Chapter 17 Chapter 17 A Box of Chocolates

All the way to the infirmary Poirot kept blaming himself, talking to himself. "I should have thought," he complained, "I should have thought! What else could I do? I took every precaution, and it was impossible—impossible. No one could touch her! Who violated Where is my order?" When we got to the sanatorium, we were let into a small reception room downstairs.Dr. Graham came in a few minutes later.He looked exhausted, haggard and pale. "She's not going to die," he said. "The danger is over. The hardest part was not knowing how much of the damned stuff she ate."

"what?" "cocaine." "Will she be back to the same as before?" "It will. No problem." "How did this happen? How did they come into contact with her? Who was let in?" asked Poirot angrily. "No one was let in." "impossible!" "it is true." "Then how could-" "It's a box of chocolates." "Ah, damn it! I told her not to eat food brought in from outside." "I don't know. It's crazy to tell a girl not to touch chocolate. She only ate one, thank God."

"Is there cocaine in all chocolate?" "No, she had it in the one she ate, and the top two had cocaine in it too. The others didn't." "How did the cocaine get in there?" "The method is stupid. The chocolate is cut in half, the poison is mixed with the filling, and the two halves are glued back together. This is what you usually call 'amateur work' .” Poirot said in a low voice: "Ah! If I'm not mistaken . . . may I go and see Miss Nick?" "If you come back in an hour, I think you can see her," said the doctor. "Don't be so lost, sir. She's all right."

We wandered the streets for an hour.I did my best to reassure him, assuring him that everything was all right and nothing irreparable had happened. He just shook his head and kept saying: "I'm afraid, Hastings, I'm afraid..." The strange tone of his voice made me also feel an indescribable fear. Once he took me by the arm and said, "Listen, friend, I was all wrong. Wrong from the beginning." "You mean it wasn't the inheritance that was the problem?" "No, no, I'm not mistaken about the inheritance. Yes, that's right. But those two people I suspect...their suspiciousness is too obvious, and there must be something hidden in it!" Then he resented cried: "Ah, that girl! Haven't I looked after me enough? Didn't I tell her not to eat what was brought in? She's disobedient--a good word from me, Hercule Poirot! Four times almost It's not enough to die, but a fifth time! Oh, how unbelievable!"

We are back at the rest home.After waiting for a while, he was led upstairs. Nick was sitting on the bed, his pupils were dilated, he looked feverish, and his hands were trembling slightly. "Again," she grumbled. Seeing her Poirot was really moved.The old detective held Nick's little hand with infinite tenderness, stared at her lovingly, and could hardly speak. "Oh, miss, miss..." "If they succeed this time," she cried resentfully, "I wouldn't care. I'm tired, yes, I'm tired." "poor child." "But I don't want to make them proud."

"That's right, it's worth fighting for, miss." "After all, your sanatorium isn't safe," Nick said. "If you'll listen to me, miss—" She looked at Poirot in surprise. "I listened to you." "Didn't I repeatedly tell you not to eat food brought in from outside?" "I've always done it." "But those chocolates—" "What's with those chocolates? You sent them." "What did you say, Miss?" "The chocolate is from you!" "Me? No. Never." "It was from you! Your card is in the box."

"what?" Nick tapped on a table next to the bed.The nurse came over. "Do you want the card in the box?" "Yes, please take it for me." The nurse brought it. "Well, this is it." Poirot and I gave a low cry at the same time, for on the card it was written in cursive letters: "Hercule Poirot bows." "Damn it!" "Look," Nick said reproachfully. "I didn't write that!" said Poirot. "what?" "But," said Poirot hesitantly, "but it is my handwriting." "I know it. It's in exactly the same handwriting as it was on the card that came with those orange carnations. I don't even have any doubts about whether you sent the chocolate."

Poirot shook his head. "How could you be suspicious? Oh, the devil, the cunning and cruel devil! He has indeed a genius for such an idea. 'Hercule Poirot bows'—'Cocaine bows to death'!" Hey, how simple! How beautiful! But how did I not see this coming!" Nick squirmed uneasily. "Oh, Miss, you are irresponsible and beyond reproach. I am the one who should be responsible. I am too incompetent. How could every step of the criminal be beyond my expectation?" His jaw dropped, and he seemed to be sinking into an unfathomable abyss of pain. "I think—" said the nurse.

She had been lingering close by, and now seemed impatient. "Eh? Ah, yes, yes, it's time we put the patient to rest. Be brave, miss, this will be the last mistake I'll ever make. I'm ashamed—I've been tricked and tricked as if I were a schoolboy Like. But it will never happen again. It won't, I assure you. Come on, Hastings." The first step Poirot went to the matron.She was distraught by the whole thing. "How could such a thing happen in our sanatorium! M. Poirot, it is completely inconceivable." Poirot sympathized with her, calmed her down with great tact, and began to ask how the fatal package had come about.The nurse said he'd better ask the attendant who was on duty when the package arrived.

The man's name was Hood, he was a young man of twenty-two, and although he did not look bright, he was quite honest.Poirot managed to calm him from his nervous panic. "This matter has nothing to do with you," he said mildly, "but I want you to tell me exactly when and by what means this parcel was brought here." The waiter seemed rather embarrassed. "It's hard to tell, sir," he stammered a little. "There are a lot of people who come here to inquire about cases, and to give us what they bring to the sick." "The nurse said the package came last night," I said, "about six o'clock."

The young man's face lit up. "I remember, sir, that a gentleman brought it." "Thin face, fair hair?" "The hair wasn't dark, but the face—I can't remember." "Could it be Charles Weiss?" I asked Poirot hesitantly, forgetting that the young man standing in front of me probably knew all the names of people in this area. "Not Mr. Weiss," he said. "I know Mr. Weiss. He's taller and more stylish, and he's driving a big limousine." "Lazarus!" I exclaimed. Poirot gave me a warning look, and I knew I was being reckless again. "The gentleman came here in a rather large limousine and left this parcel addressed to Miss Buckley. Is that so?" "Yes, sir." "What did you do with the package?" "I left it alone, sir. The nurse took it upstairs." "True. But didn't you touch the package when you took it from the gentleman?" "Oh, then, of course, sir. I took it from him and put it on the table." "Which table? Show me, please." The waiter led us into the lobby.The front door was open.Not far away was a long table with a marble top, on which were many letters and parcels. "Here are the deliveries, sir. Then the nurse takes them upstairs to be distributed to the patients." "Do you remember when this package we were talking about was delivered?" "It must have been five-thirty or a little later, when the postman arrived--he always comes around five-thirty. It was a rather busy evening, with a great number of visits to the sick and deliveries of flowers and things." "Thank you. Now, I want to see the nurse who took the package upstairs." It was a trainee nurse with a mass of soft hair who made a fuss about everything.She remembered taking the package upstairs when she came to work at six o'clock. "Six o'clock," said Poirot in a low voice, "the package has been sitting on the downstairs table for about twenty minutes, then." "what?" "Nothing, miss, go on. You took the package to Miss Buckley?" "Yes. There was quite a lot for her. There was this box of chocolates, and a bouquet of sweet peas from the Crofts, I thought. I sent them up together. There was another A package from the post office—you see, it's also a box of Fowler's chocolates." "What? The second box?" "Yes, what a coincidence. Miss Buckley took them apart together. She said, 'Oh, what a pity, I can't eat it!' Then she lifted the lids off both boxes of chocolates to see if they were the same .one of those boxes had your card in it. she looked at it and said, 'take that other dirty box of chocolates, nurse, don't let me mix them up.' oh god, who knows It's like something out of an Edgar Wallace novel when it happens afterwards, don't you think?" Poirot cut her off. "Two boxes, you say? Who sent the other box?" "There's no card in that box, don't know." "And which box was—it seemed to be—from me? From the post office or straight from it?" "I can't remember. Shall I go up there and ask Miss Buckley?" "It couldn't be better." She ran upstairs. "Two boxes," murmured Poirot, "that really confuses me." The nurse came back out of breath and said: "Miss Buckley was not sure either. She took the wrapping off both boxes before she lifted the lid, but she doesn't think it was the one that came in." "Oh?" said Poirot doubtfully. "Your box didn't come through the post—at least she thought so, though she wasn't quite sure." "Damn!" said Poirot as we came out of the infirmary, "not quite sure! Is there anyone who is quite sure of everything? There are people like that in detective stories, but not in real life. Life is ever-changing and chaotic. I —Is Hercule Poirot sure of everything? Sure? No, no, it's just a myth." "This man, Lazarus," I said. "Yeah, it's really unexpected, isn't it?" "Are you going to talk to him?" "Yes, I'd love to see how he'll react to that. And we can exaggerate Miss Nick's condition and declare her dying, and it won't do any harm, you understand? Oh, look at you How serious is that face—oh, admirable, like an undertaker, hey, it's so real!" We were lucky and found Lazarus very quickly.He was bending over to fix the car outside the hotel. Poirot walked straight up to him and said straight to the point: "Yesterday evening, Mr. Lazarus, you sent Miss Buckley a box of chocolates." Lazarus is a little weird. "yes--" "You are such a friend." "That box of chocolates was actually Freddie—I mean Mrs. Rice—sent me to buy it and send it to me." "Oh, that's right." "I drove him to the rest home yesterday." "I know." After a minute or two of silence, Poirot said: "Mrs. Rice—where is she?" "I think it's in the lounge." She was sitting there drinking tea when we found her.Seeing us go in, she was full of eagerness to know something. "I heard Nick was ill. What's the matter?" "It's a very mysterious thing, ma'am. Please tell me you gave her a box of chocolates yesterday?" "Yes. She asked me to buy her a box." "She asked you to buy it?" "right." "But she can't see anyone. How did you see her?" "I didn't see her. She called me." "Ah! What did she say?" "She asked if I could buy her a two-pound box of Fowler's." "How does her voice sound? Is it weak?" "No, it's not weak at all. It's loud, but it's different. At first I couldn't tell it was her." "Until she tells you who she is?" "correct." "Are you sure, ma'am, that it's your good friend who's calling?" Frederica froze. "I, I, well, of course it's her, who else could it be?" "That's an interesting question, ma'am." "Didn't you always say—" "Would you swear, ma'am, that it was Miss Nick's voice on the phone—don't infer from what she said." "No," said Frederica hesitantly, "I can't swear to it. Her voice certainly didn't sound like that. I thought it was the phone, or something about her poor health..." "If she doesn't tell you who she is, you can't tell who's talking?" "Yes, I don't think I can hear it. But who is that? M. Poirot, who is it?" "That's exactly what I want to know, ma'am." Poirot's grave look aroused her suspicions. "Nick—what's the matter?" she asked breathlessly. Poirot nodded. "She's sick--dying, ma'am. Those chocolates are poisoned." "Chocolate from me? It's impossible, impossible!" "It's not impossible, ma'am. Nick's dying." "Oh, my God!" She buried her face in her hands and raised it again, pale as death, with trembling lips. "I don't understand--I don't understand. Last time it was understandable, but this time, I don't understand at all. There can't be poison in the chocolate. No one touches it except me and Jim." Pass it. You must be mistaken, M. Poirot." "Do you think it's my mistake to have my business card in the box?" She looked at him in bewilderment. "If Miss Nick dies—" He made a menacing gesture with his hand. She sobbed softly. Poirot turned away and led me back into our living room.He flicked his hat on the table. "I don't understand anything—it's a mess! There's no light! I'm like a three-year-old. Who is the beneficiary of Nick's death? Mrs. Rice. Who sent chocolates and made up a phone call What about the story? Mrs. Rice. The doubts are too simple and obvious, and it would be foolish to add new doubts to yourself under the circumstances, but do you think she is a fool? No. , not like it!" "So--" "But she took drugs--cocaine! I'm sure she took cocaine. There is no doubt about it. The poison in the chocolate is cocaine! She just said, 'It was understandable last time, but this time, I don't know. I don't understand.' What do you mean? This question has to be clarified, this question! As for that smooth and shrewd Mr. Lazarus, what is his role? Mrs. Rice knows some things, but what? I can't get her to talk. She's not the type to freak out, but she does have something in her stomach, Hastings. Is the story of the phone call true? If it's true, the caller was Who? Tell you, Hastings, it's all in darkness, darkness that can't be seen!" "It's always dark before the dawn," I reassured him. He shook his head. "And the other box of chocolates, the one that came through the post. Can we rule it out? No, no, because Miss Nick can't tell which box was poisoned. It's annoying!" He snorted. I was about to speak but he blocked me. "No, stop it, don't give me another aphorism or something, I can't bear it. If you're a friend enough to help..." "How is it?" I asked hastily. "Just get out, I beg you, and buy me a deck of cards." I was taken aback, then said coldly, "Okay." I think he just found an excuse to get rid of me. But I was wrong about him.When I walked into the living room about ten o'clock that night, I found him there carefully building a house out of playing cards.It dawned on me. This is his old habit.He uses this method to calm his nerves and brain. He smiled at me. "Ah, I can see you remember this old habit of mine. A man's mind should be rigorous and precise, and the deck of cards is the same. Each card can only be placed in one place, otherwise it will not be balanced. If each All the cards are placed exactly where they are, and all the cards can be stacked without collapsing. Go to sleep, Hastings, and leave me here alone to build my house of cards and clear my mind." I was shaken awake about five o'clock in the morning. Poirot stood beside me, refreshed and exuberant. "You are so right, my friend, ah, so right, so brilliant!" I blinked at him, still not fully awake. "It's always dark before the dawn—that's what you said. It was so dark for a while! Now it's dawn!" I looked at the window and saw that he was exactly right. "No, no, Hastings. The dawn is in my head, in my little gray cells!" He paused, then quickly continued: "Look, Hastings, Miss Nick is dead." "What?" I yelled, and all sleepiness disappeared. "Shh--squeak! Not really dead--of course. But an illusion can be arranged. Yes, twenty-four hours can be arranged for her to die. I've made it all right with the doctors and nurses. Do you understand, Hastings? Murder succeeded. Four times he did it, four times he failed, and the fifth time, he finally succeeded! So we can see what happens next... "It's going to be very interesting."