Chapter 8 Chapter 8: The Deadly Shawl

In horror, we froze there motionless. Although it was only a few tens of seconds, it seemed like an hour had passed. Poirot shook off my hand and stepped forward, as stiff as a robot. "Finally something happened," he murmured, with indescribable pain in his voice. "Despite all our precautions, disasters have happened! Oh, it's all my fault, why didn't I guard her more carefully? I should have foreseen, yes-- quite should have. I should not have left her for a moment. " "Stop blaming yourself," I said.But my voice seemed to be condensed in my throat, and it sounded vague.

Poirot just shook his head sadly.He knelt down beside the corpse. Suddenly we were taken aback, and we straightened up in unison—we heard Nick's voice, clear and merry.Then there is the black figure of Nick on the bright background of the window. "I'm sorry, Maggie, I've kept you waiting," she said, "how—" She looked at the scene in front of her inexplicably. Poirot gave a shriek and turned the body over on the grass.I bent down and saw Maggie's lifeless face. Nick screamed. "Maggie—oh, Magee! No, no..." Poirot inspected the body briefly and rose slowly.

"She really—she really..." Nick said. "Yes, miss, she is dead." "Why is this? What's going on? Who would hurt a person like her?" Poirot's answer was swift and firm: "It's not her they're going to kill, it's you! They've been fooled by this shawl." Nick almost fainted. "Why wasn't I the one who died?" She cried bitterly, "It would be nice to let me take this shot, what am I still yearning for now? Death is just a relief for me!" She waved her arms in the air, staggering, shaky.I immediately reached out to support her.

"Take her into the house, Hastings," said Poirot, "and call the police." "Policemen?" "Yes, tell them someone's been killed. You must stay with Miss Nick and never leave her." After accepting the instructions, I helped the semi-conscious girl into the living room with difficulty through the French windows.I settled her on a couch, tucked a cushion under her head, and hurried into the main room to find the phone. I bumped into Ellen unexpectedly.She was standing there with a very peculiar expression on her solemn and respectable face.Her eyes were shining, her tongue was licking her dry lips repeatedly, and her hands seemed to be shaking with excitement.Seeing me, she said:

"Sir, what happened—what?" "Yes," I said curtly, "where's the phone?" "Don't there be... troubles, sir?" "Something happened," I said hesitantly. "Someone's hurt. I have to call." "Who's hurt, sir?" The urgency of her face at this moment was startling. "Miss Buckley—Miss Maggie Buckley." "Miss Magee? Miss Magee? Are you sure, sir, I mean, are you sure you are Miss Magee?" "Pretty sure. What's the matter?" "Oh, nothing. I—I thought it was someone else. I thought it might be... Mrs. Rice."

"Hey, where's the phone?" "In that little room, sir," she said, opening the door for me, and pointing out the telephone. "Thank you," I said.Seeing her hesitate, I added, "Nothing else, thank you." "If you want Dr. Graham..." "No, no," I said, "it's nothing else, just go ahead." So she reluctantly backed out.Chances are she'll be eavesdropping outside the door, but what can I do?She will know everything after all. I got through to the local police, made a brief report to them, and then made a phone call on my own to the Dr. Graham whom Ellen had recommended—the phone number I looked up in the directory.If he couldn't bring back to life the poor girl lying in the garden, he could always reassure the unfortunate girl lying on the sofa.The doctor promised to come as soon as possible.I hung up the phone and left the cubicle.

If Ellen had been eavesdropping at the door, she must have slipped away very fast, for when I came out of the little room there was no one in sight.Back in the living room, Nick was about to sit up. "Do you think—would you mind pouring me some brandy?" "of course can." I hurried to the dining room and poured Nick a glass of brandy.After taking a few sips, she cheered up a little, and there was some blood on her face.I straightened the cushion under her head for her. "How scary," she said tremblingly, "all the time—" "I know, darling, I know."

"No, you don't know! You don't understand anything. It's all in vain! If it was me who died just now, everything would be over..." "You mustn't think about it." She just shook her head again and again. "You don't understand, not at all." She burst into tears, sobbing in despair like a child.I didn't bother her even if I wanted her to cry. After the first commotion outside subsided a bit, I rushed to the window to look out.The people formed a semicircle around the scene of the incident, and Poirot tried his best to hold them back like a guard.

As I was watching, two men in uniform strode across the grass and the police arrived.I hurried back to the sofa.Nick raised his tearful eyes and asked: "Is there something I should do?" "No, my dear, with Poirot here, he will take care of everything." Nick was silent for a minute or two, then said: "Poor Maggie, poor good girl! She never hurt anyone in her life, and such a misfortune should befall her! I feel as if I killed her—I called her so hastily." here." I shook my head dejectedly.The future is too unpredictable.When Poirot insisted that Nick ask a relative to accompany her, how did he know that he was signing the death certificate for a girl he didn't know!

We sat in silence.Although I wanted to know what they were doing outside, I faithfully carried out Poirot's instructions and performed my duties at my post. I felt as if I had been waiting for hours when Poirot opened the door with a police officer.The other person who entered with them was undoubtedly Dr. Graham.He walked over to Nick at once. "How are you feeling, Miss Buckley? Well, what a disaster." He put his finger on her pulse and said, "All right." Turning to me, he asked, "Has she had anything?" "Drank a little brandy," I said. "I'm fine." Nick cheered up.

"Can you answer a few questions?" "of course can." The officer cleared his throat and walked over to Nick.Nick smiled darkly at him and said: "I didn't violate the traffic rules this time." I guess they have dealt with each other before.The officer said: "This murder disturbs me deeply, Miss Barclay. Fortunately, our long-respected M. Poirot is here (with whom we can be proud to be with), and he tells me with certainty that there is someone in the United States. The Chi Hotel shot at you, didn't it?" Nick nodded and said, "When the bullet passed my head, I thought it was a very fast wasp." "Have other strange things happened before?" "Yeah, at least that's weird: they happen in succession." She briefly recounted the events. "As we have been told. But why is your cousin wearing your shawl tonight?" "We came in to get dressed - it was cold outside watching the fireworks. I threw my shawl on the couch and ran upstairs and put on the coat I was wearing now - a thin nutria coat. I Get her a shawl from Mrs. Rice's room too, the one on the floor under the window. Then Magee cried out and said she couldn't find her coat. I said it might be downstairs and she went down. I went upstairs to look—she was looking for a tweed coat, and she had no fur—I said I could get her one of mine to wear. But she said no, she could wear my shawl if I If not. I said yes of course, but I was afraid it would not be warm enough. She replied that it was warm enough, because Yorkshire was much colder than here, and she could wear whatever she wanted. I said yes and told her that I would be out in a minute .but when I come out, come out..." She couldn't go on. "Don't be sad, Miss Buckley. Please tell me, did you hear a shot or two?" Nick shook his head. "No, I only hear the crackling of fireworks and firecrackers." "Yeah," said the sergeant, "at a time like this the gunshots don't attract the slightest bit of attention. I'd like to ask one more question I'm not hoping for: Is there any clue you can give to whoever shot you?" " "Not at all," Nick said. "I can't think of any." "Of course you can't," said the sergeant. "As for me, I feel that since there is no motive, it must be a bloodthirsty madman who does such a thing. Well, madam, I will No more disturbing you. My deepest regret and sympathy for your misfortune." Dr Graham said: "Miss Buckley, I advise you not to stay here any longer. I have discussed it with M. Poirot and I want to send you to an infirmary. You have been too much stimulated and need 100% quiet recuperation." Nick looked at Poirot. "Is it a stimulus?" she asked. Poirot came up to her. "I want you to feel safe, son. And I have to put you in a safe environment. There's going to be a nurse in the nursing home, a really good, practical nurse who'll be on duty all night near you. .As long as you wake up and call in a low voice, she will come immediately. Do you understand?" "I get it," said Nick, "but you don't get it: my terror won't last long. I don't care if it kills me this way or that way. If anyone wants to If he kills me, he will definitely be able to do it." "Shh, calm down," I said, "You're so nervous." "No, none of you understand!" "I am very much in favor of M. Poirot's plan," said the doctor soothingly. "I will take you in my motor car. We will also give you some medicine so that you can have a good night's rest. What do you think?" "I don't care," Nick said. "You're welcome." Poirot laid his hand on hers and said: "I know, miss, I know what you will think. I stand in front of you, my heart is full of shame and guilt. I promised you that I would save you from danger, but I was negligent and failed. And. Believe me, madam, this failure has wounded me deeply. If you knew how much I suffer, you would forgive me." "It's nothing," Nick said dully. "Don't be hard on yourself. I'm sure you've done the best you can. Nobody can do it better than you. Please don't feel bad." "You are very kind, miss." "No, I—" The sentence was interrupted.George Challenger burst open the door and rushed in. "What's the matter?" he cried. "I saw the police outside the door when I got there, and I heard there was a dead man. What's the matter? For God's sake, tell me. Yes--Yes Nick?" His pained voice was frightening to hear.It occurred to me that Poirot and the doctor had just blocked Nick from his view.Before anyone could answer, he repeated his question: "Tell me—it can't be true—that Nick isn't dead?" "No, my friend," said Poirot calmly, "she lives." Saying this, Poirot stepped aside.Challenger saw Nick lying on the sofa.For a moment he gazed at her suspiciously, then staggered like a drunken man, and muttered: "Nick—Nick!" He suddenly knelt down beside the sofa, covered his face with his hands and began to cry, saying in a suppressed voice: "Nick, my darling, I thought you were dead." Nick tried to sit up. "It's all right, George, don't be an idiot, I'm all right." He looked up to the left and right. "But the police said someone died." "Yes," said Nick, "Maggie, poor good Maggie, oh..." The tears were still wet on her face, and her eyes filled with tears again.The doctor and Poirot went up to help her up and helped her out of the drawing room. "The sooner you get into bed the better," said the doctor. "I'll take you in my car right away. I've asked Mrs. Rice to pack up your things." Their figures disappeared outside the door after a while.Challenger grabbed my arm. "I don't understand. Where are they taking her?" I told him. "Oh, yes. Then, for God's sake, Hastings, tell me what is the matter. What a dreadful tragedy! Poor girl!" "Have a drink," I said, "your nerves are going to rip apart." "It doesn't matter." We go into the restaurant. "Look," he said, putting down the soda and whiskey bottles, "I thought something happened to Nick." There was no doubt about the affection for George Challenger, for there could be no more blatant lover.