Chapter 33 Chapter 32 Catch the Fox

In the next few days, Poirot was very busy.He was mysteriously absent, reticent, frowning, and constantly rejecting my natural curiosity and, by his own account, the shrewdness I had shown in the past. The fact that I was not invited to accompany him on those mysterious voyages was somewhat distasteful to me. At the end of the week he finally announced that he was going to Bexhill and the surrounding area, and suggested that I go with him.Needless to say, I jumped at it. I discovered that I wasn't the only one invited.Members of our special groups are invited. They, too, were as intrigued by Poirot as I was.At the end of the day, however, I had an idea of ​​the tendencies in Poirot's thinking.

He first interviewed Mr. and Mrs. Barnard, and obtained from the latter an exact account of when Mr. Custer had come to her, and what he had actually said.He then went to the hotel where Castor had stayed and was given details of his departure.From this, I can judge that his questioning did not gain new facts, but he himself is quite satisfied. Then he went to the beach—to the spot where Betty Barnard's body had been found.Here he walked in circles for a few minutes, studying the pebbly beach intently.I don't see a reason for that, since the tides wash the place twice a day. This time, however, I had learned that Poirot's actions were usually dictated by an idea - no matter how senseless they seemed.

He then walked from the beach to the nearest parking spot.From there he walked again to the place where the Eastbourne-bound buses stopped before leaving Bexhill. Finally, he took all of us to the Yellow Cat Restaurant.There we had some stale tea served by the blunt Millie Higley. He complimented her ankles in a smooth Gallic style. "English legs—they're always thin! But you, miss, have a flawless leg. It's in good shape—it's got ankles." Millie Higley giggled for a while and told him to stop talking.She knew the way French men behaved. Poirot didn't bother to refute her misperception of his world, he just winked at her in a way that surprised me, even shocked me.

"Voila (French, meaning: Right.—Annotation)," said Poirot, "I have done what I want to do in Bexhill, and I am going to Eastbourne. There is another Small matter—that's all. There's no need for you all to stay with me, now let's all go back to the hotel and let's have a cocktail, this Carlton tea, it's disgusting." As we sipped our cocktails, Franklin Clark said in amazement: "I think we can guess what your purpose is after that? You're going out and getting rid of his alibi. But I don't see why you're so happy that you haven't acquired anything new of any kind."

"No, that's quite true." "So, what then?" "Be patient. Everything will arrange itself, as time permits." "So far, nothing has refuted my little point — and that's why." His face became serious. "My friend Hastings once told me that when he was young he used to play a game called 'Truth'. In this game, everyone was asked three questions in turn - two of which were It must be answered truthfully. The third question can be left unanswered. Of course, those questions are the most unwise. But at the beginning, everyone must swear that they will tell the truth, and there will be nothing but the truth. other things."

He pauses. "Oh?" Megan said. "Eh bien (French, meaning: Alright. - Annotation), - for me, I'd like to play the game, but it's just not necessary to answer three questions. One question is enough. Each of you There will always be a question.” "Of course," Clark said impatiently, "we'll answer." "Oh, but I want to make it a little more serious. Can you all swear to tell the truth?" He was so serious that the others, perplexed, began to look serious too.They all swore as he asked. "Bon (French, meaning: Good.—Annotation)," said Poirot cheerily, "let us begin—"

"I'm ready," said Tora Gray. "Ah, ladies first—it's not a polite thing to do at this point. Let's start with the others." He turned to Franklin Clark. "Mon cher M. Clarke (French, meaning: My dear Mr. Clarke.—Annotation), what kind of hat do you think the ladies at the racetrack are wearing this year?" Franklin Clark stared at him. "Is this a joke?" "of course not." "That's your problem?" "yes." Clark began to grin. "Well, Monsieur Poirot, I didn't actually go to the racetrack, but from what I could see when they were driving in their cars, the ladies at the racetrack wore hats that were a bit more serious than what they usually wear. Bigger joke."

"Is it the strange hat?" "Quite weird." Poirot turned to Donald Fraser with a smile. "When did you take your leave this year, sir?" This time it was Fraser's turn to stare. "My vacation? It's the first two weeks in August." His face trembled suddenly, and I think the question brought back memories of the girl he loved so much. However, Poirot did not seem to pay much attention to his answer.He turned to Thora Gray, and I recognized the subtle anomaly in his voice.The voice became more tense, and his questions became sharper and clearer.

"Miss, in the event of Lady Clarke's death, would you marry Sir Carmichael Clarke if he wooed you?" The girl jumped up. "How dare you ask me such a question, it's—what an insult." "Perhaps. But you swore to tell the truth. Eh bien (French, meaning: All right.—Annotation),—yes or not?" "Sir Carmichael was so friendly to me, he treated me like a daughter. And to him I was - just affectionate and grateful." "I'm sorry, but it's not a yes or no answer, miss." She hesitated. "Answer, of course, no!" He made no comment.

"Thank you, miss." He turned to Megan Barnard, who was extremely pale.She took a deep breath, as if bracing herself for a severe test. Poirot's voice came out like the crack of a whip. "Miss, what do you hope my investigations will turn out to be? Do you want me to discover the truth—or not?" She stuck her head back proudly, and I was pretty sure how she would respond.I know that Megan has a passion for the truth. Her answer was so clear—it left me stunned. "No." We all jumped up and Poirot leaned forward.Watch her face. "Miss Megan," he said, "you may not want the truth, but—ma foi (French, meaning: my truth.—Annotation), you can tell it."

He turned and walked toward the door, and then, with renewed courage, approached Marie DeLaure. "Tell me, mon enfant, do you have a boyfriend?" Mary, who had been looking worried all the time, seemed startled by the questioning, and blushed suddenly. "Oh, M. Poirot, I—I, er, I'm not sure." he laughed. "Alors cest bien, mon enfant" His eyes looked around, looking for me. "Come here, Hastings, we must start for Eastbourne." The car was waiting, and soon we were driving on the seaside road, which leads through Pevensey to Eastbourne. "May I ask you something, Poirot?" "Don't ask just yet. You should draw your own conclusions about what I'm still doing." I fell into silence. Poirot seemed quite satisfied with himself and hummed a little tune.As we passed Pevensey, he proposed that we stop and visit the castle. As we walked back to the car, we stopped for a moment to watch a circle of kids—Girl Scouts, I guess, judging by their attire—playing with screeching, out-of-key voices. The voice hums a ditty... "What are they talking about, Hastings? I can't make out the words." I listened carefully until I understood a few lines of the lyrics. "—to catch the fox, put it in a cage, Never let it go again. " "To catch the fox, to put him in a cage, and never to let him go again," repeated Poirot. His face suddenly became dark and stern. "It is very dreadful, Hastings," he said in silence for a minute. "Are you hunting foxes here?" "I'm not. I've never been able to afford hunting, and I don't think there's much opportunity for hunting in this area." "I mean the general situation in England. It's a strange sport, waiting for an opportunity in a covert place, and then he'll go 'hoo', won't he? And then there's a chase going on, across the country, Over fences and ditches, the fox ran fast--and sometimes he ran back--but the dogs--" "The hounds." "The hounds will track it, and eventually they will catch it, and the fox will die a swift and horrific death." "Does the fox like it this way? Not to mention les betises, my friend. Tout de meme, quick and brutal Better to die on earth than those children sing about." "Being forever... imprisoned... in a box... No, that's not a good way." He shook his head, then changed his voice, and said: "Tomorrow, I'm going to meet that guy named Custer." He said to the driver again: "Go back to London." "Aren't you going to Eastbourne?" I cried. "What's the need? I know—I can get there."