Chapter 9 Chapter 8 The Interior of the Little Green House

As soon as he left the cemetery, Poirot walked briskly in the direction of the little green house.I think his role is still the guy who is going to buy the house.Carefully holding the various permits for inspection in his hand, putting the permit for the little green house on top, he pushed open the gate and walked down the path leading to the front door of the house. This time we didn't see our dog friend, but we heard him barking in the house, although it was a distance away - I guess he was in the kitchen. Immediately we heard footsteps passing through the living room, and the door was opened by a woman of about fifty or sixty years of age with a good-looking face. She was dressed in an antique style, and there are no servants in such clothes nowadays.

Poirot handed over the certificate. "Yes, sir. The realtor is calling. This way, sir?" When we first looked at the house, I noticed that the shutters were all closed, and now they are all wide open for our inspection.I saw that everything in the room was very clean and tidy.It seems that our guide is a very serious woman. "This is the sitting room, sir." I looked around approvingly.It was a comfortable room with long windows facing the street.The interior is furnished with good, solid old-fashioned furniture, mostly Victorian, but there are also Chippendale bookcases and a pair of attractive Highwater chairs.

Poirot and I behaved exactly like the others who came to see the house. We stood motionless and looked a little unnatural!Sometimes whispered things like "nice", "nice room", "did you say this is the living room?" The maid took us through the living room and into his corresponding room on the other side, which was much larger. "This is the dining room, sir." The room must have been Victorian.A heavy dining table of Philippine mahogany; a large sideboard of purple Philippine wood carved with tufts of fruit; solid leather dining chairs.On the walls are photographs of apparently family members.

The dog was still barking not far from the mission.Suddenly the sound grew louder.It can be heard galloping across the living room as the barking grows louder. "Who's come into the house? I'm going to tear him apart." It's very much like the lyrics it sings when it barks repeatedly. It came to the door and sniffed vigorously with its nose. "Oh, Bob, you naughty dog," cried our guide, "don't mind him, sir. He won't hurt you." Indeed, Papier completely changed his attitude when he found out who had come in.It ran in jumping up and down, and introduced itself to us as if it was quite human.

"I'm really glad to see you," he seemed to say as he sniffed at our ankles. "Excuse me for the clamor. This is my job. You know I have to watch out for the Who came in. It's a dull life, but I'm glad to see a visitor. I suppose it's the same with your own dogs?" That last word spoke to me as I crouched down and patted it gently. "It's a lovely thing," I said to the woman, "but it needs plucking." "Yes, sir, he usually plucks three times a year." "Is it an old dog?" "Oh, no, sir. Bob isn't six years old. Sometimes he behaves like a puppy. He walks around with a chef's slipper in his mouth. He's very gentle, though sometimes you hear him You won't believe this after the sound of howling, but in fact, it only chases and bites the postman, so the postman is terrified of it."

Bob was now sniffing Poirot's trouser legs incessantly.After understanding everything it could understand, it took a long breath through its nose, as if to say: "Huh, people are not too bad, but they are not real dog owners." Looking at me expectantly. "I don't know why the dogs keep chasing the postman," our guide continued. "It's a kind of reasoning," said Poirot. "A dog is rational. A dog is very intelligent. It reasones from its own point of view. It learns very quickly by observation—some people can come into a house, and Some people can't. Well, then, who's the one who jingles the doorbell two or three times a day and insists on getting in?—and who's never allowed in? The postman Obviously, from the owner's point of view, this is an unwelcome guest. He is always asked to do things outside, but he always insists on coming in, trying to break in. It is clear that his duty is to help the owner To drive the person out of favor, and, if possible, to bite him. It seems the most rational course of reasoning."

He smiled at Bob, and said: "It's a very smart dog." "Oh, yes, sir. Bob is the most human." She opens another door. "This is the drawing room, sir." A look at this reception room reminds people of the past with a slight scent of flowers in the room.The printed sofa cover looks worn and the rosettes on the pattern are faded.Engravings and watercolors hung on the walls.There was a great deal of china in the room—some vigorous figures of shepherds and shepherdesses.There are embroidered cushions on the floor.The photographs in their beautiful silver frames were faded too.There are also many marquetry boxes and tea caddies for decoration.What attracted me the most was a pair of delicately cut women in tissue paper under the glass table.One of the women spins a spinning wheel; another has a cat on her lap.

Around me loomed the beautiful scenery of "Miss Gongzi" in the past.What a leisurely and elegant day it was!This is a real "retreat".Ladies and gentlemen sit here doing embroidery work.Even if the favored man in the family smokes a cigarette here, it will destroy the antique flavor of the room, so the curtains should be opened to change the air. Bob had my attention.It sat at the delicate little table, staring intently at the table drawer. When it saw that I was paying attention to it, it let out a short whine, looked at me, then at the table. "What does it want?" I asked.

Our interest in Bob obviously pleased the hostess, and no doubt she liked it. "For his balls, sir. His balls used to be in the drawer. So he sat there begging people." She changed her voice and said loudly to Bob in a false voice: "The ball isn't there anymore, pretty little Bob. The ball's in the kitchen, my Bob." Bob turned his eyes impatiently to Poirot. "The woman is a fool," it seemed to say, "but you look like you have a head. The ball is somewhere—this drawer is one of the ball-places. There's always a ball here. So Now there's a ball on the dress. Obviously, that's my logic, isn't it?"

"The ball isn't here now, boy," I said. It looks at me suspiciously.Then, when I walked out of the house, he followed slowly, in disbelief. The maid showed us various cupboards, a cloakroom downstairs, and a small pantry. "The hostess often puts flowers in a vase here." "Have you been with your mistress long?" asked Poirot. "Twenty-two years, sir." "Are you the only one here to take care of it?" "Me and the cook, sir." "Has she been long with Miss Arundell too?" "Four years, sir. So the old cook is dead."

"If I were to buy this house, are you going to stay?" A slight blush appeared on her face. "It's very kind of you, sir, but I'm retiring. You know the mistress has left me a fair sum, and I'm going to go to my brother, and I'm here only for the convenience of Miss Lawson— — take care of everything." Poirot nodded. In the momentary moment of silence we hear another voice. "Bang, bang, bang." The monotonous sound grew stronger and stronger, as if it came from above. "It's Bob, sir," she said, smiling. "He's got the ball and is throwing it down the stairs. It's his favorite game." When we reached the bottom of the stairs, a black rubber ball fell with a bang from the last step.I grabbed the ball and looked up.Bob was lying on the top of the stairs, paws spread, tail wagging slightly, and I threw the ball up to him, and he caught it deftly, played with it for a while, then put the ball between his paws, Then slowly push the ball forward with the nose, and finally push the ball down, and the ball rolled down the stairs again.Bob watched the ball roll down, wagging his tail in ecstasy. "He'll play like that for hours, sir. It's his game, all day long. Now that's all right, Bob. Gentlemen have other things to do than play with you all the time." Dogs are amazing facilitators of friendly interactions.My interest and liking for Bob completely broke the original blunt attitude of this good maid.As we made our way down to the bedroom level, our guide babbled on and on about how Bob was a wizard, which was amazing.The ball stays in the bottom corner of the stairs.Bob gave us an extremely disgusted look as we passed, and then gracefully scrambled down the stairs to fetch the ball.When we went upstairs and turned right, I saw it slowly climbed up again with a ball in its mouth. It seems to have strength. As we paced up and down the bedroom, Poirot began to speak slowly to our guide. "Four Miss Arundells lived here, didn't they?" he asked. "It was four at first, sir, but that was before I came here. When I came there were only Miss Agnes and Miss Emily, and Miss Agnes died shortly after I came. She The youngest of the family. It is strange that she died before her sister." "I suppose she's not as strong as her sister?" "It's not like that, sir. That's a queer thing, too. My Miss Arundell, Miss Emily, was always weak, and spent her life with doctors. And Miss Agnes was always healthy and strong, but she died first, But Miss Emily, who has been weak since she was a child, is the longest-lived member of the family. It is so strange what happened." "Oddly enough, that's often the case." Poirot immediately took the opportunity to invent (I am sure I did) a story about his uncle's illness, which I will not bother to repeat here.Needless to say, the story worked.Discussions of such matters as life and death are more pleasant to talk about than any other subject.Poirot was now in a position to ask the maid questions that, twenty minutes earlier, he would have met with suspicion and hostility from the maid had he tried to ask them. "Miss Arundell has been long and miserable this time, has she not?" "No, I hate to say that, sir. Perhaps you know what I mean. She was ill for a long time—beginning the winter before last. She was very ill—jaundice. Her face was yellow, her eyes whitish..." "Oh, yes, indeed..." (Poirot recounts the anecdote of his jaundiced cousin.) "Yes—as you say, sir. She's very ill, poor me, and getting worse. Dr. Granger thinks she's almost impossible to escape. But what he's done with her is brilliant. —You know, he used scares. He said to Miss Arundell: 'You're determined to lie down and die, waiting to have your tombstone?' And she said: 'I still have to fight to live courage, doctor.' He said: 'Yes—that's what I love to hear.' We had a hospital nurse look after her, and she was sure the old woman would die.—She even once said to the doctor , she thought it best not to bother the old woman and force her to eat—but the doctor retorted. 'Nonsense,' he said, 'to bother her? You have to frighten her into nutritious food. Give her beef gravy now and then, brandy—a spoonful of brandy at every meal.' At last he said something I'll never forget. 'You're young, my girl.' He said to the nurse, 'You don't know What a precious quality to overcome diseases in the elderly. And young people, they want to die because they have no interest in life. If you introduce me to an old man who has lived past the age of seventy, it is tantamount to introducing me to I'm an unyielding fighter—a man with the will to live!' It's true, sir—we always say how great old people are—meaning their life force and their way of staying active—but, As the doctor said, that's why they live so long, so old." "You'll be deep--very deep! But is Miss Arundell like that? Is she alive? Interested in life?" "Oh, yes, that's right, sir. She's not in good health, but she's very clear-headed. As I said, she conquered the disease--to the amazement of the nurse. When she recovered, she was like a haughty young man, Wearing clothes with starched collars and cuffs, going out to visit friends, drinking only tea every day, not strong drinks." "She's recovering well." "Yes, that's true, sir. Of course, the hostess must pay attention to her diet at first. Everything she eats must be boiled and steamed. No animal oil is used in cooking, and eggs are not allowed. This kind of diet is very important to Alai Say, very monotonous." "But the most important thing is that she recovered from her illness." "Yes, sir. There were twists and turns, of course, and I mean she had a choleric disease sometimes, because after a while she didn't take much care of what she ate—but, until this time, she His body has always been fine." "Is her illness the same as the one two years ago?" "Yes, it's the same disease, sir. It's the same nasty jaundice--terribly yellow--very ill, and everything else is the same, and I'm afraid it's her own inattention, poor thing. She eats A lot of stuff that shouldn't be eaten, and she didn't feel well that night because she had curry for dinner, which, you know, sir, has a lot of fat and protein, and it's kind of greasy." "She came down suddenly, didn't she?" "Well, it seems so, sir. But Dr. Granger said it had been going on for some time. The cold weather--the weather has changed a lot the last few days--and the excess of fatty protein foods, is the cause of the disease." "Her lady-in-waiting—Miss Lawson, isn't she—can't dissuade her from fatty protein foods?" "Oh, I don't think it's any use for Miss Lawson to say it. Miss Arundell is not one to obey." "Was Miss Lawson been with her during her last illness?" "No, she came after her last illness. She has been with Miss Arundell only about a year." "I think she had several maids in the past!" "Yes, several of them, sir." "Her maid will not stay here for long like your servants," said Poirot with a smile. The woman's cheeks flushed. "Well, sir, you know it's different. Miss Arundell doesn't talk much, and for whatever reason she just..." She paused. Poirot studied her for a moment, then said: "I know something of the psychology of old women. They're always hungry for novelty, and I'm afraid they're at the end of their lives." "Well, you are very clever, sir. Exactly as you say. When a new maid comes, Miss Arundell always asks with great interest at first—her life, her childhood life, where she came from." where she's been, and how she thinks about things, and when she knows it all, she becomes—well, I guess bored is the best word." "Exactly. As far as we're saying, these women who are maids of honor are generally uninteresting—and not very likable." "It is true, sir. Most of them are poor in spirit. Often foolish. Miss Arundell quickly disliked them, so to speak, and then she came for a change, and a new one." .” "Then she must be very fond of Miss Lawson?" "Oh, I don't think so, sir." "Miss Lawson is not a remarkable woman, is she?" "I don't say that about her, sir. She's a perfectly ordinary woman." "You like her, don't you?" The woman shrugged slightly. "There's nothing to like or dislike. She always makes a fuss—a standard old maid. She believes in gods and talks nonsense." "God?" Poirot looked alert. "Yes, sir, gods. Sit around a table in the dark, and the dead will come back and talk to you. I call it a senseless superstition—as if we don't know that departed souls go to It’s like I’m in heaven, and I don’t want to leave it.” "So Miss Lawson is a spiritualist who believes in spirits! Does Miss Arundell believe in spirits, too?" "Miss Lawson wants her to believe it!" she resumed at once, in a tone of satisfaction in her resentment of Miss Lawson. "Miss Arundell doesn't believe in spirits?" insisted Poirot. "My mistress has a lot of reason," she snorted. "Listen, I'm not saying this superstition doesn't amuse her. 'I'd like to write,' she said to Lawson, but she often read Miss Lawson seemed to be saying: 'My poor creature, what a fool you are, how deluded you are!'" "I see. She doesn't believe in this spiritualism, she just enjoys it." "By the way, sir. Sometimes I don't know whether she believes it or not—so to speak, she's looking for a kind of silent pleasure. In the dark, she pushes the table, or does other little tricks, while others believe it and scare her." Gotta die." "other people?" "Miss Lawson and Sister Tripp." "Is Miss Lawson a devout spiritualist?" "Spiritualism is truth to her, sir." "And Miss Arundell, of course, is very fond of Miss Lawson." This was the second time Poirot said so, and this time he received the same answer. "It's hard to say, sir." "But sure," said Poirot, "if Miss Arundell leaves everything to her, will she be fond of her?" This question immediately changed the atmosphere.The original appearance of the person disappeared, and she became an out-and-out maid again.She straightened her back and spoke in a flat tone, but it contained reproach for this practice. "The way the mistress leaves her money is none of my business, sir!" I think Poirot has lost all his efforts.He had already made the woman friendly, and now he had lost his advantage, but he was wise enough not to immediately attempt to regain the lost ground.After a general chat about the size and number of bedrooms, he made his way to the top of the stairs. Bob was gone, but when I got to the top of the stairs, I tripped and almost fell.I grabbed the banister to steady myself and looked down to see that I had accidentally stepped on the rubber ball that Bob had left at the top of the stairs. The woman hastily apologized and said: "I'm sorry, sir. It's Bob's fault. It left the ball there, you can't see it because it's a dark carpet. It's going to kill someone someday. Poor mistress once let The ball tripped and fell hard. Almost died." Poirot stopped suddenly on the stairs. "You said she had a fall accident?" "Yes, sir. Bob left the ball there, as he often does, and the mistress came out of her bedroom, stepped on the ball, fell down, rolled all the way down the stairs, and nearly died." "Is she badly hurt?" "Not as bad as you think. She was lucky, Dr. Granger said, with a bit of a cut in the head, a sprained back, and of course a few subcutaneous hemorrhages, which were quite frightening. She was in bed for about a week, but nothing serious. .” "Is this a long time ago?" "A week or two before she died." Poirot stooped to find what he had dropped. "Excuse me—my pen—ah, yes, here it is." He stood up again. "It's so careless, Mr. Bob," he said. "Oh, well, it knows it's wrong, sir," said the woman in a doting tone, "it's kind of human, but you can't make it understand everything. The mistress never sleeps at night, and she often Get up and walk downstairs, walk around the house." "Does she do it often?" "Most nights. But she doesn't let Miss Lawson or anyone else make a fuss of running after her." Poirot went into the drawing room again. "It's a lovely room," he said. "I wonder if there's room for my bookcase? What do you think, Hastings?" Puzzled, I replied cautiously, it's hard to say. "Yes, the size is unreliable. Please use my carpenter's folding ruler to measure the width of the house, and I will record the size." I obediently accepted the folding rule Poirot handed me, and took the various measurements under his direction, which he wrote on the back of the usual envelope. I was wondering why he didn't jot down the measurements neatly in a little book, but in such a sloppy, unprofessional way, when he handed me the envelope and said: "It's over, isn't it? Are you going to check it?" There was no size number on the envelope at all, but on the back it read: "When we got upstairs again, you pretended to remember an appointment, and you asked if you could call. Let this woman go with you, and keep her as long as possible." "That's right," I said, pocketing the envelope. "I dare say both of our bookcases will fit perfectly." "One thing to be sure of, though. I think, if it doesn't bother me, I'll take another look at the main bedroom. I'm not sure about the spacing of the walls." "Of course, sir. No trouble." We went upstairs again, and Poirot measured parts of the wall, and went on to talk about where the bed, the cupboard, and the writing desk should be placed.At this time, I looked at my watch, made a somewhat exaggerated look, and exclaimed: "Ah, you know it's three o'clock? What's Anderson going to think? I should give him a call." I turned to the female guide, "I don't know if I can use the phone, if you have any. " "Oh, of course, sir. The telephone is in the shed off the living room. I'll show you." She hurried downstairs with me and pointed out the phone while I asked her to look it up in the phone book for me.Finally I called - to Mr. Anderson in a little town near Harchester.Luckily he got out so I was able to leave a message saying it's ok, I'll call later! When I emerged from the cabin, Poirot had gone downstairs and was standing in the drawing-room.His eyes were shining, and I could tell he was excited, but for some reason. Poirot said: "Your mistress must have been horrified when she fell from the top of the stairs. Was she upset about Bob and his balls after the accident?" "You're joking, sir. It's bothered her enough. Oh, she's in a coma as she's dying, but she's talking about Bob and his balls and all. A half-open painting." "A half-open picture," said Poirot thoughtfully. "Of course, I don't know what it means, sir, but she's been going on and on like this." "Wait a minute, I must go into the drawing room again." He paced up and down the living room, looking at the decorations.It seems that a large jar with a cover has attracted him deeply.I think this is a particularly fine piece of porcelain.It was a Victorian piece of humor—the jar had a crudely textured painting of a pug sitting outside the front door with a sad look on his face.Below the painting read: "Outside all night, no keys." I have always admired Poirot's taste in art, but it was a bit too bourgeois, and now he is completely fascinated by this porcelain. "Out all night and no key," he muttered. "That's funny! Isn't our Mr. Bob like that too? Doesn't he stay out all night sometimes?" "Stayed out by chance, sir. Oh, quite by chance, Bob's a fine dog." "He's a good dog. But even the best dog..." "Oh, yes, sir. Once or twice Bob went out at night and came home about four o'clock in the morning. Then he sat on the steps and barked loudly until he was let in." "Who let it in--Miss Lawson?" "Well, whoever hears him let him in, sir. Little Lawson freed him this last time, sir. It was the night when Mistress' accident happened. Bob came home at five o'clock in the morning, Miss Lawson." She hurried downstairs and brought him in before he barked loudly. Miss Lawson was afraid that the dog would wake the mistress, and she did not tell the mistress before that that Bob was missing, lest she should wake her up. anxiety." "I see. Did she think it best not to tell Miss Arundell about the dog's absence?" "That's what she said, sir. She said, 'It's sure to come back. It always will. But if you tell Miss Arundell, she'll get anxious, and that's absolutely impossible.' So we didn't What did you say?" "Does Bob like Miss Lawson?" "Oh, he despises her, perhaps you know what I mean, sir. She's a dog, and Miss Lawson is very kind to him, calling her a good puppy, a pretty puppy, but she always looks at her with contempt." She, it doesn't manage money for what she tells it to do." Poirot nodded. "I see," he said. Suddenly he did something that surprised me. He took a letter from his pocket—the letter he had received this morning. "Ellen," he said, "do you know anything about this letter?" Ellen's facial expression changed visibly. Her jaw dropped straight down and she gazed at Poirot with an expression of almost bewildered absurdity. "Oh," she exclaimed suddenly, "I never knew!" What she said might not be logically consistent, but it certainly conveyed Ellen's meaning. After regaining her senses, she said slowly: "Then you are the gentleman who received the letter?" "Yes, I am Hercule Poirot." Like most people, Ellen at first did not even glance at the calling card that Poirot had handed her when he first arrived.She nodded slowly. "That's Hercules Poirot." She added "S" and "T" to his name. "Ouch!" she exclaimed, "the cook is going to be surprised." Poirot said at once: "You see we go to the kitchen, stay there with your friend, and talk about it, shall we?" "Well—if you don't mind, sir." Ellen seemed uncertain.Obviously, this was the first time she was in such a special dilemma.But Poirot's nonchalance reassured her.We were in the kitchen right away, and Ellen was talking to a nice, big woman who was taking a kettle off the gas stove. "You will never believe, Anne, that this is the gentleman who got the letter. You know, the same letter I found in the briefcase." "You should know that I am still in the dark," said Poirot. "Perhaps you can tell me why the letter was so late in the post." "Oh, sir, to tell you the truth, I didn't know what to do when I found this letter. Neither of us knew what to do, did we, Anne?" "Yes, we really don't know what to do," the chef admitted. "You see, sir, when Miss Lawson was clearing things up after the death of the mistress, she gave away or threw away a lot of things. Among them were the usual little cardboard folders, which I remember they called briefcases. It's a pretty little clip with a lily-of-the-valley pattern on it. The mistress always uses her when she's writing on the bed. Oh, Miss Lawson didn't want it, so she gave it to me along with a lot of other things that belonged to the mistress I put it in a drawer and took it out yesterday. I was going to put some new absorbent paper in the little clip for later use. Then I found a paper pocket inside the clip, so I reached in and found a A letter from the hostess, I quickly hid the letter. "Oh, as I said just now, I didn't know what to do with it. It was indeed the mistress's handwriting, and I thought she must have written the letter and stuffed it in her pocket to send it the next day, but I forgot about it later, she often looks like this, poor thing. Once, no one can remember where she put a bank dividend notice, and finally found it at the end of the desk shelf of." "Is she not good at things?" "Oh, sir, on the contrary. She always packs things up and puts them in order. But it's a nuisance. It's better if she messes things up. She puts things away and forgets to put them in the Where does this happen all the time." "Does she take care of things like Bob's ball, for instance?" asked Poirot, smiling. The clever puppy just trotted in from the door, and it greeted us again with a very friendly attitude. "Yes, sir. She took the balls away as soon as Bob finished playing with them. But there's nothing wrong with that. The balls are in their proper place—in the drawer I showed you." "I see. Forgive me for interrupting. Please go ahead. Did you find the letter in the folder?" "Yes, sir, it was the case, and I asked Anne what she thought would be better for me. I would not put the letter in the fire--of course I could not open it myself. Neither Anne nor I could read it." It had nothing to do with Miss Lawson, so after we discussed it, I put a stamp on it and ran to the post office to post the letter." Poirot turned slightly towards me. "That's right," he murmured. I can't help but say with wry emphasis: "It's amazing how easy the explanation is!" I saw that he looked a little downcast, and he hoped that I would not touch people's pain so quickly. He turned to Ellen again, and said: "As my friend said: how easy it is to explain! You know, I was somewhat surprised when I received this letter, written two months ago." "Yes, I guess you will be surprised, sir. But we didn't take it into consideration." "And—" Poirot coughed, "I am now in a dilemma. You see, this letter—is a matter that Miss Arundell wishes to entrust to me, a matter of a somewhat personal nature. He moistened his throat with dignity. "Now that Miss Arundell has passed away, I am not sure what to do. In this case, does Miss Arundell want me to undertake her commission or not?" ? This is difficult, very difficult." Both women looked at him respectfully, and he added: "I think I'll have to see Miss Arundell's solicitor. She has a solicitor, doesn't she?" Ellen quickly replied: "Oh, yes, sir. Mr. Purvis from Harchester." "Does he know all about her?" "I think so, sir. He's been on her errands for as long as I can remember. He was sent for when she fell down." "Is it the time you fell down the stairs?" "Yes, sir." "Now let me figure it out. What day is it exactly?" The cook interjected: "It was the day after the public holiday. I clearly remember that I stayed on the public holiday to do my duty. Because I saw that she had so many guests staying here, I switched to Wednesday to rest." Poirot produced a pocket calendar. "Exactly—exactly, the public holiday after Easter falls on the thirteenth this year. Miss Arundell fell on the fourteenth, then. This letter to me is three days later. Unfortunately The letter hasn't been sent. But maybe it's not too much fun yet..." He paused. "I suspect that - er - what she wishes to entrust to me has to do with a - a - guest you just mentioned." This statement was like a shot fired in the dark, and it immediately aroused repercussions.A comprehension flashed across Ellen's face.She turned to the cook, who answered with a stare that was self-evident. "That's Mr. Charles," she said. "Can you tell me who was there at the time..." said Poirot earnestly. "Dr. Tanios and his wife, Miss Bella, and Miss Teresa and Mr. Charles." "Are they all Miss Arundell's nephews and nieces?" "Yes, sir. Of course Dr. Tanios is not directly related to the mistress. In fact he is a foreigner, a Greek, I think, who is married to Miss Bella, Miss Arundell's niece, who is Arundell.伦德尔小姐妹妹的孩子。查尔斯先生和特里萨小姐是兄妹。” “噢，我明白了。这是一次家庭团聚。他们是什么时间离开的？” “星期三早上，先生。塔尼奥斯医生和贝拉小姐在那个周末有来了，因为他们担心阿伦德尔小姐的身体。” “查尔斯先生和特里萨小姐呢？” “他们是在这以后，又一个周末来的。在她死前的一个周末。” 我觉得波洛的好奇心用不知足。我看不出继续问这些问题有什么意义，而他感到神秘不解的谜已经被揭穿了，在我看来，他越是早些不失身份的告辞越好。 这种想法好象从我的头脑中，通过脑电波一下子传到了他的脑子里去了。 “好吧，”他说，“你介绍给我的情况很有帮助。我应当请教珀维斯先生去。我记得你是说叫珀维斯先生吧？谢谢你的帮助。” 他弯下腰，拍拍鲍勃。 “诚实的小狗，好啊！你爱你的女主人。” 鲍勃友好地做了回答。它很希望表演一下，于是，跑出去衔来一块煤。为此，它受到责备，只得把煤扔掉了。它向我瞥了一眼以寻求同情。 “这些女人，”看上去它在说，“给食物很大方，但不喜欢运动。”