Chapter 2 Chapter two

There was a pause of a minute or two, and none of them spoke. "You came to find me—" Poirot did not finish his sentence. Superintendent Spence looked up, his face darker than before.It was a typical countryman's face, inexpressive, very self-restraining, with shrewd and honest eyes, one of those who had firm and unchanging principles and never doubted his own ideas of right and wrong. people. "I've been a policeman for many years," he said, "and I've had a lot of experience and experience in that area, and I've been able to judge what a person can and can't do. During my career, I've dealt with a lot of murder cases—some The cases are obvious, and some are not so obvious. There is one case, you know, M. Poirot—"

Poirot nodded. "Quite difficult to deal with. But in your view, we may not have figured it out, but we did, without any doubt, and the same goes for the other cases you don't know about. There was a criminal named Whistler— —He deserved it. And the fellows who shot old Guttman. And there was a man named Will, who poisoned with arsenic. There was a traveling peddler, and he did it right. Mrs. Courtland—she was lucky —Her husband was indeed an incorrigible fellow, depraved to the extreme. The jury of course came to his just verdict, not justly, but emotionally. It happens to you every now and then, and sometimes the evidence is not Sufficiently, the verdict is sometimes emotional because the murderer blinds the jury time and time again--it doesn't happen often, of course, but it happens. Sometimes defense attorneys are brilliant, sometimes Sometimes suing lawyers do wrong things. Ah, yes, I've seen a lot of things like that, but—but—"

Spence pinches his thick index finger. "In my experience, I have never seen an innocent person put to death for something he did not do. Mr. Poirot, I do not want to see such a thing happen." "No," Spence added, "this shouldn't be happening in this country!" Poirot stared at him with wide eyes. "So you think you're about to see this happening now, but why—" Spence cut him off. "I know what you're going to say, and I'll explain it if you don't ask me. I've been charged with taking charge of the case, and looking for evidence about it. I've studied the whole story very carefully, and collected as much All the facts of the case, and it all points to a problem - they all point to one person. When I collected all the evidence, I gave them to my superiors. After that, there is nothing about me The case was then referred to the public prosecutor, who was charged with prosecuting—he had no other choice—that was the only thing he could do on the basis of the evidence. So James Bentley was arrested and charged with Trial. Trial was fair, and he was found guilty. They couldn't have judged him otherwise, at least on the basis of the evidence. That's what a jury should consider. There's nothing about that evidence, it should be said. Doubtful. Yes, I should say that finding him guilty is the inevitable outcome of all the evidence."

"But you, why are you not satisfied with the result?" "I'm not satisfied." "why?" Superintendent Spence sighed, stroking his chin thoughtfully with his large hand. "I don't know. I mean, I can't give a reason, I can't give a definite, convincing reason. In the jury's opinion, I can say that he does look like a murderer; to me Not so with him. I know far more about murderers than they do." "Yes, yes, you are an expert in this." "One of the reasons is, you know, he's not crazy, he doesn't come off as crazy. And in my experience, murderers are usually pretty crazy, and they're always self-righteous. They think they're playing tricks on you, Makes you nervous, they always believe that everything they do is smart, even when they are on trial, they think they are waiting for this moment to come, and they will have a lot of fun from it. They are compelling The central characters, they're playing big stars—maybe for the first time in their lives. They're all megalomaniacs!"

Spence said the last word in a closing tone. "You will understand what I mean, M. Poirot?" "I get it. And this James Bentley doesn't behave that way, does he?" "Ah, yes. He was terribly frightened. He was terrified from the first. To some, that was proof of his crime, but not to me." "Yes, I agree with you. What does this James Bentley look like?" "Thirty-three years old, of medium build, sallow, dull, with spectacles—" Poirot interrupted him. "Oh, no, I don't mean his physical features, I mean what kind of person he is."

"Oh, this," said Superintendent Spence, after a moment's thought, "isn't the kind of guy you'd like to see. He's nervous, he can't look people in the face, and he's always sneaky when he looks at people. He looks like Scheming and deceitful, in the eyes of a jury, it is probably the worst form of demeanor. At times brutal and aggressive, at other times servile and servile, it is aggressive, relentless and unsuccessful." He paused and added in a chatty tone: "Actually, he's a very shy kind of guy. I have a cousin who looks like him, and if there's anything embarrassing and funny, let them say it." , people will think it seems like they are telling stupid lies, and they will not be trusted by everyone at all."

"This James Bentley you speak of does not seem at all attractive." "Ah, yes, there is nothing charming about him, and no one would like him. But anyway, I don't want to see him put to death." "Do you think he will be executed?" "I don't think there's a reason why he shouldn't be executed. His lawyer might appeal, but even then the reason is hardly tenable. It can only be a matter of procedure. I don't see it He has no hope of winning the case." "Has he got a good lawyer?" "Young Greybrook acted as his solicitor under the Poor Man's Advocate Act and defended him. It should be said that he has a conscience and has behaved well. He has done his best."

"It means that the man had a fair trial and was sentenced to death by a jury of his fellow countrymen." "Exactly. A very good jury, seven gentlemen and five women, all decent, clear-headed characters. The judge is an elderly Stanisdale, impartial and without prejudice." "So—under the laws of your country—James Bentley has nothing to plead?" "If he was put to death for something he did not do, he should have a defense." "Very incisive." "I was responsible for the case against him—the evidence I collected and put together—and it was on the basis of the evidence I collected and the facts that I investigated that he was sentenced to death. I I don't like it, I don't like the result."

For a long time Hercule Poirot looked at the flushed face of Superintendent Spence with agitation and apprehension. "So," he asked, "what do you think?" Spence looked embarrassed. "I hope you have a clear idea of ​​what is going to happen. The Bentley case is closed and I have now been ordered to investigate another case - Inside and Out. I have to go to Scotland this evening, and I am I can't help it, because I'm not a free man." "And I—free?" Spence nodded, blushing a little. "You see what I mean, you will think me impudent and unreasonable. But I couldn't think of any other way. I did everything I could, I checked every detail, Analyzed every possibility, but I found nothing new. I don't believe I'll find anything again, but it might be different for you. Who knows? You see things always—if you allow I say it this way - always in a very interesting, very original way. Maybe that's the way you'll go about it in this case. Because, if James Bentley didn't kill her, then surely Someone else did it. She would never have shot herself in the back of the head with something, you might be able to spot what I've missed. It would be unreasonable to ask you to do anything with this case, even if I suggested it It's also very unreasonable. I came to you because it was the only way I could think of, but if you don't want to embarrass yourself—why would you—"

Poirot interrupted him. "Oh, but there are reasons for me to do it. I have leisure--too much spare time. And you, I have been interested. Yes, you have interested me greatly, which is It's a challenge--a little challenge for my little ingenuity; and, I respect you, when I see you spend six months growing flowers in your garden, you don't because Do it to feel happy, behind everything you do, there's an unpleasant emotion in your big brain that you're trying to get rid of. I won't make you feel that way, my friend. The final reason is—" Poirot straightened his body and nodded vigorously, "everything must be right and wrong, and principles must be followed. If a person has not committed murder, he should not be executed." He paused , and then asked: "However, after considering all the facts, can it be deduced that he did not kill her?"

"In this case, I would be grateful if the evidence gathered did not suggest such a result." "Two wits are always better than one, and that's it. I'm going to throw myself into the investigation of this case. Obviously, there's not much time left, the scene has been cleared Yes. Mrs. McGinty was murdered—when?" "November 22nd last year." "Then let's start looking for clues at once." "I have a record of that case which I can forward to you." "Okay. Now, then, all we need is a rough outline. If James Bentley didn't kill Mrs. McGinty, who did?" Spence shrugged his shoulders and said heavily: "At present, as far as I know, there are no other suspects." "But that answer is unacceptable to us. Now, since every murder must have a motive, what was the motive in Mrs. McGinty's murder? Jealousy, vengeance , fear, envy, or money? How about we start with the last and simplest reason? Who benefits from her death?" "No one gets much good. She has two hundred pounds in deposit. Her niece gets it." "Two hundred pounds is not a lot of money--but in certain circumstances it is quite a lot. So let us consider her niece. I am sorry, my friend, to follow your I will walk again in my footsteps. I know you must have thought of these things, but I must walk where you have already gone." Spence nodded. "Of course we have examined her niece. She is thirty-eight years old and married. Her husband is employed in the construction and decoration industry. He is a decorative painter. He has a good character and a stable career. He is a very intelligent young man. , not at all silly. She was a pleasant young woman, somewhat talkative, and seemed to have a fondness for her aunt. I dare say neither of them could have any urgent need for two hundred pounds, though they So happy to get the money." "What about the little house? Can they get that house?" "It was rented. Of course, the landlord can't evict the old lady under the tenancy regulations, but now that she's dead, I don't think her niece will buy it—anyway, she and Her husband doesn't want to do that yet. They have a very modern little house of their own and they're very proud of it." Spence sighed and said, "I've looked into that niece and her niece very carefully. Husband—they look like a good couple, you'll see. I haven't gotten anything of value, though." "Dear me. Now let's talk about Mrs. McGinty herself. Please tell me--not just her physical features, if you will." Spence grinned. "Don't want to hear that routine police report? Well, she's sixty-four, a widow, and her husband, who was employed at the Hodges shop in Kiltchester, died of lung disease seven years ago. Since Since then, Mrs. McGinty has been going to different people's houses in the neighborhood every day to help with some housework. Broadshinney is a small village that has only recently been populated. There are one or two retired people in the village, as well as an engineer and a Doctors and all, there are good buses and trains to Kiltchester. I think you are aware that Karenquay is a rather large summer resort and is only eight miles from the village. However, the village The scenery itself is quite pretty and idyllic. Although only a quarter of a mile from the road from Dlymouth and Kiltchester, Broadshinney itself is a small isolated village." Poirot nodded. "Mrs. McGinty's little house is one of the few buildings in the village, along with a post-office and store, and the other inhabitants of the village and some farm laborers." "She's got a lodger, hasn't she?" "Yes. Before her husband's death, there were usually visitors for the summer, and then she had only one permanent lodger. James Bentley had lived there for some months." "Well, now let's talk about James Bentley." "James Bentley's last employment was as a housebroker in Kilmchester. Before that he lived at Karenqua with his mother, who was infirm and elderly, and whom he looked after , never go out for a long time. Then she died, she still has an insurance money after death. He sold their small house and found a job by himself. He has a good education, but no special skills and expertise , like I said, is not someone who is immediately liked. He will not find it difficult to do things in society. Anyway, he was hired by a company, and it was a second-rate company. I don't think he's very successful, I don't think he's very capable, he was one of them when they made layoffs. He's having a hard time finding another new job, and he's running out of money, and he usually pays mic every month. Mrs. Ginty pays the rent once, and she provides him with breakfast and supper at three pounds a week, which is a fair and reasonable price. He has been out of money for two months, his savings are nearly exhausted, and he has been Didn't find a new job. She pressed him to pay the rent he owed." "Does he know she has thirty pounds in her room? By the way, why is she hiding thirty pounds at home when she has a savings account?" "Because she doesn't trust the government. She says they've got two hundred pounds in safekeeping for her and they can't ask them to keep it for her any more, and she's going to keep it where she can find it easily anytime. She's said to people In doing so, she placed her money under a loose floorboard in her bedroom - a very conspicuous place. James Bentley admitted that he knew it was there." "He's quite outspoken. Did the niece and her husband know about the place?" "Oh yes." "Now, then, to return to my first question, how did Mrs. McGinty die?" "She died on the night of the 22nd of November. The medical examiner concluded that the time of death was between seven and ten o'clock in the evening. She had eaten her supper—dried herring, bread and butter. According to the investigation, she usually She ate dinner at about half past six. If she ate dinner at the time when she usually finishes eating on the night of the murder, then, judging from her food digestion, the time of her murder was about 8:30 Between ten and nine o'clock. James Bentley, according to his own account, went out for a walk between seven fifteen and nine o'clock that evening. He went out for a walk almost every day after dark He came back at nine o'clock, he claimed (he had the key to his own door). Then he went to his room. Mrs. McGinty had a washbasin in the bedroom for the summer lodgers. He read the newspaper for about half an hour, and then went to bed. He heard or noticed nothing unusual. The next morning, he went downstairs to the kitchen. There was no one in the kitchen. Any indication that Mrs. McGinty had breakfast for him. He hesitated a moment, he said, and then went to knock on Mrs. McGinty's door, but received no answer. He thought she had overslept, but he didn't want to Knock down. Then the baker came, and James Bentley went upstairs and knocked once more. After that, as I told you, the baker went next door and called a neighbor, Mrs. Elliott, She later found the body and screamed. Mrs. McGinty was lying on the living room floor. She was killed by a blow to the back of the head. The weapon may have been a meat-chopping ax with a sharp blade, She died instantly. The drawers in the house were opened and things were turned upside down, the loose board in the bedroom was thrown away, and thirty pounds in cash was gone. All the windows were closed from the inside. , there is no indication of forced entry from the outside." "Therefore," said Poirot, "either James Bentley must have killed her, or she killed herself while Bentley was out, mustn't she?" "Indeed. It was not a burglary or a theft. Who, then, might she have let in? A neighbor, or her niece, or her husband. The question can only lead to the conclusion that we have excluded her Neighbors. Her niece and her husband went to the movies that night, and it was possible—and only slightly possible—that one of them quietly left the theater, cycled the three miles, killed Get rid of the old woman, hide the money behind the house, and ride back to the theater unnoticed. We have carefully analyzed this possibility, but found no evidence to confirm it. If this is the case, Why would they hide the money in the back of the house? It's a very difficult place to get the money out later. Why not hide the money somewhere within three miles from the house to the theater? No, hide the money in The only plausible explanation for that place is—" Poirot finished the sentence for him: "Because you're living in the house and you don't want to keep your money in your room, or somewhere in the house. In fact, the only person who can do that is James Bent profit." "Exactly. Every place, every time, you can draw a conclusion against Bentley. Last but not least, he has blood on his sleeve." "How does he explain the blood?" "He said he remembered helping a butcher's butcher shop the day before it happened. Nonsense! It wasn't the blood of a slaughtered animal." "Does he stand by that statement?" "No. At the trial, he said quite different things. You know, there was a hair on his cuff, a blood-stained hair, exactly the same hair as Mrs. McGinty's, and that's explained the matter. Later he confessed that he had been in Mrs. McGinty's room on his return from a walk the night before. He said he knocked on the door and went in, found her dead on the floor, and bent over He touched her by the waist, that's what he said. He did this to confirm that she was indeed dead. Then, he lost his mind, and he would be very impulsive when he saw blood, and he couldn't suppress it, and his emotions were very affected He said that when he got back to his room, he almost collapsed and almost passed out. By the next morning, he still didn't have the courage to admit that he knew what had happened." "A very flimsy statement," remarked Poirot. "Yes, it is, but you know," said Spence thoughtfully, "it's very likely to be true. It's not the kind of truth that a normal person or a jury would believe. But I've seen This kind of person, I don't mean the kind of mental breakdown, I mean the kind of shy person who needs to be responsible for an action, but just can't face the facts and take responsibility. For example, he walks into the room, Finding her dead, he knew what he was supposed to do - go to the police - go tell a neighbor - do what was required at the time. And he panicked and panicked. He thought: 'I don't Need to know this, I shouldn't be in this room tonight. I'm going to sleep like I've never been here at all." After thinking about it like this, of course it's fear - fear of him being suspected and this There's something involved, and he thinks he's going to get himself out of it for as long as possible. So the fool actually got himself in, and put the noose around his own neck." Spence paused. "It's possible that's the case." "It is possible," said Poirot thoughtfully. "Besides, that's probably the best excuse his solicitors can make up for him. But, I don't know, the waitress at a cafe in Kilchester said that when he went to that little restaurant for lunch, he always picked A guy who could only see a wall or a corner table to sit down on, and never looked at people. He was kind of weird, but not weird enough to be a murderer. He had no desire to persecute, nor did he The ability to commit brutal acts, he's not that material." Spence looked hopefully at Poirot, but Poirot made no sign—he was frowning. The two sat in silence.