Chapter 9 Chapter 9 Goldfish Pond

The goldfish pond and we walked towards the mansion together, but the inspector disappeared.Poirot paused for a moment on the terrace, standing with his back to the house, and then slowly turned his head from side to side. "Une belle propriete (French: beautiful garden house)," he said appreciatively, "who will inherit this inheritance?" Hearing his question, I couldn't help but startled.This question was raised very abruptly, and until now I have never considered the issue of property inheritance.Poirot's sharp eyes were fixed on me. "It might be a new problem for you," he finally said. "You probably never thought about it before." "No," I told him honestly. "I've thought about it before." It's gone." He looked at me curiously again.

"I don't understand what you mean by that sentence." He said thoughtfully, and I was about to speak, but he said, "Oh! It's different. Inutile (useless)! You won't put Tell me the truth." "Everyone hides something." I quoted him from earlier and laughed. "Exactly." "Do you still think so?" "Yes, I am more convinced of it now, my friend. It is not easy to deceive Hercule Poirot. I have my resolution." I can tell you everything," he said, coming down the steps of the Dutch garden. "Let's go for a walk," he said over his shoulder, "the air is nice today." I followed him, and he led me down the lane to the left, surrounded by yew hedges.A walking path leads down the middle, flanked by formal flower beds with benches and a goldfish pond at the top of a circular recess.Poirot didn't go to the end, but chose a path on the side of the lush green hillside and circled up.There was a small area where the trees had been felled and a chair stood on it.Sitting here enjoys a beautiful view of the countryside looking down on the cobbled alcove and goldfish pond.

"England is very beautiful," said Poirot, admiring the scenery, and then he smiled. "English girls are also beautiful." He said this in a low voice. "Hush, my friend." Please enjoy the beautiful scenery under our feet." It was only then that I spotted Flora, who was walking along the path we had just walked, humming a melodious little tune.She walks and bounces like she is dancing.Although she was wearing a black dress, she couldn't see the slightest sadness. When she spun, the dress suddenly floated.She threw back her head and laughed out loud. Suddenly a man came out from behind the tree. It was Hector Brent.

The girl was taken aback, and the expression on her face suddenly changed. "You gave me a big jump—I didn't see you here." Brent said nothing, just stood there quietly watching her. "I like your pleasant talk." There was a sting in Flora's words. At this, Brent's swarthy face flushed, and his voice changed--with a hint of humility that sounded ridiculous. "I'm not a good talker, as I was when I was young." "I think it's a long-standing habit of yours," said Flora solemnly. Her words were accompanied by a faint smile, which I don't think Brent noticed.

"Yes," he responded briefly, "That's true." "I want to ask you a question, what does it feel like to be immortal and youthful?" Flora asked. This time her smile became more obvious, but Brent was only thinking about how to respond. "You remember that guy who sold his soul to the devil? He just wanted to be younger. There's a play about that." "You mean Faust?" "Yes. It's about a beggar, and it's a quirky story. If you could really get younger, some people would." "Listening to you is like listening to the creaking and shaking of a chair. It's too much work." Flo La said half angrily, half jokingly.

Brent was momentarily at a loss for words, looking away from Flora.Facing a tree trunk not far away, he muttered to himself: "It's time to go back to Africa again." "You're going out again—is it hunting?" "I think so. Usually it's for this— —I mean hunting." "Did you hunt that animal head in the hall?" Brent nodded, and then asked shortly and quickly: "Do you like those beautiful animal hides? If so." , I can bring you some." He blushed as he spoke. "Oh! that's great," exclaimed Flora happily. "Are you really going to see me off? Will you forget?" "I won't," said Hector Blunt.

Then he said a few more words, intending to put an end to their conversation at once: "I must go, it is not right to live like this, it is not decent. I am a rough man, I have no social status, and I always forget what I have to say. I really Time to go." "But you shouldn't go at once," cried Flora, "no, we've got all this trouble, you shouldn't go. Oh! I beg you. If you're going— ' She turned slightly sideways. "You want me to stay?" Brent asked. He asked knowingly, but very simply. "We're all thinking—" "I wonder if it's yours," said Brent flatly.

Flora turned slowly again to meet his eyes. "It's me who wants you to stay," she said, "if—if it means anything to you." "Very much," said Brent. After a moment of silence, they sat down on the stone beside the goldfish pond.Neither of them seemed to know what to say next. "What a—what a lovely morning!" said Flora at last. "You know how happy I am, despite—despite all of this. I'm afraid it's a bit inhuman to think." "It's quite natural, too," said Brent. "You're staying at your uncle's." It's only been two years, is it? Of course it's impossible to be very sad. It's much better than fake sadness." "You're so comforting," Flora said. It's easy." "Normally, things are easy," said the famous hunter.

"It's not always easy," Flora said. Her voice trailed off, and I saw Brent turn his head to look at her, as if from the coast of Africa and back to Flora.He fully guessed the reason for her weakening of voice.After a while he said very abruptly: "Well, you needn't be worried, I mean you needn't be worried about that young man. The Inspector's an idiot, everyone knows that--it's absurd to expect him to solve the case." Yes. I think it was done by outsiders—thieves, I mean, that's the only possible solution.” Flora turned and gave him a look. "You really think so?" "You don't think so?" Brent asked immediately.

"I—oh, of course I think so." After another moment of silence, Flora said suddenly: "I—I want to tell you why I'm so happy this morning. I still want to tell you, Mr. Hammond, our solicitor, and he told us about the will. Uncle Roger left me twenty thousand pounds, if you think of it—twenty thousand pounds of all sorts. "Hearing these words, Brent couldn't help being a little surprised. "Money is so important to you?" "Money is important to me? How can you ask such a question, money is everything: freedom - life - no intrigue, no hard life, no bragging and lying-" Lying?" Brent cut her off sharply.

Startled, Flora paused for a moment. "You should know what I mean," she said hesitantly, "and you have to pretend to be very grateful to those rich and rich relatives who give you rubbish to throw away. Last year's clothes, skirts, hats, for example. Wait." "I have no taste for women's clothes, and you always look nice to me." "But I'll pay a price," whispered Flora, "for not mentioning those Unpleasant, I'm so glad. I'm free now to do whatever I want. The right not to—" She stopped suddenly. "What not to do?" Brent asked eagerly. "Oh, I forgot. Something trivial." Brent took a stick and stuck it into the tank, as if poking something. "What are you doing, Major Brent?" "There's something twinkling there, I don't know what it is--kind of like a gold brooch. Well, the water's got me confused, and it's gone somewhere Somewhere." "It might be a crown," Flora suggested, "it might be the one that Melisande found in the water." "Melisandre?" Brent asked. asked thoughtfully—"Is she a character in a play?" The plot is ridiculous—the noise is worse than a native's long drum." Flora laughed. "I remember Melisande married an old man, old enough to be her father," Brent went on. He threw a small stone into the goldfish pond and turned to face Flora. "Miss Ackroyd, can I help you with anything? I mean Peyton's business. I know you must be very anxious." "Thank you," said Flora very dryly, "really no Need help, Ralph's going to have problems, I've got the best detective in the world and he's going to figure it all out." It's uncomfortable being in our position, and we don't mean to Want to eavesdrop on their conversation, because they can see us as soon as they look up, and if my partner hadn't twisted my arm hard to remind me to keep quiet, I would have sent a signal to remind them that there was someone here.Apparently he wanted me to keep silent.Yet he moved himself, and with great agility. He stood up quickly and cleared his throat. "Forgive me," he said aloud, "for not reminding you that we are here. I will not allow this lady to flatter me. As the saying goes, an eavesdropper always hears bad things about him, but this time Exception. In order not to make a fool of me, I have to come over and apologize to you.” After speaking, he hurried down the path, and I followed closely to the fish pond. "This is Mr. Hercule Poirot," Flora introduced, "you may have heard of his name." Poirot bowed. "I've heard of Major Brent for a long time," he said politely. "It's an honor to meet you. I just need some information from you." Brent looked at him inquiringly. "When was the last time you saw Mr. Ackroyd alive?" "Dinner." "Have you not seen him or heard him talk since?" "Haven't seen him, but heard him talk." voice." "Can you give me the details?" "I was walking on the terrace—" "Excuse me, what time is it?" "About nine-thirty. I was smoking a cigarette by the living room window, walking up and down and then I heard Mr Ackroyd talking in the study—" Poirot stopped and pulled up a slender weed. "Of course you can't hear the conversation in the study from that position on the terrace," he whispered. He didn't look at Brent, but I did, and I was surprised to see him flush. "I heard it at the corner next time." He explained reluctantly. "Ah! Really?" asked Poirot. From his gentle tone, Brent realized that Poirot wanted to know more. "I thought I saw it—a woman burrowed into the bushes, and saw only a gleam of white light. Maybe I was blinded by it. It was just around the corner of the terrace that I heard Ackroyd talking to the secretary." "Yes Talk to Raymond?" "Yes—that's what I thought. It seems I was mistaken." "Did Aykroyd not call his name?" "Oh, no." "May I take the liberty to Just to ask, why do you think it's—?" Brent tried to explain, "I always thought it must be Raymond, because before I went to the terrace he told me that he had some papers to send to Ike. Lloyd. It never occurred to me that it would be anyone else." "Do you remember what you heard?" "I'm afraid I don't remember, something very commonplace and trivial. Just here and there. I was thinking of something else." "A trivial matter," murmured Poirot to himself. "Have you been in the study since the body was found, have you moved a chair backwards?" " "The chair? It hasn't been moved. Why should I move the chair?" Poirot shrugged his shoulders, but did not answer.Then he turned to Flora. "I want to ask you something, miss. When you looked at the contents of the silver cabinet with Dr. Sheppard, was the sword in there?" Flora pursed her lips. "Inspector Raglan just asked me that question," she replied.From the tone of the conversation, it could be heard that she was a little resentful. "I've told him, and I'll tell you now. I'm absolutely sure the sword wasn't there. Raglan thought it was, and then Ralph sneaked in and took it away. He He doesn't believe me, he thinks I'm protecting Ralph by saying that." "Are you protecting him?" I asked solemnly. Flora stamped her foot. "Doctor Sheppard, you are just like him! Oh! It's too bad." Poirot deftly changed the subject. "Major Brent, what you just said is true. There is indeed something shining in the pool. Let me try and see if I can fish it up." He knelt down by the pool and rolled up his sleeves to his elbows , Then slowly put your hand into the pool, for fear of stirring up the mud at the bottom of the pool and muddying the water.But even though he scooped it up so carefully, the mud at the bottom of the pool swirled and floated up.He had no choice but to retract his hand, but he didn't catch anything. He looked ruefully at the sludge on his arm.I handed him my handkerchief, but he refused.Finally, he said a series of words of thanks before accepting.Brent looked at his watch. "It's almost lunchtime," he said, "let's go back to the house." "Come and dine with us, Monsieur Poirot," said Flora, "I want you to see my mother. She— —she likes Ralph very much." Poirot bowed in thanks. "You are kindly invited, miss." "You stay too, Dr. Sheppard." I hesitated for a moment. "Oh, let's eat together." I also wanted to stay in my heart, so I didn't refuse anymore, and readily agreed. We walked together towards the mansion, Flora and Brent leading the way. "What beautiful hair!" said Poirot softly, nodding his head, and directed me to look at Flora's hair. "True blond hair! They're going to make a perfect couple—she and the handsome dark-skinned boy, Colonel Peyton. Don't you think so?" I looked at him questioningly, but he began to brush the sweat off his sleeve. Small drops of water.This movement of his reminded me of the movement of a cat—his green eyes, his habit of obsessing over detail. "Nothing," I said sympathetically, "I've been wondering what the hell is in the pool." "Would you like to see it?" asked Poirot. I glanced at him and he nodded. "My good friend," he said, in a mild and somewhat admonishing tone, "Hercule Poirot will never risk soiling his clothes by depriving him of what he wants. If not Well, that's ridiculous. I never do anything ridiculous." "But there's nothing when your hand comes out of the water," I retorted. "Sometimes you have to be careful. Do you tell your patients everything, Doctor? I don't think so. Not even your good sister, you don't tell everything, do you?" ? When I let you see the hand, I have already changed the thing I brought up to the other hand. Do you want to see what it is?" He stretched out his left hand and opened the palm.A gold ring, a woman's wedding ring. I took the ring from him. "Look in," said Poirot. I glanced at the inner circle, and there were a few thin words engraved on it: R. Gift, March 13th. I looked at Poirot, but he was busy looking at himself in the small mirror.He was very particular about those mustaches, but he didn't pay any attention to me.I could tell he didn't want to continue talking to me.