Chapter 17 Section 17

Craddock had to wait for Quinpo's evening operation, and then the doctor came to see him, looking tired and out of spirits. He offered Craddock a drink, and when Craddock took it, he mixed himself one. "Poor woman!" said he, as he sank down on a battered armchair, "so frightened, and so stupid--foolish. There is a very sad patient to-night, a The female patient who should have come before. If she had come at that time, the operation might have been successful. It is too late now, which is sad. In fact, most people are somewhere between bravery and cowardice, an incredible mixture. She Feeling great pain all the time, but she bears it without saying a word. Just because she's too scared to find out what her fears are true. But, at the other extreme, there are people who waste My precious time, because they are suffering from a dangerous tumor on their little finger. They think it may be cancer, but it turns out to be ordinary chilblain! Well, leave me alone! Now about mine like this The anger has dissipated, what do you want to see me?"

"First of all, I want to thank you for persuading Miss Emma Crackenthorpe to show me the letter from the widow who claims to be her brother." "Oh, that. Is there anything found in it? Strictly speaking, I didn't persuade her to come to you. She's going to do that, she's worried, and all those brethren want to stop her, of course. " "Why are they blocking it?" The doctor shrugged. "I think it's because I'm afraid that woman is real." "Do you think that letter is genuine?" "I don't know, I didn't see the letter, and I thought it was someone in the know who was asking for a sum of money, hoping to win Emma's heart. They were quite wrong on this point. Emma was not a Fool, she wouldn't hug a strange woman for a sister-in-law without first asking some practical questions."

He asked strangely: "But why do you ask my opinion? Am I not related to this matter?" "I'm actually here to ask a very different matter. But I don't quite know how to word it." Dr. Kunpo showed a very interested look. "I heard that not long ago—I think it was at Christmas time—Mr. Crackenthorpe was quite ill." Immediately he noticed a change in the doctor's face, his face became severe. "yes." "I suppose it's a stomach trouble?" "yes." "That's hard to do. Mr. Crackenthorpe has been boasting about his health, saying he's going to outlive most of his children, and he mentioned you—sorry, Doctor—"

"Ah, don't pay attention to me, the patient said that I will not be sensitive to anything." "He talked about you and said that you are a person who likes to make a fuss." Kunpo smiled after hearing this, "He said that you asked him all kinds of questions. You not only asked him what he had eaten, but also asked him what is Whoever made it will serve him food." The doctor stopped smiling now, and his face was stern again. "Go on." "He used words like this when he was talking about you, he said you 'talked like someone was putting poison in my food.'"

He paused for a moment. "Have you ever had that suspicion?" Kunpo didn't answer right away.He stood up and paced back and forth.Finally, turning sharply, he said to Craddock: "What do you want me to say? Do you think a doctor goes around accusing someone of poisoning without solid evidence?" "I want to know, do you have such thoughts in private?" Dr. Quinpo said evasively, "Mr. Crackenthorpe lived a rather frugal life. When his grandchildren came, Emma added food. The result—a severe gastroenteritis. Symptoms and diagnosis were fit." Craddock asked persistently.

"Oh. You feel, then, that this diagnosis is entirely satisfactory? Are you not at all - shall I say - perplexed?" "Well, well, yes, I am confused myself, are you so satisfied?" "What interests me," said Craddock, "is whether you're suspicious, or worried about something?" "Of course, there are many kinds of stomach problems. But some of his symptoms are more consistent with arsenic poisoning than simple gastroenteritis. You have to pay attention, the two diseases are very similar. Before, doctors better than me could not recognize it. Arsenic poisoning, so I had to honestly issue a medical certificate for gastroenteritis.”

"What was the result of your research?" "What I suspect may not be true, as it stands. Mr. Crackenthorpe has convinced me that he had had similar episodes before he began to attend him, and, he said, from the same cause. It happens when food is plentiful." "Is that when they have a lot of people? With the children? Or with the guests?" "Yes, that sounds plausible. But, Craddock, frankly, I'm not satisfied. I even wrote to old Dr. Maurice, my senior partner, He retired after I joined. Crackenthorpe was his patient, and I asked the old gentleman about his previous illnesses."

"So, what answer did you get?" Kunpo grinned. "I was reprimanded by him. He told me not to be a fool. So—" He shrugged. "Maybe I'm a fool!" "I wonder," Craddock thought. Then, he decided to be honest. "Doctor, we needn't worry too much, let's just say it. When Luther Crackenthorpe dies, someone will have a considerable fortune." The doctor nodded. "He's an old man, and a healthy old man." , he might live to be in his nineties, right?" "There is no doubt that he took care of his health in every aspect of his day-to-day life, and he was of sound physique."

"His children are getting old and, besides, are they feeling a lot of pressure?" "Except Emma, ​​she's not a poisoner. His illnesses only come on when the others are around, not when she's alone with him." "Basically, we have to be on our guard whether she is the one who poisoned." The inspector thought so, but didn't say it. He paused, choosing the right words carefully. "Of course—I don't know anything about that kind of thing—but isn't he lucky that we just assumed his food was poisoned and he didn't die?" "Right there," said the doctor, "we have a curious thing, and it's because of the fact that I think I'm a big fool, as old Maurice said. You know, it's not timed." He ingested a small amount of arsenic. That is what you might call traditional arsenic poisoning. Crackenthorpe had never had chronic stomach problems before. In this light, these sudden, intense stomach attacks appear It's kind of impossible. So we're assuming that there's no natural cause for that seizure, so it doesn't make sense to look as if the poisoner made a mistake every time."

"You mean he wasn't given enough medicine?" "By the way, on the other hand. Crackenthorpe's physique is strong, and what works on other people won't work on him. Also take into account that people's constitutions are always different. But, you just One would think that the man who poisoned had by now—unless he was a particularly timid man—should have increased his dose. Why hadn’t he?” "That is," he went on, "if someone poisoned them. Maybe no one did, though. Maybe it was my nasty imagination all along." "That's a curious question," agreed the Inspector. "It doesn't seem reasonable."

"Inspector Craddock!" The urgent, whispered call startled the Inspector. He was about to ring the doorbell at that moment. Alexander and his friend Stoddar West emerged from the shadows very discreetly. "We heard your car coming in and we're looking for you." "Let's go in, then." Craddock was reaching for the bell, but Alexander tugged at his coat with the eagerness of a dog pawing at him. "We have a clue," he gasped. "Yes, we have a clue," said Stoddar West. "That damned girl!" Craddock swore unceremoniously inwardly. "Excellent," he said perfunctorily, "let's go in and have a look." "No," insisted Alexander, "someone will stop us. Come, to the tack room, and we will lead the way." Somewhat reluctantly, Craddock let them lead around the house and into the stable yard.Stoddard West opened a heavy door, stretched, and turned on a dim lamp.The harness room, then the neatest place in the Victorian era, has become a miserable storage room full of unwanted things.Dilapidated garden chairs, old, rusty garden tools, a large battered lawnmower, rusty box springs, hammocks, and a battered tennis net. "We come here often," said Alexander. "There's really no disturbance here." "The house showed some signs of occupancy. The battered mattresses had been piled up to make a backless couch. There was an old rusty table with a large tin of chocolate chip cookies on it, and a large A pile of apples, a jar of taffy, and a jigsaw puzzle." "That's a clue, sir," said Stoddar West eagerly.His eyes sparkled behind his glasses, "We found this place this afternoon." "We've been searching for days, in the bushes—" "Also go into the hollow tree." "We also checked all the trash cans." "Actually, there are a lot of very interesting things there." "And then we went into that boiler room—" "Old Hillman put a big galvanized bathtub in there, full of waste paper." "Because when the boiler went out, he was going to light it again." "He picked up the scraps of paper blown by the wind and threw them into the boiler." "That's where we found it." "Found what?" Craddock interrupted their duet. "Cue, take care, Stoddart, and put your gloves on." Stoddard West put on a great look, put on a pair of dirty gloves in the most standard detective story tradition, and then took out a Kodak photo folder from his pocket.With gloved fingers he carefully removed a dirty, wrinkled envelope from the inside, and handed it to the inspector with great air. Both children were so excited that they couldn't make a sound. Craddock also took it with considerable solemnity. He liked the two children and was now ready to enter the situation. The letter was in the post, and there was no letter in it, just a battered envelope that read: "To Martine Crackenthorpe, 126 Crescent Street, Tenth Post Office, North London." "Do you understand?" said Alexander breathlessly, "that it would show that she was here—I mean, Uncle Edmond's French wife—and was the one who made all the fuss. She Must have actually been here, and dropped the letter somewhere. Seems like that, doesn't it?" Stoddard West put in, "It looks as though she were the woman who was murdered—I mean, it must have been her in the sarcophagus, don't you think, sir?" They eagerly waited for an answer. Craddock said emphatically, "Possibly, quite possibly." "That's an important clue, isn't it?" "You're going to have it fingerprinted, aren't you, sir?" "Of course," Craddock said. Stoddar West sighed deeply. "We're lucky, don't you think?" he said, "and it's our last day here." "The last day?" "Well," said Alexander, "I'm going to spend the last days of my holiday at the Stoddles' to-morrow. They have a wonderful mansion—built in Queen Anna's time, aren't they?" "It's from the time of King William and Queen Mary," said Stodler. "I think your mother said—" "Mum's French. She doesn't really know British architecture." "But your father said that the house was—" Craddock was examining the envelope. Lucy Esborough is so clever.But how could she forge a postmark? He looked carefully, but the light was too dim there.Of course, it was fun on the part of the two kids, but, in his opinion, rather stupid.Lucy, mind your own business!She didn't think from this angle, if this is true, then she has to take action—— Beside him, a learned architectural debate was going on. "Come, boys," he said, "let us go to the house, you will be of great help."