Chapter 14 Chapter Fourteen: The Mystery of the Missing Will

We're back at the sanatorium again. Nick looked rather surprised to see us. "Yes, madam," replied Poirot to her inquiring glance, "I seem to have jumped out before you again. First of all, I want to tell you that we have sorted out the papers and letters for you, and now everything Everything has its place." "It's time to take care of it," Nick couldn't help laughing, "Mr. Poirot, you must be meticulous about everything, right?" "My friend Hastings is here, you can ask him." The girl turned to me, and I told her some of Poirot's innocuous eccentricities: toast had to be cut into rectangles of pillow bread; eggs were not good for him if they were not all the same size; Golf is just nonsense, winning or losing is all about luck, and if those tees weren't a bit special, they should have been eliminated long ago.I also related to her a famous case which was entirely due to Poirot's habit of manipulating mantelpieces.

Poirot listened with a smile.After I finished speaking he said: "He seems to be telling a story, but he tells the whole truth. There's more to it than that, miss. He thinks I have a hobby that gives him headaches, but he won't tell you. That's when I get a chance. So he earnestly persuaded Hastings not to do a small parting, but to part the hair from the center of the sky cap. Miss, this way of parting the hair from the side is so asymmetrical, it's not three or four, it's strange! " "So you must have disliked me, M. Poirot?" said Nick. "My hair is parted on the side, too. But I think you must think very well of Freddie, because her hair is parted from the separated in the middle."

"Oh, I see now, that's why he paid Mrs. Rice so much last night!" I retaliated. "All right, all right," said Poirot, "I have come here on a serious matter, madam, and I cannot find your will." "Oh," she frowned, "is this serious? I'm not dead yet, so I just have to write another one? When a person is still alive, a will doesn't seem to be very important." "True, but I'm still interested in the will—I have my own thoughts. Think about it, miss, and try to remember where you kept it. Where was the last time you saw it ?”

"I don't seem to keep it in a special place," Nick said. "I never have that habit. Maybe I put it in a drawer somewhere." "Did you put it in the alcove?" "What?" "An alcove. Your Ellen said there was an alcove in the parlour, or in the study, a secret cupboard or something." "Nonsense," Nick said, "I've never heard of such a thing in my house. Did Ellen say it?" "Yes. She seems to have worked as a maid in this house when she was young. Someone pointed out this alcove to her." "It's the first time I've heard of it. My grandfather always knew about the secret cupboard, but he never mentioned it to me. And I'm sure he would have told me if there was such a thing. M. Poirot, would you Are you sure Ellen isn't just talking about something out of nothing?"

"No, miss, I'm sure not. I think your Ellen is a little odd in some ways." "Oh? I don't think so. William is an idiot, and their son is sinister and cruel, but Ellen is a nice, respectable man." "You didn't object to her going out to watch the fireworks last night, miss?" "Of course I don't object. They always go out to watch the fireworks before coming back to clean up the dishes." "But she didn't go out to see it last night." "Oh, she went out." "How do you know, miss?" "Ah-ah, I didn't actually know. I asked her to go out to see the fireworks and she thanked me, so I think she went out."

"On the contrary, she stayed in the house." "But—how strange!" "You think it's weird?" "Yeah, I'm pretty sure she wasn't like that before. Did she say why she didn't go out?" "I don't think she said the real reason." Nick looked at him questioningly: "Is this important?" Poirot spread his hands. "That's a question I can't answer, miss. It's interesting, but let's leave it alone." "That alcove," Nick said, still thinking, "makes me wonder—unbelievable. Did she point it out to you?"

"She said she couldn't remember where it was." "I can't believe there is such a thing!" "But judging from her tone, it seems that there is." "She's starting to believe her hallucinations, poor thing." "No, she went into considerable detail. She also said that Cliff House was an inauspicious house." Nick shivered. "She might be right about that," she said slowly. "I think so myself sometimes. There's always an unpleasant mystery about being in that house. . . " Her eyes slowly opened wide, and there was a dull expression in her black pupils, as if she knew that her doom was doomed and she was doomed.Poirot looked at it and quickly brought the topic back.

"We're going too far, miss. Let's talk about wills. Miss Magdalene Buckley's valid will." "I wrote this sentence in my will," Nick was a little proud, "and I said that I would pay my funeral expenses and estate transfer tax. I read this statement from some book." "You didn't use a formal will?" "No. There's not enough time. I was leaving home to go to a rest home to prepare for my operation. Besides, Mr. Croft said it was dangerous to write a will in formal will paper. It would be better to write a simple will, less formal but less formal." Still valid."

"Mr. Croft? Was he there?" "Yes. He was the one who asked me if I had ever made a will. I never thought of it myself. He said that if I had an accident and didn't..." "No will was made," I said. "Yes, then everything about me may be confiscated, which is a pity." "His reminder is timely, the extraordinary Mr. Croft!" "Yeah," said Nick enthusiastically, "and when I was done, he called in Ellen and her husband as witnesses, and they didn't know the contents of the will, but they signed it to prove that it was mine. Wrote it. Then—ah, oh, look how confused I am now!"

We looked at her in bewilderment. "I'm such a complete fool that I'll tell you to search around Cliff House. The will is with Charles, yes, my cousin Charles Weiss!" "Oh, that's right." "Mr. Croft says a lawyer makes the best will custodian." "Exactly, the sane Mr. Croft." "Men are good sometimes," Nick said. "A lawyer or a banker. I thought he had a good point, so I put the will in an envelope and sent it to Charles." She leaned back on the pillow and sighed softly. "I'm so sorry for being so stupid. But I finally figured it out. My cousin does have the will. If you want to see it, of course he will give it to you."

"No, unless you write him a note in your own hand." "It's superfluous." "No, madam, prudence is a virtue." "I don't see the need for it." She took a sheet of paper from a small shelf next to the bed. "What should I write? 'Please show the dog the meaty bones'?" "what?" I was secretly amused by the strange look on Poirot's face. Poirot then dictated a few words, which Nick wrote down on paper. "Thank you, miss." He said and took the note from her hand. "I'm sorry to have caused you so much trouble for no reason. But I really forgot that sometimes a person forgets everything in a flash." "But if you have an orderly mind, you will never forget anything." "I deserve that blame," Nick said, "and it's a lesson." "Very well. Good-bye, Miss." He looked around the room. "Your flowers are blooming beautifully." "Really? The carnations are from Freddie, the roses are from George, the lilies are from Jim Lazarus, and look at this—" She uncovered the floral paper on a large basket beside her, revealing a basket of grapes grown in the greenhouse. Poirot's countenance changed when he saw it.He hurried up two steps. "Haven't you eaten?" "not yet." "Don't eat it! You can't taste anything, miss. You can't smell any food brought in from outside. Do you understand what I mean?" "Oh!" She stared at him, the blush fading from her face. "I see. You think, you think the murder isn't over. You think they're still trying to do it!" she said softly. Poirot took her hand. "Don't think about it too much. You are safe here. But remember, you must not eat food from outside!" I glanced back as I left the room. Nick was slumped against the pillow, pale and restless. Poirot looked at his watch. "Ah, we've got just the right time to see Charles Weiss before he leaves the office for lunch." Upon arriving at Weiss' law firm, we were immediately shown into Weiss' office. The young lawyer stood up to greet us, as calmly as ever. "Good morning, M. Poirot, may I be at your service?" Without talking nonsense, Poirot directly took out the note written by Nick.He took it over and looked at it, then raised his eyes and looked at us with an inscrutable and profound look. "Sorry, I really don't understand..." "Is Miss Buckley writing too sloppily?" "In this letter," he flicked the paper with his nails, "she asks me to hand over to you the will she made last February, which is kept with me." "Not bad, sir." "But, my dear sir, no will has ever been entrusted to me!" "how--" "As far as I know my cousin has not made a will, and I have never drafted one for her!" "Her will was written in her own hand, on the top of a notebook, and sent to you." The lawyer shook his head. "Then all I can say is that I have never received such a will." "Really, Mr. Weiss?" "No, M. Poirot." There was a minute of silence, and then Poirot stood up. "Then there's nothing more to say, Mr. Weiss, something must be wrong." "Sure." He stood up as well. "Goodbye, Mr. Weiss." "Good-bye, M. Poirot." When I was back in the street, I said to Poirot: "That's right!" "Exactly." "Is he lying—you think?" "It's hard to say. He has a face that can't be seen, Mr. Weiss, and a heart that can't be read. One thing is certain, that is, he will not change his words. He has never received that at all." A will—that's what he stands on." "There's got to be a receipt for Nick sending out a will, isn't there?" "That wouldn't have occurred to the child. She'd forgotten all about it as soon as she posted it. That's all. Besides, she's going to have the appendix cut that day, so what's the point?" "what should we do?" "Go and see Mr. Croft. Let us see what he has to offer, for he has a part in the matter." "No matter how you look at it, he can't benefit from this matter." I thought about it. "Yes. I really don't see any profit for him. He is just a person who likes to be idle and likes to meddle in the affairs of the neighbors." Croft, I think, was just such a man.It is this kind of omniscient, ubiquitous zealot who tirelessly causes trouble and stirs up trouble in our already inexhaustible world. When we got to his house, we saw him rolling up his sleeves and enjoying cooking.The aroma in the cabin is full of aromas, which is appetizing.Mr. Croft greeted us with delight as we came through the door, shook hands with us, and set the frying-pan on fire. "Go upstairs," he said. "Mother's interested in talking about the case, and she won't like it if we talk about it here, Goo--Millie, two friends are coming up!" Mrs. Croft welcomed us with all the warmth a cripple could have.She was anxious to know some news about Nick.I think I like her more than her husband. "Poor good girl," said she, "is she still in the rest-house? It is not surprising that her cheerful spirits have broken down. The murder was horrific, M. Poirot, utterly horrific. A man like this The innocent girl was beaten to death, I can't believe it, really. Such a lawless thing in the world can happen in such a safe place - in the heart of this ancient country! I can't sleep at night, I am so scared that I can't sleep no." "This tragedy has made me nervous. I dare not go out for fear of leaving you here, my old lady." Her husband joined the conversation, putting on his coat. "The thought of leaving you alone last night My heart was pounding." "You won't go out without me again, will you?" said his wife, "at least after dark. I hope to get out of this place as soon as possible. I will never feel kind to this land again. I think Poor Nick Buckley never dares to sleep in her old house again." How can we lead the conversation to topics of interest to us without getting a word in?The Crofts are extremely eloquent, and the web of conversation they weave is impeccable.These two wanted to inquire about everything: Have the family members of the deceased come?When is the funeral?Is there still an autopsy?What do the police think?Do they have a clue?Is there any basis for the rumor that someone has been arrested in Plymouth?Etc., etc. After answering these questions one by one, they insisted on keeping us for lunch. Poirot shot a feint and said that we had an appointment at noon today, and we had to go back to lunch with the police chief, which made them retreat. There was a brief pause in the conversation, quite by chance.Poirot got ahead of himself and finally asked his question. "Oh, that," said Mr. Croft, tugging at the cord of the shutter, and frowning absently at it. "Of course I do. It must have been a short time ago when we got here. Appendicitis—the doctor said to Miss Nick..." "It may not be appendicitis at all," said Mrs. Croft, never missing an opportunity of speaking. "These doctors, if they can, will always try to cut you, and always when there is nothing wrong with it." She probably just had a little indigestion or something, so they gave her a big X-ray and said she should go in for surgery. She, the poor girl, agreed and was going to a nursing home .” "I just asked her casually," said Mr. Croft, "if she had ever made a will. I was only trying to make a joke." "and after?" "She started writing right away. She said she was going to the post office to buy a will paper, but I advised her not to make such a fuss. I was told that a formal will would be very troublesome. Anyway, her cousin It's a lawyer, and if all goes well, he can draft a formal one for her afterwards. Of course I know nothing will happen, and a simple will is just in case." "Who is the witness?" "Oh, Ellen, the maid, and her husband." "What happened later? What do you do with this will?" "We sent it to Weiss, the lawyer, you know." "Is it really sent?" "My dear M. Poirot, I sent it myself! I put it in the letter-box by the garden gate." "Therefore, if Mr. Weiss claims that he never received the will..." Croft froze. "You mean the post office lost it? Oh, that's impossible!" "Anyway, are you sure you sent it?" "Too sure," said Mr. Croft earnestly, "that you can swear." "Well," said Poirot, "it doesn't really matter. Miss Nick is still alive." When we had taken our leave and were walking towards the hotel, Poirot said: "Well, who's lying? Mr. Croft or Mr. Charles Weiss? I must confess that I see no reason for Mr. Croft to lie. What good will it do him to hide the will?" What? Besides, it was his suggestion that the will was made. No, he wasn't suspected, and what he said was true to Nick. But—" "but what?" "But I'm glad he was cooking when we went. He left a fairly clear print of his thumb and forefinger on one corner of the newspaper that covered the kitchen table. I took it out when he wasn't looking. Torn them off. I'm going to send them over to our good friend, Inspector Japp, of Scotland Yard, for a look. What a chance, he might tell us something." "what's the situation?" "You know, Hastings, I've always had the feeling that the amiable Mr. Croft was a little too naive." Then he changed the subject, "but go to lunch now, my empty stomach There was a very suspicious sound."

---

Notes: