Chapter 24 Chapter 23, Doncaster, September 11

Doncaster! I think I will remember September 11th as long as I live. In fact, whenever I come across the St. Leger Race being mentioned, my mind automatically goes to the murders, not the horses. When I recall how I felt about myself, what stands out the most is that nauseating, useless feeling.We are here—on the spot, Poirot, myself, Clarke, Fraser, Megan Barnard, Tora Gray and Mary Dlauer.And as a last resort, what can any of us do? We gamble with all our hopes—hoping for the chance to recognize a face or someone out of a crowd of thousands who was only vaguely seen a month or two ago.

The reality is much more likely.Of all of us, the only one who has the potential to confirm is Thora Gray. In this situation, part of her peace and tranquility collapsed, and her usual calm and agile appearance disappeared without a trace.She sat there with her hands clasped together, almost sobbing, and incoherently appealed to Poirot for help. "I've never set my eyes on him...why wouldn't I? I'm so stupid. You're all depending on me, all of you...and I'll let you down. Because even if I see him again. I might I don't recognize him anymore. I can't always remember people's faces."

Whatever Poirot might have said to me, and whatever he seemed to be demanding of the girl, he was now only genial.His demeanor was extremely friendly and gentle.I was impressed that Poirot, when he was in trouble, was no more indifferent to pretty girls than I was. He patted her on the shoulder friendly. "Now, Petite, don't get too hysterical, we can't do that. If you see this man, you'll recognize him." "how do you know?" "Well, there are many reasons—one of them, because red outperforms black." "What do you mean, Poirot?" I cried.

"I'm talking table jargon. In roulette black can always be lucky, but in the end red is guaranteed to turn around. It's mathematical probability." "You mean, fortunes will turn?" "True, Hastings, that's where the gambler (or murderer, since he's betting not money but life, he's just a supergambler in the end) often misses the mark. I believe he can continue to win. He will not leave the table when he is lucky and his pockets are full. In a crime, a successful murderer does not imagine the possibility of failure! He takes credit for it. But I I tell you, my friend, that no crime, however well planned, can be accomplished without luck."

"Isn't that going too far?" objected Franklin Clark. Poirot waved his hands excitedly. "No, no. It's an equal chance, if you like, but it has to be in your favor. Watch out! It's possible that someone might just go in when the murderer was about to leave Mrs. Ascher's shop." The man might remember to look behind the counter, which might see the dead woman -- and he might either strike at the murderer right away, or describe the man to the police so accurately that He could be arrested immediately." "Yes, of course that's possible," Clark admitted, "but as things stand, the murderer has had his chance."

"Indeed. The murderer is often a gambler, and, like many gamblers, the murderer often does not know when to stop. With each crime his judgment of his own abilities is strengthened, so that he Biased. He doesn't say 'I'm smart and lucky', no, he just says 'I'm smart!' His awareness of his own smartness grows. Then, mes amis (French for: my friends .—Annotation), the ball will spin, the colors will run past, the ball will land on a new number, and the casino dealer will call out 'Rouge (French, meaning: red.—Annotation)'." "Do you think that's going to happen in this case?" Megan asked, frowning.

"Sooner or later it's bound to happen! So far, the criminal has had good luck--but sooner or later luck will turn in our way. I believe luck has turned! The stocking clue was the beginning. Now, everything will have to do with him Yes, it won’t make him easy! And he, he started to make mistakes..." "I think you're an inspiration," Franklin said. "We all need a little reassurance. I've been feeling helpless and discouraged since I woke up." "I don't think we'll be able to do anything of real value," Donald Fraser said. Megan said gruffly:

"Don't be a defeatist, Don." Mary Dlauer blushed a little and said: "You'll never understand what I'm saying. The evil devil is here, and so are we. And sometimes, after all, you meet people in the most bizarre ways." I said excitedly: "If only we could do more." "You must remember, Hastings. The police are doing everything they can, and some superintendents with special skills have been recruited. The good Inspector Crome may be quick-tempered, but he Still a capable officer and Chief of Police Colonel Anderson is a man of action. They've taken the most measures, duty and patrols in small towns and racetracks, there will be plainclothes everywhere. There's also a press campaign and the public gets Full warning."

Donald Fraser shook his head. "I was thinking he wouldn't do it," he said willingly. "The guy must be crazy." "Unfortunately," said Clark dryly, "he's a madman! What do you think, M. Poirot? Will he quit, or will he take the risk?" "From what I've seen, he's so obsessive that he has to keep his promises! If he doesn't do it, he's admitting defeat, and he's such a crazy egotist that he'll never give up. I can say, That's Dr. Thompson's view. We're hoping to catch him when he tries." Donald shook his head again.

"He'll be very cunning." Poirot glanced at his watch.We took the hint.We will be cautious throughout the day, patrolling as many streets as possible in the morning.Then station yourself at one of the many possible locations on the racecourse. I said "we".For myself, of course, such patrols are of little use, since I have never been able to keep my eyes on ABC.However, since the idea is to cover as wide a territory as possible, I propose that I remain a lady's bodyguard. Poirot agreed - and I was concerned about the meaning of his wink. The girls put on their hats and dispersed.Donald Fraser stood by the window, looking out, obviously lost in thought.

Franklin Clark glanced at him, clearly feeling that the man beside him was absent-minded and unable to listen.He then lowered his voice and struck up a conversation with Poirot. "Look, M. Poirot. I know. You went to Chessington and saw my sister-in-law. Did she say—or hint at—I mean, did she mention anything?" He stopped talking, frustrated. Poirot opened his mouth to answer with an air of innocent ignorance, which aroused my suspicion. "Comment (French, meaning: What.—Annotation)? What did your sister-in-law say, hint or suggest?" Franklin Clark blushed. "Maybe you don't think this is the time to get personal—" "Du tout" "But I want to confront the problem directly." "Admirable reason." This time, I thought, Clark was suspicious of Poirot's mild face, which belied some inner amusement.He coughed heavily. "My sister-in-law is a very nice woman--I've always liked her, but she's sick a lot. People who are chronically ill use narcotics and things like that, and can't help thinking of other people!" "Oh?" There was no objection in Poirot's eyes now. But Franklin Clark is so engrossed in his dialogue assignments that he doesn't notice it. "It was about Miss Torah Gray," he said. "Oh, you mean Miss Gray?" Poirot's tone was filled with innocent surprise. "Yes, Lady Clarke had other ideas on her mind. You see, Torah—Miss Gray is a pretty girl—" "Probably—yes," admitted Poirot. "And women, even the best ones, are always a little bit mean to other women. Of course, Torah was invaluable to my brother—he always said she was the best secretary he'd ever had—and he was very Like her. But it's all above board. I mean, Torah isn't the kind of girl—" "Isn't it?" said Poirot approvingly. "But my sister-in-law is all about—jealousy, I think. She hasn't shown anything at all. But since Ka died, whenever there was a problem with Miss Gray—Charlotte always lost her temper. Of course, there are Part of it was the illness and the morphine—that's what Nurse Capstick said. She said we shouldn't blame Charlotte for having these thoughts in her head." He paused. "yes?" "What I want you to understand, M. Poirot, is that there was nothing in it. It was just a sick woman's imagination. Look here—" he fumbled in his pocket, "this is when I was in the Malay Archipelago. , a letter from my brother to me. I hope you will read it, that you may understand the relation between them." Poirot took the letter, and Franklin came to him, pointed to the letter, and read aloud part of it: "—it's the same as ever here. Charlotte's pain has eased, I hope I've said it has eased a lot. You remember Tora Gray, perhaps? She was a lovely girl, and was a great deal to me Consolation. It is far beyond my words. Her sympathy and taste cannot be doubted. She has a refined taste and appreciation for beautiful things, can share with me a strong love for Chinese art, and can find her It is indeed my great fortune. There is no other girl who has been a closer and more agreeable companion to me than her. She has had a hard life. Not always happy, but I am glad to feel that she has A real love for family." "You see," said Franklin, "that's how my brother felt about her. He thought of her as his daughter. And when my brother died, his wife actually kicked her out of that house, and that made me feel really bad." Not fair! Women are devils, M. Poirot." "Remember, your sister-in-law is in sickness and pain." "I know. That's what I told myself, we shouldn't comment on her. Likewise, I wanted to show you this letter not to make you feel bad about Torah because of anything Lady Clark said. Wrong impression." Poirot handed the letter back to him. "I can assure you," he said with a smile, "I never allow myself to get the wrong impression from anything I've been told. I make my own judgment." "Okay," Clark said, hiding the letter, "I'm glad I showed you the letter anyway. The girls are here, we'd better get out." Poirot called me back just as we were leaving the room. "Are you really determined to go on patrol together, Hastings?" "Oh, yes. I wouldn't be happy to stay here doing nothing." "The mind can act as well as the body, Hastings." "Oh, you're better than me at that," I said. "You are indisputably right, Hastings. Am I right in suggesting that you make a conscious effort to court a lady?" "That's a good idea." "Then you wish to accompany the lady?" "Oh, oh - uh - haven't thought about it yet." "How is Miss Barnard?" "She's the independent kind," I objected. "Miss Gray?" "Yes. She's better." "I find you, Hastings, quite unconventional, though obviously dishonest! You've made up your mind to be with your fair-haired angel." "Oh, yes, Poirot." "I'm sorry to mess up your plans, but I must ask you to find someone else to protect you." "Oh, never mind. I think you've discovered the weakness of the Dutch girl." "The girl you want to protect is Mary Drauer--and I want you to stay near her." "But, Poirot, why?" "Because, my dear friend, her name begins with a D. We can't take any chances." I grasped the meaning in the middle of his words.At first, this seemed out of reach, but then I realized that if ABC was jealous and hated Poirot, he probably knew all about Poirot's actions.In this case, getting rid of Mary Drauer would be the most appropriate fourth blow for him. I promise to be true to my responsibilities. I left the house, and Poirot remained, sitting in a chair by the window. In front of him is a small roulette wheel.As I was going out, he pulled the wheel and called after me: "Rouge (French, meaning: red.—annotation)—this is a good sign, Hastings. Fortune is turning."