Chapter 21 Chapter 20 Lady Clarke

When we returned to Coombeside again, there was a thick melancholy in the air in Coombeside.Part of this may have been due to the weather—it was a wet September day, and the air suggested autumn—and partly, no doubt, to the ajar of the house.The doors and shutters of the downstairs rooms were closed, and the small room we were taken to was damp and stuffy. A competent-looking hospital nurse came towards us, putting down her prim cuffs as she walked. "Mr. Poirot? I am Nurse Capstick, and I have a letter from Mr. Clark saying that you are coming," she said briskly. Poirot asked about Lady Clark's condition.

"It's not serious at all, everything has been taken into account." "All things considered." Maybe that meant Lady Clarke was condemned to death, I suppose. "Of course not much improvement can be expected, but a new treatment has made her condition a little better. Dr. Logan is very pleased with her condition." "But the truth is she's never going to recover, is she?" "Oh, we never really said that," Capstick replied, a little shocked by the bluntness. "I suppose her husband's death must have been a terrible blow to her?"

"Well, Monsieur Poirot, if you understand what I'm saying, it's nothing compared to the blows that can be dealt to any perfectly healthy woman. In the case of Lady Clarke, the matter is not serious. gone." "Excuse me for asking, but do they love each other deeply?" "Oh, yes. They were a very happy couple. He worried and felt bad for her, poor man. You know, it's even harder for a doctor. They can't get through it doesn't exist He braced himself for hope. I feared he did some serious psychological damage from the start." "From the beginning? It's not too serious after that?"

"One gets used to it, doesn't it? That's when Sir Carmichael started collecting. Hobbies are a great comfort to a man. He frequented auctions, and then he and Miss Gray were busy working on a new system." The collection will be renumbered and placed next." "Oh, yes, Miss Gray. She's gone, hasn't she?" "Yes—I'm sorry about it, but when ladies are uncomfortable they have such assumptions, and it's impossible to argue with them. It's best to give in, and Miss Gray is very sensible about it." "Lady Clark always dislikes her?"

"No, it's not that I don't like her. In fact, at first, I thought Lady Clark liked her. But I can't chat with you here. My patients will wonder what's going on between us." She took us to a room on the second floor.This room used to be a bedroom and has now been converted into a comfortable living room. Lady Clark sat in a large armchair by the window.She was very thin, and her face was gray and haggard, showing that she was in great pain.I noticed that she was in a trance, with extremely small pupils. "This is the M. Poirot you want to see," said Capstick in a loud voice.

"Oh, yes, M. Poirot," said Lady Clark, expressionless. She held out her hand. "This is my friend Captain Hastings, Lady Clarke." "Hello, it's good to have you here." Under her plausible guidance, we sat down.No one spoke, and everything was fairly quiet.Lady Clark seemed to be in a dream. After a while, she struggled to pull herself together. "About Ka, yes? About his death, oh yes." She shook her head and sighed, but still looked dazed. "We never thought it would be like this... I'm pretty sure I should go before him..." She mused for a minute or two, "Ka is very strong, he's in very good shape for his age, he never Sick. He's nearly sixty, but looks more like fifty... yes, very strong..."

She fell into a dream again.Poirot was well aware of the effects of certain drugs, and how they produced the perception of infinity in the user who took them, and he said nothing. Lady Clark suddenly said: "Yes—well you come. I told Franklin, and he said he wouldn't forget to tell you, I hope Franklin won't be stupid..., he's so gullible, though he's roamed a lot of the world. Man like He's like that...they're always kids...especially Franklin." "He is naturally sentimental," said Poirot. "Yeah, yeah...and very chivalrous. Men are always kind of stupid in that. Even stuck—" Her voice trailed off.

She shook her head impatiently, feverishly. "Everything is blurred...the human body is a trouble, especially when it has the upper hand. One doesn't realize that other things—whether the pain is delayed—other things seem unimportant. " "Lady Clarke, I know this is one of the tragedies in a human life." "It makes me so stupid. I can't even remember what I tried to say to you." "Is it about your husband's death?" "Ka's death? Yes, maybe... Crazy poor guy, I mean the murderer. It's all noise and speed these days - people can't take it anymore. I feel sorry for these crazy people all the time, their heads feel It must be weird. And then, closed up again? It's so pathetic, but what else can people do? If they kill..." She shook her head, clearly in slight pain. "Haven't you caught him yet?" she asked.

"not yet." "He must have been hanging around here that day." "Lord Clarke, there were many strangers. It was a holiday." "Yes, I forgot...but they're all on the beach, they don't come near the house." "No stranger came to the house that day." "Who said that?" Lady Clark suddenly asked forcefully. Poirot looked a little gaffe. "The servants," he said, "Miss Gray." Lady Clarke said in a straight line: "That girl is a liar." I jumped in the chair.Poirot glanced at me. Lady Clarke went on, this time looking very agitated.

"I don't like her. I never liked her. Ka's all about her and used to say she was an orphan, alone in the world. What's wrong with orphans? Sometimes it's a blessing in disguise. You might have one Bad father and an alcoholic mother, so you have something to complain about. It's a good help to say she's so brave. I bet she's doing a good job! I don't know where the bravery is. " "Don't get too excited, honey," Nurse Capstick interposed. "We can't tire you out." "Soon I got her off! Franklin insisted obstinately that she might be a consolation to me. What a consolation to me! The sooner I see her go the better--that's what I say! What a fool Franklin is." I don't want him to mess with her. He's just a kid, not sensible yet!' I'll give her three months' salary if you like.' I said, 'but she has to go and I won't see her again for a day She's gone.' One of the good things about being sick is—a man doesn't quarrel with you. He does what I say, and she's gone like a martyr, I hope—she'll take more joy and courage with her. "

"Honey, don't get so excited, it's not good for you." Lady Clark motioned for Nurse Capstick to leave. "You treated her like a fool like everyone else." "Oh, you can't say that, Lady Clarke. I think Miss Gray is a nice girl, and looks romantic, like someone in a novel." "I don't have the patience to tell you that," said Lady Clark feebly. "Oh dear, she's gone." Lady Clark shook her head, showing some impatience, and said nothing. Poirot said: "Why do you say Miss Gray is a liar?" "Because she is. She told you no strangers come to the house, did she?" "yes." "Very well, then I saw—through this window—she standing on the front steps talking to a complete stranger." "When was that?" "The morning Clark died, around eleven o'clock." "What does that man look like?" "A very ordinary person, nothing special." "A gentleman or a businessman?" "Not a merchant. A shabby man, I don't remember." Suddenly a shudder of pain appeared on her face. "Please—you have to go—I'm a little tired—Nurse." We had to leave. On the way back to London I said to Poirot: "This is an unusual story, about Miss Gray and a strange man." "You see, Hastings, as I told you, there is always something to discover." "Why did the girl lie and say she didn't see anyone?" "I can think of seven different reasons - one of which is fairly simple." "That was an oversight?" I asked. "Yes, maybe that's where you're going to get smart. But we needn't bother ourselves, and the easiest way to answer that question is to ask her herself." "But imagine that she might tell us another lie." "That would be really interesting - very enlightening." "It is absurd to imagine a girl like her in league with a madman." "Quite right, so I don't think so." I thought about it for a few minutes. "It's hard life for a good-looking girl," I finally sighed. "Du tout (French, meaning: not at all. - Annotation). Get rid of that idea of ​​yours." "It's true," I insisted, "everyone hangs out with her just because she's good looking." "You're talking betises, my friend. Who's dealing with her at Coombeside? Sir Carmichael? Franklin? Or Nurse Capstick?" "Well, Lady Clark is bullying her." "Mou ami (French, meaning: my friend.—annotation), you are full of kindness for young beautiful girls. And I, I feel full of kindness for old women who are seriously ill. Perhaps Lady Clarke's Clear-sighted—and her husband, Mr. Franklin Clark, Nurse Capstick blind—and Captain Hastings." "Poirot, you still hold a grudge against that girl." To my surprise, his eyes blinked suddenly. "Perhaps I have made you romantic and arrogant, Hastings. You were always a true knight, always ready to rescue a girl in need—a pretty girl, bien entendu. " I couldn't help laughing, "Poirot, you can be sarcastic." "Well, one can't go on being miserable forever. I'm becoming more and more interested in the human development that comes out of this tragedy. We have three plays of family life. First, Andover—the whole tragic life of Mrs. Ascher, Her struggles, support for her German husband and love for her niece. This could be a novel on its own. Then Bexhill - the happy laid-back father and mother and two very different daughters - confused The Fool with the strong-willed Megan, who is intelligent and persistent in her pursuit of the truth. There is another character - the self-controlled young Scottish man who is passionate, jealous and deeply in love with the dead girl ...and finally the Chestons—the dying wife, and the collecting-addicted husband, yet full of tenderness and sympathy for the pretty girl whose sympathy helped him, and the younger brother, who was full of life and charm. Shooting, witty and funny, you can find his charming verve in his long journey." "Remember, Hastings, that under normal circumstances these three separate plays do not relate to each other, they do not affect each other. The permutations of life—I will never be fascinated by them .” "This is Paddington." That's all I could say. I feel like it's time to expose the truth. When we got back to White Harbor House we were told that a gentleman was waiting for Poirot. I guessed it was Franklin, or possibly Japp, but it was Donald Fraser, which surprised me. He looked very awkward, and his slurred pronunciation was more pronounced than ever. Poirot made no haste for him to state the purpose of his visit, but insisted on suggesting a sandwich and a glass of wine. When the sandwiches and wine were brought out, he went on and on all by himself, explaining where we had been and honestly about how he felt about the sick woman. He didn't start the conversation until we had finished our sandwiches and drinks. "Mr Fraser, are you from Bexhill?" "yes." "Anything going on with Millie Higley?" "Millie Higley? Millie Higley?" Fraser repeated the name puzzled. "Oh, that girl! No, there, I didn't do anything. It was—" He stopped.Hands crossed nervously. "I don't know why I came to you," he said suddenly. "I know," said Poirot. "You don't. How do you know?" "You came to me because you had something to tell someone. You're so right, I'm the right one, go ahead." Poirot's assertion had its effect.Fraser looked at him with a curiously resigned air. "You think so?" "Parblue (French, meaning: oops. — Annotation), of course, I'm sure." "Mr. Poirot, have you ever studied dreams?" This is the last thing I expected. Poirot didn't look surprised at all. "Yes," he replied, "you've been dreaming—?" "Yes, I suppose you will say that it is natural for me to dream, but this is not an ordinary dream." "yes?" "yes?" "I've been having this dream three nights in a row, sir... I think I'm going crazy..." "tell me--" The man's face was pale, his eyes were staring, in fact, he looked crazy. "The dream is always the same. I'm on the beach, looking for Betty, and she's gone—just gone, you know. I've got to find her. I've got to bring her her sash, and I've got that sash in my hand, Then--" "Ok?" "Dreams changed...I don't look anymore. She's right in front of me—sitting on the sand. She doesn't see me coming—oh, I can't—" "Go ahead." There was commanding firmness in Poirot's voice. "I walked up behind her...she couldn't hear me...I slid the belt around her neck and pulled up-oo-pull..." The agony in his voice was horrible... I gripped the handle of the chair... it was so real. "She was suffocating...she died...I strangled her - then her head fell back and I could see her face...it was Megan - not Betty!" He leaned back in the chair, pale and trembling.Poirot poured another glass of wine and handed it to him. "What does this dream mean, M. Poirot? Why do I have this dream? And every night..." "Drink your bar," ordered Poirot. The young man finished his drink, then asked in a calmer voice: "What does that mean? I—I didn't kill her, did I?" I don't know how Poirot answered, because at this moment I heard the postman's knock on the door and left the room by the way. What came out of the mailbox completely turned me off from Fraser's unusual story. I run back to the living room. "Poirot," I cried, "here comes the fourth letter." He jumped up, snatched the letter from my hand, took out his paper knife and opened it.He spread the letter out on the table. The three of us read the letter together. Still no success?Pooh!Pooh!What are you doing with the police? Yes, isn't that ridiculous?Honey, where is our next stop?Poor Poirot, I am so sorry for you. If it doesn't work at first, then try, try, try. We still have a long way to go. Tipperary?No - it's still early.That's the letter T. The next minor accident will be at Doncaster on September 11.goodbye. ABC