Chapter 12 Chapter Twelve

"Two-thirty," said Mrs Angkatell. She was in the living room with Mitch and Edward.From behind the closed door of Sir Henry's study came a murmured sound.Hercule Poirot, Sir Henry and Sheriff Grange were inside. Mrs Angkatell sighed: "You know, Mitch, I still feel that one should have something for lunch. It seems, of course, inappropriate to sit around a table as if nothing had happened. But after all, M. Poirot was invited to Lunch--and he's probably hungry. Poor John Crystal's murder couldn't have bothered him as much as we have. And I don't really want to eat, I It must also be said that Henry and Edward must have been starving after they were out shooting all morning."

Edward Angkatell said: "Don't worry about me, Lucy, dear." "You're always very considerate, Edward. Then there's Davy—I noticed he ate a lot at dinner last night, and wise people always seem to need a lot of food. Where's Davy, by the way?" "He went upstairs to his room," Mitch said, "after he heard what happened." "Yes—well, he's quite tactful. I'm sure it makes him uncomfortable. Of course, a murderer is a disturbing thing, say what you will—it upsets the servants, Disruption of the normal order of life - we were going to have duck for lunch - luckily it was delicious cold too. What to do for Gerda, what do you think? Put some refreshments on the plate ? Some bisque, maybe?"

"Indeed," thought Mitch, "Lucy is inhuman!" Then, with a moment of wonder, she thought, maybe it's because Lucy is so human that it would shock a person so much!Is it not the common frank truth that all disasters are thwarted by these petty rich doubts and conjectures.Lucy just said what most people dare not admit.People do think about the servants, and worry about the food.And people do, even, feel hungry.She herself felt hungry at that moment!Also pretty nasty.An odd mixture. And there is no question that there is a general awkwardness of not knowing what to do.Only yesterday, people were referring to her as "poor Gerda" with a kind of pity, and now, probably, soon will be standing in the dock accused of murder.

"These things happen to other people," thought Mitch, "they can't happen to us." Her gaze followed Edward across the room. "They shouldn't," she thought, "happen to someone like Edward. Someone so far from violence." She felt comforted as she looked at Edward.Edward, so calm, so sensible, so peaceful and collected. Gjeon walked in, leaned trustingly, and said in a suitably subdued voice: "I've got sandwiches and some coffee in the drawing room, ma'am." "Oh, thank you, Gazeon!" "Indeed," Mrs. Angkatell said when Gjeon left the room. "Gejen is brilliant, I don't know what to do without Gjen. He always knows what to do. Some solid sandwiches are like lunch - they're relentless, if you know me the meaning of!"

"Oh, Lucy, they are like this." Mitch suddenly felt warm tears streaming down her cheeks.Mrs Angkatell looked surprised, and muttered: "Poor baby. It's too much for you." Edward walked across the room to the couch and sat next to Mitch.He put his arms around her. "Don't worry, Mitch," he said. Mitch buried his face in his arms, sobbing comfortably there.She recalled how good Edward had been to her one Easter holiday after her rabbit had died in Ainswick. Edward said softly, "Just frightened. Can I get her some brandy, Lucy?" "On the sideboard in the living room. I don't think—"

She stopped talking when Henrietta entered the room.Mitch stood up.She felt Edward's body stiffen and he sat motionless. How did Henrietta feel, Mitch thought?She felt reluctant to see her cousin—there was nothing to see.Henrietta looked, if anything, like a man at war.She came in with her chin held high, with a good complexion and a certain alertness. "Oh, there you are, Henrietta," cried Mrs Angkatell. "I've been wondering. The policeman is with Henry and M. Poirot. What did you give Gerda? Brandy? Tea and aspirin?" "I gave her a little brandy - and a hot water bottle."

"Yes," said Mrs. Angkatell approvingly, "that's learned in first aid class—hot water bottles, I mean, for frights—not brandy, and there's an objection to stimulants these days. Opinion. But I think that's just a fad. When I was a girl in Ainswick we always used brandy to suppress shocks. Even though, indeed, I suppose, Gerda wasn't exactly frightened. I really don't Knowing how she would feel if a guy killed her husband - it's the kind of thing that people can't imagine - but it's not going to be just a shock. I mean, there's no surprise in there .”

Henrietta's voice was cold, piercing the peaceful atmosphere. She said, "Why are you all so sure that Gerda killed John?" There was a moment's silence—and Mitch felt a strange change in the air.There was confusion, tension, and, ultimately, a dulled alertness. Then Mrs. Angkatell spoke, without any change in her voice: "It seems—obviously. Do you have any other ideas?" "Could it not be that Gerda went to the pool, and she found John lying there, and she just picked up the revolver, when—when we came to the scene?" Again there was a silence.Then Mrs Angercartel asked:

"Did Gerda say so?" "yes." This is not a simple acknowledgment.There is great power behind it.It was like a shot from a revolver. Mrs Angkatell raised her eyebrows, and then she said something apparently irrelevant: "Sandwiches and coffee in the living room." When Gerda Christo came in through the open door, she interrupted her speech and took a slight breath.Gerda said hastily and apologetically: "I—I really don't think I can lie down any longer.—Especially when one is so terribly disturbed." Mrs. Angkatell exclaimed: "You must sit down—you must sit down at once."

She removed Mickey from the sofa and put Gerda there, putting a cushion on her back. "You poor darling," said Mrs Angkatell. She emphasized it when she said it, but the words didn't seem to mean anything. Edward went to the window and stood looking out. Gerda pushed back her disheveled hair from her forehead, and said in a worried, perplexed tone: "I—I'm really just starting to realize this. You know I couldn't feel—I still can't feel—it's true—John—is dead." She began to tremble a little. "Who killed him? Who might have killed him?" Mrs Angkatell took a deep breath—and then she turned her head sharply.Sir Henry's door opened and he came out.At his side was Sheriff Grange, a large, heavyset man with a pendulous, optimistic mustache.

"This is my wife—Sergeant Grange." Grange bowed and said: "I was wondering, Mrs. Angkatell, if I could have a word with Mrs. Crystal—" His words stopped.After Mrs. Angkatell pointed out the figure sitting on the sofa. "Is that Madame Crystal?" Gerda said eagerly: "Yes, I am Mrs. Crystal." "I don't want to cause you pain, Madame Crystal, but I would like to ask you a few questions. You may, of course, have your lawyer present, if you wish—" Sir Henry interposed: "It's wise sometimes, Gerda—" She interrupted him: "A lawyer? Why a lawyer? Why would a lawyer know anything about John's death?" Sheriff Grange coughed.Sir Henry seemed about to say something.Henrietta cut in: "The sheriff just wanted to know what happened this morning." Gerda turned to him.She said in a puzzled tone: "It all seemed like a nightmare — it wasn't real. I — I couldn't shout or do anything. I just couldn't feel anything." Grange said quietly: "It's a shocking thing, Mrs. Crystal." "Yes, yes—I think it is. But you saw it suddenly. I came out of the house and followed the path that led to the swimming pool—" "At what time, Madame Crystal?" "It was just before one o'clock - about two minutes to one. I know because I looked at the clock. When I got there - John, lying there - the blood was running down the edge of the concrete pool." "Did you hear a shot, Madame Crystal?" "Yes—no—I don't know. I know Sir Henry and Edward were shooting outside. I—I just saw John—" "How about it, Madame Crystal?" "John—and blood—and a revolver. I picked up the revolver—" "why?" "I'm sorry, can you say that again?" "Why did you pick up the revolver, Madame Crystal?" "I—I don't know." "You shouldn't touch it, you know." "Shouldn't I?" Gerda looked dazed, her face blank. "But I did, and I held it in my hands." She looked down at her hands now, as if she were in a hallucination and saw the revolver in her hand. She turned sharply to the sheriff.Her voice was suddenly sharp—painful. "Who could possibly kill John? Nobody wants to kill him. He's - he's the best guy. So kind, so selfless - he does everything for everyone else. Everyone loves him, Sheriff Sir. He is a most excellent doctor, and the kindest husband. It must have been an accident—it must have been—it must have been!” She flung a hand out of the house. "Ask anybody, Mr. Sheriff. No one wanted to kill John, did they?" She turned to each of them for help. Inspector Grange closed his blotter. "Thank you, Madame Crystal," he said in a deadpan voice, "and that's it for now." Hercule Poirot and Inspector Grange walked together through the chestnut grove to the swimming pool.The body of the man who had been John Crystal was now just a "corpse" that had been photographed, measured, documented, and examined by the police forensic examiner, and transported to the morgue.There was, thought Poirot, a curious purity about this swimming pool.Everything today, he thought, was strangely fluid.Except John Crystal - he had to be fixed.Even after death, he is purposeful and objective.This swimming pool is no longer a remarkable swimming pool, but the place where the body of John Crystal once lay, and where the blood from his body slowly flowed, dripping from the concrete edge into artificial water. blue pool water. Artificial—Poirot clung to the word for a moment.Yes, there is something contrived in all of this about what happened.like-- A man in a bathing suit walks up to the sheriff. "Here's the revolver, sir," he said. Grange handled the dripping object with extreme care. "There's no hope of fingerprints now," he remarked, "but fortunately it doesn't matter in this case. Mrs. Crystal did have a revolver in her hand when you arrived, didn't she, Pooh?" Mr. Luo?" "yes." "Authenticating the revolver is the next thing," said Grange. "I'll imagine Sir Henry could do it for us. She took it from his study, I can tell." He cast a glance around the pool. "Now, let's be clear again. The path below the swimming pool is from the farm pass, which is the way Mrs. Angercartel came. The other two, Mr. Edward Angercartel and Savner Miss, from the woods—but not together. He took the path to the left, and she took the path to the right that led to the flower path beyond the house. But they both stood farther from the swimming pool side, when you arrive?" "yes." "The other way here, by the awning, leads to Pod Lane. Well—we'll take this." As they walked down the road, Grange spoke without a hint of excitement, just understanding and quiet pessimism. "These cases are never quite alike," he said. "There was one last year—near Ashridge. A retired military man who had—excellent experience. Wife is beautiful and quiet, old-fashioned kind, sixty Five years old, gray hair - pretty hair, and a wave. She gardened for many years. One day she went into his room, took out his service revolver, and came out to the garden and shot him .Just like that! There's a lot behind it, of course, people have to dig. Sometimes they imagine a stupid story about a homeless man! We pretend to accept it, of course, to keep quiet, while we're investigating, But we understand how things are." "You mean," said Poirot, "that you have established that it was Madame Crystal who shot her husband." Grange gave him a curious look. "Well, don't you think so?" Poirot said slowly: "It may have happened as she said." Sheriff Grange shrugged. "Things could—yes. But it's just a story that's obvious at a glance. They all think she killed him! They know something we don't." He looked at his companion strangely. "You always thought she did it, didn't you, when you got to the scene?" Poirot half closed his eyes.Coming along the path...Gerjeon stepped forward...Gerda Christo stood beside her husband, revolver in hand, her face blank.Yes, as Grange had said, he had thought she did it... thought, at least, that was all he got the impression of. Yes, but that's not the same thing. A pre-arranged scene of deceit. Does Gerda Crystal look like a woman who just shot her husband?That's what Sheriff Grange wanted to know. With a sudden surge of amazement, Hercule Poirot realized that in his long experience dealing with violence, he had never actually come face to face with a woman who had just killed her husband.How would a woman look in such a situation?Celebration, horror, satisfaction, dizziness, disbelief, or emptiness? Any of these things, he thought. Sheriff Grange is speaking.Poirot caught his tail. "—Once you have all the facts of the case, you can usually get everything from the servants." "Will Crystal be returning to London?" "Yes. There were two children there, and she had to be let go. Of course, we'll be watching her closely, but she won't know. She thinks she's gotten away with it. As far as I'm concerned, She looks like a rather stupid woman..." Poirot wondered if Gerda Christo realized what the police were thinking--and what the Angkatells were thinking?She looked as if she wasn't aware of anything.She looked like an unresponsive, totally stunned, heartbroken woman over her husband's death. They set foot on the country road. Poirot stopped before his own door.Grange said: "Is this your little world? Beautiful and comfortable. Good-bye, M. Poirot, then. Thank you for your cooperation. I shall call on you and bring you the inside scoop on our progress." His eyes looked around the road. "Who's your neighbor? Isn't that where our new celebrity lives?" "Miss Veronica Cray, the actress, is here for the weekend, I think." "Of course. I liked her performance in 'The Woman on the Back of a Tiger,' but she was a little too highbrow for my taste." He turned around. "Well, I must go back to work. Good-bye, M. Poirot." "Do you know this, Sir Henry?" Inspector Grange placed the revolver on the table in front of Sir Henry, and looked at him expectantly. "May I take it?" Sir Henry hesitated with his hand on the revolver. Grange nodded. "It was in the swimming pool and was ruined by any fingerprints left on it. A pity, if2 I may say so, that Miss Savnak let it slip out of her hand." "Yes, yes - but of course it's a tense time for all of us. Women tend to get flustered and - well - drop things." Sheriff Grange nodded again.He said: "Miss Savnak appears on the whole to be a cool, able young lady." There was no emphasis in these words, yet something in them made Sir Henry's head jerk up.Grange continued: "Now, do you know it, sir?" Sir Henry took up the revolver, examined it, noted the number, and compared it with the entry in a little leather-bound book.Then, closing the book with a sigh, he said: "Yes, Mr. Sheriff, this is my collection here." "When was the last time you saw it?" "Yesterday afternoon. We did some shooting at a target in the garden, and this was one of the small arms we were using." "Who actually used it on that occasion?" "I think everyone fired at least one shot with it." "Including Madame Crystal?" "Including Mrs. Crystal." "And after you're done shooting?" "I put the revolver in its usual place, here." He opened a drawer of a large cabinet, which contained half a drawer of guns. "You have a great collection of small arms, Sir Henry." "It's been a hobby of mine for years." Sheriff Grange's eyes rested thoughtfully on the former governor of Baghdad.A good-looking, fine man, the kind of man he would be more than happy to serve under--in fact, a man he preferred to his current police chief.Sheriff Grange doesn't think highly of the Wealdshire Chief Constable - a fussy autocrat and a man who's preoccupied with trivial matters.His mind returned to the task at hand. "When you put away this revolver, it was not, of course, loaded, Sir Henry?" "of course not." "Where do you keep your ammo?" "Here." Sir Henry took a key from the shelf of a filing cabinet, and opened a drawer at the bottom of the desk. "Simple," thought Grange.The woman named Christo had been to the place where it was kept.She can come alone and act on her own.Jealousy, fooling women.He could bet nine times out of ten it was jealousy.It would become clear after he had finished his daily duties here and went to investigate in Harley Street.But you have to follow the normal procedure to do things. He stood up and said: "Well, thank you, Sir Henry. I will let you know about the trial."