Chapter 12 Chapter Eleven: Interview with the Tripp Sisters

"Well," said Poirot, as we got back into the car, "what shall we do next?" In view of previous experience, I do not recommend going back to the city this time.Since Poirot admired his own proposal, why should I object? I recommend going for tea. "Tea, Hastings? What a queer idea! You think about time." "I've thought about it—I mean I've looked at the time. It's five-thirty. It's clear it's time for tea." Poirot sighed. "You English people always have afternoon tea! No, my friend, we don't drink tea. I read a book on etiquette the other day, and it says that no afternoon visits should be made after six o'clock, To do otherwise would be a faux pas. Therefore, we have only half an hour left to complete our plan."

"How sociable you are today, Poirot! Who shall we call on now?" "Sister Tripp." "Are you writing a book on spiritualism now? Or are you still writing a book on the life of General Arundel?" "It's easier than that, my friend. But we must find out where these ladies live." It's easy to ask for directions, but what can sometimes be confusing is the string of trails that are hard to make out.The Tripp sisters' boudoir turned out to be a feudal picturesque farmhouse - a building so old and picturesque that it looked as if it might collapse at any moment.

A child of about fourteen opened the door, and she struggled to press herself against the wall to make room for us to enter. The interior structure is all old oak beams - there is a large fireplace and the windows are so small that it is difficult to see through them.The furniture is consciously kept simple - the owner only uses oak - lots of fruit in wooden bowls, lots of pictures on the walls - I noticed that most of the pictures are of two people, but The poses for the photo were different—often with flowers pressed against the chest or with a straw hat made of Italian straw. The child who had let us in mumbled something and disappeared, but her voice could be clearly heard upstairs.

"Two gentlemen want to see you, madam." There was a whirring of a woman's voice, followed by the opening of the door and the rustling of skirts, and the woman came down the stairs and came towards us calmly. She is in her forties, almost fifty.Her hair was parted in the middle and combed in a Madonna style; her large brown eyes protruded slightly.Wearing a muslin dress with a pattern of foliage, it is reminiscent of the strange costumes. Poirot stepped forward to meet him, with an airy manner.He said: "I'm sorry to disturb you, miss, but I'm in a very difficult position. I've come here for a woman, but she's left Market Basing. I'm told you must know her current address."

"Really? Who is that?" "Miss Lawson." "Oh, Minnie Lawson. Of course! We're best friends. Sit down, sir. What's your name?" "My name is Polotti—he's my friend, Captain Hastings." Miss Tripp thanked the introduction, and then began to bustle. "Sit here, please--no, please--really, I've always preferred upright chairs myself. Are you comfortable now? My dear Minnie Lawson--oh, here comes my sister .” After a door opening and rustling, another woman joined us.She was wearing a green gingham dress, which was perfect for a sixteen-year-old girl!

"This is my sister Isabel—this is Mr. Poirot—and—Captain Hawkins. Isabel, my dear, these two gentlemen are friends of Minnie Lawson." Miss Isabel Tripp was not so plump as her sister.In fact, she could be portrayed as scrawny.She combed her beautiful hair into many messy curls.She behaves like an educated girl, and it is easy to recognize her as the person holding the flower in the photo.Now, clasping her hands and interlacing her fingers, like an emotional girl, she said: "How delightful! My dear Minnie! Have you seen her lately?" "We haven't seen each other for several years," explained Poirot. "We've lost touch in publishing. I've been traveling early. That's why I was surprised and delighted when I heard that my old friend Hung Fau had descended."

"Yes, indeed. She deserves it! Minnie is so rare. She's so simple--and so sincere." "Julia," cried Isabel. "What's the matter, Isabel?" "How clear is that letter P! You remember last night that the handshake writing board always marked out the word P. This indicates that there must be a visitor from afar, and his first letter is P." "It is so," said Julia approvingly. Both women watched Poirot with rapt attention, mixed with delight and astonishment. "The tablet doesn't lie," said Miss Julia softly. "Are you interested in ghosts, Mr. Poirot?"

"I have little experience, ladies, but—like anyone who travels frequently in the East, I have to admit that there are many things that people do not understand, and that cannot be explained by the laws of nature." "Too true," said Julia, "too true." "The East," murmured Isabel, "is the land of mystery and ghosts." Poirot's trip to the East, as far as I know, was a trip from Syria to Iraq, and it took only a few weeks.Yet listening to him talk now, one would swear that he must have spent the greater part of his life in the jungles and in the fairs of the East, and that he must have mingled with Mohammedans, monks, and great Hindu saints. have had close contacts.

I could see that the Tripp sisters were vegetarians, spiritualists, Anglo-Jews, Christian Scientists, theists, and avid amateur photographers. "People think sometimes," sighed Julia, "that Market Basing is an uninhabitable place. It's not a pretty place at all--there's no soul here. People should have souls, don't you think so, Hawkins Captain?" "That's true," I said, somewhat embarrassed, "oh, that's true." "Where there is no illusion, mankind perishes," Isabel quoted, with a sigh. "I have often discussed matters with the vicar, but I find him painfully narrow-minded. Don't you think, Poirot?" Sir, must any definite creed be narrow?"

"Everything is simple, it is," interjected her sister, "and, as we all know, joy and beauty are everything!" "That makes sense," said Poirot. "What a pity that misunderstandings and quarrels should arise between people—especially over money." "Money is so dirty," sighed Julia. "I presume that the late Miss Arundell was the one you converted?" The two sisters looked at each other. "I don't know," Isabel said. "We've never been able to tell whether she believed it or not," whispered Julia. "Sometimes it looks like she does, and then she says something--and that--and that nasty thing."

"Oh, you remember the last miraculous phenomenon," said Julia. "It was the most extraordinary." She turned to Poirot again. "It happened on the night dear Miss Arundell fell ill. Me and I My sister went to her after dinner, and we sat together - just the four of us. You know, we all saw - I mean the three of us - very clearly, around Miss Arundell's head." "What do you think?" "Yes. It's a glowing fog." She turned to her sister. "Isabelle, is that how you describe it?" "Yes, that's what it is. A luminous mist gradually appeared around Miss Arundell's head—a sign that she was about to go to another world." "It's very strange," said Poirot in an affected tone. "It's very dark in the room, isn't it?" "Oh yes, we often get better revelations in the dark. It was a warm night so we didn't have a fire." "One of the funniest gods ever spoke to us," said Isabel, "and her name was Fatima. She told us that she had lived through the time of the Crusades, and she sent us one of the most wonderful words." "Did she actually speak to you?" "No, not directly to us, it was the ghost who announced it with the sound of a drum. It means: beauty, hope, life, what beautiful words!" "Did Miss Arundell fall ill after your meeting that day?" "Became ill just after that. Some sandwiches and claret were brought up, but dear Miss Arundell said she didn't feel well, and she didn't eat. That was the beginning of her illness. Goodness, she wasn't asked." To suffer that excruciating pain for a long time." "She died four days later," Isabelle said. "We've had information from her now," said Julia, with seriousness. "She said she was happy there, and that everything was fine. She also said that she wanted love and harmony among all her relations. " Poirot coughed and said: "I'm afraid that's not the case now?" "Miss Arundell's relatives have behaved disgracefully towards poor Minnie," said Isabel.Her face turned red with anger. "Minnie's the least number of people in the world," put in Julia. "Someone spread the word, the most immoral thing - that she planned the money and kept it to herself!" "But actually, this was the most shocking thing for her..." "The lawyer read the will, she couldn't believe her ears..." "She said so to us herself, 'Julia,' she said to me, 'My dear, when you could have knocked me down with a feather. Just gave the servants a few relics, and the little green house and the rest Wilhelmina Lawson.’ She was dumbfounded. When she could speak, she asked how much—perhaps a few thousand pounds, she thought—and Mr. Purvis stammered. After some talk of chattels that no one could understand, it was announced that there was about £375,000 left. Poor Minnie told us that she almost fainted when she heard that." "It never occurred to her," repeated her sister, "that it never occurred to her that such a thing would happen!" "That's what she told you, yes?" "Oh, yes, she repeated it several times. Miss Arundell's relatives, are really sinister. They continue to want the money as they have done before--they alienate her and suspect her. After all, it is a free country..." "It looks like the English are suffering from a misunderstanding," muttered Poirot. "I wish anyone could do with their estate exactly as they wished! I think Miss Arundell is very wise. It is evident that she does not trust her kin, and I dare say there is good reason for it." "Oh?" Poirot leaned forward with interest. "Really?" Poirot's more attentive and agreeable airs increased Isabelle's interest in going on: "Yes, indeed. Her nephew, Charles Arundell, was a very bad fellow. It was well known! Some foreign policemen even tried to get him. Not at all a desirable man. As for his sister, I actually Haven't spoken to her, she's a girl dressed up like a coquettish girl. Too fashionable, really, with a horrible amount of rouge and powder on her face. One look at her red lips can make me Almost sick. That lip looked bloody, and I do wonder if she's on drugs—sometimes, she acts weird. She's engaged to that pretty young Dr. Donaldson, but I don't think even he saw She looked a little repulsive, too. Of course, she had a charming manner, but I hope he'll come to his senses sooner or later and marry a pretty English girl who likes country life and can work outside." "What about the other relatives?" "Well, I'll get on with you. Very unsatisfactory. Not that I'm going to speak ill of Mrs. Tanios - she's a pretty nice woman - but she's a real idiot, totally at the mercy of her husband And he's a Turk--it's a pretty horrible thing for an English girl to marry a Turk. I think so, don't you? That shows the girl isn't picky. Of course, Tanios The lady is a loving mother, but the children are not very well liked, poor little things." "All in all, do you think Miss Lawson is more deserving of Miss Arundell's inheritance?" Julia said calmly: "Minnie Lawson's a good woman. Rare in the world. It's not that she never seems to think about money, but she's never greedy." "But she never thought of refusing to accept the inheritance?" Isabel shrank back and said: "This—no one would do that." Poirot laughed and said: "No, I'm afraid not..." "You see, Monsieur Poirot," put in Julia, "she takes it as a trust in her—a sacred trust." "She'd love to give something to Mrs. Tanios or her children," Isabel continued, "but she doesn't want Mr. Tanios to take ownership." "She even said she could consider giving Theresa a living allowance." "I think it was very magnanimous of her to do so—considering how disrespectful the girl was always to her." "Indeed, Mr. Poirot, Minnie is the most Tanios. I won't say much. Of course you know her?" "Yes," said Poirot, "I know her. But I don't know—her present address." "Of course you don't know! What a fool I am! Shall I write the address down for you?" "I can write it myself." Poirot produced the notebook which he always used. "Cranroydon Flats, 17, W2, not far from Whiteley House. Will you say hello to her for us, please? We haven't heard from her lately." Poirot stood up, and I followed suit. "I should thank you both," said Poirot, "for the most touching conversation and for giving us my friend's address for your kindness." "I think the people at the Green House didn't tell you the address," cried Isabel. "It must be that Ellen! The servants are always so jealous and mean-spirited. They're always so mean to Minnie." Julia shook our hands like a lady. "It's nice to have you here," she said politely, "I didn't know..." She threw an inquiring color at her sister. "Your reason, maybe—" Isabel blushed slightly, "that is, would you like to stay and have dinner with us? It's a very simple dinner—some chopped lettuce, brown bread and butter, and fruit. " "It sounds delicious," said Poirot hastily, "but I'm sorry, but my friend and I have to hurry back to London."