Chapter 20 Chapter 19 Via Sweden

Poirot returned to his seat and sat down, humming a little tune. "Unfortunately, she's too smart." "Who?" "Meghan Barnard, Miss Megan. She speaks so hastily, she knows at once that my words are worthless, and the others are credulous." "I think that sounds reasonable." "Makes sense, yes. That's just what she'll perceive." "Then your words are meaningless?" "What I said could have been completed in one sentence, but I repeated it at random. Only Miss Meghan realized this fact." "But why do you want to do that?"

"En bien (French, meaning: Alright.—annotation),—is to get people to act! There is still work to be done to impress everyone with that impression! What we should say is, to Let's start a conversation!" "Don't you think those words lead to something?" "Oh, it's possible." He secretly delighted. "In tragedy, we have comedy. That's it, isn't it?" "What do you mean?" "It's a human drama, Hastings! Just imagine, here are three groups of characters, brought together by a common tragedy. The second drama begins suddenly—tout a fait a part (French, meaning: Totally irrelevant.—Annotation). Do you remember my first case in England? Well, it was many years ago. I brought together two people who loved each other— The simple way of arresting one of them for murder. There is no simpler way to achieve this. We live in the world in the process of dying, Hastings... I have often noticed that murder is a perfect matchmaker. "

"Really, Poirot," I exclaimed in shock, "I don't believe any of those people would have thought—" "Oh! my dear friend, what do you think of?" "Oh?" "Mais oui (French, meaning: Yes.—Annotation), didn't you hum a little tune when you came back from the door after they left?" "One does not have to be indifferent to do this." "Certainly, but the tune told me what you were thinking." "yes?" "Yes, humming a tune is extremely dangerous. It shows a subconscious state of mind. I think the tune you hum can be traced back to the time of the war. Comme Ca )," Poirot sang in a disgusting falsetto:

"Once upon a time I loved brunettes, Once upon a time I fell in love with the blond beauty (who came to Paradise via Sweden). " "What could be more expressive? Mais jecrois que la blonde lemporte sur la brunette!" "Really, Poirot," I cried, blushing slightly. "Cest tout naturel (French, meaning: It's natural.—Annotation). Did you notice that Franklin Clark suddenly shared Miss Meghan's views and sympathized with her? How he leaned forward and stared at her See? Did you also notice Miss Tora Gray's distaste for this? Mr. Donald Fraser, who—"

"Poirot," said I, "you are hopelessly sensitive!" "That's the only thing left on my mind. You're the sensitive one, Hastings." I was about to have a heated debate on this point of his when the door opened. It was Thora Gray who came in, which surprised me. "Forgive me for coming back," she said calmly, "but there is something I should like to tell you, M. Poirot." "Of course, miss. Please sit down, won't you?" She sat down and hesitated for a moment, as if choosing words. "That's right, M. Poirot. M. Clarke has just been very gracious in assuring you that I left Consider of my own volition. He is a kind and faithful man. But it is not quite so. I am going to stay." Come down—something to do with the collection, it's Mrs. Clarke who wants me to go! I'm going to say that with a grain of salt. She's very sick, and her mind is clouded by the medicine they've given her. It's making her Suspicious, fanciful. She had a blind and impulsive distaste for me and insisted I should leave the house."

I have to admire the girl's courage.She doesn't try to hide the truth, but she gets to the point with an admirable candor.I deeply admire and sympathize with her. "I think it would be great for you to come and tell us," I said. "It's always better to know the truth," she said, laughing. "I don't want to hide from Mr. Clark's gallantry. He's quite a gallant man." There was warmth in her words, and it was evident that she adored Franklin Clark. "You are very honest, mademoiselle," said Poirot. "It was a shock to me," Torah said ruefully. "I never thought Mrs. Clark would hate me so much. In fact, I always thought she liked me." She grimaced, "People It’s really living and learning.”

She stood up. "That's all I wanted to say. Goodbye." I walked her down the stairs. "I think she's pretty above board," I said when I got back into the room. "She's got guts, that girl." "There are still calculations." "What do you mean - calculation?" "I mean she has vision." I looked at him suspiciously. "She's a real sweet girl," I said. "She was very beautifully dressed, in that crepe Marocan and silver fox collar—dernier cri." "You are quite a couturier, Poirot. I never pay attention to what people wear."

"You should really join a nudist colony." I was filled with righteous indignation and was about to retort when he suddenly changed the subject and said: "You know, Hastings? I can't shake the impression I've got in my mind that something remarkable was mentioned in our conversation this afternoon. That's odd--I can't quite tell what it was." . . . all that flashed through my mind was an impression . . . that reminded me, reminded me of things I had heard, seen, noticed . . . " "What about Chessington?" "No, not at Chesston...it was before...anyway, now it's coming..."

He looked at me (maybe I wasn't very engaged), laughed, and started humming again. "She's an angel, isn't she? From Eden, via Sweden..." "Poirot," said I, "to hell with it!"