Chapter 2 Chapter One First Letter

In June 1935, I returned home from a ranch in South America (Cao Jian’s note: This sentence was originally translated as “I returned home from a ranch in the southern United States”, which is obviously a mistranslation. Christie fans know that Hastings Si and his wife "Cinderella" ran a ranch in Argentina.).I was there for six months, and we were not immune to the worldwide economic crisis, and it was like a year.This time I am coming back to England to take care of some difficult business, all of which require me to do it myself, and the lady is still there to manage the pasture. Needless to say, as soon as I arrived in England I called on my old friend Hercule Poirot.Poirot moved again.It took me a lot of trouble to find him in a new flat in London.As soon as we met, I complained that he chose such a peculiar building because of its strict symmetrical geometry.He admits this is true.

"Yes, my friend, the symmetry of it is very pleasing to the eye, don't you feel it?" I said, I thought it was generous, and couldn't help but bring to mind an old joke.I asked him if hens were going to raise uniform size, square egg hens in this ultra-modern hotel? Poirot laughed heartily. "Haha, unfortunately - there is no science yet to adapt hens to modern tastes, they still lay oval eggs of various sizes and colors!" I looked at Poirot affectionately and carefully.He looked radiant and radiant, and hadn't aged at all since the last time I saw him, even a little younger.

"You look wonderful, Poirot," I said. "You don't look old at all. In fact, if it is possible, you should say that your hair is less gray now than when we last met, and your hair is black." increased." Poirot looked at me with a smile. "Why not? It's absolutely true." "You mean your hair is going from white to black instead of black to white?" "Indeed." "However, according to science, this is impossible!" "it's not true." "That would be amazing, it would seem against nature." "You are still the same, Hastings, always with a good, unquestioning heart. Time has not changed your character. You accept a thing and learn its rules by heart, without noticing that you yourself are doing."

I stared at him, bewildered. Instead of explaining, he walked into the living room, turned around with a bottle in his hand, and handed it to me. I inexplicably took the bottle. The label on the bottle reads: Hair Regrowth - Restores hair's natural color.This product has a five-step gradient, gray, maroon, orange red, brown, black.But it is different from ordinary dyes and has its own unique efficacy. "Poirot!" I exclaimed aloud. "Your hair is dyed!" "Ah, you're starting to understand!" "I said your hair is much darker than when I came back last time."

"good." "My God," I began to calm down, "I think next time I come back, you'll have a wig on, maybe you've got a wig on now? Poirot was silent.Poirot was proud of his wig which looked like real hair.But also very sensitive.Therefore, my words made him very embarrassed. "No, my friend, really, I assure God, it's a long way off. Wigs! It's horrible!" He tugged at his hair, assuring me that his hair was real and not a fake. "Yes, your hair keeps you looking handsome." I complimented him. "Really? I haven't seen anyone with my wig in all London."

That's a very telling statement, I thought to myself, but I will never speak of it in this way again, lest it hurt Poirot's feelings. I avoided the subject and asked him if he was still in his old business. "If I remember correctly. You said you were retiring years ago," I said. "That's right, I've been wanting to eat all day! But the murders keep happening, and I can only make that kind of leisurely life go to hell. When you open your mouth, I know what you want to say. Since then, I have been like holding It’s the same as Praina Dorry in the farewell show! This kind of farewell show has been repeated so many times!”

I smiled knowingly. "Indeed, the two are very similar, and every time I say, 'This is the last time,' the next case comes! Friends, I have to admit, I don't have time to think about retiring! If the brain Those tiny, gray cells don't move and they rust!" "I see, you use them in a modern way!" "Yes, I sift and select. For Hercule Poirot it is now only the tricky crimes!" "Is there such a difficult case?" "Unfortunately, I almost lost this old life not long ago!" "Failed?" "No, no." Poirot looked very shocked. "I almost went to see God!"

I gasped. "A vicious murder!" "The murderer's madness is unforeseen, indeed unimaginable." Poirot said: "We shall not talk of that. You know, Hastings, that in many respects I regard you as my God!" "Really?" I said, "in what ways?" Poirot did not answer me directly, but went on: "As soon as I heard you were here, I knew there must be another major case. Because in the past we both solved it together. If this is the case, then this matter is extraordinary." He waved excitedly With both hands: "It must be a bizarre, magical, and interesting..." He was so excited that he couldn't find a suitable word to express his great interest in this matter.

"It's warm, Poirot," I said, "anyone would think you were preparing a big dinner." "Isn't anyone telling criminals to prepare? It's very realistic." He sighed, "but I trust good luck, if you will, to stay with me and stop me from making unforgivable mistakes , is your mission." "What do you mean by unforgivable mistake?" "It's obvious." I turned around in my mind a few times, but I couldn't understand what it meant. "Okay." I smiled and said kindly, "Could it be another murder case?"

"It's possible to say that, but at least it's..." He stopped what was on his lips.On his forehead, unpredictable wrinkles gathered.His hands subconsciously straightened something I'd thrown away. "I'm not sure yet." He said slowly. His tone was so surprising that I stared at him in amazement. The wrinkles on his forehead slowly stretched. Suddenly, he nodded firmly and walked towards a table near the window.Needless to say, the things on the table were well organized, and he quickly found what he needed. Holding an open letter in his hand, he walked slowly towards me.He read the letter himself first, and then handed it to me.

He said, "Tell me, friend, what do you think of this?" I took the letter from him with great interest. The letter was printed on thick, white notebook paper: Hercule, M. Poirot—you yourself think you can solve those, making poor stupid Cases where British police feel helpless and bewildered, don't they?Clever M. Poirot, pour Let's see how smart you really are.Chances are you'll find that unraveling this secret isn't sky. "On the 21st of this month, please pay attention to Andwall. ABC I glanced at the envelope, which was also printed. "The postmark is WCI," said Poirot, as I turned my attention to the postmark. "What do you think?" I returned the letter to him, shrugging my shoulders resignedly. "I presume some psychopath." "Is that all you have to say?" "Hmm. Sorry you don't think it's the work of a lunatic?" "Yes, dear, indeed." His tone was serious, and I looked at him in amazement. "You take it very seriously, Poirot." "My friend, take a madman seriously. This madman is a very dangerous fellow!" "It makes sense, I really didn't realize it...but I mean, it's more like a poor trick, probably some yeast ghost's prank." "Prank? Why?" "Nothing, it's just a guess. I think it's a drunk guy, no, goddamn guy, a drunk guy!" "Forgive me, Hastings—'drunk' is a word I can understand, for which, as you say, a drunk is only..." "But what else do you think?" I asked, listening to his disaffected tone. Poirot shook his head suspiciously, but said nothing. "What can be done? I tipped it off to Japp, who agrees with you--a mischievous drunk. It happens every day at Scotland Yard, but I have my opinion--" "You disagree with that?" Poirot agreed slowly. "There's something about this letter, Hastings, that I don't like..." I couldn't help being shocked by his tone of voice. "What do you think?" Shaking his head, he picked up the letter and put it on the table. "Even if you do take it so seriously, can you come up with something?" I asked. "As usual, it's just a man's business, what else is there to do? The police there have seen the letter, but they don't care about it. There are no fingerprints on the letter, and there is no clue. It can prove the possibility that the locals sent the letter." "In fact, it's just my instinct?" "Hastings, not intuition, intuition is a very inappropriate word. It is my knowledge, my experience tells me that people's views and actions on this letter are wrong..." He gestured, expressing what he could not express in words.Then, he shook his head again. "It may be that I am making a fuss out of a molehill. In any case, in any case, there is nothing to do but wait." "Well, the 21st is Friday, and if there was a fight against a gang of robbers near Andover then..." "Yes, how pleasant it would be!" "Cozy" I Surprised, this word seems to be used unusually. "Robbery is a disaster, but not pleasant!" I disagree with him. Poirot shook his head vigorously. "You're wrong, my dear. You don't understand me. If it was a robbery, that would be a consolation. My mind was always worried about something else." "What case?" "Murder," said Hercule.