Chapter 16 Chapter Sixteen

Sitting at lunch at the Blue Cat, Poirot outlined to Maud Williams what he wanted her to do. "So, do you understand what you're looking for?" Maud Williams nodded. "Has everything been arranged in your office?" She laughed. "My aunt is dying! I sent myself a telegram." "Okay. I have one more thing to say. Somewhere in that village, we know of a murderer. It's not safe to get that thing." "Are you warning me?" "yes." "I'll protect myself," said Maud Williams. "This sentence," said Hercule Poirot, "can be included in the famous Last Words."

She laughed again, bright and funny.One or two people at the next table turned to look in her direction.Poirot felt that he was secretly praising her.A strong and confident young woman, full of energy, excited and eager to take on a dangerous assignment.Why?He thought of James Bentley again, and his frustrated voice, and his lifeless indifference, and Creation was indeed curious and interesting. Maud said: "You're asking me to do this, aren't you? Why are you trying to discourage me all of a sudden?" "Because if one undertakes a mission, one must know exactly what it entails."

"I don't think I'm in danger," Maud said confidently. "I don't think so at a time like this. Nobody knows you in Broadshinney?" Maud nodded. "Yes, yes. I should say so." "Have you been there before?" "Been there once or twice--on business, of course--only once lately--about five months ago." "Who have you met? Where have you been?" "I went to see an old lady—Mrs. Custer—or Mrs. Carliss—I don't remember her name exactly. She was going to buy a small piece of real estate there, and I brought some papers, and a to see her for a land survey and house appraisal report. She was staying at the same hotel where you are staying."

"The Long Meadow?" "Exactly the name. The house is in a very ugly style, and there are a lot of dogs." Poirot nodded. "Did you see Mrs. Summerhays, or Colonel Summerhays?" "I saw Mrs. Somerhays, I guess it was her. She took me into the bedroom. There was an old cat lying on the bed." "Will Mrs. Summerhays remember you?" "Don't expect her to remember me. Even if she does, that's all right, isn't it? People change jobs a lot these days anyway. But I don't think she even glanced at me. Her This kind of person can't remember."

There was a hint of pain in Maud Williams' voice. "Did you meet anyone else at Broadshinney?" Maud said awkwardly: "Oh, I've seen Mr. Bentley." "Ah, you met Mr. Bentley. By chance?" Maud squirmed in his chair. "No, actually, I sent him a postcard beforehand. Tell him I'm going that day, and ask him if he'd like to meet me. Not about going anywhere. A tiny place with no restaurants or movie theaters You can go and sit. In fact, we talked for a while at the station while I was waiting for the bus." "That was before Mrs. McGinty died?"

"Yes. Not too long before that, though. Because Mrs. McGinty's murder was in the papers a few days later." "Has he mentioned his landlady to you?" "I don't think so." "Haven't you spoken to anyone else at Broadshinney?" "Er - only spoke to Mr. Robin Upward. I heard him talk on the radio. I saw him coming out of his yard and recognized him from his photograph. I did ask him for His picture." "Did he give it to you?" "Yes. He had a great attitude. I didn't have a notebook with me, but I had a note, and he took out his fountain pen and wrote on it."

"Have you seen anyone else?" "Oh, of course I know the Carpenters. They come to Gilchester a lot. Their car is beautiful, her dress is beautiful. People say he's going to be our next MP." Poirot nodded.Then he took the envelope he always carried with him from his pocket and spread the four photographs on the table. "Do you know anyone in these pictures—what's the matter?" "I saw Mr. Scuttle. He was just going out. I hope he didn't see me with you. He might be a little surprised, you know, people are talking about you, that you're sent from Paris." .”

"I'm Belgian, not French. But that's all right." "What's the matter with these photos?" She bent down and looked carefully. "These people are quite outdated, aren't they?" "The oldest one was thirty years ago." "The clothes are old and dull, and these women look stupid in their clothes." "Have you seen them before?" "Are you saying I know these women, or have I seen these pictures?" "It doesn't matter how you understand it." "I remember seeing this one," she said, resting her finger on Janice Courtland's hat, "in the papers or somewhere, but I can't remember when. The kid also looked kind of familiar. But I can't remember exactly when I saw the picture; it was a while ago."

"All these photographs were in the Sunday Comet which appeared on the Sunday before Mrs. McGinty's death." Maud looked at him keenly. "These pictures have something to do with the case? That's what you want me to—" She didn't finish her sentence. "Yes," said Poirot, "that is why." He took something out of his pocket and showed her.It was an article clipped from the Sunday Comet. "You'd better read it," he said. She read it carefully.Her bright blond hair hung loose over the clipped newspaper. After a while, she looked up.

"These people did it, then? Reading this article made you discover something new?" "Your explanation is very apt." "But, I still don't understand—" She was silent for a while, thinking quietly.Poirot said nothing.However, no matter how pleasant he was with his own ideas, he was always open to hearing what others had to say. "You think one or two of these people are in Broadshinney?" "Maybe, isn't it possible?" "Of course. Anyone could be anywhere..." he said, resting his fingers on Eva Kane's pretty face, which was smirking. About the same age."

"Probably so." "What I was thinking just now is--a woman of her type--is sure that there are several people who will hold ill feelings toward her." "That's an opinion," said Poirot slowly. "Yes, there are people." He added, "Do you remember the Craig case?" "Who can't remember?" said Maud Williams. "I was only a boy, but the papers now compare his case with other cases. I don't think anyone will forget it, you say." Woolen cloth?" Poirot looked up suddenly. He wondered where the sudden tone of pain in her voice came from.