Chapter 7 Chapter Seven, Thirteenth, Fourteenth, The Girl Huaichun Emotional Silk

"Mr Riley, is that really you?" The young Irishman was startled at the sound of the voice so close at hand. He turned around. Standing next to him at the counter of the steamship company was a little man with a big moustache and an egg head. "Perhaps you don't remember me?" "You are not being fair to yourself, M. Poirot. You are not easily forgotten." He turned around and said a few words to the clerk waiting at the counter. The voice nearby asked in a low voice, "Are you going abroad for vacation?" "I'm not on vacation. And yourself, M. Poirot? I hope you're not leaving the country?"

Hercule Poirot said: "Sometimes, I also go back to my home country—Belgium for a short stay." "I'm going a lot farther," Reilly said. "I'm going to America," he added, "and I don't think I'm coming back." "It's a pity to hear you say that, Mr Riley. Are you leaving the business in Queen Charlotte Street?" "It's easier to get to the point if you say it abandoned me." "Really? It's a pity." "I don't care. It makes me happy when I think I can put those debts behind me from now on."

He has a cute smile. "I'm not the type to shoot myself because I'm in debt. Put it all behind me and start over. I've got all the qualifications, which is pretty good for me." Poirot said softly: "I went to see Miss Morley the other day." "Is that a pleasure to you? Not to me. I've never seen a woman with such a sour face. I always wonder what she'll be like when she's drunk—but no one will ever know." .” Poirot asked: "Do you agree with the verdict of the jury in the death of your partner?" "No." Reilly answered decisively.

"Do you think he can make no mistakes with his injections?" Reilly said, "If Molly gave the Greek as much as they say, he's either drunk or meant to kill the man. But I haven't seen Molly yet." drinking." "Then you think he intended to kill?" "Don't say that. It's a serious allegation. Seriously, I just don't believe it." "There must be a reason, right?" "There should be—but I haven't thought of it." Poirot asked: "When was the last time you saw Molly alive for sure?" "Let me see, it's been a long time since I've been asked about it. It must have been the night before—about a quarter to seven."

"Did you not see him the day of the accident?" Riley shook his head. "Are you sure?" asked Poirot. "Oh, I'm not sure. I can't remember—" "For example, at about thirty-five past eleven, he had a patient at his place, and you went up to his room." "You're right. I've been. I had a technical question for him about a couple of instruments that were being negotiated for an order. They called me. But I was only there a while, so I don't remember. He was a patient at the time." Poirot nodded, and added: "I have been meaning to ask you a question. Your patient, Mr. Rex, gave up his appointment and left. What did you do with your spare half an hour?"

"As I always do whenever I have time. Make yourself a glass of wine. I told you what happened next. I answered a phone call and went upstairs to Molly's for a while." Poirot said: "I also know that you have had no patients from half-past twelve to one since Mr. Barnes left. By the way, when did he leave?" "Oh! it's just after half-past twelve." "What did you do after that?" "Same as before. Made myself another drink!" "And then went upstairs to Molly?" Mr Riley smiled. "You mean I went upstairs and killed him? I told you that long ago, and I didn't. You may as well believe it to be true."

Poirot asked: "What do you think of the parlor maid, Agnes?" Riley stared at him. "That's a ridiculous question." "But I want to know." "Then I'll tell you. I never thought of her. Georgina was very strict with the maids--and with good reason. The girl never looked me in the eye--it was bad manners on her part." .” "I have a feeling," said Hercule Poirot, "that the girl knows something." He looked inquiringly at Mr. Riley.The latter smiled and shook his head. "Don't ask me," he said, "I don't know anything. I can't help you."

He put away the ticket in front of him, nodded, smiled and left. Poirot explained to the disappointed clerk that he had decided not to take part in the northern city tour. Poirot visited Hampstead again.Mrs. Adams might have been a little surprised to see him.Speaking of which, she regarded him as a "queer little foreign man" and paid little attention to his visit, although the chief detective from Scotland Yard had vouched for Poirot's popularity.However, she is more than willing to talk. After the first sensational reports about the autopsy, little has been made of the search.The autopsy was wrong - Mrs Chapman's body was wrongly identified as that of Miss Sainsbury Seale.That's all the society knows.The fact that Miss Sainsbury Seale may have been the last person to see the unfortunate Mrs Chapman alive cannot be overemphasized.There was also no suggestion in the press that Sainsbury Seale might be wanted by police in connection with the crime.

Mrs. Adams was heartily relieved to learn that the dramatically discovered body was not her friend.It seemed she didn't find anything suspicious about Maybelle Sainsbury Seale. "But it is strange that she should disappear like this. I am sure, M. Poirot, that she has lost her memory." Poirot replied that it was quite possible.He had heard of such cases. "Yes—I think of a friend of my cousin's, who had a lot of people watching over her and thinking about her, and yet this happened. Amnesia, I think they call it that." Poirot said he believed it was an academic term.

After a pause he asked Mrs Adams if she had ever heard Miss Sainsbury Seale talk of a Mrs Albert Chapman. No, Mrs. Adams did not recall her friend mentioning such a person.But, of course, Miss Sainsbury Seale didn't necessarily tell everyone she got acquainted with.Who is this Mrs. Chapman?Do the authorities have no idea who killed her? "It's still a mystery, ma'am."Poirot shook his head, and asked if Mrs. Adams had recommended Mr. Morley to Miss Sainsbury Seale. Mrs. Adams replied in the negative.She herself saw Mr French in Harley Street, and if Maybelle asked about her dentist she would send her to him.

Perhaps, Poirot thought, it was Mrs. Chapman who had introduced Morley to Miss Sainsbury Seale. Mrs. Adams agreed that it was also possible.Didn't they check it out at the dentist? But Poirot had already asked Miss Neville the question, and Miss Neville did not know or could not remember.She remembered Mrs. Chapman, but thought the latter had never mentioned a Miss Sainsbury Seale--a queer name which, if she had heard it before, she would have remembered. Poirot asked the question profoundly. Mrs Adams first met Miss Sainsbury Seale in India, didn't she?Mrs. Adams said so. Did Mrs Adams know that Miss Sainsbury Seale had seen Mr or Mrs Brent while in India? "Oh, I don't think so, Monsieur Poirot. The big banker you mean? They went there some years ago and lived with the Governor, but I'm sure if Maybelle had actually seen them, she'd Will talk about it or mention them." Mrs. Adams, with a half-smile on her face, added: "I'm afraid people tend to bring up important people a lot. We're all snobs at heart." "Did she never mention the Blunts—especially Mrs. Blunt?" "there has never been." "If she's a good friend of Mrs. Brent's, maybe you'll know about it?" "Ah, yes. But I don't believe she'd ever known someone like that. Maybelle's friends are ordinary—like us both." "Ma'am, I beg to differ."said Poirot with courage. Mrs Adams talked of Maybelle Sainsbury Seale as one talks of a friend who has just died.She recalled everything about Maybelle: the good she had done, her kindness, her work for the community, her zeal, her sincerity. Hercule Poirot listened.As Japp said, Maybel Sainsbury Seale was a real person.She had lived in Calcutta, taught oratory, and worked among the local people.She was a respectable person, with good intentions, maybe a little fussy, a little goofy, but still a woman with a heart of gold. Mrs. Adams babbled on: "She's too enthusiastic about everything, M. Poirot. She finds people really cold—it's hard to arouse their feelings. It's hard to get donations from people—and because of the income tax Raising money, increasing living expenses, etc., fundraising is getting harder every year. She said to me once, 'When a person knows how much money can be used for - how many wonderful good things can be done with it. —Oh, indeed, Alice, I do sometimes feel that I would have committed a crime to have it', M. Poirot, and doesn't that say how deeply she feels?" "She said that?" said Poirot thoughtfully. Then he asked casually when Miss Sainsbury Seale had said that, and answered that it was about three months ago. He left the house and walked slowly, lost in thought. He was thinking about the character of Maybelle Sainsbury Seale. A nice guy--warm and kind--and a decent woman.And it is in these types of men that Mr. Barnes thinks the hidden sinner can be found. She had come back from India in the same boat as Mr. Amberiozzi.And there was reason to believe that she had lunched with him at the Savoy Hotel. She had made friends with Alistair Brent, said she knew him, and claimed to know his wife very well. She made two visits to King Leopold's apartment, where a body was later found wearing her clothes and with her handbag so they could be identified. But this is too convenient! After speaking to the police, she left the Glengowell Court Hotel abruptly. Can the conjecture that Hercule Poirot is confident to be correct explain and explain all this? He thinks it can. On the way home Poirot was completely occupied with this meditation until he reached Razin Park.He decided to walk a part of the way across the park on foot before hailing a cab.From past experience, he knew that whenever he put on these beautiful leather shoes and walked up to the point where his feet started to ache, he always had a wonderful moment. It was a lovely summer's day, and Poirot looked indulgently at the amorous nurses and their lovers, laughing and giggling, while the carelessness of the nurses benefited the little ones in their charge. The dogs were barking, jumping and playing. The little boys rowed the boat. And under almost every tree, there is a man and a woman sitting next to each other. "Ah! Jeunesse, jeunesse (French: youth, youth)", Poirot muttered in his mouth, he was deeply affected by the pleasant scene before him. They're so dainty, these London girls.They wore gaudy dresses with a sort of flamboyance. However, he felt sadly that their figures were lacking.Where are the plump curves and voluptuous figures that formerly delighted the admirer? He, Hercule Poirot, thought of women.A woman in particular--what a noble life that is--a bird of paradise--a Venus--is there one of these beautiful girls of today who can match Vera Roskov How about the Countess?A Russian nobleman of pure blood, a real nobleman!He remembered her as a complete thug--a genius--with a sigh Poirot jerked his thoughts away from the beautiful dream. He noticed that under the green trees of Leijin Park, there were not only little nurses and lovers who were courting them. Under the lime tree, there was a richly dressed girl, and a young man bowed his head close to her, imploring her passionately. One cannot just give in like this!He hoped the girl would understand this, that the pleasure of the chase must last as long as possible— His eyes were still watching them lovingly, and suddenly, he realized that the two looked familiar. So Jeanne Olivia came to Rezine Park to meet her young American Revolutionary? There was a sudden sadness in his face, and it became rather severe. After only a brief hesitation, he crossed the grass and came to them. He took off his hat as if in a play, and said: "Bonjour, mademoiselle (French: hello, miss)" He felt that Jane Olivia was not too unhappy to see him. Howard Rex, on the contrary, was very annoyed by his presence. He shouted: "So it's you again!" "Good afternoon, M. Poirot," said Jenny, "what a surprise, do you always jump out so suddenly?" "Like a doll's box," Rex said.He was still looking at Poirot with the utmost indifference. "I'm not disturbing you?" asked Poirot worriedly. Jeanne Olivia said kindly: "No no no." Howard Rex was noncommittal. "You have found a good place here," said Poirot. "It would have been nice," said Mr. Rex. Jenny said, "Don't talk, Howard. You need to learn to be polite." Howard Rex snorted, "What's the use of being polite?" "You'll find it's good for you," said Jenny, "and I don't get much out of it myself, but it doesn't matter. First of all, I'm rich, I'm average, and I have a lot of influential people. Friends—none of them are the incompetent wretches that the adverts are talking about now. I can get by without manners." Rex said, "I'm not in the mood for this homely chatter, Jenny. I think I'm going." He stood up, nodded curtly to Poirot, and strode away. Jenny Olivia stared at his receding back, resting her chin on her palm. Poirot sighed: "My God, that proverb is so true. In love, two are together, three are not, are they not?" Jenny said, "Love? See what you say!" "Isn't it? That's the right word. Don't people call them lovers when a young man pursues a young girl before he proposes her?" "People around you are probably always saying ridiculous things." Hercule Poirot whispered softly as if singing: "Thirteen, fourteen, the girl is in love with spring. You see, everyone around us is doing this." Jenny answered sharply: "Forget it—I think I'm just one of a group of people—" She turned suddenly to Poirot. "I want to apologize to you. I made a mistake that day. I thought you got in, and went to Evergreen just to spy on Howard. But then Uncle Alistair told me that he did invite you, Because he wants you to find out about the missing woman - Sainsbury Seale. That's all, isn't it?" "Completely correct." "So I'm sorry for what I said that night. But you know, it does look like that. I mean—like you're really following Howard, and spying on us both." "Even if it were true, ma'am--I'd still be an excellent witness to the bravery of Mr. Rex in saving your uncle's life by throwing himself on the murderer and saving your uncle from the first Second shot." "You have a strange way of talking, M. Poirot. I never know when you mean it and when you don't." Poirot said seriously: "I am very serious at this time, Miss Olivia." Jenny's voice trembled a little: "Why are you looking at me like that? As if—as if you're feeling sorry for me?" "Miss, maybe that's because I'm sorry about what I'll have to do soon—" "Ah, then—don't do it!" "Oh, miss, but I must—" She looked at him for a moment, then said: "You—found the woman?" Poirot said: "Let's put it this way—I know where she is." "Is she dead?" "I didn't say that." "So she's still alive?" "I never said that either." Jenny looked at him angrily.She cried, "Well, she's got to be one of the two, isn't she?" "It's actually not that simple." "I'm sure you really like to complicate things on purpose!" "It's what people say about me," Hercule Poirot admitted. Jenny shuddered.She said, "Isn't it strange? It's so warm—and I suddenly feel cold—" "Perhaps you'd better get up and walk around, miss." Jenny stood up.She hesitated for a moment, then said suddenly: "Howard wants me to marry him. Right away, without anyone knowing. He said—he said there was no choice for me—because I was too weak—" She suddenly He stopped talking, and grasped Poirot's arm tightly with astonishing strength, "What should I do, M. Poirot?" "Why do you want me to advise you? You have someone closer!" "Mother? Such a blunt thought would make her call the roof down! Uncle Alistair? He'd say, slowly and drawnly, 'There's plenty of time, dear. You know, everything You can't do it until you know it well. There's something queer about that fellow—that's your young man. There's a misstep in haste—'" "And your friends?" suggested Poirot. "I don't have any friends. Just a bunch of straight-up goofy guys who drink and dance and talk air-to-air buzz! Howard's the only real guy I've ever met." "But—why do you have to ask me, Miss Olivia?" Jenny said: "Because of that strange look on your face--like you're upset about something--like you know something--something--coming--" She stopped. "Uh," she asked, "what do you say?" Hercule Poirot shook his head slowly. As soon as Poirot entered the house, George said: "Sir, Inspector Japp is here." Japp grinned at Poirot somewhat dejectedly as he entered the room. "Here I am, old chap. Came to tell you, aren't you a marvel? How on earth do you do it? How do you think of such things?" "Just for that? But excuse me, how about a drink first? Wine? How about some whiskey?" "The whiskey will be full." A few minutes later, he raised his glass and said, "To Hercule Poirot who is always right!" "No, no, mon ami (French: my friend)." "We have a lovely suicide here. Hercule Poirot said it was murder—he hoped it was murder—damn it, it was murder!" "Ah, so you finally agree?" "Oh, no one can say that I'm stupid. It's not that I don't look at the evidence. The problem is that there was no evidence at all before." "Is there now?" "Yes, I'm here for what you call amende honorable (French: public apology), or to bring you some anecdotes to drink with." "I long with all my heart, my good Japp." "Well, here you go. The pistol Frank Carter used to shoot Brent on Saturday is the same one that killed Molly!" Poirot stared straight: "But this is too outrageous!" "Yes, it puts Mr. Frank in a rather bad position." "You can't draw conclusions from that." "Yes, but it is enough to make us reconsider the suicide ruling. It was a pair of foreign-made pistols, which is very unusual!" Hercule Poirot opened his eyes wide, his eyebrows curved like a crescent moon, and it took him a long time to say: "Frank Carter? No—never!" Japp let out a long, angry sigh. "What's the matter with you, Poirot? At first you insisted that Molly was murdered and not killed herself. Now I'm here to tell you that we agree with you, and you seem to be dissatisfied with it." .” "You really believe that Molly was killed by Frank Carter?" "That's quite reasonable. Carter's been holding a grudge against Molly--we're perfectly aware of that. He went to Queen Charlotte Street that morning--he later lied to tell his girl he'd got a job--but Now we find out that he didn't get a job at all at the time. He didn't get that job until later that day. Now he admits it. So that's Lie No. 1. He couldn't tell 12:25 Where was he after 10:00? According to himself, he was walking in the rue de Marille-le-Bonne, but the first thing that could be confirmed was that he was drinking in a tavern at 1:05. According to the barman, he He's got a weird look—his hands are shaking, and his face is as white as paper!" Hercule Poirot sighed and shook his head. He muttered: "That doesn't agree with me." "Then what is your opinion?" "What you told me really confuses me. It's so disturbing. Because, you see, assuming you're right—" The door opened gently, and George whispered respectfully, "I'm sorry, sir, but—" He could not go on, and Miss Gladys Neville took him aside and rushed into the room.she is crying. "Oh, M. Poirot—" "I'm leaving," Japp said hastily. He left the room hastily. Gladys Neville glared viciously at his back. "It's the man—the damn Scotland Yard detective—who puts everything on poor Frank." "Uh, uh, don't worry." "But he's in a hurry. They accuse him not of killing poor Molly, but of trying to kill Mr. Brent." Hercule Poirot cleared his throat and said, "You know, I was there when Brent was shot, at the Chateau." Gladys Neville was a little confused: "But even if Frank really-really did such a stupid thing-he's just a Jew-hater, you know-they'd just parade with the flag, respect Crazy courtesy, of course, I also think Mr Blunt's wife is a brilliant Jew, but these poor young men are just provocateurs - all socially harmless lads like Frank - —others make them believe they're doing something nice, patriotic." "Is this Mr. Carter's plea?" asked Hercule Poirot. "Oh no. Frank just swore he didn't do anything, he'd never seen that gun before. Of course, I didn't talk to him--they wouldn't let--he had a lawyer on his case, yes He told me what Frank said. Frank just said it was a false accusation." Poirot muttered softly: "Does the lawyer still think that his client should make up a more plausible story?" "Lawyers are difficult. They don't say anything straight. But I'm afraid he'll be charged with murder. Oh, M. Poirot, I'm sure Frank couldn't have killed Mr. Morley. I mean—he didn't." Any reason to do it." Poirot asked: "Did he not actually find work at all when he came that morning?" "Really, M. Poirot, I don't see that it makes any difference. It doesn't matter whether he gets the job in the morning or in the afternoon." Poirot said: "But he claims to have come to report his good fortune to you. It seems that he has not had good luck at that time. So, why did he come?" "Mr. Poirot, the poor man was very depressed and fretful, and, to tell the truth, I think he had a little drink. Poor Frank is very weak--drinking made him feel worse, and he wanted to-- — wanting to make a fuss, he went to Mr. Morley in Queen Charlotte Street to make it clear. Because, you know, Frank is very sensitive, and Mr. Morley's criticism of him upset him, and he said it was This reproach has poisoned my heart." "So he's going to make a big fuss during working hours?" "Oh—yes—I think that's what he thinks. Of course Frank's not right to think so." Poirot looked thoughtfully at the tearful blonde before him. He said, "Did you know that Frank Carter had a—or a pair of pistols?" "Oh, no, M. Poirot. I swear I don't know. I don't believe there is such a thing." Poirot shook his head slowly in bewilderment. "Oh, M. Poirot, help us. I think you're on our side—" Poirot said: "I take no side. I am only on the side of facts." Dismissing the girl, Poirot hung up on Scotland Yard.Japp hadn't returned, but Sergeant Beddoes was kind enough to provide information. Police have yet to find any evidence that the pistol was in Frank Carter's possession prior to the attack at Ayshazhuang. Poirot hung up the receiver thoughtfully.This is in Carter's favor.But that's all for now. He also had further details from Beddoes about Frank Carter's confession that he was employed as a gardener at Aysha.He stood by his claim that he worked as a secret agent.He gets an advance wage and will get a bonus according to his gardening skills.He was told to go to Mr. McAllister, Gardener, and apply for the position.His orders were to eavesdrop on other gardeners and report their "red" tendencies, and to play "red" himself.It was a woman who came to him, and she told him that she was QH56, and that he had been recommended to her as a staunch anti-communist.It was so dark when she came to talk to him that he felt he would not recognize her if he saw her again later.She is a red-haired woman with heavy makeup. Poirot could not help groaning.The taste of Phillips Oppenheimer is back. He wanted to ask Mr. Barnes again on the subject. As Mr. Barnes predicted, it happened. Evening mail brought him something even more disturbing. The cheap envelopes were addressed in childish handwriting and postmarked by Hertfordshire. Poirot took it apart and read: Dear Sir: I hope you'll forgive me for causing you trouble, but I'm worried and don't know what to do.I really don't want to have anything to do with the police at all.I thought maybe I should have told what I knew before, but they said the husband committed suicide, so that's all I thought.And I didn't want to put Miss Neville's young man in trouble, and never really thought he did.But now I hear he seems to have been arrested for shooting a gentleman in the country, and maybe he's out of his mind.I should have said it but I feel more inclined to write to you because you are a friend of the hostess and asked me specifically the other day if there was any business, and of course now I wish I had told you then.But I do hope it doesn't get mixed up with the police because I don't like that and neither does my mom.She has always been very strict with me. Sincerely, Agnes Fletcher Poirot muttered: "I already knew who it was related to. I guessed the wrong person, that's all."