Chapter 20 Chapter Twenty "Ten"

It happened so suddenly that for a moment everyone was stunned. Immediately afterwards Poirot ran out of the window with a cry, and Challenger followed him. They came back soon, carrying a limp person.They carefully placed him on a leather sofa.I exclaimed when I saw his face clearly: "This is—this is the face at the window!" Yes, this is the man who was watching us from the window last night, and I recognized it immediately.I remember Poirot chiding me for it when I said he had a dead face. But the face in front of me proves that I was not terribly wrong at the time.It was a bewildered and dull face, very different from the average human face: pale, emaciated, and deformed, like a mask, it seemed that the person had long since lost his soul; There was blood dripping down one side.

Frederica came slowly and stood by the sofa.Poirot turned and shielded her from the bleak picture. "Are you hurt, ma'am?" She shook her head. "The bullet grazed the shoulder, nothing." She gently pushed Poirot away and stooped. The man opened his eyes and saw that she was looking at him. "I hope this time satisfies you," he growled viciously.But suddenly his voice became like a child's, "Oh, Freddie, I don't mean it, I don't mean it. You're always so kind to me..." "do not be sad--" She knelt beside him. "I don't really want to..."

At this point, his head suddenly tilted to one side, and there will never be any further words in this sentence. Frederica looked up at Poirot. "Yes, ma'am, he's dead," he said softly. Frederica stood up slowly, looked down at the dead man, stroked his forehead with one hand pityingly, then turned to us all with a sigh. "He is my husband," she said quietly. "Tenth, that question mark that always exists." I said to myself. Poirot nodded, and continued my words: "Yes, I've always felt that there was a Tenth Man. I said so from the beginning, didn't I?"

"He's my husband," Frederica said feebly, and sank into a chair that Lazarus had brought her. "I can tell you all - now." "He's a total depraved prodigal, a drug addict and taught me to use drugs. I've been struggling with this addiction since I separated from him. I think it's finally working. It's painful, it's difficult, oh, it's rare It is unimaginable and completely incomprehensible to those who have not had this experience. "But I can't get rid of him. He's always begging for money—threats and deceits, or extortion. If I don't pay him, he's going to kill himself—that's his trump card. Then he said if If he can't get the money, he will not only commit suicide, but also kill me first. He can do anything, he is a madman, he is an arrogant person.

"I think he killed Magdalene Buckley. Of course, he wasn't going to kill her but me, but he was mistaken. "I think I should have spoken out about the situation long ago, but I'm only guessing after all, and there is no basis for it. And those strange accidents that Nick encountered seem to be carefully planned, which makes me feel that killing Magda Le Barclay's might not be him at all, but someone else. "Then, one day, I saw on M. Poirot's desk a torn piece of paper with his handwriting on it, a fragment of a letter he had written to me, and I realized with horror that M. Poirot had clue.

"From then on, I thought it was just a matter of time... "Although I understand why Miss Magdalene Buckley was killed, I can't figure out the chocolate candy thing at all. He wouldn't want to poison Nick, anyway, I don't see the point of him doing it .I'm so confused, I can't think of a reason." She covered her face with her hands, and then slowly let go, as if she was about to faint. "That's all..."