Chapter 24 Chapter Twenty-Four

"It drives people crazy," Spence said. "It can't be so bad." Poirot said calmly. "That's what you said. Every new circumstance made things more and more complicated. Now, you tell me that Mrs. Upward called three women and asked them to come over that night. Why three Personal? Doesn't she know which of them is Lily Gamble? Or is there really a Lily Gamble? Take that book with Evelyn Hope's name on it, doesn't it? It shows that Mrs Upward and Eva Kane are the same person." "That's exactly what James Bentley says Mrs. McGinty said to him."

"I don't think he's sure." "He wasn't sure. James Bentley couldn't be sure of anything. He didn't listen very well to what Mrs. McGinty had to say. However, if James Bentley had any impression, what Mrs. McGinty said was err That may well be true, Mrs Purward. That's usually the impression." "The latest information we have received from Australia (which she went to, by the way, not America) appears to be that the alleged 'Mrs. Hope' died there twenty years ago." "I have been informed of the situation," said Poirot.

"You always know everything, don't you, M. Poirot?" Poirot paid no attention to the taunt.He said: "On the one hand, we know that 'Mrs. Hope' died in Australia—on the other hand?" "On the other hand, we know that Mrs. Upward was the widow of a wealthy manufacturer in the north. She lived with him near Leeds and had a son. Her husband died shortly after the son was born. The little boy suffered from Tuberculosis. Since the death of her husband, she has lived abroad most of the time." "When did this experience begin?" "It started four years after Eva Kane left the UK. Upward met his wife somewhere abroad, married and brought her back."

"Therefore, Mrs. Upward may actually be Eva Kane. What was her pre-marriage name?" "Hargris, I think that's the name. But what does it mean?" "It does say something. Eva Kane, or Evelyn Hope, may have died in Australia - but she may have arranged a very telling death to retake the name of Hargris And the resurrection climbed into a very rich marriage." "That was all a long time ago," said Spence, "but let's say it's true. Suppose she kept a picture of herself, and suppose Mrs. McGinty saw it—then, The only conjecture that can be drawn is that she killed Mrs. McGinty."

"Is that possible, isn't it possible? Robin Upward was on the air that night. Mrs. Rendell mentioned going to the yard that night, but no one heard her. According to Mrs. Sweetiman Well, Janet told her, Mrs Upward isn't really as handicapped as she looks." "The explanations are all plausible, M. Poirot, but the fact is that she herself was killed—and after recognizing a photograph. Now you are tempted to say that the two deaths are not connected." "No, no. I don't say that. They are closely related." "I have nothing to say." "Evelyn Hope. That's the crux of the whole thing."

"Evelyn Carpenter? Is that what you think? Not Lily Gamble—it's Eva Kane's daughter! But she certainly wouldn't have killed her own mother." "No, no. It's not mamicide." "What an annoying fellow you are, Poirot. Next you should say that Eva Kane and Lily Gamble, and Janis Courtland and Vera Blake are all living in Broadham now. Nee. All four are suspects." "More than four. Eva Kane was Craig's nanny, remember." "What does that have to do with the case?" "Any family that has a nanny must have a child—or at least one. What about the Craigs?"

"A son and a daughter. Relatives took them away." "So there are two more people who should be considered. Two people who are likely to keep the photo for the third reason I mentioned - revenge." "I don't believe it," Spence said. Poirot sighed: "At any rate, the situation must be considered. I think I know the facts—though there is only one fact that perplexes me." "I'm glad that something confuses you," Spence said. "To confirm one thing, dear Spence. Eva Kane left the country before Craig was executed, is that so?"

"very true." "And at that time, she was about to give birth?" "very true." "My God, what a fool I am," said Hercule Poirot. "The whole case is extremely simple, isn't it?" After this sentence was said, a third murder almost occurred--Superintendent Spence almost killed Hercule Poirot at the Kiltchester Police Station. "I would like to have a private telephone conversation," said Hercule Poirot. "Ariadne Oliver, please." Mrs. Oliver's private telephone was difficult to reach without much trouble.Mrs. Oliver is working and must not be disturbed.However, Poirot ignored all kinds of excuses and obstacles.Now, he heard the voices of women writers.

The authoress was angry and somewhat out of breath. "Well, what's the matter?" said Mrs. Oliver. "Are you obliged to call me at this hour? I've just conceived a wonderful murder in a drapery shop. You know , just an old-fashioned drapery shop that sells those funny vests and jumpsuits." "I don't know," said Poirot. "At any rate, what I am going to tell you is far more important." "Impossible," said Mrs. Oliver. "I mean to me. Unless I have a rough outline of my idea, and jot it down, it matters!" Hercule Poirot was indifferent to the hardships of this creation.He asked some pointed questions, which Mrs. Oliver answered with some ambiguity.

"Yes—yes—a small repertory touring theater—I don't know the name of the theater... oh, there was a guy named Cecil or something, and the guy I was talking to was named Michael .” "Excellent. That's all I need to know." "But why ask Cecil and Michael?" "Go on with those jumpsuits and vests, ma'am." "I don't see why you don't arrest Dr Rendell," said Mrs Oliver. "If I were an officer of the Metropolitan Police, I would." "Very likely. I wish you luck in writing about the murder in the draper." "The whole idea is gone now," said Mrs. Oliver. "You drove it away."

Poirot apologized repeatedly. He put down the phone and looked at Spence with a smile. "Let's go now—or, at least, I'm going to—to meet a young actor whose given name is Michael, who has a small role at the Caravon Repertory Theater. Hopefully he's the one we're looking for Michael." "Why on earth—" Poirot deftly avoided the growing anger of Superintendent Spence. "Do you know, my dear friend, what a well-known secret is?" said Poirot in French. "Is this French class?" Superintendent Spence asked furiously. "A well-known secret is a secret that everyone probably knows. Therefore, people who don't know this secret at present will never hear it told-because if everyone thinks you know a thing, no one will know it. I'll tell you again." "I don't know how I can keep myself from doing it to you," said Superintendent Spence.