Chapter 4 Chapter Four

Mrs. Oliver put down her glass and wiped her lips. "You're right," she said. "It worked. I was hysterical." "I see. You were frightened a lot. When did the accident happen?" "Last night, was it just yesterday? Yes, yes, yes." "You came to find me!" This sentence does not seem to be asking anything, but just expresses a desire to know more. "You came to me—why?" "I thought you'd figure it out," Mrs. Oliver replied. "You know, it's—it's not that simple." "It may be simple, or it may not be simple," said Poirot. "It's hard to say. If you have given me more details, I think you must have called the police, no doubt the doctor. What did he say?"

"An investigation is required," Mrs. Oliver replied. "Naturally." "Tomorrow and the day after tomorrow." "How old is the girl named Joyce?" "I don't know the details, maybe twelve or thirteen years old." "Is it small?" "No, no, I think she is mature and plump compared to her peers," Mrs. Oliver replied. "Well developed? You mean looking sexy?" "Yes, yes, but I don't think it's that kind of case—it would be easier, wouldn't it?" "That kind of case is published in the newspapers every day. Girls are molested, schoolchildren are killed-yes, every day. But it is different when it happens in a private house. Maybe there is not much difference, but I don't think you There's something else you haven't told me."

"No, not yet," said Mrs. Oliver. "I haven't told you why, why I came to you." "You know this Joyce, you know her very well?" "I don't know her at all. I better explain why I went there." "Where is it?" "Oh, a place called Woodley New Village." "Woodley Village?" Poirot thought for a moment. "Recently—" he stopped. "It's not far from London, about—well, thirty or forty miles, I think, closer to Manchester. There's some nice houses there, and a lot of new building going on, it's a residential area, and there's a nice house nearby Schools, people can commute to London or Manchester by train, it's a pretty normal place for people on a better income to live in."

"Woodley Village," repeated Poirot thoughtfully. “I was staying there with a friend of mine, Judith Butler, a widow. I met Judith Butler on a boat trip this year and we became friends. She has a daughter, a girl named Miranda, ten years old. When I was two or three years old, she invited me to play with her for a few days, saying that a friend was going to hold a party for the children, which was a Halloween party. She said maybe I could come up with some interesting ideas.” "Ah," asked Poirot. "She didn't ask you to arrange a murder game this time, did she?"

"Thank God, no," said Mrs. Oliver. "You think I'll promise to do it again?" "I don't think it's possible." "But something happened, and it was terrible," said Mrs. Oliver. "I mean, it couldn't have happened just because I was there?" "I don't think so, at least someone present knows your identity?" "Yes," replied Mrs. Oliver, "a child mentioned my book and said they liked to read murders. That's--ah--that's why--I mean why I came to you." "You haven't made it clear yet."

"Well, you know, I didn't think about it at first. It didn't occur to me right away, I mean, kids are weird sometimes. I mean some kids are weird, and they—well, I guess maybe they were in a mental institution They've been in some kind of place, but they've been sent home to live a normal life, so they do that." "Are there any youths at the party?" "There were two boys, or youths, as the police often called them in their reports. Between sixteen and eighteen." "Maybe one of them did it, what do the police think?" "They didn't say it," replied Mrs. Oliver, "but they seem to think so."

"Is Joyce's girl attractive?" "I don't think so," said Mrs. Oliver, "you mean very attractive to boys?" "No," said Poirot. "I mean—well, literally." "I don't think she's very cute," said Mrs. Oliver. "You don't want to talk to her much. She's a showy braggart. It's a nasty age, I think, and I say it a little too much." ,but--" "There is nothing too much to say about the character of the victim in the analysis of a murder," replied Poirot. "It is very, very necessary. The character of the victim is the cause of many murders. How many people were in the room?"

"You mean at the party? Well, I remember some mothers, a teacher, a doctor's wife or sister, and some middle-aged people, two boys between the ages of sixteen and eighteen. A fifteen-year-old girl, two or three eleven- or twelve-year-old girls, and five or six women—that's about it, maybe twenty-five to thirty in total." "Are there any strangers?" "I think they all know each other, some more, some not so much, as if the girls all go to the same school. There are a few women who come to help with the cooking and food preparations. At the end of the party, everyone Some of the mothers left with their babies. Me and Judith Butler and a few others stayed behind to help Rowena Drake (host) clean up so it wouldn't be such a mess when the cleaning lady came tomorrow morning , you know, there's flour, cookie wrappers, things like that everywhere. We did a little cleaning and ended up in the study. That's when we found her. Then I remembered what she said. "

"Who said that?" "Joyce." "What did she say? Let's talk now, shall we? Now tell me why you're here?" "Okay. I thought maybe it wouldn't make sense to tell the doctor or the police or anyone else, but I wanted to tell you that maybe it would." "Please tell me," said Poirot. "Is it what Joyce said at the party?" "No - it was said that day, but earlier, in the afternoon when we were helping to prepare, and after they had talked about my murder story, Joyce said, I saw a murder, and her mother still Someone said, 'Don't be stupid, Joyce, how to say such a stupid thing,' and an older girl said, 'You just made it up,' and Joyce said, I really saw it. Really. I saw people killing people. But no one believed her, they all laughed at her, and she was very angry."

"Did you believe it then?" "If you don't believe it, of course you won't believe it." "I understand," replied Poirot, "yes, I understand." He was silent for a while, and tapped lightly on the table with one finger.Then said, "I want to ask you—she didn't go into details—didn't name anyone?" "No, she went on bragging and yelling, and the other girls laughed at her, and she got very annoyed. I think the mothers and the older folks got annoyed with her, and the girls and the boys They all mocked her! What they said 'Go on, Joyce, when? How come you never told us before?' Joyce said, 'I forgot it all, it's been so long,'"

"Aha! How long ago did she say?" "Many years ago," she replied, "talk like a grown-up, you know." "'Then why didn't you tell the police then?' asked a girl who seemed to be Ann, or Beatrice, a very proud girl." "Aha, how did she answer?" "She replied: 'Because I didn't know it was murder at the time.'" "That's an interesting remark," said Poirot, sitting up more erectly than before. "She was a little confused at this point, I think," said Mrs. Oliver, "and she was trying to explain, and she was very angry at the same time, when everyone was teasing her." "They kept asking her why she didn't go to the police, and she kept saying it was because I didn't know it was murder. It was only then that one day I suddenly understood what I was seeing." "And no one seemed to believe her in the slightest—not even you—once you saw her dead, you suddenly thought she might be telling the truth, didn't you?" "Yes, exactly. I didn't know what I should do, or what I could do, and then I thought of you." Poirot nodded solemnly in thanks, was silent for a moment, and then said, "I must ask you a serious question, which you must think about before answering. Do you think this boy has actually seen a murder? Or do you Think she just thinks she's seen it?" "I think it's the former," said Mrs. Oliver, "but I didn't think so at the time. I just guessed at the time that she vaguely remembered something she'd seen, and then embellished it to make it sound important and exciting, and she became Very fanatical, saying, I did see it, tell you. I did see it with my own eyes." "then……" "That's why I came to you," said Mrs. Oliver, "because the only thing her death means is that there was a real murder, and she was a witness." "That's something about it. It means that someone at the party did it. This guy must have been there earlier that day, and he heard what Joyce said." "You don't think I'm just dreaming, do you?" asked Mrs. Oliver. "Do you think these are all my whims?" "A girl has been murdered," said Poirot, "by a man strong enough to put her head in a bucket of water, a vicious murderer, and, what shall I say, he strikes at the right moment. One is afraid He never hesitated when he got the chance." "Joyce won't know who the murderer she saw was," said Mrs. Oliver. "I mean she wouldn't tell if she knew he was in the house." "Yes," replied Poirot, "you are right. She saw a murder, but she did not see the murderer's face, and we must not be too strict." "What on earth do you mean?" "It is possible that someone overheard Joyce that day, and he knew who the murderer was, and perhaps the murderer was closely related to him. Perhaps he thought he was the only one who knew what his mother or wife or daughter or son was doing. Perhaps This is a woman who knows her husband or mother or daughter or son is a murderer. She thinks no one knows but herself, and when Joyce says..." "then--" "Joyce must die?" "Yes, what are your plans?" "I just remembered," said Hercule Poirot, "why Woodley Village sounds so familiar."