Chapter 26 Chapter Twenty Six

The medical examiner cleared his throat and looked expectantly at the speaker of the jury. The latter looked down at a piece of paper in his hand.His Adam's apple moved up and down excitedly.Carefully he read: "We found that the death was the result of a deliberate murder by someone or persons unknown to us." Poirot nodded calmly in the corner against the wall, and made no other reasonable conclusions. Outside the courtroom, the Angkatells stopped for a moment to speak to Gerda and her sister.Gerda was still in the black dress.Her face had the same dazed, unhappy expression.No Daimler this time.Elsie Patterson explained that the train service is really good.They could easily get to Bexhill at twenty one by the express for Waterloo.

Mrs. Angkatel, holding Gerda's hand tightly, muttered: "You must keep in touch with us, my dear. A light lunch, perhaps, some day in London? I expect you to shop there now and then." "I—I don't know," said Gerda. Elsie Patterson says: "We must hurry, my dear, our train," said Gerda, turning away with an expression of relief. Mitch says: "Poor Gerda. The only good John's death has done her is to save her from your dreadful hospitality, Lucy." "How unkind you are, Mitch. Nobody can say I didn't try." "Things get worse when you try, Lucy."

"Well, it's nice to think it's all over, isn't it?" said Mrs Angkatell, smiling warmly at them. "Except, of course, poor Inspector Grange. I'm really sorry for him. Will he cheer up, don't you think? If we invite him to lunch, as a friend, I mean." "I let it be, Lucy," said Sir Henry. "Perhaps you are right," said Mrs. Angkatell thoughtfully, "and at any rate today's lunch is not a proper lunch. Patridge sanchoux—and Mrs. Medway Such a delicious soufflé with something unexpected in it. Not at all the kind of lunch that Sheriff Grange likes. A very nice plate of steak, a little tender, and no doubt a good plate Old-fashioned apple pie—maybe apple pudding—that's what I'm going to arrange for Sheriff Grange."

"Your instincts about food are always right, Lucy. I think we'd better go home and eat those grouse. They sound delicious." "I think we should have some celebration. Great, isn't it, everything always seems to end for the best?" "yes." "I know what you're thinking, Henry, but don't worry, I'll pay attention this afternoon." "What are you up to now, Lucy?" Mrs Angkatell smiled at him. "Very well, dear. Just settling the details of things that haven't been done yet." Sir Henry looked at her suspiciously.

When they reached the fantasy manor, Gjeon stepped out and opened the door of the car. "Everything ended very satisfactorily, Gjen," said Mrs Angkatell. "Please tell Lady Medway and the others. I understand that you have all been unhappy, and I shall be pleased to tell you how much Sir Henry and I have appreciated the devotion you have shown." "We've been deeply concerned about you, ma'am," Gazeon said. "Gjen is all right," said Lucy, as she walked into the drawing room, "but being a housekeeper, it's really too much for him. I appreciate almost all of them - so unusual, you know, the same What one is used to. Don't you feel, Dave, that an experience like this broadens your mind? It's so different from Cambridge."

"I'm at Oxford," said David coldly. Mrs Angkatell said vaguely: "That lovely rowing race. So British, don't you think so?" and went to the phone. She picked up the receiver, held it in her hand, and continued: "I sincerely hope, David, that you'll be able to come here again and be with all of us. How difficult it is to know people when there's a murder, isn't it? And impossible to have some really intelligent conversations. " "Thank you," said David, "but when I get back I'm going to Athens—to the British School."

Mrs Angkatell turned to her husband. "Who's the ambassador now? Oh, Hope Remington. No, I don't think Davy would like them. Their girls are terribly strong. They play hockey, cricket, and that catch A ridiculous game of stuff." She broke off talking and looked down at the phone receiver. "What am I doing with this?" "Maybe you need to call someone," Edward said. "I don't think so." She put the receiver back in place. "Do you like the phone, David?" That's the kind of question she'd ask, David thought angrily, and one couldn't possibly have any sensible answers to those questions.He replied grimly that he thought they would be useful.

"You mean," said Mrs Angkatell, "like a meat grinder? Or an elastic band? It's all the same. A person can't—" She broke off the conversation when Gjeyn appeared at the door to announce that lunch was ready. "But you like grouse," Mrs. Angkatell said eagerly to David. David admits he likes grouse. "Sometimes I think Lucy's really a little crazy," Mitch said as Mitch and Edward strolled out of the house and into the woods. The grouse and stuffed soufflé were delicious, and with the conclusion of the interrogation a weight rose from the air and disappeared.

Edward said thoughtfully: "I've always thought Lucy had a shrewd mind, and she expressed herself like a missing word contest. Pulling two or more metaphors together by mistake—the hammer rising and falling on one nail after another, But never missed it." "We're on the same page," said Mitch soberly. "Lucy freaks me out sometimes," she added with a slight tremor. "This place freaks me out lately." "Is it the fantasy manor?" Edward turned a surprised face to her. "It always reminds me of Ainswick a little bit," he said. "Of course, it's not, the real thing is—"

Mitch interrupts him: "That's it, Edward. I'm terrified by things that aren't real. You don't understand, you see, what's behind them. It's like—oh, like a mask." "You can't think wildly, Mickey." It was the old tone, the indulgent tone he had used for years.She loved it then, but now it annoys her.She tried to make her point clear—to show him that behind what he called fantasies was some vaguely comprehensible image of reality. "I got rid of it when I was in London, but now when I'm back here it's all over me again. I feel like everyone knows who killed John Crystal. The only one who doesn't --it's me."

Edward said troubledly: "Do we have to talk about John Crystal? He's dead. Died and left us." Mitch whispered: "He is dead and gone, madam. He died and went away. Over his head there was a green grassy field, There is a stone at his feet. " She put her hand on Edward's arm. "Who killed him, Edward? We thought it was Gerda but it wasn't Gerda. Who then? Tell me what you think? Someone we've never heard of?" He said troubledly: "All this reasoning seems unprofitable to me. If the police don't find out, or produce enough evidence, then the whole thing will have to go down the drain - and we will Get away." "Yes—but that's what I don't know." "Why should we know? Does John Crystal have anything to do with us?" With us, she thought, with Edward and me?There was no pleasant thought of anything—she and Edward, linked together, a two-person entity.And yet—and yet—John Crystal, though he lay in the grave and the funeral eulogy was read for him, was not buried deep enough.He's dead and gone, ma'am—but John Crystal isn't dead and gone—though Edward wants him to be.John Crystal is still here, in the fantasy manor. Edward said, "Where are we going?" Something in his tone surprised her.she says: "Let's walk down and onto the ridge. Shall we?" "if you are willing to." For some reason he was reluctant.She wondered why.It was the kind of walk he usually enjoyed.He and Henrietta were almost always—her thoughts whirled and stopped.Him and Henrietta!She said, "Have you ever walked this road this fall?" He replied stiffly: "Henrietta and I went for a walk here on our first afternoon here." They went on in silence. Eventually they reached the top and sat on a fallen tree. Mitch thought, "Maybe he and Henrietta sat here." She turned the ring on her finger round and round.Diamonds radiated an indifferent radiance toward her. (“No emeralds,” he once said.) She made a slight effort, and said: "It will be a joy to spend Christmas in Answick again." He didn't seem to hear what she said.His mind has gone far. She thought: "He's thinking of Henrietta and John Crystal." He had sat here and said something to Henrietta, or she had said something to him.Henrietta may understand what she doesn't want, but he still belongs to Henrietta.He will always be, Mitch thought, he will always be Henrietta's... Pain spread through her body.The blissful unreal world in which she had lived for a week shook and shattered. She thought: "I can't live like this - Henrietta is in his head all the time. I can't face this. I can't live with this." The wind sighed as it passed through the trees - the leaves fell faster - and there was hardly any gold left, just brown everywhere. "Edward!" she said. The urgency in her voice woke him up.He turned his head: "What's wrong?" "I'm sorry, Edward." Her lips trembled, but the voice she forced sounded calm and controlled. "I have to tell you it's no use. I can't marry you. That won't work, Edward." He said: "But, Mitch—no doubt, Answick—" She interrupts him: "I couldn't marry you just for Answick, Edward. You—you must understand that." He let out a sigh, a long, soft sigh.Like the echo of dead leaves as they gently break free from the branches. "I see what you mean," he said. "Yes, I think you're right." "I'm so happy that you proposed to me, happy and sweet. But it won't work, Edward. It won't work that way." She had hoped, perhaps, that he would argue with her, that he would try to persuade her.But he seemed, purely, just feeling what she was doing.Here, with Henrietta's spirit close by his side, it was obvious to him that it couldn't be done. "Yes," he said, echoing her words, "that won't work." She took the ring off her finger and handed it to him. She will always love Edward, and Edward will always love Henrietta.Life is just plain unadulterated hell. A little choked up in her voice, she said: "It's a lovely ring, Edward." "I want you to keep it, Mitch, and I want you to have it." She shook her head: "I can't do that." His lips twisted slightly, and he said: "I'm not giving it to anyone else, you know that." It's all very friendly!He didn't understand--he never would--what it was she had just felt.Paradise on a tray—the tray shattered, heaven slipped from her fingertips, or it never came. That afternoon Poirot received his third visitor. Henrietta Savnak and Veronica Cray had already visited him.This time it was Mrs Angkatell.She floated down that lane in her usual illusive fashion. He opened the door and she stood there smiling at him. "I came to see you," she announced. A favor bestowed upon a tiny mortal by a fairy of such mighty power. "I'm flattered, ma'am." He led the way, into the living room.She sat down on the sofa and smiled again. Hercule Poirot thought: "She is old—her hair has turned gray—and her face is wrinkled. But she has magic—she will always have magic..." Mrs Angkatell said softly: "I asked you to do something for me." "What is it, Mrs Angkatell?" "First, I must tell you—it's about John Crystal." "About Dr. Crystal?" "Yes. It seemed to me that the only thing to do was to bring the whole thing to an end. You know what I mean, don't you?" "I'm not sure I understand you, Mrs. Angkatell." She flashed her lovely blinding smile again at him, and placed a long, white hand on his sleeve. "My dear Monsieur Poirot, you understand perfectly well. The police will have to find the owner of those prints, and they will not find him, and they will, eventually, have to end the whole thing. But I am afraid that you know Yes, you won't let it end." "No, I will not let it end," said Hercule Poirot. "That's what I thought. And that's why I'm here. You want the truth, don't you?" "Of course I want to know the truth." "I understand I haven't explained myself very well. I'm trying to figure out why you don't want it to end. It's not because of your prestige - or because you want to hang a murderer (such a disturbing Unpleasant ways to die, I always think so—how medieval). It’s just, I think, just because you want to know. You know exactly what I mean, don’t you? If you’ll know the truth—if you’ll To be told the truth, I think—I think maybe that will satisfy you? Will that satisfy you, M. Poirot?" "Are you expressing your willingness to tell me the truth, Mrs Angkatell?" She nodded. "So, do you yourself know the truth?" Her eyes were wide open. "Oh, yes, I've known for a long time. I'd like to tell you. Then we can agree—this, it's all over, and over." She smiled at him. "Is this a deal, M. Poirot?" It took great effort for Hercule Poirot to say: "No ma'am, it's not a deal." He longed—he longed, very fervently, to have the whole thing over, just because Mrs. Angkatell begged him to. Mrs Angkatell sat silently for a moment.Then she raised her eyebrows. "I doubt," she said, "I doubt if you really understand what you're doing."