Chapter 13 Chapter Thirteen Letter

Having successfully dismissed Ellen, Poirot turned to me thoughtfully. "I wondered, did she hear the gunshot? I think she did. She heard the gunshot and opened the kitchen door, and she heard Nick coming down the stairs and out of doors, and then she ran to the front of the hall herself. It's only natural to see what's going on. But why didn't she come out to see the fireworks last night? That's something I'd love to know, Hastings." "Why are you asking her about some darkroom?" "It's just fanciful. We haven't solved the tenth problem, though."

"The tenth?" "That's the last one on my list, the very problematic stranger. Let's say that guy has something to do with Ellen, and was here last night. He (let's count him as a guy) Hiding in a dark room in this room, when a girl walked by him, he mistook her for Nick and followed her out and shot her. No--no. Because we now know there's nowhere to Hiding, it was just an accident that Ellen stayed in the kitchen last night. Come, let's find Nick's will." There were no papers in the living room.We opened the door and went into the study, a dimly lit room with a window looking out on the motorway in the garden, with an ancient walnut writing desk.

Finding a will can be time-consuming.Everything was in disarray: bills and receipts were jumbled together; invitations, reminders, and letters from friends were indistinguishable and intimate. "Let's tidy it up," said Poirot without hesitation, "and put them in their place." He started at once, and half an hour later he sat up straight with great satisfaction.Everything is categorized, neatly stacked, and held in folders. "That's all right. There is at least one advantage to doing this. Everything has been carefully looked at and nothing has been missed."

"It's true. But nothing was found." "Probably except this!" He tossed me a letter with large, scribbled, barely legible writing. my darling: It was a wonderful evening.I'm lazy like a worm today.You were wise not to touch that thing, and never again, baby.It's extremely hard to get off it; I'm writing to that boyfriend again to get my life out of me.What a life in hell! your freddy "Written in February last year," thought Poirot. "It is obvious that she is taking drugs, and I knew it as soon as I saw her." "Really? I never thought it would be like this."

"That's obvious, just look at her eyes; and her odd and varied moods, sometimes nervous and tense, sometimes lifeless and dull." "Drug use affects a person's morals, doesn't it?" "It was inevitable. But I don't think Mrs. Rice is addicted yet, she's just starting out, she's not deep into it." "Where's Nick?" "She doesn't act like that. She goes to a party like this sometimes, but it's just for fun, she's not a drug addict." "I am very happy." I suddenly remembered that Nick had said that Frederica sometimes lost control of herself, and Poirot nodded, tapped the letter on the table, and said:

"That's what she was referring to, no doubt. Now, as you say, we can't see much more here, so let's go upstairs to Nick's bedroom." Nick also had a desk in his bedroom, but it was empty and there was no will.We found her car license, and a coupon for last month's bonus that hadn't expired, and nothing else that mattered. Poirot sighed angrily: "These young ladies are not at all trained as they should be these days. They are almost uneducated in order and do not know how to do things. This Miss Nick, she is attractive, but she has only some cotton in her head." Straw! She's an embroidered pillow!"

At this time, he began to rummage through the drawers of the wardrobe. "To be sure, Poirot," I said disapprovingly, "these are only underwear." He stopped in surprise, "So what?" "Don't you think—I mean—that we shouldn't—" He suddenly burst out laughing. "Oh, Hastings, you're a Victorian antique. If Nick had been here, she'd have told you the same, most likely she'd have said your mind is as old as that cracked wash-face Well! In this day and age, no matter whether it is a lady or a jasper, they will not turn their well-maintained faces into the color of a pig's liver because their underwear is seen by others. It is no secret that those corsets, underpants and so on. On the beach, every day you can find a bunch of these things within a few feet of you, so what's wrong?"

"I don't see why you need to go through her wardrobe." "Listen, my friend. It's clear she won't lock up her treasures—that Miss Nick. If she wanted to hide something, where would she hide it? Under those socks and skirts .Aha! What did we find?" He held up a bag of letters tied with red silk string. "If I'm not mistaken, this is Mr. Michael Seton's rapturous love letter!" He untied the rope as if nothing had happened, and began to unfold the letters one by one. "Poirot," I exclaimed, filled with righteous indignation, "you really can't do that! This is no joke."

"I'm not joking, my friend," his voice suddenly became rough and severe, "I'm solving crimes." "Yes, but these private messages..." "These letters may offer nothing. But they may, in turn, give clues! I must take every opportunity, my friend. Come, come and read with me. Two sets of eyes are better than one." Well, you can just excuse yourself like this: assume that the faithful and reliable Ellen is already familiar with these letters so well that he can recite them by heart." I still don't get it, although I think it makes sense in Poirot's place, and I console myself with Nick's words, when she said: "You can watch what you want."

The letters are separated by a long period of time, the first of which was written last winter. Dear: The new year is here and I'm thinking about what to do this year.When I think that you really love me, I am immersed in infinite tenderness and happiness.You have completely changed my life, something we've known since we met.Happy New Years to you, my charming girl. Always Your Michael Written on New Year's Day Dearest: How I wish I could see you more often, it's a pain in the ass.I don't like being in hiding like this, but I explained our situation to you.I also know how much you hate lies and concealment, and so do I.But the petty impatience is the big conspiracy, and Uncle Matthew gets angry at the thought of early marriage, saying it will ruin a man's career, as if you would ruin mine, my angel!

Be happy, dear, everything will be fine. your michael on february 8th I know I shouldn't be writing you a letter every two days, but how can I do it!I thought of you again yesterday when I took off.I flew over Scarborough, joy and happiness Gods bless Scarborough - the most bewitching place in the world.Honey, you don't know that I love you to the core. your michael march 2 dearest: Everything is ready.If I can make this flight (and I can), I'll have my say in front of Uncle Matthew—if he won't—what does it matter?I appreciate your interest in my lengthy technical article describing the Albatross.How I want to fly with you on this plane!But for heaven's sake don't worry about me.The flight sounded dangerous, but it was nothing.I won't die because I know you love me and everything will be fine, my love. your most faithful michael on april 8th little angel: Every word you said was true and I will treasure this letter forever.I don't think I'm good enough for you, you're different from everyone I've ever met, and I adore you. your michael on april 20 The last letter has no date. dearest: I'm leaving tomorrow.I feel extremely excited, excited, and confident that I will win. Every part of the "Albatross" has been adjusted, and it will not let me down.Be cheerful, love, and don't worry about me, it's risky, but everyone takes risks in life from time to time.By the way, someone said I should make a will (experienced man—with good intentions), so I made one—on the top of a half notebook, and sent it to Old Man Whitfield; I didn’t Just use your brains on this.Someone once told me that someone made a will with only four words: "All to mother." Such a will is also valid in law.My will is like that one, I remember your name is Magdalene - look how clever I am.There were two witnesses to that will. Don't take these serious things about wills to heart (and I only mention them occasionally), I'll be fine.I'll be telegraphing you from places like India and Australia.Just have faith and everything will work out, get it? Good night and God bless you! michael Poirot refolded the letter. "Look, Hastings, I must read these letters--to confirm, I told you so." "But you can also prove it in other ways." "No, my friend, it cannot be done. Only by the present method. You see, we have very valuable evidence." "Which aspect?" "We now know the fact that Michael made a written will in Miss Nick's favor. Anyone who reads these letters can understand that. And such careless letters can be read by anyone. have witnessed." "Ellen?" "Of course Ellen has, I can assert that. Let's do a little experiment to confirm that when we go out." "Can't find the will." "Well, it's very strange. But it might have been thrown over the top of a bookcase or stuffed into a china vase. We'll have to try and get the lady to remember, but at any rate there's nothing more to be found here." Ellen was dusting herself as we went downstairs, and Poirot greeted her cheerfully as we passed her good morning, and turned back when he reached the front door: "I suppose you know that Miss Buckley is engaged to that pilot, Michael Seton?" Her eyes widened. "What? Is that the pilot who appeared in the newspaper every day?" "yes." "Oh, I haven't heard of such a thing! Engaged to Miss Nick!" When we came out of the house I said to Poirot: "She was really surprised by this, she didn't seem to be pretending." "Yes, it looks real." "Maybe it's true." I made my point. "Did the letters really sit untouched for months? No, my friend." "Very well," I thought to myself, "but I am not Hercule Poirot, and I do not interfere in matters that do not concern me." But I didn't say anything. "This Ellen—she is an enigma," said Poirot. "I don't like an enigma! There is something here which I do not understand."