Chapter 11 Chapter 11 Death Grass

"Then, Mrs. Ben," said Sir Henry Clithering encouragingly. Mrs. Bantry, the hostess, looked at him coldly reproachfully. "I told you a long time ago, don't call me Mrs. Ban, it's disrespectful." "Then call you Scheherazade." "I'm not a mountain either . . . call it what it is. I've never been able to tell a full story. If you don't believe me, ask Arthur." "You're good at presenting facts, Dolly," said Colonel Bantry, "but you're not good at embellishing stories." "Exactly," said Mrs. Bantry, flipping through the catalog of bulbs lying on the table in front of her. "I've been listening to you guys, but I still don't know how you guys do it. He says, she says, you marvel, they think. Everyone gets involved, but I just can't do it, it's just Then, besides, I don't have any stories to tell."

"We don't believe it, Mrs. Bantry," said Dr. Lloyd, shaking his gray head with scorn and distrust. Old Miss Marple said in her soft voice, "My dear, I'm sure Mrs. Bantry is still shaking her head stubbornly." "You don't know how ordinary my life is, what's wrong with servants all day long, how difficult it is to find a helper, go to the city to buy clothes, go to the dentist, go to the party, Arthur hates the most, and then the garden... ..." "Ah," said Dr. Lloyd, "by the way, Garden, we all know you're keen on it, Mrs. Bantry."

"It would be nice to have a garden," said Jenny Hellyer, the pretty young actress, "yes, if I didn't have to deal with the dirt and get my hands full of it. I'm very fond of flowers." "The garden," said Sir Henry, "can you begin here? Come, Mrs Ben, with those poisonous bulbs, those deadly daffodils, the dead weeds." "It's hard to get those words out of your mouth," said Mrs. Bantry. "You reminded me. Arthur, remember what happened at Rodham Manor? Old Ambrose Busey, remember when we all thought he was a lovely old man with a good manner?"

"Really? Oh . . . of course I remember, yes, there was something weird about that. Go on, Dolly." "It's better for you to tell, my dear." "Nonsense! Go on, you're on your own, my mission is done." Mrs. Bantry took a deep breath, clasped her hands together with a miserable expression on her face, and then said in a rapid and fluent tone: "Well, there's really not much to say. Deathweed, that's a term forced on me. I call it sage leaf, onion." "Sago leaves, onions?" asked Dr. Lloyd. Mrs Bantry nodded. "That's how it started," she explained. "Me, Arthur, and Ambrose Busey were all at Clodham Park together. One day, mistakenly picked foxglove leaves mixed with sage leaves. When we went back, the duck we ate for dinner that day was cooked with these leaves, everyone had symptoms of poisoning to varying degrees, and the poor girl—a girl under the care of Ambrose, unfortunately died.”

She stopped ringing. "Well," said Miss Marple, "what a disaster." "Who says it's not!" "Then," said Sir Henry, "what happened next?" "Nothing later," said Mrs. Bantry. "That's all." Everyone felt panicked. Although they had prepared their minds in advance, they never expected it to end with just a few words. "But, my dear lady," protested Sir Henry, "it cannot end there. You are involved in a tragedy, not an ordinary family affair." "Yes, yes," said Mrs. Bantry, "but don't you know everything once I tell you?"

She looked at everyone with challenging eyes and said complainingly: "Tell you that I don't know how to embellish or enhance the story, but you don't believe me." "Yes, yes," said Sir Henry, stood up from the chair, adjusted his glasses, "you are really Scheherazade, which is very new. Now our wisdom is challenged. It is hard to say that you did not mean it, To arouse our curiosity. From this point of view, we're going to have some easy rounds of 'Twenty Questions'. I thought, Miss Marple, how about you start?" "I want to know something about that cook," said Miss Marple. "She must be a stupid woman, or very inexperienced."

"She was really stupid," said Mrs. Bantry, "and she cried a lot afterward, and said the leaves were picked and given to her, and told her they were sage leaves. How did she know?" "A person who can't think of herself," said Miss Marple. "She is not young, and I dare say she is a good cook." "Ah! that's right," said Mrs. Bantry. "Now it is your turn, Miss Hullier," said Sir Henry. "Oh... you mean to ask a question?" Jenny thought for a while, and finally said dejectedly, "I don't know what to ask."

Her beautiful eyes looked at Sir Henry imploringly. "Why don't you think about it from the perspective of the players? Miss Hellier." He suggested with a smile. Jenny was still puzzled. "In the order of appearance of the characters." Mr. Henry said politely. "Oh, yes," said Jenny, "that's a good idea." Mrs. Bantry began briskly calling out the names. "Sir Ambrose; Sylvia Keene, the dead girl; Maud Way, Sylvia's friend, who lived with her at the estate. She was one of those ugly black girls who Showing their presence all the time, I don't know how they do it; Mr. Cole, who came to discuss books with Ambrose, rare books, old and wonderful books in Latin, are moldy things; Jerry Lorimer, a neighbor, whose estate, Furles, adjoined that of the Ambroses; Trying to find a comfortable nest all the time, yes buddy."

"If it were my turn," said Sir Henry, "I think it would be my turn, as I am sitting next to Miss Hullier. I would like to know more details. Describe them, Mrs. Bantry. Da, roughly describe the images of these people mentioned earlier." "Oh:" Mrs. Bantry hesitated. "Ambrose," said Sir Henry, "start with him, and what does he look like?" "Ah! He is a good-looking old gentleman. In fact, he is not old, I think, at most sixty years old, but he is very ill, he has a heart problem, and cannot go upstairs by himself. Therefore, the elevator has been installed in the house. , which makes him look older than his age. He is well mannered and well-bred, which is a good way to describe him. You never see him lose his temper or get upset. Has beautiful silver hair and a magnetic pair of voice."

"Very well," said Sir Henry. "I have seen Sir Ambrose. Now about girl Sylvia. What do you say her name is?" "Sylvia Keane, a very lovely and attractive girl, fair hair, fair skin, not very clever, actually kind of stupid." "Come on, Dolly," protested her husband. "Of course Arthur doesn't think so," said Mrs. Bantry dryly, "but she's just stupid, and she's never got a good word for it." "She's one of the most exquisite creations of the Creator I've ever seen," said Colonel Bantry enthusiastically. "Look how lovely she is at playing tennis. She's charming. She's full of bellies, and she's full of things that make me laugh." A delightful little trick, a joy to be with. I bet the lads thought so."

"That's where you're wrong," said Mrs. Bantry. "Girls like that don't appeal to young lads these days. Only an old man like you sits there all day judging young girls." .” "You don't have to be young to be raped," Jenny said. "You have to deal with SA." "What?" asked Miss Marple. "SA?" "Sexual demands," Jenny said. "Ah, yes," said Miss Marple, "they called it 'autumn rain' in our day." "Very poetic," said Sir Henry. "That 'best friend' you speak of is a good 'cat,' I suppose, Mrs. Bantry?" "You know I don't mean a real cat, it's a different thing entirely. A big fluffy white lovely woman, very cute, that's Adelaide Carpenter." "How old is she?" "About forty. She's lived at the estate for some time, I think, since Sylvia was eleven. A very decent unfortunate widow, with a lot of noble relations, but no money." ...I don't like her, I never liked women with long fat hands, and I don't like cats either." "And what about Mr. Cole?" "A stooped old man, of which there are so many that you can't tell who is who, who is only enthusiastic when he talks about the moldy books, and not so much the rest of the time. I Think Ambrose doesn't know him very well." "Where's Jerry from the manor next door?" "A lovely young man who was engaged to Sylvia, and that made Sylvia's death all the more heartbreaking." "I want to know..." Miss Marple hesitated to speak. "What do you want to know?" "Nothing, dear." Sir Henry looked at the old lady strangely, and then said thoughtfully: "So the two young men have been engaged for some time?" "A year or so. Ambrose objected to it on the pretext that Sylvia was too young. But after a year of engagement he backed down and the wedding was to take place soon." "Oh! Does the girl have property?" "It's basically nothing, only one or two hundred pounds a year." "There's no rat in that hole, Clithering," said Colonel Bantry, with a fit of laughter. "Now it is the doctor's turn to ask questions," said Sir Henry. "I leave." "I would like to ask a professional question," said Dr. Lloyd. "I would like to know what the medical conclusion is. If the mistress can remember or know." "I guess I know," said Mrs. Bantry, "that it's digitonin poisoning. Am I right?" Dr. Lloyd nodded. "It is the main component of foxglove, acting on the heart. In fact, it is a valuable medicine for certain heart diseases. Anyway, this is a peculiar case, and I do not believe that the consumption of small amounts of foxglove leaves It can kill people. It is exaggerated to say that eating some poisonous leaves or berries can kill people. Few people know that the deadly toxins or alkaloids need to be carefully extracted and processed to obtain." "Mrs. MacArthur sent some round bulbs to Mrs. Toomey one day," said Miss Marple, "and the Toomeys' cook mistook them for onions, and the whole Toomey family got poisoned and got very sick. " "But they're not dead," said Dr. Lloyd. "No, they didn't die from it," admitted Miss Marple. "A girl I know died of food poisoning," says Jenny Hellier. "We should continue to 'investigate' the murder," Sir Henry said. "Murder?" Jenny said, taken aback. "I thought it was an accident." "If it had been an accident," whispered Sir Henry, "I don't think Mrs Bantry would have put it to us as a problem. No, as I understand it, it looks like an accident on the surface, but there is a But it is more sinister. I recall a case. At a house dance, guests from all over the world gathered together. After dinner, the guests chatted together. The walls around the room were hung with all kinds of outdated weapons as Decoration. Totally joking, one of the guests picked up an old carbine gun and pointed it at another guy, pretending to shoot, who knew it was loaded, and actually fired, and the guy died instantly. We Want to find out, first, who secretly loaded the gun and pulled the trigger, and second, who directed the conversation to the nonsense that brought about this disaster. Because the person who fired the gun was innocent." "It seems to me that we are dealing with the same problem now. Those foxglove leaves were intentionally mixed with sage leaves, and the perpetrators knew the result, since we ruled out the possibility of the cook Sex, by the way, we've got her out of the way, haven't we? So the question arises, who gathered the leaves? And who took them to the kitchen?" "That's a simple matter," said Mrs. Bantry. "At least the last point is clear. It was Sylvia herself who took the leaves to the kitchen. Part of Sylvia's daily work was going to the garden." Pick veggies like lettuce, herbs, underripe carrots, etc. These are things that gardeners don't want to give you, they hate giving you underripe green things, they want these Things can only be given to you after they grow into specimens. Both Sylvia and Mrs. Carpenter have the habit of handling these things by themselves. In a corner of the garden, foxgloves do grow together with sage leaves, and it is difficult to pick the wrong ones Avoided." "Did Sylvia pick the leaves herself?" "No one knows at all, it's just an assumption." "It is dangerous to suppose..." said Sir Henry. "It wasn't Mrs. Carpenter who picked the leaves, I know," said Mrs. Bantry. "She happened to be walking with me in the street the morning it happened. We went out after breakfast. It was a fine morning in early spring." , the spring was beautiful. Sylvia went to the garden alone. Then I saw her walking arm in arm with Maud Way." "So they're very good friends, aren't they?" asked Miss Marple. "Yes," said Mrs. Bantry.She seemed to want to say something, but she swallowed it back. "Has she lived there long?" asked Miss Marple. "About two weeks," replied Mrs. Bantry, with disgust. "You don't like Miss Way very much, do you?" asked Sir Henry. "Yes, it's true, I don't like her." The tone of disgust turned to sadness. "Mrs. Bantry, there are things you didn't say," Sir Henry accused. "I wanted to ask just now," said Miss Marple, "but I didn't say it." "What do you want to ask?" "When you mentioned that the two teenagers were engaged, you said 'that's why her death is heartbreaking.' Don't know if you get what I mean, but you don't sound very good when you say that. Right, not too convincing." "You are a dreadful man," said Mrs. Bantry. "You know everything. Yes, I was thinking of another thing, but I don't know whether to say it or not." "It should be said," said Sir Henry. "Whatever your scruples may be, you should not hide them." "Well, here it is," said Mrs Bantry, "one night, actually the night before the tragedy, I happened to be out before supper, and the drawing-room window was open, and I happened to see Jay Lee Lorimer and Maud Way, he's... kissing her, of course, I don't know if it's just a coincidence, or... I mean, nobody can tell. I know Sir Ambrose Never liked Jerry Lorimer, maybe he knew what kind of young man he was. But one thing is for sure, that girl, Maud Way, was really into him. When she was off guard You can tell from the way she looked at him when she was together, and I think the two of them are more suitable together than he and Sylvia." "I must ask a question before Miss Marple," said Sir Henry. "I wonder if Jerry Lorimer married Maud Way after the tragedy?" "Married," said Mrs. Bantry, "and after six months they were married." "Oh! Scheherazade, Scheherazade worthy of the name," said Sir Henry. "Think how you started the chapter. You only gave us a skeleton with nothing. Now look how we add to it." Flesh." "Don't be so creepy, please," said Mrs. Bantry, "in a tone that makes you look at your veal steak unappetizing. Mr Cole is a vegetarian. What he had for breakfast Looks like chaff. These stooped, bearded old men love to be trendy, even in their shirts." "What's the matter, Dolly?" said her husband. "You know what shirt Mr. Cole is wearing?" "Where are you going," said Mrs. Bantry gravely, "I'm only making an analogy." "Now I need to correct what I said earlier," said Sir Henry. "I must admit that every character in this story is very interesting. I'm getting to know them, isn't that so, Miss Marple." "Human nature is very interesting, Sir Henry. It is strange that the same kind of people behave in exactly the same way." "Two women, one man," said Sir Henry. "One perpetual topic—a love triangle. That's the tone of our husband's problems, isn't it? I hope so." Lloyd cleared his throat. "I've been thinking," he said with some lack of confidence, "Mrs. Bantry, you said you had mild symptoms of poisoning yourself, didn't you?" "Can I make an exception? Arthur is sick, everyone is sick." "That's right, everybody's been poisoned," said the doctor. "You know what I mean, in the story Sir Henry told us just now, one man kills another, but he doesn't have to poison the whole house." killed all of them." "I don't understand," said Jenny, "who killed whom?" "I mean, whoever did this plan is outrageous. He's a blind believer in chance, and he's completely disregarding other people's lives. I can't believe that one person poisoned eight people on purpose , the purpose is just to get rid of one of the eight people." "I understand what you mean," said Sir Henry, after careful consideration, "I should have thought of that earlier." "Is this perpetrator poisoned himself?" Jenny asked. "Who didn't dine at home that night?" asked Miss Marple. Mrs. Bantry shook her head curtly. "Everyone is there." "Except Lorimer, I guess, he hasn't been in the room all the time, has he? My dear." "Yes, but he dined with us that night," said Mrs. Bantry. "Oh!" said Miss Marple in another tone, "it's not the same." She frowned angrily and said to herself: "I'm so stupid, really stupid." "You have a point, Lloyd," said Sir Henry. "Yes, how are we going to ensure that the girl, and only the girl, is poisoned?" "There is no guarantee," said the doctor, "which leads me to the conclusion that perhaps the girl was not the murderer's intended murderer." "what?" "As in all cases of food poisoning, the outcome is often uncertain. Several people eat at the same time, two people may be less poisoned, two may be more serious, and another may die, and that's it, there is no certainty. But there are other factors to take into account. Foxglove is a drug that acts directly on the heart, and is only used in certain circumstances. There was a man in the room with a bad heart, and that man might be the real killer. The target. Because ingesting the same dose of digitoxin is fatal to some people and not to others. The murderer may have planned this. The outcome of the incident just proved my point that the drug has The role of different individuals varies from person to person, with uncertainty and unreliability." "Do you think Sir Ambrose," said Sir Henry, "was the real target of the murderer? It appears that the girl's death was a pure accident." "Who gets his estate when he dies?" Jenny asked. "That's a good question, Miss Hellier, and that's the first question a professional policeman asks," said Sir Henry. "One of Sir Ambrose's sons," said Mrs. Bantry, slowly. "They had a falling out many years ago. I think the boy is a bit rebellious, but Ambrose could not disinherit him. He was the heir apparent to the Clodham estate, and Martin Busey therefore inherited his father's title and estate. Nevertheless, Ambrose had other properties which he could leave to whomever he chose. The property was left to Sylvia, who was under his guardianship. I didn't know the background until after he died less than a year after the poisoning incident. He didn't bother to make a new will when Sylvia died. I I think the money was either confiscated or left to his son or some other relative, I don't really remember." ,' So, of the two people who could benefit from his death, one is far away from the scene of the accident, and the other is dead. said Sir Henry thoughtfully, "this is not very convincing." " "Who else would benefit from those other women?" asked Jenny, "such as the one Mrs. Bantry called 'the pussy'." "Her name is not in the will." "You're not listening, Miss Marple," said Sir Henry. "You're distracted." "I was thinking about old Mr. Budge, who was a druggist," said Miss Marple. "He had a young housekeeper, young enough to be not only his daughter, but his granddaughter. He didn't give Anyone left anything, including the bunch of nephews and nieces in the family who are eagerly counting on his inheritance, can you believe that when he dies, he has been secretly married to her for two years. Of course, Mr Budge is a pharmacist, a rough old man, and Ambrose Busey is a very well-bred man, Mrs Bantry says, but human nature is the same." There was a brief silence, Sir Henry stared closely at Miss Marple, and Miss Marple's blue eyes looked back at him with steady eyes, it was Jenny who broke the silence. "Is that Mrs. Carpenter pretty?" she asked. "It looks average, but not amazing." "She has a fine voice," said Colonel Bantry. "Meowing, I think so, the meowing of contented cats," said Mrs. Bantry. "You've been called a 'cat' for a while yourself, Dolly." "In my own family I like to be called 'Catie,'" said Mrs. Bantry. "I don't like women very much, you know. I like men and flowers." "Tasteful," said Sir Henry, "especially in putting us men first." "That's a good thing," said Mrs. Bantry. "And what do you think of my little problem? I think I can do it, Arthur, what do you say?" "Yes, all right, but I don't think jockey club stewards can talk about racing." "Begin with you," said Mrs. Bantry, pointing a finger at Sir Henry. "I'll have to start over. I don't have anything particularly firm about the poisoning. Sir Ambrose, in the first place, who couldn't have committed suicide in such a common way, and, on the other hand, from his guardianship. He had nothing to gain from the death of Sylvia, except Ambrose, and Mr Cole had no motive for killing the girl. If Sir Ambrose was the target of the murder plan, he should have no clue Mr. Cole should therefore be innocent, except for Mrs. Bantry's censure of his shirt. Miss Maud Way did not murder Ambrose's motive, while Sylvia's motive was strong, she wanted to take Sylvia's man, and according to Mrs Bantry, she wanted him very badly. She was with Sylvie that morning Ya went to the garden, so she had the opportunity to pick those leaves. No, we can't just leave her out. That young man Lorimer, he has two harmful motives. If he can get rid of his fiancée, he can be with Another girl marries, and murdering for that is a little too much, for it is easy to break off the engagement these days; and if Ambrose dies, he can marry a rich girl, whether money matters to him His financial situation, if I found out that his estate was mortgaged, and Mrs. Bantry deliberately concealed the truth from us, it would be a foul. Now look at Carpenter, I am a little suspicious of her, those white eyes The evidence that she was not involved in picking those leaves is strong, but I never believe the so-called alibi evidence; I have another reason to doubt her, but I don't want to say it now. Anyway, what I want to say , I think Miss Maud Way is the most doubtful, and there is more evidence against her than anyone else." "Your turn," said Mrs. Bantry, pointing to Dr. Lloyd. "I think you're wrong, Clithering. The girl's death in theory leads me to believe that Sir Ambrose was the murderer's real target. I don't think young Lorimer has the requisite knowledge, and I'm inclined to think that Ka Mrs. Ponter is guilty, she has been in this house for a long time, and knows the state of Ambrose's health like the back of her hand, and it is easy to arrange for Sylvia - a little stupid, as you say - to pick the leaves she needs, As for the motive, I admit, I haven't found it yet. But if I had to guess, it may be that Ambrose left a will at one point in which she was part." Mrs. Bantry's fingers continued to move, this time to Jenny Hellyer. "I don't know what to say," said Jenny, "but one thing, why didn't the girl do it herself? She sent the leaves to the kitchen, after all. You said, too, that Ambrose was outrageously against her." Marriage, if he dies, she will get his money and get married right away. She knows as much about Ambrose's physical condition as Mrs. Carpenter." Mrs. Bantry pointed her finger slowly at Marple Miss. "Now it's your turn, pedant," she said. "Sir Henry has made it all clear, quite clearly." Miss Marple said: "Dr. Lloyd's point of view is also reasonable. The two of them have analyzed the problem thoroughly separately. It's just that I think there is one point in Dr. Lloyd's theory that he doesn't realize. Look, it's not Ambrose." Your personal doctor, you don't know what kind of heart disease Ambrose belongs to, do you?" "I don't quite understand what you mean, Miss Marple," said Dr. Lloyd. "Are you sure Ambrose has one of those heart problems that doesn't allow digitoxin? There's no evidence of that. There might be another condition." "another situation?" "Yes, you say foxglove can sometimes be used for heart attacks." "Even if that were the case, I don't see how that would explain anything." "That means he probably has the drug. He doesn't have to make a statement. What I'm trying to say is that if you're going to kill somebody with foxglove, I'm afraid it's wrong to poison everyone with foxglove leaves." The simplest, easiest way. Not fatal to anyone else, only one victim. No one will be surprised. Because, according to Dr. Lloyd, no one can say for sure about this kind of thing, no one Will ask the girl if it's the poison in the foxglove leaf? Or something like that. He might put digitoxin in a cocktail, in his coffee, or just give her to drink it as a tonic." "Do you mean that Mr. Ambrose poisoned his ward, the lovely girl he loved?" "Exactly," said Miss Marple, "as with Basil and his young steward. Don't tell me it's impossible for a man of sixty to love a girl of twenty. It happens every day." It's happening. I dare say something like this happens to an old dictator like Sir Ambrose, it's sure to drive him a little perverted, sometimes crazy. He can't stand the fact that she's going to marry, do as much as he can objected, but was unsuccessful. His jealousy grew so strong that he would rather kill her than let her fall into Lorimer's arms. He must have been planning for a long time to mix foxgloves with Among the sage leaves, when the time came, he picked the leaves himself and asked her to send them to the kitchen. It is disgusting to think about, but we should also give him some sympathy. Monsieur can be a little queer when it comes to young girls, our last organist—unfortunately, we're talking about murder now." "Mrs. Bantry," said Mr. Henry, "is that really the case?" Mrs Bantry nodded. "Yes, I never dreamed that it could be anything other than an accident. However, I received a letter after Ambrose's death and he had it delivered directly to me. In the letter he put I've been told everything. I don't know why he picked me, but we've always had a good time." After being silent for a while, she seemed to sense the silent criticism from everyone present, and hurriedly declared: "You think I've broken the trust of my friends, don't you? In fact, I've changed all my names. His real name wasn't Ambrose Busey, and you didn't see Arthur stare at me when I mentioned it. Look at me like a fool? He didn't get it either. I changed everyone's name, like some magazines and book openings say: 'All characters in this story are pure fiction'. You never Nor will they know who they belong to."