Chapter 6 Chapter 6 Eleven, Twelve, people with brains can think about things

After a rough night, Hercule Poirot rose early the next morning for a walk.The weather was fine, and he followed the path he walked yesterday. The herbaceous beds were very beautiful, and although Poirot himself preferred a more regular style of arrangement - like the neat beds of red geraniums he had seen at Ostern - he still admitted that This is the perfect embodiment of the spirit of British gardening. He walked through the rose garden, where the neat appearance of the nursery pleased his eyes—and around the rock garden with its alpine rock plants, and finally into the walled vegetable garden.

Here he saw a stocky woman in a tweed blouse and skirt, with bushy eyebrows and black hair cropped short, speaking in a low, heavily Scottish accent with a man who was clearly the gardener. people talking.Poirot noticed that the steward did not seem to be enjoying the conversation. Poirot heard a sarcastic inflection in Helene Monteresor's voice, and he dodged swiftly into a side path, and walked away. A gardener began digging vigorously, and Poirot doubted that he had probably been sitting on his shovel just now to catch his breath.Poirot came closer.The lad dug with laboring zeal, his back turned to Poirot, who had stopped to observe him.

"Good morning!" Poirot greeted cordially. An indistinct murmur of "Good morning, sir" was the answer, and the man still did not stop. Poirot was a little surprised. In his experience, even if he wanted to show how hard he worked in front of others, the general gardener was willing to stop and kill some time when others greeted him. Looks a little out of the ordinary, he thought.He stood there for a few minutes, watching the busy figure.Hercule Poirot thought: Isn't this turning of the shoulders familiar?Or, couldn't it be that he himself is forming a habit of always feeling familiar with voices and shoulders that don't really matter?Could it be that, as he had feared last night, he was growing old?

He walked thoughtfully forward out of the wall of the vegetable garden, where he stopped to observe a clump of sloping shrubs. Soon, like a strange moon, a round object slowly rose above the wall of the vegetable garden.It was the egg-like head of Hercule Poirot.Hercule Poirot's eyes rested with interest on the now-retired gardener, who was mopping his drenched face with his sleeve. "It's very strange, very interesting," Poirot murmured, carefully lowering his head off the wall again. He emerged from the bushes and brushed off the twigs and leaves that interfered with his cleanliness.

Yes, it was odd and amusing that Frank Carter, the undercover country man, was working as a gardener for Alistair Brent. While analyzing these situations in his mind, Hercule Poirot heard a bell ringing in the distance, so he turned around and walked towards the villa along the same road. On the way he came across his master talking to Mademoiselle Monteresor who had just come out through the garden gate. When she pronounced the r sound, her uvula trembled and she made a rough guttural sound, and this Scottish accent was clearly transmitted. "Thank you for your kindness, Alistair, but, with your American relatives staying with you this week, I don't want to accept any invitations!"

Brent said: "Julia was acting inappropriately, but she didn't mean to—" Miss Monteresor was unimpressed, saying: "I think the way she's treated me has been brutal, and I don't tolerate any kind of rudeness—whether it's from an American woman or something else. who!" Miss Monteresor left, and Poirot approached, and found Alistair Blunt's face in the embarrassment of most men when they quarrel with their female relatives. He said despondently: "Women are devils! Good morning, M. Poirot. It's a lovely day, isn't it?" They walked towards the villa, and Brent sighed: "I miss my wife so much! "

In the dining room, he said to the daunting Julia, "Julia, I'm afraid you hurt Helen too much." Mrs. Olivia said grimly: "The Scots always get angry over little things." Alistair Brent looked unhappy. Hercule Poirot said: "I notice that you have a gardener whom I think you must have employed very recently." Brent said: "Well, my third gardener, Burton, left about three weeks ago, and we hired him." "Do you remember where he came from?" "I don't remember. It was McAllister who was in charge of him. Someone told me to try it out and recommended him enthusiastically. I was surprised because McAllister said he wasn't very good. I'm going to quit him."

"what is his name?" "Dunning--Sunbury--that's what it's called." "Isn't it impolite to ask how much you pay him?" Alistair Brent looked interested. "Nothing at all. Two pounds and fifty pence, I think." "that is all?" "Of course not more—perhaps a little less." Poirot said, "That's very strange." Alistair Brent looked at him curiously. But Jane Olivia disrupted the conversation by rattling the newspaper. "It seems that many people want your life, Uncle Alistair!" "Oh, you're reading the debates in the House. Nothing but Archerton - he's always trying to defeat evil that doesn't even exist. And he has the craziest views on finances. If we let him realize his That way, England would be bankrupt in a week."

Jenny said, "Don't you ever want to try something new?" "Unless it's an improvement over the old stuff, my dear." "But you always think it won't. You always say, 'This is absolutely not going to work' — without even trying." "Experimentalists are often harmful." "Yes, but how can you be content with the status quo? So much waste, inequality, injustice. Something has to be done about it!" "We're doing well in this country, Jenny, all things considered." Jenny said passionately: "What we need is a new world! And you, who are still sitting there calmly, are so calm!"

She got up and walked out of the French window into the garden. Alistair seemed a little taken aback, and a little uncomfortable. He said, "Jenny has been a lot lately. Where did she get these ideas?" "Don't pay attention to what Jenny says," said Mrs. Olivia. "Jenny is a silly girl. You know what girls are like—they go to parties in the art room where the men wear ridiculous ties and come back Talk a lot of nonsense." "Yes, but Jenny's always been pretty cool." "It's just a fad, Alistair, these things are in fashion!" "Yes, they're all the rage," said Alistair Brent.

He looked a little worried. Lady Olivia stood up and Poirot opened the door for her.She walked out with a frown and a posture. Alistair Blunt said suddenly: "You know, I don't like it! Everyone's talking nonsense! But it doesn't mean anything! It's all nonsense! I've always been disgusted with it myself-- Xintiandi, what exactly does this mean? They can't even explain it themselves! They are just intoxicated by the beautiful words." Suddenly he smiled sadly again. "I'm one of the last defenders, you know." Poirot asked curiously: "What would happen if you—were eliminated?" "Get rid of it! What are you talking about!" His face suddenly became gloomy. "I tell you, at that time, a lot of bloody fools would conduct a lot of expensive and troublesome experiments. The stable situation is also That's the end - there's no more common sense, no more solvency. In fact, that's the end of England as we know it." Poirot nodded.Essentially he feels the same way as the bankers.He was also in favor of a state being solvent.He began to see in a whole new sense what Alistair Brent really stood for.Mr. Barnes had told him, but he had hardly grasped it afterwards.Suddenly, he felt a wave of fear. Later that morning, Brent came out again. "I have finished my letter," said he, "and now, M. Poirot, I will show you my garden." The two went out together, and Brent spoke enthusiastically of his hobby. The rock garden planted with rare rock plants was his favorite place. They stopped there for a while, and Brent pointed out various rare and precious species from time to time. Hercule Poirot, wearing his best pair of leather shoes, listened patiently, gently shifting his weight from side to side on his feet, shrinking them from time to time.The warmth of the sun shines through the insteps, making people feel as if they are flipping two big puddings! The host continued to stroll and point out the various flowers and trees in the wide flower beds beside the road.The bees buzzed, and nearby there was the monotonous click of the shears trimming the laurel. There is an atmosphere of tranquility and peace all around. Brent stopped at the end of the flower bed and looked back.The sound of scissors was very close, but the person wielding the scissors could not be seen. "Take a look at the vista from here, Poirot. The carnations are growing very well this year. I've never seen them grow so well—those are Russell white lupines. What a color." Bah!Gunfire broke the morning silence.There were angry voices in the air.Alistair Brent turned and stared in bewilderment at a wisp of smoke rising from the laurel bushes. Suddenly there was a roar, and there was the sound of two men struggling in the laurel bushes.A tall American accent resolutely shouted: "I've got you, you bloody villain! Put the gun down!" The two hit outside.The young gardener who was diligently digging in the morning writhed under the strong hold of a man nearly a head taller. Poirot immediately recognized the man behind him.He had already guessed it from the voice. Frank Carter growled: "Let me go! I tell you it wasn't me! I didn't do it!" Howard Rex said, "Really? You're just shooting birds, then?" He stopped - he saw the two newcomers. "Mr. Alistair Blunt? This guy just shot you in the dark. Get me straight." Frank Carter exclaimed: "He's lying! I was trimming a hedge when I heard a gunshot and it fell right under my feet. I picked it up--it was nothing normal, but then the big man Jumped on me." Howard Rex said coldly: "The gun is in your hand, and it has just been fired!" With an unquestionable gesture he threw the gun to Poirot. "Let's hear what the detective has to say! Luckily I caught you in time. I guess you still have a few bullets in your automatic." Poirot said in a low voice: "Exactly." Frowning angrily, Brent said sharply, "Well, Deng Lun—Dunbury... what's your name?" Hercule Poirot interrupted: "The man's name is Frank Carter." Carter turned back and glared at him sharply. "You have been dissatisfied with me all the time, and you want to find a chance to harm me! You came to spy on me that Sunday! Tell you, this is not true, and I definitely did not shoot him." Hercule Poirot asked softly: "In that case, who did it?" He added: "Look, there's no one here but us." Jeanne Olivia came running along the flower path.Her hair is streamlined at the back of her head.Her eyes were wide open with fear.She called out breathlessly, "Howard?" Howard Rex said softly, "Hello, Jenny. I just saved your uncle's life." "Oh!" She stopped, "You saved him?" "Looks like you came at a good time, uh—what's your name—" Brent hesitated. "This is Howard Rex, Uncle Alistair. He's a friend of mine." Brent looks at Rex - he smiles. "Oh!" said he, "so you are Jenny's young man! I must thank you very much." Panting heavily like a high-pressure steam engine, Julia Olivia appeared in front of people.She said out of breath, "I heard a gunshot, was it Alistair—ah—" She stared at Howard Rex palely, "Is it you? Ah, ah, what are you dare?" Jenny said coldly, "Howard just saved Uncle Alistair's life, Mom." "What? I—I—" "This man was trying to kill Uncle Alistair, and Howard caught him and fired his gun." Frank Carter yelled furiously: "You bloody liars, you all!" Mrs. Olivia was so shocked that she couldn't close her mouth. She said blankly: "Oh!" It took a full minute or two to recover.She turned first to Brent. "My dear Alistair! It's terrible! God keep you safe. It was so sudden and terrible. I--I'm so stunned. I don't know--you think I can drink A little brandy?" Brent said quickly, "Of course. Go back to the villa." She took his arm and clung to it. Brent turned to Poirot and Howard Rex. "You bring that guy, can you?" he asked. "Let's call the police and hand him over to them." Frank Carter opened his mouth, but no words came out.His face was dead pale.Knees are also bent.Howard Rex's relentless hand tugged at him. "Come on, you," he said. Frank Carter muttered in a hoarse and unconvincing voice: "It's all a lie—" Howard Rex looked at Poirot. "As a domineering detective, you talk so little! Why don't you show your power?" "I was thinking, Mr. Rex." "I think you should think about it! I said you will lose your job because of this! Now Alistair Blunt is still alive, but this is not your credit." "This is the second time you've done such a good thing, isn't it, Mr. Rex?" "What do you mean?" "Just yesterday, didn't you, you also caught someone who you think shot Mr Blunt and the Prime Minister?" Howard Rex said: "Uh-yeah. Looks like I'm kind of addicted to it." "But the difference," Hercule Poirot pointed out, "was that yesterday you caught the man who actually fired the gun. You got it wrong." Frank Carter said angrily: "Now he's mistaken again." "Shut up!" Rex shouted. Hercule Poirot said to himself: "I suspect—" While getting dressed before dinner, Hercule Poirot adjusted his tie to perfect symmetry and looked wistfully at his reflection in the mirror. He wasn't satisfied - but he couldn't say why.The incident was very clear, as he himself admitted.Frank Carter was indeed caught red-handed. Not because he particularly trusted or liked Frank Carter.Carter, he thought without prejudice, was what the English called a "bastard," one of those nasty little thugs who would attract women, and who were loath to admit evidence against them that was all too obvious. And Carter's entire defense is extremely flimsy.The story was that he had been approached by someone who worked undercover—and offered him a lucrative job as a gardener, reporting on the conversations and activities of other gardeners.It's an easy story to debunk - it has no basis at all. It was a far-fetched invention—Poirot knew that a man like Carter would make it up. He had absolutely nothing to say on Carter's part, and could offer no credible explanation except that someone else must have fired the revolver.He kept repeating that it was framed. No, there was nothing to excuse Carter except that Howard Rex ran out every time a bullet missed Alistair Brent for two days, which seemed oddly coincidental. . But after scrutiny, there is no problem here.Rex certainly never fired a gun in Downing Street.There was a good reason for his presence here, too—he had come to be close to his girl.No, there is nothing completely impossible in his story. Of course, how things turned out was very lucky for Howard Rex.When a guy has just saved you from a bullet, you can't turn him away.At the very least, you have to be friendly and courteous.Obviously Lady Olivia didn't like it, but even she knew there was nothing much she could do about it. Jenny's unwelcome young man has got his foot in the door, and he's here to stay! Poirot watched him thoughtfully all evening. He played his part with great care.He didn't say anything subversive, he didn't talk politics at all.He told jokes about hitchhiking and hiking in the middle of nowhere.He was no longer a wolf, thought Poirot, no, he had put on a sheep's coat.But what about the heart?I suspect-- That evening Poirot was making his bed when there was a knock at the door.Poirot called, "Come in!", and Howard Rex entered. He saw Poirot's expression and laughed. "Surprised to see me? I've been watching you all night. I don't like the way you look at people. You always look thoughtful." "What worries you, my friend?" "I don't know, but it does disturb me. It seems to me that you're looking for something that's momentarily incomprehensible." "Eh bien (French: oh)? What if it's what you expected?" "So I decided I'd better clear things up. I mean, about yesterday. It was all a show! You see, I was watching the lord come out of Downing Street when I spotted Ramla Ral shot at him. I know Ramlal. He's a nice guy. A little emotional, but he sees the crux of India's problems. He didn't hurt anyone, and those two golden diehards didn't get shot So--the bullets were miles away from them--so I decided to put on a play, and hoped the little Indian would get it. I grabbed a shabby little thing beside me and yelled, I've got the bad guy, Hope Ramlal gets away. But the cops are so smart. They knew right away it was him. That's the way it is, see?" Hercule Poirot asked: "And today?" "That's not the same thing. There's no Ramlal here today. Just Carter. He must have fired the shot! The gun was still in his hand when I jumped at him. I think he's about to fire a second shot." gun." Poirot said: "Do you wish very much to preserve the life of Mr. Alistair Blunt?" Rex grinned -- he had a charming smile. "It's kind of weird to hear me say that, isn't it? Oh, I admit, I think Brent's a damn thing--but for the sake of progress and humanity--not just him Personally - he'd be a good old British guy. That's what I thought, so when I saw someone shoot him badly, I intervened. It shows how much of an animal man is. It's illogical. It's crazy, isn't it?" "The gap between theory and practice is wide." "I think so too!" Mr. Rex got up from the bed on which he had been sitting. His smile is frank and sincere. "I just thought," he said, "that I should come and explain things to you." He stepped out, closing the door carefully behind him. "'Deliver me, O Lord, from the wicked, and keep me from the violent'." Lady Olivia sang loudly, a little out of tune. She sang this speech clearly, and there was something less kind in her singing, which enabled Hercule Poirot to deduce that Mr. Howard Rex was the rapist in her heart at this time. Hercule Poirot accompanied his host and family to morning service in the country church. Howard Rex had asked with a hint of sarcasm: "So you always go to church, Mr. Blunt?" And Alistair murmured vaguely that people always expect you to do that in the country - you know, you can't disappoint the vicar - but this kind of standard British affection just confuses young people, It also made Poirot smile knowingly. Lady Olivia graciously sided with her master, and ordered Jenny to do the same. "'They made their tongues sharp as snakes,'" the choir boys shrieked at the highest notes, "'And they had the poison of asps in their mouths.'" The people's high notes and low notes mingled and sang vigorously: "'Delivery me, O Lord, from the hand of the wicked, and preserve me from the violent. They seek to overthrow me.'". Hercule Poirot tried a hesitant baritone. "'The proud men have laid a snare and a rope for me,'" he sang: "'They laid their nets by the wayside, babble, set a trap--'" He opened his mouth and couldn't close it. He saw it--clearly saw the trap he had so short of falling into! An elaborate trap--a net with ropes--was stretched out at his feet--laid with great delicacy for him to fall into. Hercule Poirot kept his mouth open and looked up into the sky like a fool.He stood there as the congregation clattered down, until Jeanne Olivia tugged at his arm and snapped softly, "Sit down." Hercule Poirot sat down.An elderly priest with a beard intoned, "Now begins the fifteenth chapter of 1 Samuel," and began to read. But Poirot heard nothing of the attack on the Amalekites. He was completely dazzled--in this brilliant dazzle, isolated facts swirled haphazardly here and there, and at last fell neatly into their proper places. It was a kaleidoscope—shoe buckles, size nine stockings, ruined faces, poor literary taste in Alfred the page, Mr. Amberiozzi's conduct, and the late Mr. Morley's part, All these things floated up in my mind, whirled around and settled down again, forming a coherent and orderly pattern. Hercule Poirot began to see the case in its proper light for the first time. "'The sin of disobedience is equal to that of witchcraft, and the sin of obstinacy is equal to that of idolatry and idolatry. You have rejected the command of the LORD, and the LORD has rejected your reign.' The first lesson says Here." The aged pastor finished the sentence in a trembling voice. As in a dream, Hercule Poirot stood up and sang hymns to praise God's grace.