Chapter 10 Chapter 9 Conceives an Event Caused by the Dog's Ball

"Well, Poirot," I said to Poirot, as the door of the Little Green House closed behind us, "I suppose you are satisfied now?" "Yes, my friend, I am satisfied." "Thank God! All the mysteries solved! The wonderful story about the wicked maid and the rich old lady is cleared up. The delayed letter and even the famous incident caused by the dog's ball are revealed. .all satisfactorily settled, beyond reproach!" Poirot coughed dryly in a low voice and said: "I hate to use the word satisfactory, Hastings." "You said that a minute ago."

"No. I didn't say it was satisfactory. I meant that, for myself, my curiosity was satisfied. I learned the truth about what happened to the dog's ball." "It's very simple!" "But it's not as simple as you think." He nodded several times, and then continued, "Look, I know a little thing that you don't." "What's that?" I asked a little suspiciously. "I know there's a nail driven into the skirting board above the stairs." I stared at him, and the expression on his face was unusually stern. "Well," I said after a while, "why shouldn't there be a nail there?"

"The question, Hastings, is why should there be a nail there?" "How do I know. Maybe it's because of some need in the family. Does it matter?" "Of course it does. I can't think of any domestic need where a nail would have to be driven in a particular place above the skirting board. And the nail was carefully painted so that no one would see it." "What do you mean, Poirot? Do you know why?" "I can easily imagine that. If you were to run a strong line or wire a foot above the floor at the top of the stairs, you could tie one end to the banister, but on the other side of the wall, you'd need There's something like a nail to attach the other end of the thread to."

"Poirot!" I cried, "what on earth do you mean?" "My dear friend, I am imagining the events caused by the dog's ball! Would you like to hear my idea?" "Go ahead." "Well, here it is. It has been noticed that Bob has a habit of leaving his balls on the top of the stairs. It is a dangerous thing to do--it could lead to an accident." Poirot paused, and then spoke said the tone, "If you wanted to kill a man, Hastings, how would you go about it?" "I—really—I don't know. I can try to make it look like I wasn't there."

"Such a course of action, I assure you, is difficult and dangerous. To do it, the murderer must be ruthless and careful. And you are not such a man. Have you ever thought of using an accident to get rid of the person you want to get rid of?" , isn't it the easiest way? Accidents happen all the time. And sometimes - Hastings - can figure out how to make them happen!" He paused for a moment, then went on: "The dog's ball was sometimes left on the top of the stairs, I think, and it gave our murderer an idea. Miss Arundell had a habit of walking out of her bedroom at night--she had bad eyesight, too. Then there's a good chance she'll fall on the ball and roll headfirst down the stairs. But a careful murderer won't leave it to fate. Pulling a string from the stairs is a good way to do it. It'll make her fall headfirst Tumbled down the stairs, and then, when the family came out - it was clear what was the cause of the accident - Bob's ball."

"It's terrible!" I exclaimed. Poirot said gravely: "Yes, terribly...and unsuccessfully...Miss Arundell was hardly hurt. Though she could have easily snapped her neck to death. Much to the disappointment of our anonymous friend! But Miss Arundell was a A very smart old woman. Everyone told her that she let the ball slip and fell, and there was a ball at the scene to prove it, but after she recalled what happened at that time, she felt that the cause of the accident was different from what everyone said. She was not Let the ball slip. And she remembered something else. She remembered hearing Bob barking to come into the house at five o'clock the next morning.

"I conjectured it, I admit, but he believed me to be right. Miss Arundell had taken Bob's balls herself the night before and put them in a drawer. Afterwards the puppy went out and never came back. In that case, it wasn't Bob who dropped the ball on the top of the stairs." "You're pure speculation, Poirot," I retorted. He demurred, saying: "Not all speculation, my friend. When Miss Arundell was in a coma, she said something significant--about Bob's ball and a 'half-open painting', do you see the problem? ?” "Not at all." "It's strange. I know your English language well. I know that instead of a picture that's ajar, people say a door is ajar. One can also say that a picture is hung at an angle."

"Or crooked." "Or crookedly, as you say. So I realized at once that Ellen didn't understand what she heard. Miss Arundell didn't say ajar, the English word for 'ajar', but a jar, which means 'a jar'. Now, there happens to be an eye-catching porcelain jar in the living room. I have seen a painting on the jar a long time ago. It shows a dog on it, according to Miss Arundell I went over there and looked more closely. I found out that it was about the puppy being out all night. Do you see what this feverish old woman means? Bob is like The puppy pictured on the jar - he was out all night - so he didn't leave the ball on the top of the stairs."

I exclaimed, involuntarily admiring Poirot. "What a clever fellow you are, Poirot! It astonishes me how you can think of such things!" "It's not that I 'thought of these things.' It's that these things are here—very clearly—for all to see. Well, do you see the situation? Miss Arundell fell and lay In bed, becoming paranoid. Her paranoia, she thought, might be unrealistic and absurd, but it was always in the back of her head.' I've been feeling more and more uneasy since the dog's ball incident. ' So—so she wrote to me, and unfortunately I didn't get her letter until the next year or month, and tell me, doesn't her letter fully correspond to these facts?"

"Yes," I admitted, "it does." Poirot continued: "There is one more thing worth noting. Miss Lawson is particularly apprehensive that the fact that Bob has been away all night will reach Miss Arundell's ears." "You think she..." "I think that fact should be taken seriously." I thought about what he said. "Well," I said with a final sigh, "it's all been fun—like an intellectual exercise. I salute you. It's a masterpiece of vision. But it's a pity that the old woman died. " "Unfortunately—yes. She wrote to me that there was an attempt to murder her (which, after all, would be tantamount to murder), and she died shortly thereafter."

"Yes," I said, "you feel very sorry that she died of natural causes, don't you? Please, admit it." Poirot shrugged and did not answer. "Or do you think she died of poisoning?" I said sarcastically. Poirot shook his head somewhat dejectedly. He admitted: "It does appear that Miss Arundell died a natural death." "So," said I, "let's go back to London with our tails between our legs." "Forgive me, my friend, but we are not going back to London." "What do you mean, Poirot?" I asked. "If you show the rabbit to the dog, my friend, will the dog go back to London? No, he will go down the rabbit hole." "what do you mean?" "The dog chased the rabbit. Hercule Pocket was after a murderer, yes, maybe he didn't succeed this time, but a murderer nonetheless. And I, my friend, I'm going to chase him all the way to the cave— Maybe the perpetrator was a woman." He immediately walked to the door of the house again. "Where are you going, Poirot?" "Go to the cave, my friend. This is the residence of Dr. Granger, who nursed Miss Arundell during her final illness." Dr. Granger is an old man in his sixties.His face was thin and haggard, with an aggressive chin, bushy eyebrows, and gray, keen eyes.He looked sharply at me and at Poirot. "What's the matter?" he asked unexpectedly. Poirot eloquently eloquently said: "I should apologize, Dr. Granger, for disturbing you. I must be frank with you. I am not here to see you." Dr. Granger said dryly: "I'm glad to hear that. You look healthy enough!" "I should explain the purpose of my visit," said Poirot. "The fact is that I am writing a book—a book about the late General Arundel, who I know died in Markett Basing lived for a few years." The doctor looked rather surprised. "Yes, General Arundel lived here until his death. In the little green house—on the street past the bank—perhaps you have been there?" Poirot nodded affirmatively." But you know it's from a previous life. I came here in 1919." "But do you know his daughter, the late Miss Arundell?" "I know Miss Emily Arundell very well." "You know what a blow it is to me to learn of Miss Arundell's recent death." "She died at the end of April." "I see. You see, I expected her to tell me all sorts of personal details about her and about her father." "Yes. But I don't think I can help you much." Poirot asked: "General Arundel has no living sons or daughters?" "No. He has many children, but they are all dead." "there's a few?" "Five, four daughters and one son." "What about the next generation?" "Charles Arundell and his sister Theresa. You can talk to them. I doubt it will be of much use to you, though, the younger generation, with little interest in their grandfather. And Mrs. Neos , but I also doubt how much information you can get from her." "What family papers might they have--deeds?" "Possibly. But I doubt it. As far as I know, after Miss Emily died, a lot of things were cleared up and burned." Poirot uttered a groan of great regret and pain. Granger looked at him curiously. "What interests you in old Arundel? I've never heard of him being a big name in any way." "My dear sir," said Poirot, with fever, excitement, eyes widened, and spirited, "isn't there a saying that history does not know its great men? Recently, some newspaper reports revealed that the problem of mutiny in India was revealed. Take a completely different view, and there must be a secret history in it. In the secret history, General John Arundel plays a big role. The whole thing is fascinating! Let me tell you, my dear sir, people are very concerned about this subject at present. There is an upsurge. India - with respect to British policy towards it - is the subject of lively discussion at the moment." "Well," said the doctor, "I've heard old General Arundel used to talk a lot about the mutiny. In fact, he's supposed to have the most say on the subject." "Who told you?" "A lady called Peabody. You may interview her, by the way. She's an old resident--knows the Arundels well. Gossip is her chief pastime. Worth a visit - a well-known character." "Thank you. That is a very good idea. Perhaps you can also give me the address of young Mr. Arundel, grandson of the late General Arundel." "Charles? Well, I can help you get in touch with him. But he's an arrogant and unreasonable guy, and family history doesn't seem to matter to him." "Is he quite young?" "Conservatives like me say he's young," said the doctor, with a twinkle in his eyes. "He's in his early thirties, the kind of young man who was born to be a nuisance and a burden to the family. He's attractive, that's all." .He's been all over the world in ships, and he hasn't done much good anywhere." "His aunt is undoubtedly fond of him?" asked Poirot boldly. "Aunts are usually like that." "Well—I don't know. Miss Emily Arundell is no fool. As far as I know, he never got money from his aunt. The old lady is a bit difficult to deal with. I like her and respect her." She's like an old man with a lot of social experience." "Did she die suddenly?" "Yes, kind of suddenly. You know, she's been in poor health for a number of years, but she's come close to dying." "There's some inside information—I'm sorry to repeat the gossip..." Poirot spread his hands in disapproval, "that she had a quarrel with the family?" "She didn't quarrel with them, exactly," said Dr. Granger slowly. "No, not publicly, as far as I know." "Forgive me, perhaps I have been rash." "No. After all, information is public property." "I heard that she didn't leave any money to the family, did she?" "Yes, it's all left to the maid who's like a frightened and trembling hen. It's a strange thing to do. I don't understand it myself. It doesn't look like Miss Emily's thing." "Oh, well," said Poirot thoughtfully, "one can imagine what would happen: an old woman, frail and sickly, totally dependent on someone who served and cared for her. In this way, a wise man with a little personality Women will definitely win an absolute advantage." The word "advantage", which looked like teasing a bull with a red cloth, immediately angered Dr. Granger. Dr. Granger snorted and said: "Advantage? Not at all! Miss Emily Arundell's attitude towards Minnie is worse than that of a dog. It is the character of her people! In any case, women who make their living by serving people are generally It's a fool. If they were smart, they would think of another way to go to the counselor. Miss Emily doesn't like being with fools for a long time. She usually has to change a fool every year. Advantage? Nothing like that .” Poirot hurried away from the potentially dangerous question, and changed the subject. "Perhaps, it is possible," he surmised, "that there are past letters or other materials in the possession of Miss Lawson--oh--Miss Lawson?" "Probably," Granger agreed. "There's usually a lot of stuff hidden in spinsters' houses. I don't think Miss Lawson has seen half of it yet." Poirot stood up and said: "Thank you very much, Dr. Granger, you are very kind." "You're welcome," said the doctor. "I'm sorry I can't help you. There's a chance you'll get something from Miss Peabody. She lives at Morton Park—a mile from here." Poirot sniffed a large bouquet of roses on the doctor's desk. "It smells so good." He said in admiration. "Yeah, I think it's nice. I can't smell it myself. I had the flu four years ago. That's a funny confession from a doctor, isn't it?" 'As a doctor, heal yourself.' It really Nasty. I can't enjoy smoking like I used to." "Unfortunately. By the way, can you give me the address of young Arundell?" "I can get you his address," he called, leading us into the drawing room, "Donaldson!" "He's a colleague of mine," he explained. "No problem, he must know. He's engaged to Charles' sister." He called again, "Donaldson!" A young man came out of a room at the back of the house.He was of medium height, with a pale face and a stiff demeanor.He and Dr. Granger formed an unbelievable, stark contrast. Dr. Granger explained to him why he had been called. Dr. Donaldson's eyes were light blue and slightly protruding, and he glanced over us as if making an appraisal.When he spoke, he looked cold and rigid. "I don't know where to find Charles," he said, "but I can give you the address of Miss Theresa Arundell. No doubt she can put you in touch with her brother." This help, Poirot told him, would suffice. The doctor wrote the address on a page of his notebook, tore off the paper, and handed it to Poirot. Poirot thanked him and said goodbye to the two doctors.As we walked out the door, I realized that Dr. Donaldson was standing in the parlour, staring at us with a somewhat surprised look on his face.