Chapter 19 Chapter Nineteen by Flora Aykroyd

Flora Aykroyd Inspector Raglan yelled after me when I came back the next morning.I stopped at the sound, and he ran up the stone steps. "Good morning, Dr. Shepherd," he greeted me, "I'm telling you, we've got his alibi." "You mean Charles Kent?" "Yes, he Circumstantial evidence. Sally Jones, the barmaid at the Dog Whistle bar, can testify that she remembers that night so vividly that she singles him out of the five photographs. He entered the bar exactly at nine-thirty Moment. The waitress said he had a lot of money on him—she saw him pull a bunch of bills out of his pocket. She was a little surprised to see the guy wearing a pair of battered boots. Right in that bar, his Forty pounds is a lot." "Is he still refusing to tell why he's out of Fernley Court?" "He's an ass. I had a little talk on the phone with Hayes from Liverpool this morning. " "Hercule Poirot said he knew why the fellow was there," I said.

"Really?" asked the inspector impatiently. "Really," my words were not malicious, "he said the reason he went there was because he was born in Kent." After I passed on my embarrassment to him, I felt much better. Raglan stared at me in bewilderment, not knowing what medicine I was selling in my gourd.His weasel-like eyes rolled, and a smile appeared on his face again.He knocked on his forehead, as if he had suddenly realized something. "Why did he come here," said he, "I have thought about it for a long time. Poor old man, it is probable that he has a demented nephew at home. That is why he gave up his career to settle here." Poirot has a demented nephew?" I asked in surprise.

"Yes, did he never mention it to you? The poor fellow is very docile and everything but mad." "Who told you that?" Inspector Raglan grinned again. "Your sister, Miss Shepard, told me." It was astonishing what Caroline was doing.She wants to find out all the secrets of everyone's family before she is willing to give up.It's a pity that I couldn't make her a cultivated and decent person, so that she would not gossip about other people's private affairs. "Get in the car, Inspector," I said, opening the door, "and we'll go to Larshe and give our Belgian friends the latest news." Said, he gave me some useful hints about the fingerprints anyway. He's got a little crazy about the Kent guy. But it's hard to say—maybe he's got a reason for it." Poirot was as courteous as ever, and received us with a smile.

He listened carefully to the news we brought him, nodding from time to time. "Seems all right, doesn't it?" said the Inspector with a gloomy expression on his face. "A man can't commit murder in one place while drinking in a bar a mile away." "Are you going to let him go?" "What can we do? We can't do it because of his money." Detain him for a long time for unknown reasons. We can't produce enough evidence for this troublesome matter." The inspector threw the match into the grid with resentment, and Poirot took it out and put it neatly. Put it in a container designed for matches.This movement of his is purely mechanical.I could quite see that he was thinking of something else.

"If I were you," he said at last, "I'm not in a hurry to let him go just yet." "What do you mean?" Raglan stared at him inexplicably. "I mean, don't let him go just yet." "You think he's got something to do with the murder, don't you?" "I don't think so—though it's hard to be sure." "Didn't I just tell you—? ’ Poirot held up his hand to stop him from going on. "Mais oui, mais oui (French: yes, yes), I've heard it, I'm neither deaf - nor a fool, thank God! But I can tell you that you're starting from a totally false premise set out to deal with this, isn't 'mistake' the right word?" The Inspector fixed him with a dull gaze.

"I don't know on what grounds you arrive at this conclusion. I draw your attention to the fact that Mr. Ackroyd is alive at a quarter past nine. You must admit that, don't you?" Poirot stared at him for a moment, then Smiling and shaking his head. "I don't believe anything that isn't proven!" "Oh, we have enough evidence to prove it. Flora Aykroyd can testify." "On the basis of her saying good night to her uncle." Is it? For me I don't quite believe the young lady—not even if she is pretty and attractive." "But you must understand, M. Poirot. Parker saw her come out of the room." "No ’ retorted Poirot loudly and sharply, ‘he didn’t see it at all. I knew it from a little experiment I did that day—do you remember, doctor? Parker saw her outside the door, with her hand on the Close the doorknob. But he didn't see her coming out." "If not from inside, where else could she have come from?" "On the stairs, maybe." "On the stairs?" "My little inspiration tells I—yes." "But the stairs lead only to Mr Ackroyd's bedroom." "Exactly." The Inspector continued to stare at him blankly.

"You think she's been in her uncle's bedroom? Then why didn't she tell the truth?" —Money? To hell with you, the implication is that Miss Ackroyd took the forty pounds?" "I didn't say that," said Poirot, "but I want to remind you that the life of their mother and daughter It's hard. They need money to pay their bills--often over a small sum. Roger Aykroyd is very shrewd about money. The girl is likely to be cornered by a small sum. She knew what it would lead to. She took the money, and went downstairs. When she was halfway there, she heard the clink of glasses in the hall, and she knew exactly what it was—Parker was going to the study. She couldn't let him see herself on the stairs anyway—Parker was not a forgetful man, he would be suspicious. If the money disappeared, he would definitely remember her coming down the stairs. She only had time to run To the study door—and when Parker appeared on the porch, she put her hand on the doorknob, pretending to have just come out of the study. She said a word that came to her mind, repeating what Roger Eyre had said earlier that night. An order from Croyd, and then leisurely returned to her room." "Yes. But after the incident, she will definitely realize that this matter is of great importance, and it is necessary to tell the truth, right? Anyway The whole case revolves around that!" The inspector insisted.

"Flora couldn't talk about it afterwards," said Poirot calmly. "When I went to call her that night, I just told her that things had been stolen from the house and that the police were here. Naturally, she immediately realized the reason for the theft. The thing was discovered. Her idea was to stick to her story. When she found out that her uncle had been stabbed, she was completely petrified. You have to understand, sir, that young women these days don't faint without special stimulation. And yet she fainted. She would have to stick to her story, or she would have to tell the truth. A young and beautiful girl would not admit to being a thief—especially in front of a group of people she always wanted to respect. Acknowledge it." Raglan slammed his fist on the table with a bang.

"I don't believe it," he said. "It's—it's implausible. You—you already knew about it?" "The possibility occurred to me at first," admitted Poirot. "I've always thought that Miss Flora was hiding something from us. To find out, I made a little experiment, the one I just told you about. Dr. Sheppard went with me. "You said you were going to investigate Parker." I said angrily. "Mon ami (French: my friend)," said Poirot very apologetically, "didn't I tell you that we must make an excuse." The inspector stood up.

"That's all that's left," said he, "and I must attend to the young woman at once. How would you like to come with me to Fernley Court, M. Poirot?" "Of course, Dr. Shepard will drive us there." I said nothing, but acquiesced more than willingly. When we asked about Miss Ackroyd, the servants took us into the billiard room.Flora sat with Major Hector Blunt on a bench by the window. "Good morning, Miss Ackroyd," said the inspector, "may I speak to you alone?" Brent got up at once and went to the door. "What's the matter?" Flora asked very nervously. "Don't go, Major Brent. He can stay here, can't he?" She turned to the inspector.

"As you please," said the Inspector icily, "I would like to ask you a question or two, miss, it is my duty. But I think we should talk to each other alone, and I dare say that you are Willing to talk alone." Flora stared at him intently.I saw her turn pale, and then she turned to Brent and said, "I want you to stay here, yes, I mean what I say. Whatever the Inspector has to say to me, I want you to know ’” Raglan shrugged. "Well, if you insist, do as you please. Here it is, Miss Aykroyd, this M. Poirot mentioned to me an incident. He thought you were not in the study at all last Friday night, and you Not to see Mr Ackroyd, much less to say good night to him. When you heard Pa carrying a drink across the hall, you were not in the study, but on the stairs leading to your uncle's bedroom." Flora's eyes turned to Poirot, who nodded to her. "Mademoiselle, when we sat around the table together the other day, I begged you to be frank with me. Uncle Poirot will sooner or later find out what is hidden. I said so, didn't I? I told you that I was overloaded." , you took the money, didn't you?" "Money?" Brent screamed. There was a full minute of silence in the room. Then Flora straightened up and said: "M. Poirot is right. I took the money. I stole it. I was a thief—yes, an ordinary thief with no reputation. Now you Got it all! I'm glad it's been leaked. It's been haunting me like a demon for the last few days!" She sat down suddenly, covering her face with her hands.She said hoarsely through her fingers, "You don't know what I've been living here. Wanted to buy things and had no money, and to get them I had to contrive, lie, cheat, and end up in deep debt. Oh I hate myself just thinking about it! That's what brings us together, Ralph and I. We're both fragile! I understand him and I pity him—because he and I are dependents , at the mercy of others. We're both too weak to survive on our own. We're both fragile, miserable, despicable little people." She looked at Brent, and suddenly stamped her feet and yelled. "Why do you look at me that way—you don't believe me? I could be a thief—but anyway, I'm my true self now, I don't lie anymore, I don't want to pretend to be what you are The kind of girl you like--young, naive, simple. You don't want to see me again, and I don't care. I hate myself, despise myself--but you have to believe that if it's good for Ralph to tell the truth, I Already told it. But I always thought it would do Ralph no good—now it seems it made the case worse for him. I've always insisted that I didn't mean to hurt him with my lie." "Ral Husband," said Brent, "I get it all--and never leave Ralph." "You don't understand," said Flora desperately, "you'll never understand." She turned to the Inspector. "I admit everything. I'm cornered by money. I haven't seen my uncle since I left the dinner table that night. As for the theft, you can do whatever you want. It's the worst of it. !" Suddenly she couldn't help crying, covered her face with her hands and rushed out of the room. "There," said the inspector in a flat tone, "it's settled." He was a little bewildered, not knowing what to do next. Brent stepped forward. "Inspector Raglan," he said very calmly, "Mr Ackroyd gave me the money for a special purpose, and Miss Ackroyd never touched it. She said she took it , This is a lie, she thought that doing so would get rid of Captain Peyton’s guilt. I’m telling the truth, and I can go to the witness stand to testify anytime.” He shook his whole body quickly, bowing, then turned and walked out quickly room. Poirot gave chase in an instant and overtook him in the hall. "Sir—I beg you to wait a moment." "What are you going to do, sir?" Brent was evidently impatient.He stood looking at Poirot with furrowed brows. "I want to tell you," said Poirot very quickly, "that I cannot be deceived by this little lie of yours. No, I shall not be deceived. It is true that Miss Flora took the money. At any rate, That was imaginative of yours - and I was delighted to hear it. You've done a good job of that, you're a quick-thinking, aggressive man." "I don't even want to hear compliments from you, thank you ’ said Brent dryly. After speaking, he walked forward, but Poirot was not angry, he grabbed his arm. "Ah! You must hear me out, for I have something to tell you. I told you the other day that everybody hides something, and I knew what you were hiding. You really love Miss Flora." , you fell in love with her at first sight, didn't you? Oh! Don't mind these anecdotes—why is love considered an ignominious secret in England? You love Miss Flora, but you try to hide the fact. Yes—you may well conceal it, but listen to Hercule Poirot's advice—don't hide your love from the lady." When Poirot said this, Brent was a little embarrassed, and his last few The words caught his attention. "What do you mean by that?" he asked sharply. "You think she loves Captain Ralph Paton—but I, Hercule Poirot, can tell you it's not true. Miss Flora agreed to marry Captain Paton solely to please her uncle. , because for her marriage was the way out of this life, which was becoming more and more intolerable to her. She liked him, and there was sympathy and understanding between them, but love—no! Flo Miss La's not in love with Captain Peyton." "What do you mean by that?" Brent asked. I noticed a blush on her swarthy face. "You're blind, sir, a complete blind! The girl is very faithful. Now that Ralph Paton is under suspicion, she is destined to side with him and defend him for his sake." I think I should, too. Say a few words to facilitate their good deeds. "My sister told me the other night," I ventured, "Flora never liked Ralph Paton, and never will. My sister never thought of such things." Wrong." Brent ignored my flattery.He turned to Poirot. "Do you really think—" he started and then stopped. He is an inarticulate person who doesn't know how to express himself. Poirot had never seen such a clumsy tongue. "If you don't believe me, you can ask her herself, sir, but maybe you don't want to--because of the money--" Brent grinned. "Do you think I will hate her for this? Roger is always so stingy with money. She lives in poverty, but dare not tell him. Poor girl, poor and lonely girl." Poirot He looked thoughtfully at the side door. "I think Miss Flora has gone to the garden," he whispered. "What a fool I am," Brent exclaimed suddenly. "This dialogue is so interesting, it's like a Danish play. But you're a very nice man, M. Poirot. Thank you." He pulled Poirot Luo's hand, squeezed tightly, Poirot felt a pain, and retracted his hand.Then he went to the side door, through which he entered the garden. "Not quite a fool," whispered Poirot, rubbing his pinched hand gently, "but in one respect—a little fool in love."