Chapter 9 Chapter 9 The Mystery of Yellow Jasmine

Poirot said it nicely, we've been getting intelligence, and we've seen through our adversary's intentions—but I don't think that's enough for me, I need more visible success. Since our contact with the Big Four, they have killed two men, abducted Halliday, and almost ended Poirot's and my precious life; nothing. Poirot did not take my complaint to heart at all. "Hastings," said he, "they are laughing now, it is true; but you have a saying in England: 'Don't be too happy?' In the end, my friend, you will understand everything .” "You must also remember," he added, "that we're not after common criminals, but the second-brightest minds in the world."

I didn't want to fuel his pride by asking a question that he knew the answer to.I knew the answer, and I knew what Poirot would answer.I made insinuations about what he might do to detect the enemy, but failed.As usual, he didn't reveal anything about his plans, but I knew he had contacts with Indian, Chinese, and Russian intelligence agents.From his occasional smug remarks, he was at least making some progress in assessing his opponent's intentions in a game in which he was in high spirits. He has put aside his private business almost entirely, and I know he has turned down many lucrative deals.He sometimes investigates some cases that he is interested in, but when he finds that these cases have nothing to do with the activities of the Four Devils, he often gives up.

This attitude of his is very favorable to our friend Inspector Japp.It is undeniable that Inspector Japp gained a reputation for solving some cases, but his success was, in fact, due to the cues Poirot gave him with his disdain to accept them. In return for this service, Japp made him fully available with any case and information that would interest the little Belgian.When he was in charge of a case which the press called the "Yellow Jasmine Mystery," he wired Poirot and asked him if he would go over and investigate the case. When this telegram was received, it was almost a month after my distress at Abel Ryland's house, and we boarded a box on the train, and left dusty London at a gallop for Hanford Market, Worcestershire, the seat of the mystery.

Poirot leaned back in the corner. "What do you think of the matter anyway, Hastings?" I didn't answer his question right away, I thought I needed to be careful. "It seems that the case is very complicated." I said cautiously. "Indeed," said Poirot cheerfully. "I think it's clear you think Mr. Pat was murdered—rather than suicide or accident, and that's why we're in such a hurry?" "No, no, you have misunderstood me, Hastings. Assuming Mr. Pate's death was a very peculiar and terrible accident, there are still many doubts to be explained."

"That's why I said the case was complicated." "Let us go over all the important facts calmly and methodically. Hastings, tell me clearly, in chronological order." I began to speak without hesitation, speaking as clearly and clearly as possible in chronological order. "Start with Mr. Pat," I said. "Fifty-five. Rich, educated, and a wonderful world traveler. He has rarely lived in England for the past twelve years, but, somehow, he Sudden weary of endless travelling, he bought a small house near Hunford Market in Worcestershire and settled down. He first wrote to his only relative, his nephew Jerry, who was his brother's son. He asked him to come and live with him in Crawland (the name of the little house.) Gerald Pater, a poor young artist, was overjoyed to accept the arrangement. He and his uncle were already in the Lived there for almost seven months."

"You describe it very well," whispered Poirot. "It seems to me that it is a book rather than my friend Hastings who is telling a story." I ignored Poirot and went on.Tell this story happily. "Mr. Pat has employed many servants in Crawland—six servants and his Chinese servant—Alin." "His Chinese servant, Alin," said Poirot in a low voice. "After supper last Tuesday, Mr. Pat said he was not feeling well, and sent a special servant for the doctor. Mr. Pat refused to see the doctor in bed, but met him in the study. At that time, there was nothing between them. Yes, but Dr. Quentin asked to see the housekeeper before he left, told the housekeeper that Mr. Pater was weak in heart, and he gave him a hypodermic injection, so don't bother Mr. Pater. Later, he asked some questions about Weird questions about employing people - how long are they here, who introduced them, etc."

"The butler did his best to answer these questions, but he didn't understand why he asked them. The next morning, a terrible thing was discovered. When a maid came downstairs, she smelled of burnt meat. , It seemed to come from her master's study. She tried to open the door to see. But the door was locked from the inside. Jero Pat and the Chinese assisted, and they broke in together. There was a terrible sight. Mr. Pater fell forward into the gas fire, his face and head charred beyond recognition." "At the time, it was treated as a terrible accident, no one questioned it, and if anyone was to blame it was Dr. Quentin, who had given his patient anesthesia. But let him sit alone in such a dangerous place. But later, there was a very strange discovery.

"There was a newspaper on the floor that had slipped from the old man's lap. Turn it over, and there was limp handwriting scrawled in ink. There was a writing-table beside the chair where Mr. Pater had sat, and the forefinger of the dead man's right hand, There are ink marks from the fingertips to the second knuckles. Mr. Pater was obviously too weak to hold the pen, so he dipped his fingers in ink and tried to write on this newspaper-but the words look Strange as it sounds: yellow jasmine - nothing but those words. "There were many yellow jasmines growing on the walls of Claude, and it was thought that his last message had something to do with them, to show that the poor mind was lingering. The press, of course, was terrified of anything unusual, It's been reported so much that it's called the 'Yellow Jasmine Mystery'—although, in either case, those words don't matter."

"It doesn't matter that you say those words," said Poirot. "Well, there's no doubt that it doesn't matter that you say that." I looked at him suspiciously, but I couldn't see any mockery in his eyes. "Then," I went on, "the autopsy came, the critical moment." "I get the feeling that this is the part you're most interested in." "There are many opinions clearly against Dr. Quentin. In the first place, he is not a real doctor, but was only a temporary agent for Dr. Polydor while he was on vacation for a month. It is believed that his carelessness was the direct cause of this accident. However, his proposed The argument is convincing. Since Mr. Pater settled in Crawland, he has not been in good health. Dr. Paulido has seen him several times, but Dr. Quentin has seen him for the first time. When he was a patient, he was bewildered by some phenomena. He saw him sick only once that night, after dinner, before they sent him in. When he was with Mr. Pater, Mr. Pater confided something that surprised him. Story. He first said that he didn't feel sick at all, but that the smell of curry made him feel weird during dinner. At that time, he made an excuse to send Alin out, and then poured the contents of the plate into a bowl Here, now, he handed it to the doctor in an orderly tone, asking him to see if there is really a problem.

"Although he said he didn't feel uncomfortable, the doctor noticed that his shock and suspicion had obviously affected his health, and his heart couldn't bear it. Therefore, he gave him an injection—but , not an anesthetic needle, but a stimulant. "I think, by saying that, he has cleared his suspicions—except for the crux of the whole incident—the leftover curry was successfully tested and found to contain powdered opium that can kill two people!" I pause. "What is your conclusion, Hastings?" asked Poirot quietly. "Hard to say. Maybe it was an accident—perhaps the fact that someone tried to poison him that night was just a coincidence."

"You don't really think so, though, do you? You still believe in—murder!" "Don't you think so?" "My friend, you do not reason the same way as I do. I do not want to choose between two unexplained mysteries—murder or accident—when we have solved the other—the mystery of the yellow jasmine, this The answer to the mystery will be revealed naturally. Oh, what did you miss?" "You mean the two lines that run a little bit to the right under the words, and I don't think that's important." "You think only what you think matters, Hastings. Let's leave the 'Secret of Yellow Jasmine' behind and talk about the 'Secret of Curry'." "I know. Who wants to poison people? Why? I can ask a lot of questions. Of course, Alin prepared this dish. But why did he kill his master? He is a member of the Chinese Secret Society Party One? Everyone's guessing that. Maybe the Yellow Jasmines. Then Jero Pat." I stopped suddenly. "Yes," said Poirot, nodding. "As you say, there is also Gerald Pater, heir to his uncle's estate. However, he did not dine at home that evening." "He may know some of the ingredients in the curry," I suggested, "so he went out on purpose so he wouldn't share the dish with his uncle." I think Poirot agreed with my reasoning.He looked at me with a more respectful look than before. "He's coming back very late." I mused, trying to imagine a possible scenario. "Seeing the light in his uncle's study, going in, and finding that his plan has failed, so, push the old man into the fire?" "Mr. Pater was a hale and hearty old man of fifty-five who was burned without a struggle, Hastings. That supposition is impossible." "Well, Poirot," I called, "we're almost there, I think. Let me hear what you think." Poirot smiled at me, puffed out his chest, and began haughtily. "We assumed that the case was murder, and the question quickly arose. Why was this particular method chosen? We could only think of one reason - to keep the identity of the deceased unidentified, his face charred and unrecognizable. Who is it?" "What?" I yelled. "You think—" "Be patient, Hastings. I was about to address my doubts about the hypothesis. Is there any evidence to convince us that it was not Mr. Pat's body? If not, whose body might it be? I carefully Considering these two problems, in the end, it was found that both are impossible." "Oh!" I said a little disappointed, "what next?" Poirot's eyes blinked. "Then, I told myself: 'Since there are things I don't understand, I should investigate. I can't allow myself to be completely mesmerized by the Big Four.' Ah! We're just there. My Where did the little brush go? Here—you help me brush it during the day, my friend, and I will serve you in the same way." "That's right," said Poirot, putting back the brush. "One cannot allow oneself to be haunted by one thought. Recently, I have been in that kind of obsession. The two lines you mentioned, the vertical and the right, follow it. This is the first two strokes of 4, right?" "My God! Poirot," I cried, laughing. "Isn't that ridiculous? When I got there, I saw the signs of the Big Four. I ended up throwing my mind at something quite different. Ah! Japp came to fetch us."