Chapter 16 Chapter 16 Interview with Mr. Whitfield

The post-mortem was a tedious business, after it was established that the deceased was indeed Magdalene Buckley, and then I gave my witness to the place where the body was found.A medical examination and chemical treatment followed, and a conclusion was reached a week later. The Saint-Loup murder was big news in the papers.Before this, most of the eye-catching headlines were like this: Seton is still missing, the hero's fate is uncertain Now that the death of the pilot has been confirmed, all due tributes have been held.Newspaper editors and reporters began to worry, fearing the kind of news slump so common in August.So the murder of Saint-Loup undoubtedly became a godsend opportunity for the press.

After the autopsy I deftly avoided the reporters and went with Poirot to see the Reverend Giles Buckley and his wife. Maggie's parents were noble, simple people, not at all vulgar. Mrs Buckley looked strong-willed.From her tall stature and fair complexion, one can tell at a glance that her ancestors are northerners.Her husband was a small, gray-haired, kindly man.The two poor old men, who had never done anything wrong in their lives, were dumbfounded in front of this sudden blow. "I, I really don't understand," said Mr. Buckley. "What a child, M. Poirot! She is so lovely, and always thinking of others. Could she offend anyone?"

"I can't understand that telegram," said Mrs. Buckley, "the morning after we sent her away!" "The sun is shining brightly," murmured her husband, "but the poor daughter can no longer see..." "Colonel Weston was very kind to us," said Mrs. Buckley. "He told us that everything in our power was being done to find out the murderer. It must have been done by a madman, or how else to explain it?" "I can't express my sympathy for you, madam. I admire you so much for being so strong in the face of such misfortune."

"Crying and crying won't bring Maggie back to life," said Mrs. Buckley sadly. "My wife is wonderful," said the parson. "She has more faith and courage than I do. Such a disaster is unbearable, M. Poirot." "I understand you—perfectly, sir." "You are a famous detective, M. Poirot?" asked Mrs. Buckley. "That's what they say, ma'am." "I know. You are a household name, even in backwaters like ours. You will find out about it, won't you, M. Poirot?" "Otherwise I shall not rest, ma'am." "You will find out the truth, M. Poirot," said the chaplain tremulously. "Evil cannot go unpunished."

"Skynet is fully restored, sir. But sometimes retribution is done quietly." "What does that mean, sir?" Poirot just shook his head. "Poor little Nick," said Mrs. Barclay, "what can I do to comfort her. I got a sad letter from her saying she felt she had done Maggie because she had asked him to come here." of." "It's a sick mentality," Mr Buckley said. "Yeah, but you can imagine how she's feeling. I hope they'll let me visit her. It's unreasonable not to let family members in." "Doctors and nurses are never accommodating," Poirot prevaricated. "They have a charter, and nothing can make them change their ways. And they don't want her feelings to fluctuate, because seeing you, she naturally It will be emotional."

"There's some truth in that, too," said Mrs. Barclay doubtfully, "but I don't think it's an option to put her in a rest home. If they let Nick go home with us--get out of this place at once--it'd be worse for Nick. There are benefits." "Probably, but I'm afraid they won't agree. You haven't seen Miss Nick for a long time, have you?" "Haven't seen her since last autumn. She was in Scarborough, and Magee went to her for a day, and then she came to stay with us for the night. She was lovely, but I don't like her friends." Yes, and her way of life. But it's not her fault, poor child. She's never been well brought up."

"She lives in that queer house—Cliff House." Poirot seemed to be thinking of something. "I don't like that house," said Mrs. Buckley. "Never did. There's always something wrong. I don't like old Nicholas so much, I shudder to think of him." "I'm afraid he's not a very nice fellow," said her husband, "but there's an indescribable charm about him." "I don't find him attractive," said Mrs. Buckley. "This house is so haunted that I don't want Nick to live in it any more." "Oh, really," said Mr. Buckley, shaking his head.

"Well," said Poirot, "I will leave you alone. I have only come to express my sincere sympathies." "You have been very kind to us, M. Poirot. We will be forever grateful for the work you are doing." "You're going back to Yorkshire—when?" "Tomorrow. What a sad trip! Good-bye, M. Poirot. Thank you again." After leaving them, I said, "What a kind man." Poirot nodded. "It's sad, isn't it, my friend? Such a muddled tragedy. The young girl—ah! I can't blame myself too much. I, Hercule Poirot, clearly Being present did not stop the murder!"

"No one can stop it." "Don't talk nonsense, Hastings. Ordinary people can't stop it, of course-but if Hercule Poirot can't do what ordinary people can't, then the gray cells in his brain are more powerful than other people's." What's the point of good quality?" "Ah," I said, "if you insist—" "Of course I say that, because that's what it is. I'm going down, ashamed, ashamed, I'm totally useless." The similarity between Poirot's self-effacement and other people's conceits is striking, so I took the precaution to keep my mouth shut after hearing his self-pitying words.

"Now," he said, "start. To London." "London?" "Yes. We can take the two o'clock train comfortably. It's safe and sound here, and the lady won't have any accidents in the rest house. No one can touch her. The police dogs can go for a walk. I still There are a couple of things to know." On arriving in London, as a first step, we visited the late Captain Seton's solicitor, Whitfield of Padgett and Whitfield. Poirot had an appointment with him earlier, so that although it was past six o'clock we saw the head of the firm, Mr. Whitfield, very soon.

Like all senior lawyers, he was a gentle man.After one glance, it can be unforgettable for ten years.There were two letters before him, one from the police, the other from a senior Scotland Yard officer. "Setton's engagement is extraordinary, eh, M. Poirot?" he said, rubbing his spectacles with a piece of silk. "Yes, Mr. Whitfield. But this murder is also extraordinary--and I am privileged to say so, extraordinary!" "Yes, yes. But this murder must have nothing to do with my late client's estate. Eh?" "I do not think so." "Ah, you dissent! See, in the circumstances—and I must admit that Sir Henry expressed in his letter that he took the case very seriously—I shall, er, be more than happy to serve you as far as I can. Serve." "You are Captain Seton's legal counsel?" "Counsel to the whole Seton family, my dear sir. We have been counsel to the family—I mean my firm—for nearly a hundred years." "And now it's finished perfectly. The late Sir Matthew Seton had a will?" "It's a great honor that we drafted it for him." "How does he divide his property?" "There were a few wills, for example, a sum to the Natural History Museum. But the vast majority of his vast fortune--millions of furniture, I might say--was left to Captain Michael Seton. Mr. Seton has no other next of kin." "Juwan furniture, what did you just say?" "The late Sir Matthew was the second richest man in England," said Mr. Whitfield flatly. "I heard he has some eccentricities?" Mr. Whitfield looked at him severely. "Mr. Poirot, a millionaire can be interesting, or he will not be popular." Poirot showed no signs of resentment when he touched this thorn.He then asked another question. "His death was unexpected, I suppose?" "Very unexpected. No one expected it. Although Sir Matthew is old, he has always been in good health. Unexpectedly, he contracted cancer. When it was discovered, it had spread to the point of fatality. An operation was performed immediately. But as is often the case Same thing, the surgery was excellent, and the patient died." "The property passed to Captain Seton." "exactly." "I suppose Captain Seton made a will before he set off on his expedition?" "Yes--if you call it a will," said Whitfield with great disapproval. "Is it legal?" "Perfectly legal. The testator's intent was plain and simple, and impeccably witnessed. Ah, yes, perfectly legal." "Then you disapprove of his will?" "My dear sir, what do we agree or disapprove of!" I often wonder about the format of a will.I made a will.But when my law firm brought me the text of the will, written according to my wishes, for my signature, I was really taken aback by the length and cumbersomeness of the document. "The truth is," said Mr. Whitfield, "that Captain Seton had nothing to bequeath at the time, and he was dependent on his uncle. So I don't think he thought making a will at all." I think this idea makes a lot of sense. Poirot asked: "What about the will?" "He left to his fiancée, Miss Magdalene Buckley, all that he had and ought to have at his death, and appointed me as executor." "So Miss Buckley is his heir?" "certainly." "What if Miss Buckley dies on Monday?" "As long as she dies after Captain Seton, the estate will go to the heir she named in her will. If she doesn't make a will, it goes to her next of kin." At this point, Mr. Whitfield paused.Then added: "Under such circumstances, I would like to say that the inheritance tax will be staggering, staggering! Death will follow, and property will change hands three times," he shook his head. "The three inheritance taxes paid in a row It's a huge sum of money!" "There will be some survivors?" said Poirot muttering. "My dear sir, I have already told you that Sir Matthew is the second richest man in England." Poirot rose to his feet. "Thank you, Mr Whitfield, and very much for this valuable information." "Happy to be of your service. I can tell you that I will be in touch with Miss Buckley. Indeed, I believe our letter has been sent. I stand ready to be of service to her in any way I can." "She is young and ignorant," said Poirot, "and just needs the legal advice of an expert." "I'm afraid there's going to be a property contest," said Whitfield, shaking his head. "That's the beginning," sighed Poirot. "Good-bye, sir." "Good-bye, M. Poirot. It has been a pleasure to be of service to you. Your name is—well, a reputation." He said it as though, with his approval, Poirot's name would go down in history, forever. When I left the office, I said: "Exactly as you imagined, Poirot." "You know, my friend, that no other explanation is possible. Now we're going to Cheshire's, where Japp is waiting for us to eat." Inspector Japp of Scotland Yard was indeed waiting for us at the appointed place.He saw Poirot with great affection. "How many years have we not seen each other, old Poirot? I thought you were retiring to the country and growing gourds and pumpkins." "I mean it, Japp, I mean it. But you can't get away with murder even growing pumpkins." He sighed.I knew he was thinking of the strange case at Fearnley Park.But unfortunately, I was far away at that time, so I didn't know the details. "And, Captain Hastings," said Japp, "how are you, sir?" "fine thanks." "So murder is on now?" Japp quipped. "You're right, there's more of them—very fashionable." "You can't be timid, old rooster," said Japp, "without even a clue--but then again, you can't expect the kind of success you used to at your age. You and I ain't no good Well, it's time for young people to try, you understand?" "The old horse knows the way," murmured Poirot, "it knows the way, and it won't get lost." "Hey, we're talking about people, not horses!" "Why, is there a big difference?" "That depends on how you approach the matter. But you're always careful, aren't you, Hastings? He looks the same--except for a few innocuous hairs missing from his forehead, and The age spots on the skin have been added just right." "Eh?" said Poirot. "What did you say?" "He's complimenting your beard." I quickly comforted him. "Oh, yes. The beauty of my beard is indeed obvious to all." As he spoke, he twirled his beard in a very graceful manner. Japp couldn't help laughing out loud.At last he suppressed his sense of humour, and said: "Look, I've done what you asked me to do. Those fingerprints you sent—" "How?" Poirot asked impatiently. "Nothing. Whoever this gentleman is, we have no past fingerprints on file. We wired to Melbourne, and they said they had no knowledge of such a man." "what!" "There's always something wrong, but it seems obvious that he's not a regular criminal. As for the other thing you asked about..." "right?" "The Lazarus and Sons are reputable. Their business is honest and reliable. Of course they're good at doing business, but that's another story. How can they be good businessmen! There's nothing wrong with them, even though they're in a difficult position—" — I mean the money side." "Really?" "Yes. They've been hit hard by the bad picture business, and by the slow sales of the old furniture. Modern stuff is on the way on the Continent. They opened a new shop last year, just off the Rue de Quell. Not far." "You've been a great help to me, Japp." "Where are you talking? Although this kind of thing is not my job, since you want to understand these situations, I have to do my best." "My good Japp, what would I do without you?" "Oh, don't say that. I'm always happy to help old friends. I've had you on some pretty cases in the old days. Remember?" In saying so, Japp admitted, I think, that he owed a great debt to Poirot.Poirot had helped the helpless official detective solve many complicated cases. "Those days are such a nostalgia—" "I still enjoy chatting with you from time to time. Your methods may be a little outdated, but you have always been on the right track, M. Poirot." "I have another question? About Dr. McAllister?" "Oh, he! He's a women's doctor, and I don't mean a gynecologist. He's a psychiatrist—advise you to sleep in an orange-and-purple room with your belly button in your head, Say that this is the secret of immortality, and then advise you to let go of emotions and desires, and say that it is the essence of rejuvenation, and there are many other such witty sayings, which can be used as your motto. If you ask me, I will tell you He is really just a charlatan, but the women worship him like a god. He often goes abroad to practice medicine, and not long ago, I heard that he was very popular in Paris." "How did you come up with Dr. McAllister?" I asked in bewilderment, a name I'd never heard of. "What has he to do with the case?" "Dr. McAllister is Colonel Challenger's uncle," said Poirot. "Remember? He said he had an uncle who was a doctor." "You've spared nothing," I said. "You think he operated on Sir Matthew?" "He's not a surgeon!" said Japp. "My friend," said Poirot, "I like to put a question mark on everything. Hercule Poirot is a good dog, and a good dog is always on the heels of a scent it finds. If there was nothing to follow, he sniffed around, and the scents he sought were always repulsive. Hercule Poirot was such a good dog, and often—well, sure enough— Find what he's looking for!" "We don't have an enviable job," said Japp, "looking around for a stink and running after it and fearing it might break the thread. Ah, not a good job. But you Yours is worse than mine. You are not an official detective, and there are many occasions when you have to sneak in instead of openly." "Who said that? Why do you have to be sneaky? I never change my name, I don't pretend to be a disguise. When I'm investigating, who doesn't know that Poirot is investigating? I have always been aboveboard, and I have never bothered to hide my name!" "Actually you can't," said Japp. "You're so different that a mere sight of you is unforgettable." Poirot looked at him suspiciously. "I'm only kidding," Japp said. "Don't take it seriously. How about a glass of wine?" The whole evening went very harmoniously.We are all immersed in the memories of the past.This case and that case go on and on.I also love reminiscing about the past, the glorious days that are gone forever.Now I feel old. Poor old Poirot, I could see he was stumped by the case.Today is not as good as it used to be, age is not forgiving.I had a hunch that this time he was going to fail.The murder of Magdalene Buckley will not go down in his honor. "Cheer up, my friend," Poirot patted me on the shoulder. "It's not yet decided. Don't make your face so long, I beg you." "No, am I not in good shape?" "Me too, and Japp too." "All three of us," said Japp cheerfully. We parted happily in this way. The next morning we started back to Saint-Loup, and as soon as we got to the hotel Poirot called the sanatorium and asked to speak to Nick. Suddenly I saw his face change drastically, and he almost dropped the microphone to the ground. "What? What? Say it again..." He listened for a minute or two, then said: "Okay, okay, I'll be right there." He turned his pale face towards me. "Why did I leave here for London, Hastings? My God, why did I leave?" "What happened?" "Miss Nick is dangerous, cocaine poisoned! God, that claw still has her, why should I get out of here? My God!"