Chapter 8 Chapter Eight Inspector Raglan's Compassion

Inspector Raglan was confident and we looked at each other. "You must have gone to the station to inquire, didn't you?" I asked. "That's a question, but I'm not very satisfied with the result. You know what this station looks like." I do know that King Abbot is just a small village, but the station here is It is an important hub station.Most express trains stop here.Trains are tuned here and reorganized into groups.There are two or three public phone booths there.During the night, three local trains entered the station one after another, all for passengers to catch the express train going north.This express train arrives at 10:19 and leaves at 10:23.During this time, the entire station was bustling with people coming and going.Whoever made a phone call here, or who got on this express train, generally no one would pay attention.

"But why the telephone at all?" asked Melrose. "I think it's a bit queer. There's no reason to call." Poirot carefully straightened a china ornament on the bookcase. "I'm sure there must be a reason for it." He turned around and said. "What's the reason?" "If we knew the reason for the call, it would be all right. This case is strange and interesting." The meaning of his last sentence was unpredictable, and I found him to have a unique perspective on the case , but I can't tell what kind of opinion it is. He went to the window and stood looking out.

"Doctor Sheppard, you said it was nine o'clock when you met the stranger outside the gate, didn't you?" He asked me the question without turning. "Yes," I answered, "I heard the church clock strike nine." "How long did it take him to get to the house--to the window, exactly?" "From It takes five minutes to walk outside, and two or three minutes if you take the path on the right." "But you must be very familiar with the path. How can I explain it to you?—that is, he has been there before—he He knows his surroundings well." "Indeed," agreed Colonel Melrose.

"No doubt we'll be able to find out if Ackroyd has met any strangers during the past week, can we?" "Raymond, the young man, can tell us all," I replied. "You can also ask Parker." Colonel Melrose put forward his opinion. "Ou tous les deux (French: where are they)?" said Poirot, smiling. Colonel Melrose went out to get Raymond, and I rang again for Parker. In the blink of an eye Colonel Melrose was back, accompanied by Ackroyd's young secretary, whom he introduced to Poirot.Raymond's face was cheerful and courteous, and he was very happy to meet Poirot, but his expression was slightly surprised.

"Didn't expect you to live with us incognito, M. Poirot," he said flatteringly. "It's a real pleasure to watch you work on a case—hey, what's this?" Poirot remained standing to the left of the door.Then he suddenly moved sideways, and when I turned around, he quickly pulled out the armchair, and pulled it all the way to the position Parker had mentioned. "Try to sit me in a chair and have my blood tested?" asked Raymond, with great humor. "What does that mean?" "Mr. Raymond, this chair has been dragged out—that is— — when it was discovered last night that Mr Ackroyd had been stabbed. Then someone put it back where it was. Did you do it?” The secretary replied without hesitation: “No, it wasn’t me. I even I can't remember where this chair was placed, but you must be right when you say it is. Anyway, someone must have put it back in its original position, didn't it ruin the clue? Then Too bad!" "It doesn't matter," said the detective, "it doesn't matter at all. What I really want to ask you, Mr. Raymond, is whether any strangers have come to see Mr. Ackroyd during the past week. ?” The secretary frowned and thought for a while, when Parker heard the bell ring and came too.

"No," said Raymond at last, "I can't recall anyone coming. How about you, Parker?" "What are you asking, sir?" Sir?" the butler recalled. "There was a young man here on Wednesday, sir," he said at last. "I know he's a Curtiss-Trout salesman." Raymond waved his hand impatiently, beckoning him not to say that . "Oh! yes, I remember. But this man is not the stranger the gentleman says he is." He turned to Poirot. "Ackroyd wants to buy a dictating recorder," he explained, "so that we The company that sells this thing has sent a salesman, but the deal has not been completed. Mr. Aykroyd has not yet decided whether to buy it." Poirot turned to the butler.

"Can you describe the young man's appearance, Parker?" "He is fair-haired, sir, of short stature, and dressed in a neat blue serge suit. A handsome young man." Poirot turned to me. . "The man you met outside the gate was tall, wasn't he, doctor?" "Yes," I replied, "about six feet tall." "Then it has nothing to do with it," said the Belgian detective. Asserted, "Thanks, Parker." The butler said to Raymond, "Mr. Hammond has just arrived, sir, and he is anxious to know if he can do us any favors, and he would be happy to interview you." "I'll be right there .” After the young man finished speaking, he hurried out.Poirot looked inquiringly at the prefect.

"A family lawyer, M. Poirot," explained the latter. "It's time for young Mr. Raymond to get busy," murmured Poirot. "From his appearance, he is a shrewd and efficient man." "Ackroyd thought he was a A very good secretary." "He's been here—how long?" "Exactly two years." "He must be very careful, I can believe that. What are his hobbies? He likes le sport (French: sports )?" "Private Secretary doesn't have much time for amusement," laughed Colonel Melrose, "I believe Raymond plays golf, and in the summer he plays tennis." "Doesn't he go to the racetrack? I mean the races." "The races? No, I don't think he's interested in the races." Poirot nodded, apparently losing interest in Raymond.He looked around the study slowly.

"I think I've seen everything I need to see here." I also looked around. "It would be nice if these walls could talk," I murmured. Poirot shook his head. "Tongues are not enough," he said, "they should have eyes and ears. But don't you think these inanimate things are dumb," he said, touching the top of the bookcase, "to me they Talk sometimes - chairs, tables - they give clues!" He turned to face the door. "What clue?" I asked. "What did they tell you today?" He turned his head and frowned at me, and I knew he was mocking me.

"An open window," he said, "a locked door, and a chair that seems to walk on raw feet. To these three I asked: Why? But none of them answered me." He shook Shaking his head, puffing out his chest, he stood there winking at us.He looked a little impatient and very funny.I thought to myself, is he a really good detective?Perhaps his reputation was built on a string of good luck. I guess Melrose must have thought so too, because he was also frowning. "Is there anything else you would like to see, M. Poirot?" he asked abruptly. "Could you show me the silver cabinet? It's the one where the murder weapon was taken out. I won't bother you after seeing the silver cabinet." We walked towards the living room, but the policeman stopped us halfway. Colonel.After a few whispered words between them, the colonel said "Excuse me" to us and left.I had to show Poirot to see the silver cabinet myself.I lifted the lid of the silver cabinet and let it fall.After looking at the silver cabinet, he opened the window and went out onto the terrace, I followed.

Inspector Raglan was just turning the corner of the house at this moment and approaching us.There was a grim but satisfied expression on his face. "Here you are, M. Poirot," said he. "The case is almost closed. I too am sorry that a handsome and lovely young man has done something disgraceful." Poirot's face darkened immediately. , but he said very calmly: "According to what you say, I can't help you anymore?" It's not common." Bologna's gaze showed a look of admiration. "You have done it very quickly," he remarked, "and I would like to ask, if you could give me the details of the case?" "Of course," said the Inspector. , that's what I always say—method!" "Ah!" exclaimed Poirot, "that's my motto too: method, order, and little gray cells." "Cells?" asked the inspector in bewilderment. road. "Little cells in the brain," explained the Belgian detective. "Oh, of course, I think we all have to use our brain cells." "But not to the same degree," whispered Poirot, "and not to the same quality. Then comes criminal psychology." Everyone needs a little bit of knowledge." "Ah!" said the Inspector, "you're so keen on psychoanalysis and other tricks? I'm just an ordinary person—" "Isn't Mrs. Raglan Will agree, I dare say so," said Poirot, bowing to the inspector. The inspector bowed in return. "You don't understand me," he said, laughing. "By God, there's such a difference in language. I'm telling you about my case experience, first of all the method. Finally I saw Mr. Ackroyd Still alive at a quarter past nine, seen by his niece, Miss Flora Aykroyd. That's the first fact, isn't it?" "So to speak." "Then the time is fixed. Yes. At ten-thirty the doctor said Mr. Ackroyd had been dead for at least half an hour. Are you sure, doctor?" "Of course," I said, "half an hour or longer. ""Very good. Then the time of committing the crime can be precisely set within a quarter of an hour. I made a list for all the people in the family, and checked them one by one. I told them where they were from nine forty-five to ten o'clock, and what they did. and their references." He handed Poirot a piece of paper, and I glanced behind him, on which was clearly and neatly written: Major Brent—with Raymond together in the billiard room (the latter attests). Mr. Raymond - the billiard room (see above). Mrs. Ackroyd - at nine forty-five at billiards.Bed at nine fifty-five (Raymond and Brent saw her go upstairs). Miss Aykroyd - directly upstairs from her uncle's room (Parker and maid Elsie Dale can attest). Servant: Parker - went directly to the butler's pantry (attested by Russell the housekeeper), who had come down from the stairs and talked to him for a while.The time is 9:47, we talked for about ten minutes). Miss Russell - ditto.Talk to Maid Elsie Dale, go upstairs at 9:45. Ursula Byrne (parlor-maid)—remained in her room until nine fifty-five, when she went to the servants' hall. Mrs. Cooper (cook) - in the servants' hall. Gladys Jones (another maid) - In the servants' hall. Elsie Dale - In the upstairs bedroom.Miss Russell and Miss Flora saw her there. Mary Thrip (Cookmaid) - In the servants' hall. "The cook has been here for seven years, the living room girl has been here for eighteen months, Parker has been here for a little more than a year, and the rest are all newcomers. Among them, only Parker is a bit suspicious, and the rest seem to be very well-behaved." A very complete list," said Poirot, handing him the note, "and I am sure that Parker did not commit the murder," he added very seriously. "It's impossible for my sister to have anything to do with the murder," I interposed. "She's always been very well behaved." They didn't seem to pay any attention to my words. "This investigative record has very effectively ruled out the possibility of any crimes committed by the family," continued the inspector, "and now we come to a matter of vital importance. The woman at the porter—Mary Blake—had pulled I saw Ralph Paton turn in the gate and go towards the mansion." "Is she sure of that?" I asked sharply. "Of course I'm sure. She recognized him at a glance. He entered the gate quickly and turned right into the lane, which leads to the terrace." "What time was that?" asked Poirot.He sat there with no expression on his face. "The exact time is twenty-five past nine," said the Inspector very gravely. After a moment's silence, the inspector went on: "It's all very clear, and all the facts are correct and unassailable. At nine twenty-five, Captain Peyton entered from the porter's room, and about nine-thirty, Mr. Raymond heard someone here." Asked Mr Ackroyd for money, but Mr Ackroyd refused. What happened next? Captain Peyton left the same way - out the window and walked along the terrace. He was angry and Annoyed, she walked slowly to the open drawing-room window. The time may be deduced to be a quarter past nine, and Miss Flora Aykroyd was saying good night to her uncle. Major Brent, Mr. Raymond, and Ike Mrs. Lloyd was in the billiard room. There was no one in the drawing room, so he slipped in, took the sword from the silver cabinet, and went back to the study window. He crept in quietly—and that was it. I won't go into the details. Then he slipped out quietly and ran away. He didn't have the guts to go back to the inn, but ran straight to the station, where he called--" "Why call Where's the telephone?" asked Poirot softly. I was taken aback by Poirot's sudden interruption.The little detective leaned forward, his eyes were piercing and glowing strangely green. Inspector Raglan was taken aback by his question, and for a moment didn't know what to say. "It's hard to say exactly why he did what he did," he concluded, "but killers tend to do ridiculous things. If you work in the police department, you understand. The smartest people sometimes Make some of the silliest mistakes. You come here and I'll show you the footprints." We followed him around the terrace to the study window.At Raglan's order, a constable brought out a pair of shoes, which had been recovered from a local inn. The inspector put the shoe over the footprints. "Exactly the same," he said with considerable assurance, "but the footprints here were not made by this pair of shoes. He wore the pair that made the footprints. Both pairs of shoes are exactly the same, but this pair is older. —you see the rubber studs are worn down." "But of course he's not the only one who wears those shoes, is he?" asked Poirot. "That's right," said the inspector. "I wouldn't have paid so much attention to footprints if I hadn't had some other evidence." "Captain Ralph Paton is a complete fool," said Poirot thoughtfully. "That much evidence," said the inspector thoughtfully. "That's true," said the Inspector. "It was a dry and clear night, as you know. To his bad luck, the spring at the end of the trail has gushed out the last few days. Overrun the driveway. Come see here.” A small gravel path leads to a terrace a few feet away.A few yards from the end, the ground was damp and slightly muddy.Several footprints on this wet lot!One of the pair of studs has rubber studs. Poirot walked a part of the path, the inspector walking beside him. "Have you noticed the woman's footprints?" he asked suddenly. ' the inspector laughed. "It's a natural thing. A few women walked this way--and a few men. Tell you it's a short cut to the mansion. We can't make out all the footprints. Whatever After all, the footprint on the windowsill is the most important." Poirot nodded. "There is no need to go any further," said the inspector when he was almost at the driveway. "This section is gravel again, very solid." Poirot nodded again, but his eyes fell on a courtyard pavilion on a hill. Up—this is a high-end pavilion, just before us at the left-hand turn, and there is a gravel path connecting it. Poirot remained in the vicinity for a moment while the inspector turned back towards the mansion.Then Poirot glanced at me. "You must have been sent by good God to replace my friend Hastings," he said with a wink. "I find you inseparable from me, always by my side. Dr. Sheppard, let's see how the gazebo is doing." I'm interested in this gazebo." He went and opened the door, and it was dimly lit, with a rough chair or two, a croquet stand, and some deck chairs. The behavior of my new friend surprised me.He was on all fours, crawling around.He shook his head from time to time, as if dissatisfied.Finally he knelt down on his own calf. "No sign of anything," he murmured. "Well, that's unexpected. But there must be a lot in there—" He paused for a moment to rest, rigidly still.Then he reached over to a rough chair and took something off one side. "What's this?" I called out, "What did you find?" He smiled and let me see what was on his palm.It turned out to be a small piece of starched white silk. I took it from his hand, looked at it curiously, and put it back in his hand. "What do you think this is, my friend?" He looked straight at me. "It was torn from a handkerchief." I offered my opinion, and then shrugged. Suddenly he reached out again and picked up a small quill—it looked like a goose quill in appearance. "Look, what's this?" he exclaimed triumphantly. "What's the use of this?" I was dumbfounded and speechless. He stuffed the quill into his pocket, and looked at the white silk again. "From a handkerchief?" he murmured thoughtfully. "Maybe you're right. But you know—the best laundries don't starch handkerchiefs." He nodded to me triumphantly, and then carefully put the piece of silk into the notebook.