Chapter 10 Chapter 10: The Crawland Investigation

Yes, the Metropolitan Police officer was waiting for us on the platform and greeted us warmly. "Well, M. Poirot, well. I suppose you are interested in taking part in the matter. A mystery within a mystery, isn't it?" What he said made me think that Japp was completely bewildered, and that he hoped to get a hint from Poirot. We got in Japp's car and drove to Claude.It was a white, square house, inconspicuous in appearance, covered with vines, including star-shaped yellow jasmines, which Japp looked up at as we did. "It's kind of queer to write that, poor old chap," he said. "Maybe it's a hallucination. He thinks he's out of doors."

Poirot smiled at him. "My good Japp, what's the case?" he asked. "Accident or murder?" The question seemed to embarrass the inspector a little. "Hmph, if it wasn't for the Curry problem, I would definitely attribute this case to an accident. It is impossible to put a living person's head in the fire—hmph, he would scream so much that the roof would blow off." "Ah!" whispered Poirot, "I am three times as stupid as a fool! You are much wiser than I am, Japp." Japp was taken aback by the compliment—Poirot was usually the one to put gold on his face.Japp blushed and murmured a lot of misgivings and the like.

He leads us through the room to the site of the tragedy - Mr. Pat's study.The room was spacious, with low ceilings, painted walls and large armchairs. Poirot went at once to the window above the stone-paved balcony. "Is this window open?" he asked. "Of course, that's the point. When the doctor left the room, he just closed the door and left it open. The next morning, it was found locked. Who locked it? Mr. Pat Allin said the window was not only closed , and bolted. Dr. Quentin thought the window was shut, but it wasn't bolted, but hey, he wasn't quite sure. If he had been sure, things would have been very different. If the man had been Murder, then, someone must have entered the room through a window or a door—if it came in by the door, someone in the room did it, if it came in by the window, anyone could have done it, the woman who opened the window The maid said the windows weren't locked, but she's a poor witness—she remembers anything you ask her."

"Where are the keys?" "You're right. Among the wreckage of the door on the ground, it may have fallen from the keyhole, or it may have been thrown by the person who entered, or it may have been pushed in through the crack of the door." "Actually, anything is possible, right?" "You are quite right, M. Poirot, in fact it is." Poirot frowned unhappily and looked around. "I don't see any clue." He whispered, "just now—yes, I seem to have a clue, but now it's a mess. I don't have a clue—the motive of the murder."

"Young Gerald Pater has a very understandable motive," said Japp grimly. "I can tell you he's always been wild. And, extravagant. You know what it's like to be an artist--none morality." Poirot was not paying attention to Japp's rambunctious criticism of the artist.He had a knowing smile on his face. "My good Japp, are you trying to mislead me? I know very well that you suspect the Chinaman. But you are very cunning. You want me to help you--but you deliberately Confused me." Japp laughed. "I can't escape your discerning eyes, Mr. Poirot. Yes, I admit that I judged it to be the Chinese. The reason is that he made the curry. If he had the intention of killing his master that night, if he failed once, he would Will try again a second time.”

"It's possible, too," said Poirot softly. "The motive, however, eludes me. Some savage revenge, I suppose?" "I don't know," continued Poirot. "Has anything been robbed? Has nothing been lost? Jewelry, or money, or papers?" "No—not sure." I listened, and so did Poirot. "I mean, nothing has been robbed," Japp explained. "But the old man is writing a book about something. We only found out this morning when we got a letter from the publisher asking for it. It seems that this It's only just been finished. Young Pat and I have searched up and down, but there's no sign of him—he's probably in hiding."

Poirot's eyes had that familiar green gleam. "What's the name of the book?" he asked. "I think it's called 'The Devil's Hand in China.'" "Aha!" said Poirot, almost gasping.Later, he quickly added: "Let me meet that Chinese, Alin." The Chinese man summoned, staring at the ground, shuffling along, dangling his braid.Nothing could be seen on his expressionless face. "Arin," said Poirot, "are you sorry that your master is dead?" "I'm sorry, he's a good host." "Do you know who killed him?"

"I don't know. If I did, I'd tell Mr. Police." The question and answer continued.Allin also deadpanned as he described how he made the curry dish.He said the chef had nothing to do with the dish and no one else touched it except him.I don't know if he knows the consequences of admitting this.He also insisted that the window to the garden was barred that night.If it was open the next morning, it must have been opened by his master himself.Finally, Poirot sent him away. "That's enough, Allin." Poirot called to the Chinese man as he reached the door. "You mean, you don't know anything about yellow jasmine?"

"No idea. Why should I know?" "You don't know the marks under those words?" As he spoke, Poirot leaned forward and wrote something rapidly on the dusty table.I was very close to him, so I saw what he wrote before he erased it.A diagonal stroke, a line to the right, and then another stroke down, a big 4.This movement shocked the Chinese man like an electric shock.For a moment, his face was like a mask of horror.Then, as quickly as before, he resumed his deadpan exuberance, repeated his denial, and retreated. Japp went off to find young Pat, leaving Poirot and me alone.

"The Big Four, Hastings," cried Poirot, "the Big Four again. Pater is a great traveler. Perhaps he has the head of the Four in his books—Li Changyan, No. 1." — important information about what he’s doing.” "But who—how—" "Hush! Here they come." Gerald Pat is about a very approachable young man who looks a little soft on the outside.He had a fitting brown beard and a strange sagging tie.He answered Poirot's question very calmly. "Me and my neighbours, the Wycheli family, were out to dinner," he explained. "When will we be home? Oh! It's almost eleven o'clock. You know, I have a key for the lock, but all the servants have gone to bed, So, I naturally thought that my uncle must be asleep too. In fact, I thought I caught a glimpse of the Chinese slave, Alin, disappearing quickly and stealthily into the corner of the hall, but I thought it was possible that I was mistaken."

"When was the last time you saw your uncle Mr. Pat? I mean before you came to live with him here?" "Ah! Ten. He doesn't get along with his brother (my father), you know." "But he found you again without difficulty, didn't he? After such a long separation?" "Yes, I was lucky enough to see an ad for a lawyer." Poirot asked no further questions. Next, we went to visit Dr. Quentin.In general, he told us the same as he told the police at the autopsy, and he added very little.He happened to be finishing up with a patient when we went, so he met us in the consulting room.He seems like a smart guy.His pince-nez harmonized well with his stiff manner, but I suppose his reasoning was modern. "I wish I could remember whether the windows were closed or not," he said frankly, "but, retrospectively, one's not sure that something ever existed. It's psychology, isn't it? Mr. Lo. You know, I've read about your way of doing things! I can say I'm a big admirer of yours. Well, I think the Chinese really put powdered opium in the curry, but he never Will admit that he did it, so we won't know why he did it. However, putting a person's head in a fire — I don't think it fits the character of our Chinese friend." As we reached the main street of Humphreys Market, I criticized Poirot for his last words. "Do you think he is an accomplice?" I asked, "By the way, I think we can trust Japp, and he will definitely monitor him?" (Then the inspector went to the police station on something.) The envoy is very agile." "Japp watched every one of them," said Poirot coldly. "They have been closely followed since the discovery of the body." "Well, at least we know that Gerald Pat has nothing to do with this case." "You always know a little more than I do, Hastings, and it's tiring." "You old fox." I laughed. "You never say anything on your mind." "Honestly, Hastings, the case is now clear to me--except for the word 'yellow jasmine'--and I kind of agree with you that they have nothing to do with the crime. Assuming that assumption holds, you have to decide who's lying. I've already decided who, but—" He suddenly left my side and entered a nearby bookstore.A few minutes later, he appeared, carrying a small bag.Later, Japp met us, and we stayed at an inn. The next morning, I didn't get up until the end of my sleep.When I went downstairs to the drawing-room we had reserved, Poirot was already pacing up and down, his face contorted with impatience. "Don't talk to me," he cried, waving a restless hand, "until I know that everything is all right—the arrestees are here. Ah! My psychology is of little use now. No. Hastings, if a man writes his last words on his deathbed it is because they are very important. Everyone says - 'yellow jasmine'? There are yellow jasmines around the house - those words help a little bit in solving the case nor." "What the hell is yellow jasmine? See what it says in this book. Listen up!" He held up a thin book in his hand. "My friend, I am appalled to delve into this subject. What the hell is yellow jasmine? This book tells me, listen." he read. "'Frangipani root, yellow jasmine. Ingredients: plant bases frangipani C22H26N2O8, a highly poisonous substance that acts like phylloxine; frangipani C12H14NO2, acting like strychnine; Its central system controls the depressant. Its final stage of action paralyzes the motor nerve endings and, in heavy doses, causes dizziness and loss of muscle activity. The cause of death is paralysis of the respiratory center." "Hastings, do you know? I had a hunch when Japp mentioned a living man being forced into a fire at the beginning. Now, I know, it was a dead people." "But why? For what purpose?" "My friend, if you shoot a man after he is dead, or stab him, or break his head, his wounds will be easily seen, and if his head is charred Carbon, no one would have thought of probing his otherwise unknown cause of death, and, one would think, a man who was nearly poisoned at dinner was unlikely to be poisoned a little later. Who's lying? It's been It's a problem. I'm determined to trust Allin." "What!" I yelled. "Are you surprised? Hastings. Alin obviously knew about the existence of the Four Great Devils—before the incident, he had no idea that they were related to this murder. If he is really the murderer, he will definitely be able to maintain his That expressionless face. So, I decided to trust Allin, and now I suspect Gerald Pat. I think it would be easy for Number Four to find a substitute for a long-lost nephew." "What!" I said, "number four?" "No, Hastings, not Number Four. I saw the truth when I read Yellow Molly's introduction. In fact, the truth jumped before my eyes." "As usual," I said coldly, "don't jump in front of my eyes." "Because you didn't use your little gray cells. Who's got a chance to mess with Curry?" "Alin, it won't be someone else." "Could it be someone else? Where's the doctor?" "But, that was later." "Of course, that was later. There was no powdered opium in the curry that was served to Pat first. The old man was only suspicious because Dr. Quentin had mentioned it. He dared not eat it. He kept it for his medical staff. This medical treatment He called the people up as planned. Dr. Quentin came and took over the curry and gave Mr. Pat a shot--a stimulant, he said, but, in fact, yellow jasmine--a poison. When the toxicity started, he unbolted the window and left. In the middle of the night, he came back in through the window, found the manuscript, and pushed Mr. Pater into the fire. He didn't notice the newspaper under the old man. Pat knew what injection he had been given, and insisted on accusing the Big Four of murdering him. Quentin was handing over to others to test everything, and he could easily put powdered opium into the Kalon. He made up his own. In the conversation with the old man, he deliberately mentioned that he gave the old man a shot of stimulant in order to prevent others from discovering the needle hole of the hypodermic injection. He arranged this way, and the cause of death would immediately revolve around two points: an accident or Alin in curry Poisoned." "But Dr. Quentin may be Number Four?" "I suspect he may be. There is no doubt that there must be a real Dr. Quentin. He may be somewhere abroad. Number Four will only have to pretend to be him for a while. Dr. Polledor's travels are made by correspondence." Yes, but the doctor who was supposed to represent him made a mistake at the last minute." Then Japp rushed in, very red in the face. "Have you caught him?" asked Poirot anxiously. Japp shook his head, panting. "Dr. Polydoctor came back from vacation this morning--summoned by a telegram. No one knows who sent it. The acting doctor left last night. We'll get him, though." Poirot shook his head calmly. "I don't think so," he said, absently drawing a big 4 on the table with his fork.