Chapter 3 Chapter Three Accidents

From this moment on, the atmosphere is different.Until now, Poirot and the girl had never been able to talk together.They were so far apart in age that his fame and popularity had no effect on her - her generation only knew the prominent men who were now in power.She made fun of his solemn warnings.To her, he was just a funny old foreign guy with a head full of dramatic whimsy. This embarrassed Poirot very much, chiefly because it hurt his pride.He has always believed that his great name is known to everyone in the world, but here is a girl who knows nothing about it.I am privately thankful that the cold water has been poured into people's hearts, but it can't be said to be of any help to what is happening now.

The disappearance of the pistol changed the situation at once.Nick stopped seeing all this as a good joke, but she still didn't think the pistol's disappearance was a big deal.It is her character to be indifferent to everything.But from her demeanor, it could be seen that she had something on her mind after all. She came and sat on the arm of one of the chairs, and said, frowning thoughtfully, "It's a strange thing." Poirot turned his head towards me. "Do you remember, Hastings, when I left the hotel that I said I had a thought? It now appears that my unspoken thought was correct. Let us imagine that the lady was shot and lay in the hotel in her garden. She would not be seen for a short time, for it was so lonely there. And at her hand—was a pistol of her own (which the honorable Mrs. Ellen would no doubt recognize). And so The unfortunate event would then be seen quite naturally as a suicide due to anxiety, worry, or insomnia."

Nick moved uncomfortably. "It's true. I'm pissed off and everyone says I look nervous and jumpy. Yeah - that's what they say..." "So he killed himself. There were no other fingerprints on the pistol but the lady's—yes, everything is so simple and convincing." "It was fun!" Nick said.But I'm glad to see that she doesn't really think it's much fun. Poirot ignored her tone of voice, and went on: "Is it? But you must understand, miss, that such a game must never be repeated. Four times it failed, and the fifth time it might succeed!"

"Get the coffin ready," Nick murmured. "But we're here, me and my friend. We've got a way to save you." I appreciate that he said "we" instead of "I".Poirot sometimes ignored my presence at all. "Yes," I said, "don't be afraid, Miss Buckley, we'll protect you." "You guys really care about me," Nick said, "but I always find it totally inexplicable. It's so, so creepy." She still pretended to be indifferent, but there was worry in her eyes. "The first thing we have to do now," said Poirot, "is to get acquainted with the situation."

He sat down and smiled at her tenderly and kindly. "First of all, miss, do you have any enemies?" Nick shook his head regretfully, as if having no enemies was a sorry thing to Poirot. "I'm afraid not," she said apologetically. "Okay, we can rule that out. Now, we're going to ask a question that always pops up in movies or detective stories: Miss, who benefits if you die?" "I can't think of it," said Nick, "and that's what makes it all seem ridiculous. Of course, I still have this forbidding rotten house, but it's also mortgaged. The roof leaks, and there's nothing under the foundation." What mine."

"It's mortgaged? What's going on?" "I had to mortgage it. You see, we were taxed twice, one right after the other. First my grandfather died, and then my brother was six years later. The two estate taxes were almost Call me bankrupt." "Where's your father?" "He came home after being crippled in the war. Then he died of pneumonia in 1919. My mother died earlier, where I was a baby. I live here with my grandfather. My grandfather and my father I couldn't get along, so my father set me up here and wandered the world. Gerald—that's my brother—couldn't get along with my grandfather. I bet I wouldn't get along with my grandfather if I was a boy, either, I Fortunately, it was a woman. Grandpa often said that he and I were cast out of the same mold with the same material, and his temperament was passed down to me." She laughed when she said this. "He was a dreadful old rake, but he's had a good life. They say he's got a touch of gold around here. He's a gambler, too, but he always loses. When he died, there was nothing but this house and this There was almost nothing but a piece of land. I was sixteen and my brother Gerald was twenty-two. Gerald died in a motorcycle accident three years ago, and the estate passed to me."

"And after you, Miss? Who are your closest relatives?" "My cousin Charles Weiss. He's a lawyer in the neighborhood, a gentleman, but not very clever, and he's always giving me a lot of advice, and devising tricks to get me out of my profligate temper." "He takes care of things for you—eh?" "Yes, if you will. I don't have a lot of business to attend to, and he settled the mortgage for me, and asked me to let the porter's cottage." "Oh, the porter's cottage, I was about to ask about that. Is it rented?" "Yes, to a family of Australians named Crofts. They're full of energy, good-natured, and a lot of that sort of thing. They're unbearable in expressing their concern for people at every opportunity, and they're always bringing fresh celery. , fresh peas, and a whole host of other things. They made a fuss when they saw me leaving my garden uncultivated. They didn't even think about being kind, just opened it. Mouth, the kindest words come crashing down on you like Victoria Falls. At least that's the way the old man is. It's annoying. His woman's a cripple, and she lays on the couch all day, pitifully. Whatever After all, they pay their rent on time anyway, and that's the most important thing."

"How long have they been here?" "Oh, it's been about half a year." "Well, I see. So, except for your relative—by the way, is he a relative on your father's side or your mother's?" "Mother's. My mother's name is Amy Weiss." "So, besides this cousin, do you have any other relatives?" "There are also some distant paternal relatives in Yorkshire, all named Buckley." "No more?" "there is none left." "You are so lonely." "Lonely? What a strange idea. I don't live here often, you know. I live in London a lot. What's good about relatives? They're such a pain in the ass and always think they have a right to meddle in your affairs. Alone." It’s so much more free to be alone.”

"I don't want to waste my sympathy. I get it. You're a modern girl, miss. Now talk about your family." "Family? How grand that sounds! It's actually Ellen and her husband. Her husband is not a very good gardener. I pay them very little because I let them take their children with them. When I lived Ellen helps me with the housework while I'm here. I'll get someone else to come and help if I have a party. I'm going to have a treat next Monday, by the way. There's a regatta here next week." "Next Monday, well, today is Saturday. So, miss, how are your friends? Like the ones you lunched with today?"

"Freddie Rice - the girl with the light hair - was my best friend. She lived a terrible life. She married a beast, an unspeakable monster, and a drunk Drugs again. She had to separate from him a year or two ago. She's been hanging around since. God, I hope she divorces him and marries Jim Lazarus." "Lazarus? The one with the art shop on Bond Street?" "Yes. Jim's an only son, rich. Did you see his car? He's a Jew, but he's a nice guy, and he's in love with Freddie, and he's running around with her. They're spending weekends at Maggie's, Come here on Monday."

"And what about Mrs. Rice's husband?" "The guy? Why, he's gone. Nobody knows where he is. That's got Freddie in a lot of trouble. You can't get a divorce with a husband you can't see." "certainly." "Poor Freddie," said Nick morosely, "she had bad luck. Once the bird flew away. She managed to find him that time and told him about the divorce." He did. He said he was all for it, except that he didn't even have the money to take a woman to a hotel and she gave him all the money--and when he got the money he went away and was never heard from again. I call that meanness. " "My God!" I sighed. "Alas, my friend Hastings is frightened," said Poirot. "You must be careful what you say, madam. He is a gentleman of good old style. Not used to the modern language." "Oh, what's the surprise?" Nick said, eyes widening. "I mean, everybody knows there's that kind of guy in the world. But I call this guy a scumbag. Poor Fred Reddy is penniless and has nowhere else to go." "Yes, it's not a pleasant thing. Where's your other friend, the honorable Colonel Challenger?" "George? I've known him for a long time. I've seen him more closely in the last five years. He's a nice guy." "Does he want you to marry him? Eh?" "He brings it up to me a lot." "But you have been unmoved." "What's the use of him marrying me? Both of us have purses that thieves wouldn't care about, and George would be a pain in the ass. He's telling you naive things about ball games and school life and all that stuff all day long." as if he were not forty but fourteen." I turned my face away when I heard this statement. "Yes, one foot is already in the grave," said Poirot. "Oh, don't mind it, madam, I am a grandfather, an old man with nothing. Now tell me a little more about this chain of events." A case of accident. Take that portrait, for example." "I rehung it. This time with a new rope. Come and see if you like." She led us out of the living room and upstairs into her bedroom.The portrait that had come close to catastrophe was a painting in a heavy frame that hung just above the head of the bed. "Permit me, madam," said Poirot vaguely, and taking off his shoes, he stood up on the bed.He checked the painting and the rope, tried the weight of the painting carefully, and came down, grimacing gracefully. "It's no pleasure to drop something like this on your head, miss. Is it the same wire rope that is used to hang this picture before?" "Yes. But not as thick. This time I used a thicker one." "Have you checked that wire rope for a broken end? Was it frayed?" "I suppose so. But I didn't pay attention at the time. Why should I pay attention to such things?" "Certainly. I'd love to see that rope. Is it still there?" "I told the man who put the new rope on me to throw it away." "What a pity. It would be nice to have a look." "You still don't think it was an accident? Could it be something else?" "Well, maybe. Was it an accident that broke the brakes on your car? And the rocks rolling off the cliff—I'd like to see that place." Nick took us through the garden to the cliff.This is the cliff.The sea shone blue below us.There is a steep path leading from here to the reef below which can be used for diving.Nick pointed out the spot where the stone rolled down.Poirot nodded thoughtfully, then asked: "How many ways into your garden, miss?" "There is a main road through the porter's hut, and halfway down that road, there is a side door in the fence for traders to enter and exit. From here, there is another door on the edge of the cliff, and there is a 'zigzag' path It leads to the waterfront in front of Maggie's Hotel, and then you can go through a gap into the hotel garden. That's the way I took this morning. It's a short way to go to town through that garden." "Where does your gardener usually work?" "He's usually grinding around the kitchen, or else pretending to be sharpening his scissors in the shed where the pots are kept." "On the other side of the house? Then if someone came here and pushed that stone, no one would see it." Nick shuddered. "Do you really think so?" she asked, "but I can't believe it. Because no one can profit from killing me." Poirot took the bullet from his pocket and said gently: "It's not a useless thing, miss." "It must have been done by a madman." "It's possible. Is it possible to think that all criminals are mad? That would be a wonderful topic for an after-dinner conversation. Criminals may have a slightly deformed brain, yes, very likely. But that's a subject for doctors to study. As for me, I have Different job to do. I want to care and protect the innocent not the murderer. Now I care about you, miss, not the criminal who hides and hides. You are young and beautiful, living in the bright sunshine And joy, life and love lie ahead. That's all I think of. Tell me, miss, how long have your friends, Mrs. Rice and Mr. Lazarus, been here?" "Freddie came on Wednesday. She stayed two nights near Tavistock with some friends, and arrived at Maggie's yesterday. Jim's been traveling, I believe." "Where is Colonel Challenger?" "He's in Devonport and drives here whenever he can - usually on weekends." Poirot nodded.We strolled towards the house.After a while of silence he suddenly said: "Have you any friends upon whom you can trust, madam?" "Freddy." "Except for her?" "Then I don't know. I suppose there are always some. Why?" "Because I want you to have a reliable friend living with you—and at once!" "what--" Nick looked surprised.She pondered in silence, then said hesitantly: "And Maggie. I think I can get her." "Who's Maggie?" "One of my second cousins ​​in Yorkshire. They were a big family, headed by a clergyman. Maggie was about my age. I sometimes had her come and stay for a few days in the summer. She was a rather dull person, chaste Absolutely. Not so rustic because the way the hair happens to be in the trendy style. I thought I wouldn't have her this year." "No, madam, very well! Your cousin is just the kind of person I wish I could find for your company." "Well," sighed Nick, "I'll wire her up, and I honestly can't think of anyone else I could find. Everyone's all too busy with their own business. As long as there isn't any singing going on over there." Classes, excursions, or moms' parties, she's sure to come. But what do you want her to do?" "Can you ask her to share a bedroom with you?" "I think so." "Won't she think this request is weird?" "Oh, no. Magee never wanted to, she just did--do it seriously, you know, put her head down piously and steadfastly to that church work. Well, I'll wire her up on Monday." "Why don't you ask her to come tomorrow?" "Sunday train? She'll think I'm dying when I get a telegram like that. No, Monday. Are you going to tell her that disaster is hovering over me?" "Still kidding? I'm glad to see you so brave." "Anyway, for a change," Nick said. There was something indescribable in her voice that caught my attention, and I looked at her curiously, feeling that she hadn't told us everything.We went into the living room again.Poirot was flipping through the newspaper on the sofa. "Do you see this, miss?" he asked suddenly. ""Saint-Loup Weekly"? Just look through it casually. Look at the tide news. There are forecasts for the tide conditions every week." "That's right. By the way, miss, have you ever made a will?" "It did. About half a year ago, when I was about to be stabbed." "What? Knife?" "Operation, cecum removal. Someone said I should make a will, so I did. It makes me feel like I'm still important." "What does the will say?" "I left Cliff House to Charles, and the rest—what you may call 'chattles'—was running out, and I left it all to Freddie. I think I left more debts than property, real." Poirot nodded noncommittally. "I'm taking my leave. Good-bye, miss. Take care of yourself." "Watch out for what?" "You're very clever, but don't let your cleverness ruin you. Where to be careful, you ask? Who can tell? But first you have faith, miss. I'll make it all clear in a few days." "Until then, I'm going to be wary of poison, bombs, cold shots, car accidents, and the poisoned arrows of the South American Indians. Right?" Nick blurted out a long list. "Don't play with your life, mademoiselle," said Poirot gravely. When he got to the door, he turned around and said: "One more question, how much would Mr. Lazarus pay for a portrait of your grandfather?" "Fifty pounds." "Ah," said Poirot, turning his head to study the sullen face in the portrait on the mantelpiece. "But I've told you I won't sell the old prodigal to anyone else." "Yes," said Poirot thoughtfully, "yes, I understand."

---

Notes: