?" Marshall held out his hand, and Winston handed the letter to him. Marshall read the letter carefully, then shook his head, "It's not fake," he said reluctantly, "I believe it was indeed written by Linda." written." Poirot said: "If she really wrote it, there are only two explanations. Either she knew she was the murderer when she left the letter, or—I say, otherwise—she wrote it deliberately to cover up the murder. Someone, someone she fears will be suspected." Gan Yishi Marshall said: "You mean me?" "It's possible, isn't it?" Marshall thought about it, and then he said calmly, "No, I think you're being ridiculous. Linda might have thought I was under suspicion at first, but she definitely knows by now that the suspicion is over—knowing that the police Have accepted my alibi and directed their attention elsewhere." Poirot said: "Suppose it is not that she thinks you are under suspicion, but that she thinks she knows you are guilty?" Marshall glared at him and let out a short laugh. "This is ridiculous." Poirot said: "Not necessarily. You know, there are several scenarios for Mrs. Marshall's death. One theory is that she was blackmailed. She went to meet the blackmailer that morning, and the blackmailer strangled her. There is also a saying that Little Demon Bay and Fairy Cave are places where drug traffickers used to transfer their goods, and she was killed because she happened to know about these things. There is also a third possibility—that she was killed by Killed by a religious fanatic. There's a fourth possibility—you'll get a lot of money for your wife's death. Isn't that right, Mr. Marshall?" "I told you just now—" "Yes, yes—I agree that you couldn't have killed your wife—but that's if you did it alone. But assuming someone did it for you?" "What do you mean?" The quiet man was finally irritated.He stood up from the chair, his voice was full of anger, and his eyes also showed anger. "I mean," said Poirot, "there was more than one murderer in this crime. There were two persons involved. Yes, you can't type that letter and kill on that beach at the same time—but you can." Time to draft your letter in sketches—let someone else type it in your room while you do your murder." Hercule Poirot looked at Rosamund Daly.He said: "Miss Daley said she left Sunny Bluff at ten past eleven and saw you typing in your room. But at about the same time, Mr. Gardner went upstairs to the hotel to find a room for his wife." Yarn, he neither met nor saw Miss Daley. It is remarkable that it seems that Miss Daley had either never left Sunshine Bluff at all, or she had left there long ago, to your room You were typing very hard in your room. On the other hand, you said that when Miss Daley peeped in at the door of your room at a quarter past eleven to see you, you saw her in the mirror. But on the day of the murder, your typewriter The Japanese paper was placed on the desk in the corner of the room, and the mirror was hung between the two windows. So your statement is actually a lie. Later, you moved your typewriter to the small table under the mirror, It fits your story well--but it was too late. I have found that both you and Miss Daley have lied." Rosamund Dailey spoke, her voice was low and clear, and she said, "You are so clever as a ghost!" Hercule Poirot raised his voice, and said; "But not as dastardly and wise as the murderer of Arlena Marshall! Thinking back, who I thought--everybody thought--was Ellen. Who was Lena Marshall going to meet that morning? We all immediately decided it was Patrick Redfern. She wasn't going to meet a blackmailer, and I knew that from the look on her face. .Oh, no. She was going to see her lover—or at least she thought she was going to meet someone. Yes, I'm sure of that. Eleanor Marshall was going to see Patrick Redfon. But a minute later, Patrick Redfon appeared on the beach, obviously looking for her. What's the matter?" Patrick Redfonne fought back his anger and said, "That ghost took my name." "You were obviously upset," said Poirot, "and were surprised at her absence. Perhaps, you made it too obvious. I think, Monsieur Redfern, that she went to Goblin's Bay on a date with you, and she I did see you, and you killed her according to your plan." Patrick Redfonne's eyes widened, and he said in his highly humorous Irish accent: "Are you crazy? I was with you on the beach at first, and then I was with Miss Brest. Got into the boat and rowed across and found her body." Hercule Poirot said: "You killed Miss Brest after she came back from rowing to call the police. Arlena Marshall was not dead when you got to the beach, she was hiding in the goblin's cave, Come out after everything is fine." "But the body! Miss Brest and I both saw the body." "A human body—yes, but not a dead body. The living body of the woman who helped you, with legs and arms tanned, her face covered in green cardboard Hats off, Christine, your wife--probably not your wife--but your partner, helped you with this crime, just as she helped you with another murder in the past when she 'discovered' Alice Corrigan's body, at least twenty minutes before she died. And the murderer of Alice Corrigan was her husband, Edward Corrigan—that is, you!" Christine spoke, and her tone was sharp—and cold.She said, "Be careful, Patrick, don't lose your temper." Poirot said: "You will probably like to know that you and your wife Christine were easily identified by the Surrey County Police from a group photograph taken by our people here, and they immediately recognized the two of you as Edward Corrigan and Christine DeVereau, the schoolteacher who found the body." Patrick Redfern was on his feet, and his handsome face was transformed, flushed and blinded with rage, the face of a killer—like a tiger, and he cried out: " You fucking nosy bastard!" He threw himself on him, fisting his fingers, cursing, and strangling Hercule Poirot's throat with his fingers...