Chapter 4 Chapter 4 There are still unknowns

"Poirot," said I, once we were on the road, "there is something you should know." "Which thing? My friend?" I told him Mrs. Rice's opinion of the brake accident. "Ah, that's very interesting," said Poirot after hearing this. "Yes, there is that kind of crazy person who can think up all kinds of fantastic stories of escape from death, and insist on being believed. Yes, everyone knows that." There are people who would go so far as to bleed themselves to prove the truth of his lurid and absurd story." "Don't you think..."

"Miss Nick? No, you saw it yourself, Hastings. We went to great lengths to convince her of the danger of her situation. To the last she half-believed it as a A farce. She's a product of this new era, but Mrs. Rice's words are interesting. Why does she say that? She's lying when it's true, and she didn't have to bring up the brake failure on that occasion. It's not wise." "Yes," I said, "I see no reason for her to force this into the conversation." "It's a queer thing. Yes, a queer thing. I'd like to see all kinds of queer things come one after another. They're meaningful and clueful."

"Clue! What clue?" "You must seize the doubt without losing the opportunity, my incomparable Hastings. As for the clue, who knows now?" "Tell me, Poirot," I said, "why do you insist that she find a relation to live with?" Poirot stopped, pointed at me with his forefinger, and said: "Think about it," said he, "we only have to think a little, Hastings. How many obstacles we have, how much we are bound! It's no problem to hunt for the murderer after the crime has been committed. At least as far as I'm concerned It's easy to say. The process of the murderer's murder is also the process of his signature and surname. But there is no case here-of course, there is nothing better than peace. But before a case occurs, go to the Detecting it is indeed like falling into a sea of ​​smoke, it is very difficult.

"What's the first object we're trying to achieve? The lady's safety. It's not easy, yes, it's not easy, Hastings. We can't keep an eye on her from morning to night—even send a There's no way a fully armed policeman could be her guard. Besides, we can't spend the night in a girl's boudoir, can we? How difficult it is! "There is one thing we can do, however, and that is to artificially make it difficult for the murderer. We can alert the young lady and place a witness with her who will never leave her. To get past these two lines of defense, the murderer will The murderer must be an old hand at the trade."

He paused, and said in a very different tone: "But what worries me, Hastings—" "What is it?" "What worries me is that he happens to be a wily man! The thought makes me uneasy. Well, I can't rest easy at all." "Poirot," I said, "it makes me nervous to hear you say that." "Aren't I nervous? Listen, my friend. That paper, the Weekly Saint-Loup just now, was opened. Guess what page it was opened on? It was this page, that There was a note on the page saying 'Mr. Hercule Poirot and Captain Hastings were among the passengers taking a nap at the Majestic Hotel.' Assuming -- let's assume that someone saw this message, they Know my name—everyone knows my name..."

"Miss Buckley doesn't know," I said, laughing. "She's a shallow brat—not counting. A serious man, a criminal, must know my name and tremble at it! He'll ask himself a whole lot of suspicious questions with apprehension. He's had four times Attempted to take the lady's life, and now Hercule Poirot, the nemesis of all criminals, was at hand. He would ask himself: 'Is this a coincidence?' He would be terrified at the thought that it might not be a coincidence. Then What will he do next?" "Hide his murderous intentions and disappear." I proposed this idea.

"Yes, yes—but if he was really daring, he would have done it immediately, without wasting time. Before I had time to investigate—boom! The lady is dead. Such a thing, a cruel man It can be done." "Why do you think it was not Miss Buckley who saw the message but someone else?" "It wasn't Miss Barkley who noticed the text. She didn't respond when I said my name. Not even the slightest impression, no expression on her face. Besides she told us she opened the paper just to Just look at the tide news, but there is no tide timetable on that page." "You suspect someone from that house?"

"People in that house, or near that house. For the latter would have no trouble going to the drawing-room to read the papers—the French windows were kept open. Those of Miss Buckley's Friends no doubt passed in and out of that window from time to time." "Have you formed any ideas? Are there any doubts?" Poirot spread out his hands and said: "No. The motive is unknown, as I had foreseen earlier. This is the guarantee that the attempted murderer will not be found. It also explains why he dared to act so boldly this morning. On the face of it, there is no reason for anyone to expect the little Nick died. Her property? Cliff House? The house will pass to her cousin after Nick dies, but is he so eager to get this old run-down house that has been mortgaged at a high price? It's a house he's not surnamed Buckley, you know, and doesn't have any affection for the house. We've got to see this Charles Weiss.

"Then the lady--Nick's bosom friend, the woman with the dreamy eyes and the Madonna--" "You feel this way too?" I was a little surprised. "Did she have anything to do with it? She told you her friend was a liar (very nice). Why did she tell you that? Was she worried that Nick might say something against her Come on? Did she have anything to do with the car accident? Or is she just using the car thing as an example to imply that something else is also purely fictional and that is exactly what she fears being investigated? Did someone wreck that car brakes? If so, did she know about it?

"And then there's that handsome young Mr. Lazarus. What's so suspicious about him? How could he have anything to do with this case, with such a fine car and so much money? Challenger." Lieutenant Colonel—” "There's nothing wrong with him," I said hastily. "I'm sure of that. He's a man through and through." "It's probably just because he was educated in a prestigious school that you think is noble. Fortunately, I am a foreigner, not bound by such prejudices, so I can conduct investigations more objectively. But I also admit that it is difficult to find that Cha What does Lieutenant Colonel Lynch have to do with these things. In fact, I don't see him being suspected at this time."

"Of course he won't be suspected." I said excitedly. Poirot looked at me thoughtfully. "Your influence on me has been immeasurable, Hastings. You have had an instinct for getting things wrong, and I have often come close to it. You are a thoroughly admirable man: honest, honest, Gullible, jealous, honor-conscious, and obsessed with getting into the traps of scoundrels. You're the kind of guy who spends their money on dubious oil fields or non-existent gold mines. Never think twice. And those scams are only kept alive because there are hundreds of people like you. Ah, so I'll have to study that Colonel Challenger a lot. Yes, you awakened my paranoia." "My dear Poirot," I exclaimed indignantly, "you are absolutely absurd! A man who has traveled all over the world—" "Yeah, never learn your lesson," said Poirot bitterly. "It's strange, but it's true." "If I'm such a fool as you just said, how can I succeed in Argentina?" "Don't be mad, my friend. You did make a name for yourself in Argentina—you and your wife." "Bella always acted on my judgment." "Her wit is as good as her beauty," said Poirot. "Let's not quarrel, my friend. Look, there is Mr. Mott's garage, which Miss Barclay has mentioned. Just go in and ask a few questions. You can tell right away if the car is in disrepair or vandalized." We went in.Poirot said that Miss Buckley had introduced him.After asking a few questions about the hired car, Poirot naturally turned the conversation to the recent damage to Miss Buckley's car.The owner of the car dealership said loudly that it was the most special failure he had ever seen.I don't understand mechanics, and I guess Poirot understands even less than I do.Therefore, the academic explanation given by the owner of the car dealership is like playing the piano against a cow.But the facts and conclusions were clear enough: the car had been tampered with, and destroyed in a very simple way, which took only a few minutes. "Well, here it is," said Poirot, as we came out of the garage. "Little Nick is not lying. Hastings, my friend, this is all very interesting." "What shall we do now?" "If it's not too late, we'll go to the post office and send a telegram." "Telegram?" I looked into his face hopefully. "Yes," said Poirot, "a telegram." The post office is still open.Poirot drafted the telegram and sent it without telling me its contents.He was putting on airs again, and asked me to ask him, but I didn't ask. "Unfortunately tomorrow is Sunday," said Poirot, as we strolled back to the hotel. "We shall not be able to visit Mr. Weiss until Monday morning." "You can go to his house." "Naturally. But I want to avoid it. I'd rather go to his office and discuss some legal issues to form an impression of him." "Yes," I thought for a while and said, "I think this method is good." "There is a simple question, but it is of great reference value. If Charles Weiss is in his office at 12:30 noon today, then he can rule out the suspicion of shooting Nick." "Should we also filter out the suspicions of the three people in the hotel one by one?" "That's much more difficult. Any one of them can run out of the glass door of the lounge, smoking room, living room or office, come to the girl's only way in the blink of an eye, shoot and run back immediately. But I My friend, the protagonists of the play may be out of sight or unnoticed. The venerable Ellen, for instance, and her husband whom we have not yet met. They lived with Nick. Was there a secret grudge against Nick in that house and we didn't know about it? And what about the Australians we didn't know who lived in the porter's cottage? There were others, of course, like Nick's relatives and friends and so on. Nick thought they were completely credible, so he didn't mention it to us. I always feel, Hastings, that there must be some vital clue behind all this, which has not been understood. I have a feeling that Buck Miss Leigh knows more than she told us." "What do you think she's hiding?" "yes." "Maybe she wants to protect someone?" Poirot shook his head greatly. "No, no. She struck me as frank. I believe she told us all she knew about these circumstances of her murder. But there were others—something she herself thought was not relevant to the case. Relevant matters are left unsaid. It is precisely these seemingly irrelevant matters that I want to know. Because, I - I try to put it as modestly as possible - I am far wiser than that yellow-haired girl. I, Hercule Poirot, I can see the point where she doesn't see it, and I'll get a clue from it. But now I tell you with the utmost frankness and humility, Hastings, I don't have a clue. Until I can find a glimmer of light , everything is hidden in the night, and nothing can be seen. Well! There must be unknowns—some facts that are closely related to the case that I don’t know yet. What is it? I want to investigate, I must investigate What it is that I don't know." "You will succeed." I encouraged him. "I hope it's not too late," he said darkly.