Chapter 4 Chapter Four

Hercule Poirot walked along the main street of Changlu Village.Taking Changlu Village as an example, this is the only street worthy of the name.It was a village that seemed to stretch out without breadth.Here is a church with a steeple, and in the courtyard stands an old and awe-inspiring yew tree.All kinds of shops in the village are located on this street. There were two antique shops, one with a fireplace screen that was mostly peeling cedar; the other was full of antique maps, chipped china, moth-eaten oak cabinets, shelves full of glasses, some Victorian silver The utensils, due to lack of space, were all randomly stuffed together.Two eateries, both disgusting enough to look at; two lovely basket shops, with all sorts of handmade household utensils on display; a general store with a post office attached; Children's shoe store and a large department store with everything you need.There is also a small shop that sells tobacco, candy, stationery, and newspapers.A woolen shop, must have been the best shop in the place.Two white-haired, stern-looking women guarded the shelves full of knitting materials, and there was a separate counter dedicated to patterns and patterns for embroidery and sewing.Several old-fashioned grocery stores, all of a sudden retrofitted with fashion, call themselves "supermarkets", with shelves filled with wire baskets filled with colorful paper-wrapped products, from cereal to toilet paper samples Everything.A small shop with only one window, with the name "Lila" garishly written on the window, and one fashion on display was a French blouse, advertised as "the latest trend of handsomeness" , a blue skirt and a purple striped sweater labeled "Suit".These clothes are displayed in this window as if someone threw them casually.

Poirot just glanced at all this indifferently.Had his impatient friend Mrs. Oliver been with him, she would have asked him why he had taken his time, for it was still a quarter of a mile from the family he was going to visit.Then Poirot would tell her that he was savoring the local colors here, and that these sights were very meaningful.Walking to the end of the village, the scenery suddenly changed again. On the side blocked by the road, there is a row of newly-built national houses by the town hall. There is a long lawn in front of it. Got a little angry.Behind the national residences, there are fields and hedges swaying in the wind. Occasionally, "elegant residences" recommended by several real estate agents are dotted around. style of.At the top of the road ahead of him, Poirot spotted a house with a very curious spherical structure on the top floor, apparently added some years ago.Undoubtedly, this must be the destination of his pilgrimage.When he came to the gate, he saw the name plate of "Cross Hedges" hanging on the gate.He studied the house carefully.This is an ordinary house that should have been built at the beginning of this century, and it cannot be said to be beautiful or ugly. Ordinary is the most appropriate word to describe it.The gardens were far more beautiful than the house itself, and had evidently been tended and loved in those days, though they were now somewhat decayed.However, the lawns are still well manicured, and there are many flower beds, as well as some painstakingly cultivated vegetable gardens, which somewhat embellish the scenery.The garden is indeed quite neat.Poirot speculated that they must have gardeners employed to manage them.

In addition, someone must have done their own work, because he noticed a woman bent over a flower garden near the corner of the house, and he guessed it was probably pruning dali flowers.The woman's head displayed a dazzling blond hair color. She was tall and thin, with broad shoulders.He pulled the latch of the gate and walked towards the main room.The woman turned her head, adjusted her clothes, and turned to look at him curiously. She stood there, waiting for him to speak, with a lock of twine hanging from her left hand.He noticed that there was a puzzled look on her face. "What's the matter?" she said.

Poirot, with all the etiquette of a foreigner, took off his hat and waved it before him, bowing and saluting.Her gaze rested on his beard with wonder. "Mrs. Restarick?" "yes, I--" "I hope I haven't disturbed you, ma'am." A slight smile appeared on the corner of her mouth. "No. Are you—" "I promised to call on you. A friend of mine, Mrs Arland Oliver--" "Oh, of course. I know you must be Mr. Barry." "Mr. Poirot," he corrected her, emphasizing the second syllable of his name. "Hercule Poirot, please advise me. I have taken the liberty of visiting this place as I pass by, and I hope to have the honor of greeting Sir Roderick Horsfield."

"Yes. Nomi Laurimar told us you might come." "Hope it doesn't bother you." "Oh, not at all. Allen Oliver was here last weekend, she was with the Lauremers. She's an interesting book, isn't she? But maybe you're interested in detective stories Wouldn't like it. You're a detective yourself, aren't you?—a real detective?" "I'm a true detective," said Hercule Poirot. He noticed that she forced a smile.He took a closer look at her, her appearance belonged to the kind of handsomeness deliberately made up, and her golden hair was combed very hard.He wondered if she couldn't get a hold of herself inwardly, maybe she wasn't skillful in pretending to be an English housewife busy in the garden.He was a little puzzled about her family background.

"You have a lovely garden," he said. "Do you like gardens?" "Not as much as the British love gardens. The British are really talented about gardens. Gardens are not as important to us as they are to you." "Are you talking about the French?" "I'm not French, I'm Belgian." "Oh, isn't it. I remember Mrs. Oliver mentioning that you used to work in the Belgian police?" "Yes. I'm an old Belgian police dog." He smiled politely and waved Said: "But your gardens, I really admire you British, five-body prostration! Latin people like grand gardens, the kind of gardens in the small Versailles castle; of course, they also created vegetable gardens. The vegetable garden is indispensable. , you also have vegetable gardens in England, but you are from France, and you don’t take care of them as much as you love your flowers. Huh? Am I right?”

"Yes, I think you are right," said Mary Restarick. "Please sit in your room. You are here to see my uncle." "I'm here, as you said, to visit Sir Roderick, but also to greet you, madam. And, if I'm lucky, I also pay tribute to the beauty." He bowed again. She smiled a little shyly. "You really don't want to compliment me like that." She led the way through an open French window, and he followed. "I met your uncle in 1944." "Poor uncle, he's really getting old. I'm afraid he's very hard of hearing." "I met him a long, long time ago. He must have forgotten me. It was a study of espionage and some scientific invention, which was all due to Sir Rodrik's inventiveness. I hope he will see I."

"Oh, I'm sure he'd love it," said Mrs. Restarick. "He's got a pretty boring life in a day like this, and I've got to go to London a lot—we'd like to find a man there." The right house." She sighed and added: "Old people, sometimes it's hard to serve." "I understand," said Poirot, "that I am often difficult to serve myself." she laughed. "Oh, why, Mr. Poirot, how can you say you are old?" "Sometimes people say that about me," said Poirot, with a sigh. "Probably young girls." He added rather sadly.

"It's really rude of them, our daughter would probably do that," she said. "Oh, you have a daughter?" "Yes. At least a stepdaughter." "I hope to have the honor of meeting her," said Poirot politely. "Well, I'm sorry, she's not at home. She's in London, working there." "Young girls have to work these days." "Everyone should work," said Mrs. Restarick vaguely. "Even if they are married, they are always persuaded to go back to work in a factory or a school." "Has anyone advised you to go back to any work, ma'am?"

"No. I was brought up in South Africa, and I've only been here with Mr.—everything here—is still very strange to me." She looked around, and Poirot noticed that she seemed to lack enthusiasm for the room.The decoration in this room is quite exquisite, but it is very mundane and has no personality.Two huge portraits hanging on the wall add a unique special atmosphere to the house.One was a woman with thin lips in a gray evening dress.On the opposite wall is a man in his thirties with an expression of excess energy. "Your daughter, I suppose, must have found the monotony of country life?"

"Indeed, it's better for her to be in London. She doesn't like it here." She stopped talking suddenly, and then forced out the last sentence: "Besides, she doesn't like me." "Impossible," said Hercule Poirot, with old-fashioned gallantry. "Impossible! Well, I think it's a common thing. I think girls don't always tolerate stepmothers." "Does your daughter love her biological mother?" "I think she must be. She's a tough girl, as I think most young girls are." Poirot sighed and said, "Nowadays it is even more difficult for parents to control their daughters. It is not as good as the good old days." "is not that right." "I shouldn't say that, ma'am, but I can't help expressing my regret that they're choosing—how should I put it—er, boyfriends, aren't they? It's not prudent." "That's what Norma worried her father most about. But I don't think it's useless to complain, people don't know what they're doing. I've got to take you to Uncle Roddy—he's in You have your own room upstairs." She took him out of the house.Poirot turned his head and looked back.What a dull room it would be, if it weren't for the two portraits, it would have no personality at all.Judging from the woman's clothes in the painting, it must have been painted many years ago. If that was the first Mrs. Restarike, Poirot thought: I would not like her either. He said: "These are very nice portraits, ma'am." "Yes, Lansberg drew it." This is a portrait painter who was very famous 20 years ago, paid a lot of money, and was overwhelmed by others.His delicate, naturalistic style, now dated, has not been spoken of since his death.His portrait models were sometimes derided as "costume props," but Poirot believed there was more to it than that.He surmises that, behind the slick exterior of the work, Lansberger effortlessly and indistinctly conceals the irony he intends to express. Mary Restarick went up the stairs as she spoke. "It was just taken out of the storage room and cleaned, and—" She suddenly fell silent, and she stopped stiffly, with one hand gripping the handrail of the stairs. Above her, a figure was turning into the corner of the stairs and descending.This figure gave people a very incongruous feeling, like a person dressed in flashy clothes, which did not match this house at all. This kind of person is very familiar to Poirot on different occasions. He often sees him on the streets of London or even at receptions.That is the representative of this generation of youth.He was wearing a black overcoat, a bright purple vest, and skin-tight trousers, and his big chestnut hair fell in curls around his neck.Although he looks very trendy, but another kind of beauty, it takes a few minutes to identify his gender. "David!" snapped Mary Restarick, "what the hell are you doing here?" The young man showed no sign of fear. "Did it startle you?" he asked. "I'm sorry." "What are you doing here—with our house? Are you—are you here with Norma?" "Norma? No, I expected to find her here." "Find her here—what do you mean? She's in London." "Oh—my dear, she's not there. She's not at number sixty-seven, Borrowden Flats, anyway." "What do you mean, she's not there?" "Well, since she didn't go back this weekend, I thought she might be here with you, and I'll see what's going on with her." "She left on Sunday night, as usual." She said again, full of anger. "Why didn't you ring the bell to let us know you were coming? What's that barge in the house?" "Really, dear, you seem to think I'm here to steal your silver spoon or something. What's so strange about entering someone's house in broad daylight? What's wrong?" "But—but, we are an old-fashioned family, and we don't like this." "Ouch, ouch, my God," David sighed. "Everybody's making such a fuss. Well, my dear, since I'm so unwelcome and you don't know where your step-daughter is, I think I might as well go. Shall I open my pockets to let You check before you go?" "Don't be so boring, David." "Then, bye." The young man waved his hand profusely, brushed past them, went downstairs, and walked out of the open gate. "Horrible monster," murmured Mary Restarike with utter disgust, which surprised Poirot a little. "I can't stand him, I can't stand it. What's the matter with England these days, full of people like that?" "Oh, ma'am, don't be too fretful, it's all a matter of time. People are always after fashion, and you don't see it very often in the country. You can meet such people everywhere in London." "Horrible," said Mary. "Dreadnought. Womanly and mischievous." "And yet, kind of like the pretty boy in the Van Dyck picture, don't you think, ma'am? You wouldn't find him effeminate or weird in a gold-rimmed mirror with a lace neckline." "Boldly barging in like that. Andrew would be pissed off if he knew. He was already very worried. My daughter is really worrying. Andrew doesn't know Norma very well. He went abroad when she was a child. He gave her to her mother to bring her up, and now he doesn't understand her at all. Me too. I can't help thinking she's one of those weird girls you can't handle. They seem to like that The most annoying kind of boy, she was absolutely obsessed with David Baker. There is nothing we can do.Andrew wouldn't let him in our gate at all, but you see, he just barged in like that.I think—I really think, I can't let Andrew know at all, I don't want to bother him needlessly.I think she is not only hanging out with this monster, there must be others, worse than him, the kind who don't bathe, don't shave, have a big beard, and are covered in oil and dirt. " Poirot comforted her and said: "Oh, madam, you must not be so troubled, the frivolity of youth will pass." "I hope so, and I believe so. Norma is a very difficult girl. Sometimes, I think there is something wrong with her brain. She is so weird. She looks like she is out of her mind sometimes. Also, she That extreme hatred of man—” "Abomination?" "She hates me, hates me with all her heart. I can't figure out why she would do it. I think she loves her mother too much, but it's a matter of course for her father to marry again, isn't it?" "Do you think she really hates you?" "Of course, I know she hates me, and I can give you plenty of evidence. It's a relief that she's gone to London. I don't want trouble—" She stopped abruptly, as if she had just Find yourself talking to a stranger all the time. Poirot had a knack for winning the trust of others, and it seemed that when people spoke to him they didn't think about whom they were talking to.She giggled dryly a few times. "Look at me," she said, "I don't know why I'm talking to you about this. I think there's a hard time in every family. Poor stepmother is hard. Oh, here we are." She knocked lightly on the door. "Come in, come in." A roar. "You have a visitor, uncle," said Mary Restarick, and she entered the room, followed by Poirot. A broad-shouldered, square-faced, flushed, irascible old man was pacing the floor.He staggered toward them.Behind the desk behind him sat a girl with dark, shiny hair, busy sorting letters and documents. "This is Hercule Poirot, Uncle Roddy," said Mary Restarick. Bai Luo took a step forward and exchanged polite greetings. "Oh, Sir Roderick, it is many years ago. It was many years ago that I first met you. It dates back to the time of the last war. The last time, I think, was the battle of Normandy. Time. I remember well that time Colonel Race was there, General Abercrombie was there, and Air Marshal Sir Edmund Collinsby was there too. It was a difficult decision! We are keeping secret measures Well, there's no need to be stealthy these days. I'm thinking about unmasking the spy who's been bluffing us for so long—you remember Captain Henderson." "Oh, Captain Henderson, of course. My God, that damned pig! He's showing himself!" "Perhaps you do not remember me, Hercule Poirot." "I remember, I remember, of course I remember you. Oh, that time was really dangerous. You are the representative of France, aren't you? There seemed to be one or two together, but there was one I can't remember—and I forgot the name.Um, sit down, sit down.It's best to talk about the past. " The girl at the desk stood up, and she politely brought a chair over to Poirot. "By the way, Sunia, very well," said Sir Roderick. "Let me introduce you to my lovely little secretary. It's not the same without her. Help me a lot, you I know, everything is left to her, without her, I really don't know what to do." Poirot bowed and saluted: "Nice to meet you, miss," said in a low voice.The girl also replied softly, she is a slender girl with short black hair, a little shy.Her dark blue eyes, usually looked down upon with modesty, smiled sweetly and shyly at her employer.He patted her on the shoulder. "I don't know what I'd do without her," he said. "I really don't know." "Oh, no," the girl protested modestly, "I can't speak as well as you. I can't type fast." "You hit fast enough, my dear. You're my memory too, my eyes, my ears, and many other things." She smiled at him again. "I'm reminded," said Poirot in a low voice, "that there was a marvelous anecdote that went around a long time ago. I don't know if someone has exaggerated it. For example, someone stole your car once, and then—" He Then tell the story. Sir Roderick was delighted. "Ha, ha, of course. Yes, but it's a bit exaggerated. Generally speaking, it is so.Yes, not bad.I can't believe you still remember that thing, it's been so long. However, I can now tell you a better story than that. He told another story in one breath. Poirot listened and said good morning. Then he looked at his watch and stood up. "I should not bother you any more," he said, "I know that you are busy with important business. I passed by here and thought I should come to say hello to you. Although time flies, you, I think, are still full of energy and life. The fun remains the same as before.” "Where, where, that being said, you can't be too flattering—seriously, just sit down and have a cup of tea. I'm sure Mary's got some tea for you." He looked around. "Oh, she's gone. She's a nice girl." "Indeed, and very handsome. I am sure she has given you much comfort over the years." "Oh! They were only recently married, and she was my nephew's second wife. To tell you the truth, I never liked my nephew very much, Andrew--not very stable, always very fickle. His brother Simon was my favorite Love it, although I don't know much about him either. As for Andrew, he really shouldn't have done with his ex-wife, dumped her, you know, put her in a lot of trouble. Andrew ran off with a shitty woman Everyone knows that woman, but he is obsessed with her. In less than a year or two, the two of them also broke up: stupid cow. The woman he married now seems to be pretty good. In my opinion, There's nothing wrong with her. Simon's a lot more honest, but boring. My sister married into their family. I really don't approve of marrying into a businessman's family. It's easy to be rich, but money isn't everything— We often intermarry with military families. I rarely associate with the Resdericks." "I hear they have a daughter. I have a friend who saw her last week." "Oh, Norma, stupid girl. Wearing those weird clothes all the time, and hanging out with a horrible young man. Can't help it, that's the way young people are these days. Long-haired young boy, hanging around all day, what Strange names like the Beatles really can't get them. They speak foreign languages. But, no one wants to listen to the advice of some old people. What can they do? Even Mary—I often think that she She's a very sensible person, but sometimes I see, she's just going to be crazy--always complaining about her body, making a fuss about going to the hospital for checkups or something. How about a glass of wine? Whiskey? No? Really no Would you like to sit down and have a cup of tea?" "Thanks, but, I live at a friend's house, and they are still waiting for me." "Well, it was a pleasure to talk to you today. It's nice to remember so long ago. Sunia, dear, maybe you can take this—sorry for your last name, I forgot again— Oh, yes, M. Poirot. Take him to Mary, will you?" "No, no need," Hercule Poirot hastily thanked him for his kindness. "I dare not disturb my lady any more. It's all right, I'm all right, I can find my way out. It's a pleasure to see you today." He walked out of the room. "I have no recollection of who this fellow is," said Roderick, after Poirot had gone. "You don't know who he is?" Sunia asked, looking at him in surprise. "I don't remember half of the people who came here to see me and chat with me these days. Of course, I have to deal with it. You know, after a long time, it's not difficult. It's the same as at a reception. All at once Someone comes to tell you: "Perhaps you don't know me anymore. The last time I saw you was in 1939." I can only say: "Of course, I remember." Actually, I don't know me. Almost Blind and deaf, that's in the way. Towards the end of the war we had a lot of these frogs, don't remember half of them. Yes, he was there, he knew me, and I knew a lot of the people he mentioned What he said about someone stealing my car is absolutely true. Of course, I added some oil and some vinegar. It was a rumor at the time. Anyway, he didn’t know that I didn’t remember him. Pretty shrewd Well, the guy, but I'll say it anyway, is a total frog, isn't it? You know what I mean, posturing, flailing, bowing, glib. Well, where have we been?" Sunia picked up a letter and handed it to him.She then offered him another pair of glasses, which he immediately declined. "Don't bother—I can see it myself." He narrowed his eyes, looked at the letter in his hand a little further, then expressed his surrender, and stuffed it into her hand again. "Well, maybe you'd better read it to me." She began to read in a crisp, soft voice.