Chapter 7 Chapter VII Repaying Debts

When we came out of the village hall, Poirot quietly took my arm and pulled me aside.I know his purpose.He was waiting for Scotland Yard. After a while they appeared, and Poirot stepped forward at once to greet the shorter of the two. "I'm afraid you don't remember me, Inspector Japp." "Hey, it's M. Poirot!" cried the inspector.He turned to face the other person. "You heard me say about M. Poirot? We worked together in 1904—the Abercrombie forgery—you always remember, he was hunted down. Well, those days Beauty, sir. Also, do you remember the 'Baron' Altara? Your handsome rascal! He managed to elude half the police in Europe. But we're catching him—thanks to this Bo Mr Lowe."

Indulging in a friendly remembrance of these past events, I went up and introduced Inspector Japp, who introduced us both to his colleague, Sergeant Summerhay. "It seems unnecessary for me to ask what you are doing here, monsieur," said Poirot. Japp closed one eye slyly. "It's really not necessary. I must say that the situation is clear." But Poirot answered gravely: "I have a different opinion than you." "Hey, come on," Summerhai said, speaking for the first time. "The whole thing is as clear as daylight. This guy seized it on the spot, and he wants to pretend to deceive me!"

But Japp looked at Poirot attentively. "Don't get excited, Summerhay," he said jokingly. "I've had dealings with this gentleman before—I haven't had a case run faster than him. If I'm not terribly mistaken, he must have a secret plan. Is that so, sir?" Poirot smiled. "I made some inferences—yes." Somerhai still looked suspicious, but Japp continued to watch Poirot carefully. "The thing is," he said, "that so far we've only seen the surface of the case. That's where the Police Service is at a disadvantage in cases like this, and it's also the fact that the murder has been uncovered, so to speak. Only after the autopsy. Things often depend on first-hand knowledge of the scene, and this is where Mr. Poirot has an advantage over us. Will be on here right away. But you went to the scene in the first place, you may have picked up some small clues, from the interrogation, Mr. Inglethorp's murder of his wife is as real as I am standing here. Indeed. I would have laughed at him to his face at any suggestion to the contrary except you, and I must say I was surprised that the jury did not immediately pronounce a verdict against him for premeditated murder. I think that It was their claim, and if the coroner didn't mean it—then he seemed to be held back by them."

"Perhaps you have a warrant for him in your pocket now," said Poirot. A bureaucratic wooden casement hung over Japp's expressive face. "Maybe I have, maybe I haven't," he said dryly. Poirot looked at him thoughtfully. "I strongly hope he is not arrested, sir." "I think it's possible," Summerham said wryly. Japp looked at Poirot with puzzlement and absurdity. "Can you go into more detail, M. Poirot? Every word of yours counts. You have been there—you know that the Police Department does not want to make mistakes." Poirot nodded gravely.

"I do think so. Well, I'll tell you. Arrest Mr. Inglethorp with your warrant. But it won't do you any good - the charges against him will be dismissed at once." ! That's it!" He clapped his fingers meaningfully. Japp's face darkened, and Summerhay snorted suspiciously. As for me, I was literally dumbfounded and silent.I can only conclude that Poirot is probably mad. Japp took out a handkerchief and dabbed his forehead lightly. "I dare not do such a thing, M. Poirot. I take your word for it, but those above me will ask, what do I mean? Can you tell me a little more?"

Poirot considered for a moment. "That's the only way," he said at last. "I admit, I don't want to say it. It's pushing me. At the moment, I'd rather work in the ignorance, but what Wy said is exactly right - the words of a Belgian policeman whose golden age has passed is Not enough! But Alfred Inglethorp can't be arrested in any way. I've sworn it, my friend Hastings knows, ah, my dear Japp, you go to Stiles at once ?" "Well, in half an hour or so, we have to see the coroner and doctor first." "Very well. Call me by the way--the last house in the village. I'll go with you. Mr. Inglethorp will give you evidence at Styles, or if he refuses--then It's possible—I'll produce evidence to your complete satisfaction that the charges against him may not be approved. That's it?"

"Well, that's it," Japp said earnestly. "On behalf of the Police Department, I would like to express my deep gratitude to you, although I must confess that at present I have not been able to see the slightest possible hole in the testimony, but you are always amazing Prodigy! So, goodbye! gentlemen." The two detectives strode away, Summer Hai grinning suspiciously with a sneer on his face. "Well, my friend," cried Poirot before I could speak, "what do you think? Good heavens! I was so anxious in court; I didn't expect this man to be so stubborn as to As for refusing to say anything, that's obviously a very stupid strategy."

"Hmph! There's some other explanation than stupid strategy," I said. "Because, if an indictment were really brought against him, what would he have in his defense but silence?" "What? There are a thousand ways," cried Poirot. "Look, if I were the one who committed the murder, I could make up seven stories with the most plausible reasons! That's far more convincing than Mr. Inglethorp's denial!" I couldn't help laughing. "My dear Poirot, I'm sure you can make up seventy stories! But seriously, whatever I've heard from you and the two detectives, you must now stop thinking that Alfred Perhaps Inglethorp is innocent?"

"Why isn't it the same now? My opinion hasn't changed." "But the evidence is so solid." "Yes, it is too conclusive." We turned into the gates of Listerway House and began to ascend the now-familiar staircase. "Yes, yes, that's true," continued Poirot, almost to himself. "Real evidence is often vague and unsatisfactory. It has to be examined--scrutinized. But the whole thing here has been prepared. No, my friend, the evidence is cleverly fabricated--cleverly You have to destroy your purpose and intention." "What do you mean?"

"Because, so long as the evidence against him is cloudy, it is difficult to refute. But the criminal fears that he has drawn the net so tightly that a breach will allow Inglethorp to slip through. .” I am silent.He paused for a moment, then continued: "Let us look at the matter this way. Here is a man who, we suppose, intends to poison his wife. And he is, as the saying goes, a man of wits. So he may have some Clever, not quite a fool. So how did he go about it? He had the audacity to buy strychnine at the village pharmacy in his own name, and concocted a recipe for a dog that he promised would prove absurd. Story. He didn't put the poison that night. No, he waited until after he had had a violent quarrel with her that the whole family knew about, so that the whole family was unanimous in suspecting him. He wasn't going to defend himself either— There is not even a trace of justification. And he knows that the pharmacy clerk will come out and report, huh! I don't believe it, how can there be such a fool! Only a mentally disturbed person who hopes to hang himself on the gallows would do this!"

"But I still—don't understand—" I started. "I don't understand either. I tell you, my friend, it confuses me too. Take me—Hercar Poirot!" "But if you believe him innocent, how do you explain his purchase of strychnine?" "Simple. He didn't buy it." "But Mace recognized him!" "Excuse me, he saw a man with a big black beard like Mr. Inglethorp, a man with glasses like Mr. Inglethorp, a man in Mr. Inglethorp's rather attractive well-dressed man. It was impossible for him to recognize a man whom he had perhaps only seen from afar, since, you will always remember, he himself had only been in the village a fortnight before, and, Mrs. Inglethorp Mainly at Coote's in Tumminster." "Then you think—" "My friend, have you forgotten the two points I emphasized? Let's not talk about the first point for now. What is the second point?" "The second important fact is that Mr. Inglethorp wears very distinctive clothes, has a large black beard, and wears spectacles." "Exactly. Now if someone wants to pretend to be John or Lawrence, is it easy?" "It's not easy," I said after thinking about it. "Of course, an actor—" "Why isn't it easy? I'll tell you, my friend, because they're both clean-shaven. To pretend to be either of these two in broad daylight requires a talent for acting. , and basically similar in shape of face. But Alfred Inglethorp's case was quite different. His clothes, his beard, the spectacles that covered his eyes--those were the peculiarities of his personal appearance. What, then, is the criminal's first instinct? To divert suspicion from himself, isn't it? What's the best thing he can do? Throw it on another. There was a man. To make everyone inclined to believe that Mr. Inglethorp was guilty. It was the inevitable consequence that he should be suspected. But in order for this to be convincing, there had to be solid evidence—such as real It was not difficult to go out and buy poison, and to pretend to be such a peculiar-looking man as Mr. Inglethorp. Remember, this young Mace had never actually talked to Mr. Inglethorp before. How could he Do you suspect that this man in his clothes, with his beard and spectacles, is not Alfred Inglethorp?" "Maybe so," I said.Fascinated by Poirot's eloquence. "But if that's the case. Why won't he say where he was at six o'clock on Monday evening?" "Why, why?" said Poirot, calming down. "If he had been arrested, he would probably have spoken. But I don't want it to go to that point. I have to make him see the seriousness of his situation. Of course, there must be something behind his silence." Shameful stuff. Even if he didn't murder his wife, he's still a villain, and murder aside, he has something of his own to hide." "What could it be?" I mused, subdued for a moment by Poirot's opinion, though I still did not quite believe that this apparently speculative opinion was correct. "Can't you guess?" asked Poirot, laughing. "Can't guess. What about you?" "Well, yes, I had a little thought some time ago—and now it's proven correct." "You never told me," I said reproachfully. Poirot spread his hands apologetically. "Forgive me, my friend, but you will not agree," he said to me earnestly. "Tell me—do you now think he should be arrested?" "Perhaps so," I answered vaguely, for I was not really interested in Alfred Inglethorp's fate at all, and I thought it would do him no harm to give him a good fright. Poirot looked at me intently and sighed. "Well, my friend," he changed the subject, "except Mr. Inglethorp, what do you think of the testimony at the trial?" "Oh, almost as I expected." "Don't you think there's anything special about it?" My mind went to Mary Cavendish, so I just said evasively: "Which way?" "Say, for example, the testimony of Mr. Laurence Cavendish?" I feel relieved. "Oh, Lawrence! No, I don't think so. He's been a little nervous." "His idea was that his mother might have been accidentally poisoned by a tonic. That doesn't surprise you—huh?" "No, I can't say it's strange. Doctors, of course, laugh at the idea. But to a layman it's quite normal." "But Mr. Lawrence is no layman. You told me yourself that he started as a medical student and has taken his degree." "Yeah, that's true. I never thought of that," I was taken aback. "It is indeed strange." Poirot nodded. "First of all, his attitude is very special. Among the whole family, he is the only one who can recognize the symptoms of strychnine poisoning, and we also found that he is the only one in the family who insists on natural death. If this is Mr. John, I will Understood, since he had no expertise in the field, so it would have been unexpected. But, Mr. Lawrence—different! And today, the ideas he puts forward, as he should know, are quite ridiculous. Much of which is worthwhile Stuff for thinking, my friend." "It's really messy," I agree. "And Mrs. Cavendish," continued Poirot. "She's another one who doesn't tell all she knows! How do you explain her attitude?" "I don't know how to explain it. It seems inconceivable that she would try to shield Alfred Inglethorp. Yet it seems so." Poirot nodded thoughtfully. "Yes, it is strange, one thing is certain, she has overheard far more 'private conversations' than she cares to admit." "And, she's the last person to lean over to eavesdrop." "Indeed. Her testimony showed me one thing. I was wrong. Dorcas was quite right. The quarrel did happen earlier that afternoon, around four o'clock, as she said." I looked at him curiously.I hadn't known that he insisted on this. "Yes, a whole host of strange things happened today," continued Poirot. "Like that Dr. Bauerstein, at that hour of the morning, how could he be dressed, so well-groomed? I'm surprised no one commented on that fact." "He has insomnia, I believe," I said vaguely. "A very benevolent interpretation, or a very malicious one," Poirot pointed out. "Both cover up the truth and explain nothing. I'll have to keep an eye out for our clever Dr. Bauerstein." "What else was wrong with the testimony?" I asked sarcastically. "My friend," replied Poirot gravely, "when you find that people are not telling you the truth—be careful! Well, unless I'm mistaken, at today's trial there was only one, at most The two spoke the truth, without reservations or excuses." "Oh, come, Poirot! Laurence or Mrs. Cavendish, I won't say, but John—and Miss Howard, must they both always tell the truth?" The two of them, friend?One, I agree, but two—! " His words startled me unpleasantly.Miss Howard's testimony, though unimportant, was so briskly candid that I never doubted her sincerity.However, I have always had great respect for Poirot's wit - except on occasions when I myself regarded him as a "fool". "Do you really think so?" I asked. "Miss Howard has always seemed to be quite honest with me--so honest it almost makes me uncomfortable." Poirot glanced at me so strangely that I could not fathom its meaning.He seemed to want to say something, but then held back. "It's the same with Miss Murch," I went on. "She's not lying either." "Strangely enough, however, she slept next door and heard nothing; Mrs. Cavendish, who lived on the other side of the house, distinctly heard the table overturned." "Well, she is young and sleeps deeply." "Hmph, yes, really! Ru must be a famous sleepy, a sleepy!" I didn't like his tone of voice very much, but at this moment, we heard a loud knock on the door, looked out of the window, and found that two detectives were already waiting for us below. Poirot grabbed his hat, twirled his mustache vigorously, and brushed an imaginary speck of dust from his sleeve, before he motioned for me to go ahead and descend the stairs; we, together with the two detectives, Depart for Styles Manor. I thought the arrival of these two Scotland Yard figures was somewhat of a shock - especially for John, who, of course, realized after the jury verdict that it was only a matter of time.And their presence, more than any other, would bring him to see the truth. On the way, Poirot and Japp conferred in low voices, and the latter demanded that the whole family, except the servants, be assembled in the drawing room.I understand what that means.It was Poirot's duty to live up to his boast. Personally, I lack self-confidence.Poirot may have had good reasons for believing Inglethorp's innocence, but a man like Summerhay needs solid evidence, and I doubt that Poirot could produce such evidence. As soon as we all entered the living room in a group, Japp shut the door behind us.Poirot graciously invited everyone to take their seats.Two figures from Scotland Yard were the object of attention.For the first time, I think, we realized that this event was not a nightmare, but a living reality.We've read quite a few of these -- and now we're actors in the play ourselves.Tomorrow the dailies throughout England will carry the news under the following prominent headlines: "There was a major tragedy in Essex, and the rich lady was poisoned and died" There will also be photographs of the Styles estate, snapshots of "the family under interrogation" - the village photographer is not idle!All these stories, everyone has read it many times - but not to themselves, but to other people.And now, in this house, a murder took place.Before us is the "detective in charge of the case".In the intervals before Poirot began to speak, various familiar and fluent phrases raced through my mind. Everyone was a little surprised, I believe, that he, rather than an official detective, was the first to speak. "Ladies and gentlemen," said Poirot, bowing like a celebrity about to make a speech, "I invite all of you here for one thing, and that is about the Mr de Inglethorp's question." Inglethorp was sitting almost alone on one side—everyone, I thought, dragged his chair a little farther away from him unconsciously—and he took a moment when Poirot mentioned his name. shock. "Mr. Inglethorp," said Poirot, addressing him directly, "a very dark shadow hangs over the house—the shadow of murder." Inglethorp shook his head sadly. "My poor lady," he murmured. "Poor Emily! This is dreadful." "I do not think, sir," said Poirot sharply, "that you have not quite realized how terrible it might be—for you." As Inglethorp did not seem to understand, he added: " Mr Inglethorp, you are in very serious danger." Both detectives seemed restless.I saw that the accepted admonition, "Every word you say will be used in the testimony against you," lingered on the lips of Somerhai to this day.Poirot continued: "I understand now, sir?" "I don't understand. What do you mean?" "I mean," said Poirot calmly, "that you are suspected of poisoning your own wife." Because of this candid statement.It makes people around you almost breathless. "My God!" cried Inglethorp, rising abruptly. "What an absurd idea! I—poisoned my dearest Emily!" "I think"—Poirot looked at him carefully—"that you have not fully appreciated the disadvantages of your testimony at the trial, Mr. Inglethorp, and that, after knowing what I have told you, you still Refuse to say where you were at six o'clock on Monday afternoon?" Alfred Inglethorp groaned, sat down again, and buried his face in his hands.Poirot stepped forward and stood beside him. "Say!" he threatened loudly. Inglethorp lifted his face from his hands with difficulty.Then slowly, unhurriedly shook his head. "You don't want to say?" "I don't believe that the Ministry of Human Beings would be so absurd to accuse me as you say." Poirot nodded thoughtfully, like a man who has made up his mind. "All right!" he said. "Then I'll have to tell you." Alfred Inglethorp jumped up again. "You? What do you say? You don't know—" He stopped suddenly. Poirot turned towards us. "Ladies and gentlemen! Let me speak! Listen! I, Hercar Poirot, can assure you that it will not be Inglethorp who will buy thytynine at the pharmacy at six o'clock this Monday afternoon." Sir, because at six o'clock that afternoon Mr. Inglethorp was returning home from a neighboring farm with Mrs. Rex. I can give no less than five witnesses, all at or after six o'clock Seeing them both together, and, as you know, Abbey Farm, the home of Mrs Rex, is at least two and a half miles from the village. It is absolutely out of the question that Mr Inglethorp was not at the scene of the crime. .”

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