Chapter 26 Chapter 25 Legacy

"A Mr. Robinson is calling on you, sir." "Well." Hercule Poirot reached out and picked up the letter on the desk in front of him, looking at it lost in thought. He called out: "Please come in, George." The letter is just a few short lines: Dear Poirot: A Mr. Robinson may be visiting you soon.You probably already know a little bit about him.He is a prominent figure in certain social situations.In our modern society, such people are needed.I believe, if I may say so, that he is on the side of the angels on this particular issue.If you have any doubts, this letter is an introduction, although, of course, I want to emphasize that we don't know why he wants to see you.

Haha, laugh again, ha ha! Poirot put down the letter and stood up when your eternal Mr. Ephraim Parkway Robinson entered the room. He bowed, shook hands with the other party, and pointed to a chair for the guest to sit down. Mr. Robinson sat down and covered his broad, sallow face with a handkerchief.He said it was hotter. "I don't think you'd come here on foot in this heat?" Poirot looked surprised when he asked this.Due to a very natural association, he couldn't help stroking his beard with his fingers.He finally felt relieved.The guests are not worn out. Mr. Robinson looked equally surprised.

"But the traffic is often jammed. Sometimes you have to wait for half an hour." Poirot nodded sympathetically. Then there was silence—the kind of silence that comes between two conversations. "I am interested to hear—of course one naturally hears many things—mostly nonsense—that you are asking about a girls' school." "Ah," said Poirot, "that thing!" He leaned back in the chair. "The Meadows," said Mr. Robinson thoughtfully, "is, after all, a first-class school in England." "It's a good school." "Do you mean now, or in the past?"

"I hope it's the former." "I hope so," said Mr. Robinson. "Well, one has to do the best one can. Get some financial support to ride out a period of inevitable decline. Get some carefully selected new students. It still has some influence in some social circles.” "I've also spoken to some quarters. See if I can get through as you say. Fortunately, people forget about these things very quickly." "That too was just hope. But we should admit that there were a series of events at that school that were likely to put some loving mothers on their nerves - and some dads as well. Female PE teacher, female French The teacher, and the third female teacher - were murdered."

"exactly." "I've heard," said Mr. Robinson, "that one always hears a great deal about the young woman who, from her youth, hated the governess. She had had a bad time at school. childhood. Psychiatrists would take that very seriously. At the very least, they would seek a mitigating sentence, which is the term they use now." "That course seems to be the best policy," said Poirot, "but I hope it fails, if you will forgive me for saying so." "I quite agree with you. A brutal murderer. But they will appreciate her outstanding character, her work as a secretary to many famous people, her service in the war--remarkable, I think—in terms of counterintelligence..."

There was something in the way he uttered those last words—something seemed to suggest something in his tone. "I'm sure she was kind," he said more briskly, "that's what she is—she ought to be. But I can understand the temptation this time—to be alone, Capture the priceless treasure." He repeated softly: "The priceless treasure." Poirot nodded in agreement. Mr. Robinson leaned forward: "Where is the thing? M. Poirot." "I think you know where things are." "Well, frankly, I know, banks are always good institutions, right?"

Poirot smiled. "Really, we don't have to go around in circles, my good friend. What is the need? What are you going to do with these things?" "I'm waiting." "Waiting for what?" "Can we say - wait for advice?" "Yes—I see." "You know it's not mine. I intend to return it to its true owner. But. It won't be easy, if I'm right about the situation." "The government is in a difficult position," said Mr. Robinson, "in a vulnerable position, so to speak. On the one hand, foreign relations are a very delicate matter because of oil, steel, uranium, drilling, and all the rest. God The big good thing is that Her Majesty's government has no clue about it."

"But I cannot keep these treasures in my bank indefinitely." "Exactly. That's why I've come to propose to you that you give me the things." "Ah," asked Poirot in surprise, "why?" "I can name some excellent reasons. These treasures - fortunately we are not government officials, we can properly call them - are undoubtedly the private property of the late Prince Ali Yusuf." "As far as I know that's the case." "His Royal Highness had given certain instructions in delivering the items to Squadron Captain Bob Rawlinson. The items were to be shipped out of Ramat and delivered to myself."

"Do you have any proof?" "Of course there is." Mr. Robinson took a long envelope from his pocket.Remove a few more pages of documentation from the envelope.He spread the papers on the desk in front of Poirot. Poirot bowed his head and studied the papers carefully. "It looks just like you said." "Well, then?" "Do you mind if I ask you a question?" "Never." "What do you personally get out of this?" Mr. Robinson couldn't help showing surprise. "My dear friend. Of course I shall get a sum of money. A lot of money."

Poirot looked at him thoughtfully. "We've been in this business for a long time," said Mr. Robinson, "and very profitable. We've got a lot of people and an organization all over the world. I don't know what to call ourselves, but we're the arrangers behind the scenes. For kings, for presidents, for politicians, indeed, for all those who are exposed to the bright lights on the stage (as a poet described it). We work closely with each other and remember: keep the credit .Our profits are high, but we are honest. The services we provide are expensive - but we work well."

"I see," said Poirot, "well (the original is in French)! I agree to your request." "I can assure you that this decision will please everyone." Mr. Robinson's eyes fell on Colonel Pikeway's letter to Poirot's right. "But hold you one more time. I'm human. I'm curious. What do you do with the jewels?" A small smile appeared on Mr. Robinson's broad, sallow face.He leans forward: "I'll tell you." So he told Poirot. Children run up and down the street playing games.Their screams were heard everywhere.Mr. Robinson lumbered awkwardly out of his limousine and bumped into a small child. Mr. Robinson kindly helped the child aside, and then looked at the house number. number fifteen.correct.He pushed open the gate and walked up the three steps to the front door. He noticed that there were clean white curtains on the windows, and a polished brass knocker.It was a very common house, in a common street in a very remote part of London, but well looked after and showing self-respect. The door opened.A girl of about twenty-five, lovely-looking, fair-skinned, but vulgarly polished.She welcomed him with a smile. "Mr. Robinson? Come in." She led him into a small sitting room.There was a television set, Jacobean curtains, and a baby upright piano against the wall.She was wearing a black dress and a gray jumper. "Would you like some tea? I have put the teapot on." "Thanks, no. I never drink tea. And I can only stay for a while. I came only to bring you what I mentioned in my letter." "Is it Ali's?" "yes." "Isn't there—can't there be any hope? I mean—was he really killed? Could something be wrong?" "I don't think there's any mistake," replied Mr. Robinson politely. "Yes—yes, I didn't expect it either. Anyway, I never expected . . . when he came home, I didn't think I'd see him again. I don't mean that I thought he was going to be killed Or there's going to be a revolution. I'm just saying - well, you know - he's going to have to go on and do what he's doing - which is what he's expected to do, marry a woman from his own country - and so on Wait." Mr. Robinson took out a bag and put it on the table. "please open." She fumbled open the wrapping paper with her hands, and then opened the last layer of wrapping paper... She couldn't help breathing quickly. Red, blue, green, and white all shone brightly, and the whole dark room seemed to be illuminated by Aladdin's magic lamp. Mr. Robinson watched her.He had witnessed many women looking at jewelry. Finally she said out of breath: "These are—these can't be—true?" "These are true." "Then they must be worth—they must be worth..." She can't imagine. Mr. Robinson nodded. "If you wanted to sell them, you'd probably get at least £500,000." "No—no, it's impossible." Suddenly she threw up the jewels with her hands and rewrapped them with trembling hands. "I'm scared," she said, "these things scare me. What do I do with them?" The door was flung open.A little boy rushed in. "Mom, I got a nice little tank from Billy. He—" He stopped talking suddenly and stared at Mr. Robinson. The child has brown skin and black eyes. His mother said to him: "Go into the kitchen, Ellen. Your tea is ready, and milk, biscuit, and a piece of gingerbread." "Oh, that's great," he yelled, running out. "Did you call him Alan?" asked Mr. Robinson. She blushed. "It's the closest thing to Ali's name. I can't call him Ali - it's not easy for him or anyone around me." She went on, her face clouded again with gloom. "what should I do?" "First of all, do you have a marriage certificate? I must be sure that you really have the identity you said." She stared at it for a while, then walked to a small desk, took out an envelope from a drawer, pulled out a document and gave it to him. "Um... by the way...Edmund Stowe Marriage Certificate....Ali Yusuf, student...Alice Calder, virgin. Yes, absolutely correct." "Ah, it's legal, all right - as far as it goes. No one ever figured out who he was. There's a lot of foreign Muslim students here, you know. We know it doesn't really matter Useful. He is a muslim and can have several wives and he himself understands that he has to go back and do that. We talked about that too. Then I got pregnant with Ellen, you know, and he said it was a big deal for him Good thing—so we were legally married in England, and Ellen would be legally legitimate. That's what he did for me. He did love me, you know. Indeed."' "Yes," said Mr. Robinson, "I'm sure of it." Then he said to her briskly: "Well, if you leave your business to me, I'll try to sell the jewels. I'll give you the address of a solicitor, a really reliable solicitor. I expect he will advise you to put most of this money in a trust fund. There are other things to attend to, your children's education, and you have to arrange a new life. You need social support. Education and guidance. You will be a very wealthy woman, and as a result, all kinds of extortionists, money-swindlers, and other such people will flock to you. Except in purely material aspects, your life will be It's not easy. Rich people don't have easy lives, I can tell you - I've seen too many rich people, I don't have that illusion anymore. But you have a strong character. I think you can make it through. That kid of yours is probably much happier than his father." He paused and asked again, "Do you agree?" "Yes. Take the things." She pushed the bag in front of him, and then said suddenly, "The schoolgirl—the one who found these things—I want to give her one—do you think she Which piece would you like—what color?" Mr. Robinson thought for a moment. "I think it's a piece of jasper—green' for mystery. You're very thoughtful. She'll be delighted." He stood up. "I'll charge you for my work. You know," said Mr. Robinson, "we charge a lot. But I will never cheat you." She gave him a cool look. "Yes, I'm sure you won't. And I need someone who can do it, because I can't." "You seem like a reasonable woman, if I may say so. So, I'm taking things away? You don't want to keep—just a piece—say?" He watched her sudden agitation, that eager, greedy look, with curiosity.But then that trace of expression disappeared completely. "No, not wanting to keep--even just one piece." Alice blushed. "We read the passage together--the one about a woman whose worth far exceeds many rubies. So--I don't want any jewels. I'd rather not." "A very unusual woman," said Mr. Robinson to himself, as he went out into the street and stepped into the Rolls which was parked there. He repeated to himself again: "A very unusual woman."