Chapter 7 Chapter VII

When Mrs. Oliver awoke, she felt helpless.She knew that another day of doing nothing lay ahead of her.With a feeling of success, I wrapped up the completed manuscript for re-schooling, and I have nothing to do.At present, she can only enjoy it easily and lazily as usual, waiting for her creative desire to stir up again. She wanders aimlessly in her house, touching this, touching that, taking She got up and put it back again; she pulled out the drawer and saw that there were a lot of letters waiting to be dealt with, but she was in no mood to do those annoying things when she thought that she had just finished a great book.She wants to find something interesting to do.What is she going to—what on earth is she going to do?

She remembered her last conversation with Hercule Poirot, the warning he had given her.ridiculous!Why, in fact, should she not participate in the problem she shared with Poirot?Perhaps Poirot preferred to sit in the big chair, put his fingers together to exercise his calculating mind, and recuperate in the comfort of his room.Arran Oliver didn't have that taste.She would say with alacrity that she would at least take some action herself.She wanted to unearth some information on this mysterious girl.Where is Norma Restarick?what is she doing nowWhat clues can she, Arlan Oliver find out? Mrs Oliver walked up and down the room, feeling more and more bored, what could be done?It's really not easy to decide.

Go out and ask some questions?Should I go to Changlu?But hadn't Poirot already been there—and if he could find out, he had already found out.Besides, what excuse would she have for breaking into Roderick Horsfield's house again? She considered going to Borrowden's apartment again, maybe there was something more to be found there?It looked like she had to make up another excuse.She really didn't know what excuses she could make up, but that was the only place where she could get some more information.what time is itAt ten o'clock in the morning, there should be many possibilities... On the way, she had already come up with an excuse, not an ingenious one.At first, Mrs. Oliver hoped to find a more ingenious excuse; but on second thought, perhaps it should be more cautious, and it would be better to have an everyday and very reasonable excuse.She came to the front of the majestic but slightly gloomy Boloden apartment, wandering and thinking in the courtyard.

A porter was talking to a moving wagonman, and a milkman, pushing a cart of milk bottles, approached Mrs. Oliver near the delivery elevator. He was pushing the cart, whistling, and the bottles rattling and rattling, while Mrs. Oliver was still gazing dreamily at the moving van. "The seventy-sixth is moving out," explained the milkman to Mrs. Oliver, evidently thinking she had come to see the house.He said as he moved a carton of milk from the trolley into the elevator. "Speaking of which, she's already moved out," he added, coming out of the stairs, a brisk milkman.

He pointed with his thumb up. "The one who jumped out of the window—the seventh floor—was only a week ago. At five o'clock in the morning. Funny, how to pick such an hour." Mrs. Oliver did not think it was funny. "why?" "Why did she jump off the building? Nobody knows. Some say it's a psychological imbalance. "Is she—young?" "Forget it! An old clapper. At least fifty years old." Two men were trying desperately to move a large table in the van.Two walnut drawers fell to the floor, and a sheet of paper floated towards Mrs. Oliver, and she seized it.

"Don't break things, Charlie." The cheerful milkman scolded, and pushed another cart of milk into the elevator. The two porters began an altercation.Mrs. Oliver handed them the paper, but they waved it as useless. Having made up her mind, Mrs. Oliver went straight into the building and came to No. 67 on the sixth floor.There was a jingle in the door, and then the door opened, and a middle-aged woman was holding a broom in her hand, and she must be cleaning the room. "Oh," said Mrs. Oliver, in her favorite monosyllable, "good morning, and—I wonder—is anyone here?"

"No, ma'am. They're all out. They're all at work." "Yes, of course . "As far as I know, ma'am, I haven't picked up anything like that. Of course, I wouldn't know it was yours. Would you like to come in and take a look?" She opened the door politely, and took the kitchen floor she had just cleaned. let go of his broom, and invited Mrs. Oliver into the drawing-room. "By the way," said Mrs. Oliver, resolving to make amends with the sweeping woman: "here, this is the book I leave for Miss Restarick, Miss Norma. Has she returned from the country?" ?”

"I don't think she's been living here these days. Her bed has never been slept in, and she's probably still living at home in the country. I know she went there last weekend. "Yes, I think so," said Mrs. Oliver; "I brought her this book, and I wrote it myself." Mrs. Oliver's book did not seem to interest the sweeping lady. "That's where I sat," said Mrs. Oliver to herself, taking a large chair. "At least I remember sitting here. Then I sat by the window, or maybe on the sofa." She dug furiously behind the cushion.The woman also searched under the sofa cushions.

"You don't know it's maddening to lose something like that," gushed Mrs. Oliver. "I've got all my important appointments on it. I know I'm having lunch with a very important person today." , but I forgot who it was, and I can’t even remember the location. Of course, it might be tomorrow, and in that case, it’s not the same person. Oh, what can I do!” "It must be very embarrassing, ma'am, I know." The cleaning woman said sympathetically. "It's a nice apartment here," said Oliver, looking around. "Too high." "But the scenery is nice, isn't it?"

"Yes, but if you face east, the wind is really strong in winter. It blows in through the iron bars. Some have double windows. Oh, I don't want to live in this kind of apartment facing east in winter. It would be best for me to live downstairs, especially if you have children. You know, there are baby carriages and things. Oh, it's true, I'd rather live downstairs. Come to think of it, if there was a fire .” "Yes, of course, that's dreadful," said Mrs. Oliver, "but I think there must be a fire escape here." " "But sometimes you may not be able to run to the fire door. I am terrified of fire. I have been afraid of it since I was a child. These apartments are so expensive, you can't believe how high the rent is. That's why Miss He Lan found two other ladies Come share the rent with her."

"Oh, yes, I think I've seen both. Miss Jali is an artist, isn't she?" "She works for a gallery, but she doesn't seem to be very diligent. She paints herself—what kind of cows, trees, things you don't recognize and don't know what they mean. A very sloppy lady with a Messy—you won't believe it. Miss Holland is different, everything is neat and clean. She used to work as a secretary at the Coal Mine Bureau, and now she works as a private secretary in the city. She said she liked it Current job. She works as a secretary for a very rich gentleman from South Africa or something. He is Miss Norma's father. He asked Miss Holland to let her daughter live with them. The young lady is getting married and moving out, and she mentioned that she wants to find a young lady to sub-let. Of course she can't refuse, can't she? Especially since he is her boss." The woman snorted. "I think she would—if she knew." "Know what?" This question is too abrupt. "I know what I shouldn't have said. It's none of my business—" Mrs. Oliver still looked at her questioningly, and the sweeping woman resigned. "It's not that she's a bad girl. She's just kind of crazy, and they're not all kind of crazy. But I think she should see a doctor for a checkup.Sometimes she seemed not quite sure what she was doing or where she was.Sometimes it's scary - like when my husband's nephew had a seizure (he had a terrible seizure - you won't believe it!) I haven't seen her have one, though.Maybe she takes drugs - a lot. " "I heard she had a young boyfriend, and the family didn't approve of it." "Yes, that's what I heard. He came here two or three times to see her, but I've never met him. He's one of those hippies with a shaved head. Miss Holland is very upset, but this At the beginning of the year, what can you do, girls are all in their own way." "Young girls today are quite disturbing," said Mrs. Oliver, with an air of seriousness and good sense. "Lack of breeding, that's my opinion." "I don't think so. No, it's not like that. I think, really, that a girl like Norma Restarick is better off staying at home, and it wouldn't be very nice to come to London and get a job as an upholsterer." .” "She doesn't like being at home." "real?" "She's got a stepmother. Girls don't like stepmothers. From what I've heard her stepmother has gone to great lengths to cheer her up and keep greasy-faced boys out of their house. She knows that girls who pick the wrong ones will Brings on a lot of trouble. Sometimes—" said the sweeping woman seriously, "I'm so thankful I don't have a daughter." "Do you have a son?" "We have two boys. One is doing well at school; the other is doing well at the printing shop. Both are good boys, indeed. Boys can get into trouble, you know. But, I think, girls are more of a concern. I always feel they should be disciplined more." "Yes," said Mrs. Oliver significantly. She could see that the woman wanted to continue her cleaning work. "It's too bad I can't find my notebook." She said, "Okay, thanks for bothering you so much." "I hope you can find it, I think you will," said the woman very courteously.Mrs. Oliver came out of the flat, wondering what to do next. She couldn't think of anything else to do today, but she had a plan for tomorrow. After returning home, Mrs. Oliver solemnly took out a notepad, and wrote in the headline "The Facts I Know" Underneath, write down various things.Generally speaking, she does not have many facts to write down, but according to her interviews, she can remember as much as she can.The fact that Claudia Rishi Holland was employed by Norma's father was perhaps the most salient one.She had not known this before, and she suspected that Hercule Poirot probably did not know either.She wanted to call him to tell him, but then decided to keep it in her heart, because she had other plans tomorrow.In fact, Mrs. Oliver felt at the moment less a detective than a hound.She lowered her nose and searched for traces. Tomorrow morning—well, I will see some tomorrow morning. Mrs. Oliver got up early in the morning as planned, drank two cups of tea, ate a boiled egg, and set out to search.She came again near the Borrowden flats.She was afraid that someone might recognize her there, so she didn't enter the courtyard this time. She walked cautiously at the two entrances, looking at the various people who poured into the morning rush to work. Mostly young girls, all of them looked exactly the same.It was a very special way to look at human beings in this way, to walk purposefully out of such a large flat, like an ant's nest, Mrs Oliver thought to herself.She believes that people have never had a proper understanding of ant nests.When kicked with the toe of a shoe, the ant nest seems to be useless.Those little things, with a little grass in their mouths.A group of people was in a hurry, working hard, anxious and thirsty, rushing here and there without knowing where they were going.However, who knows that they don't have their own organization just like the humans here.For example, the man who just walked past her was in a hurry, talking to himself. "I don't know who offended him," thought Mrs. Oliver.She walked back and forth for a while, then suddenly drew back. Claudia Ruixi Helan walked out from the entrance with the brisk footsteps of a professional woman.As usual, she was still presentable and neat.Mrs. Oliver turned away so as not to be recognized by her.She let Claudia walk some distance ahead of her, and immediately followed her.Claudia Rishi Holland walked to the end of the street and turned onto an avenue. She came to the bus stop and got in line.Mrs. Oliver followed, but for a moment she felt a little uneasy.What if Claudia turned around and saw her and recognized her?Mrs. Oliver thought, and only blew her nose a few times in a low voice.Fortunately, Claudia Reese Holland seemed to be in deep thought. She didn't even glance at the people who lined up with her. Mrs. Oliver was third behind her.When the bus finally arrived, everyone rushed forward.Claudia got into the car and climbed up to the upper deck. Mrs. Oliver got into the car and squeezed a seat by the door.Mrs. Oliver thrust sixpence into his hand when the conductor came.Anyway, she didn't know what route the bus was taking, or how far down the road the sweeping woman said St. Paul was from "the new building."She looked carefully outside the car, but fortunately, she soon saw the sparse building.She thought to herself, it's about time, and she kept her eyes on the passengers coming down from the upper deck.Well, here comes Claudia, in a suit, neat and stylish, and she gets off the bus.Mrs. Oliver followed at a carefully calculated distance. "That's very interesting," said Mrs. Oliver to herself. "I'm really stalking people, just like in my novels. And better yet, my grades must be good, because she hasn't even known it yet." Woolen cloth." Claudia? Ruixi? Holland is indeed a pensive look. "This is a very shrewd looking girl," Mrs. Oliver looked it over, and felt that she had been quite right. "If I wanted to guess a murderer, a very good one, I'd pick someone like her." Unfortunately, no one has been murdered yet, which is to say that unless Norma is completely right in suspecting that she has killed someone. In this part of London, due to the large number of new buildings built in recent years, I really don't know whether it is a blessing or a curse.Huge skyscrapers, indeed abominable to Mrs. Oliver, shot straight into the sky like matchboxes. Claudia turns into a building. "Now I shall find out something," thought Mrs. Oliver, and followed her in.The four elevators were busy up and down.Oliver murmured to himself that it was going to be difficult.There was a long wait for the lift, however, and Mrs. Oliver managed to hide between a mass of tall men and the figure she was following when she squeezed at the last second into the lift in which Claudia was traveling.Claudia's destination is the fourth floor.She went up a corridor, and Mrs. Oliver, squeezed behind two tall gentlemen, caught sight of the room she had entered, which was by the third door at the end of the corridor. Mrs. Oliver followed the way to the door, and saw hanging on the door. "Joshua? Resderick Co., Ltd." brand. At this point Mrs. Oliver did not know what to do.She has found Norma's father's company and where Claudia works, but she is a little discouraged now. According to her prediction, this is not a big discovery. Frankly, does this work?Probably not helpful. She waited for a while, and walked from one end of the corridor to the other, wanting to see if anyone suspicious would enter the door of Resderick Company.There were indeed two or three girls who went in, but there was nothing particularly suspicious.Mrs. Oliver took the elevator downstairs, and walked out of the building with a heart full of indifference.She doesn't know what to do next.She wandered the adjoining street, undecided whether to go to St. Paul's Avenue. "Perhaps I could go to the Whispers Gallery and have a whisper," thought Mrs. Oliver. "I wonder if the Whispers Gallery would be a murder scene?" "No," she dismissed the idea: "I'm afraid it's too vulgar. No, it's not appropriate." She walked towards the Mermaid Theater full of thoughts.She thought that there would be many more places there. She walked back in the direction of the new building.Afterwards, she felt that today's breakfast was not enough, so she turned into a dining room.There are many guests in the dining room, most of them are having late breakfast or lunch.Mrs. Oliver looked round for a suitable seat, but was almost speechless with amazement.At a table against the wall sat the girl, Norma, and across from her shoulders was a young man with long chestnut curly hair, wearing a fuchsia vest and a smart blouse. "David," cried Mrs. Oliver, with a breath, "it must be David." He and the girl, Norma, were talking excitedly. Oliver thought of a trick in his mind, and after making up his mind, he nodded his head confidently, and went straight through the dining room to a door marked "Ma'am".Mrs. Oliver was not sure whether Norma would recognize her.People who don't seem to have a deep impression often don't necessarily make people forget in the end.At this moment, Norma didn't seem to pay attention to anything: But David, who can say for sure? "I think I can always figure it out myself," thought Mrs. Oliver to herself.She took a look in front of a dirty mirror that hung in the dressing room, taking a special look at what she believed to be the focal point of a woman's appearance—her hair.No one is better than her, because she has changed her hairstyle countless times, and each time her friends hardly recognize her.She took stock of her head and started to work.She took off the barrette first, took off several large curly wigs, wrapped them in a handkerchief and stuffed them into the hand strap, parted the hair in the middle, brushed it back from the face suddenly, and then curled one at the back of the head. bun. She took out another pair of glasses and put them on her nose.In this way, it looks really serious! "Almost well-educated!" thought Mrs. Oliver, with immense satisfaction.After changing the shape of her mouth with lipstick, she walked back to the dining room. She walked cautiously, because this pair of glasses was for reading, and her vision was a little blurry at the moment.She walked across the dining room and sat down at a table behind Norma and David, facing David.Although Norma sat close to her, her back was turned away from her, and Norma could not see her unless she turned her head.The waitress came slowly over.Mrs. Oliver ordered a cup of coffee and a roll, and pretended to be unobtrusive. Norma and David paid no attention to her.They were discussing excitedly.In a minute or two Mrs Oliver followed their conversation. "...but these things are all your imagination," David was saying, "all your imagination. It's all, all nonsense, my dear." "I don't know. I can't tell." Norma's voice strangely lacked an echo. With Norma's back turned to her, Mrs. Oliver did not hear her as well as David, but the girl's voice sounded uncomfortable, and there was something wrong, she thought, very wrong.She remembered what Poirot had first told her: "She thinks she might have killed someone." What's the matter with the girl?Got hallucinations?Had she really been mentally damaged, or had it been so in some way, that the girl was in such a shock? "If you listen to me, it's all Mary's fuss! Anyway, this woman is crazy. She thinks she's sick or something." "She is sick." "Well, let's say she's sick. Any woman with a brain will get a doctor and give her some antibiotics or something, and she'll stay in bed." "She thinks I did it, and so does my father." "I'm telling you, Norma, it's all in your head." "You're just telling me that, David, you're trying to comfort me. What if I really gave her that thing?" "What do you mean, if? You must know if you did it. You can't be so stupid, Norma?" "I have no idea." "Here you go again. You keep saying that. Over and over: 'I don't know', 'I don't know'!" "You don't understand, you don't understand what hatred is at all. I hated her the first time I saw her." "I know. You told me." "That's the reason. I told you, but I don't remember telling you. Do you see? I used to--tell people a lot of things. I told people what I was going to do, what I did, Or things to do. But I don't remember telling them those things at all, it's like I'm thinking about them, and sometimes it just pops out and I tell people. I told you, Do you have?" "It's - oops - listen to me, don't say that again." "But I told you? Did I not?" "Well, yes! But people like to say 'I hate her, I'm going to kill her. I'm going to poison her!' and stuff like that. But it's just childish, you know, it doesn't seem to Growing up. It’s a natural thing. Kids say it all the time. 'I hate this, I hate that. I'm going to chop his head off!' Kids say it at school, especially about teachers they hate." "Do you think that's all there is to it? But—it seems like I haven't grown up yet." "Well, you haven't grown up in some ways. You just have to pick yourself up and realize how stupid it is. Say you hate her, so what? You've left the house, you don't have to She lives with her." "Why shouldn't I live in my own home - with my own father?" Norma said. "It's not fair, it's so unfair. First he ran away and left my mother, and now he just came back to be with me." together, but he married Mary again. Of course I hated her, and of course she hated me. I used to think of killing her, and I used to think of all kinds of ways. When I thought about it, I felt very comfortable. But then--she But really sick..." David said uncomfortably: "You don't think of yourself as a witch or anything, do you? You don't make a wax man sticking a needle or something, do you?" "Oh, no! That's ridiculous. I'm doing the real thing, very real." "Tell me, Norma, what do you mean by the real thing?" "There's the bottle, in my drawer. I opened the drawer and found it." "What bottle?" "Dragon Brand Insecticide. Specially selected herbicide. The label on the bottle reads like this. It is packed in a dark-colored bottle, the kind that can be sprayed. It also says: Be careful, it is poisonous." "Did you buy it? Or did you pick it up?" "I don't know where I got it, but it's in my drawer, and it's half used." "So you—you—you remember—" "Yes," said Norma, "yes..." Her voice was more muffled, almost dreamlike. "Yes... I think that's when it all came to my mind. You think so too, don't you, David?" "I really don't know what to think about you, Norma. I really don't. I think you probably made it up and said it to yourself." "But she went to the hospital to be checked. They said they couldn't figure it out, they couldn't find out what was wrong with her, so she went home-but the disease happened again, and I started to be afraid. My father also started to have that weird way. Eyeing me, the doctor came to our house and shut up with my father in his study. I ran out of the room and crawled to the window to hear what they had to say. The two of them were planning to send me somewhere Locked up and sent me there for a 'series of treatments' or something. Look, they think I'm crazy, I'm terrified of dying... because I don't know what I did or didn't do." "Is that when you ran away?" "No—that was later—" "tell me." "I don't want to talk about that anymore." "Sooner or later you've got to let them know where you are—" "I don't! I hate them. I hate my father as much as I hate Mary. I wish they were dead, both. And then - and then I'll be happy again. " "Don't be so excited! Listen to me, Norma—" He paused a little embarrassedly: "I don't like the whole thing of getting married...I mean I will never do that in my life—anyway Not for many years. I don't want to tie myself up—but I think what we can do is, you know, get married, go to a notary to register the marriage, you have to tell them you are over twenty-one years old, put the Curl your hair, wear nice clothes, make yourself look old. Once we're married, there's nothing your father can do to send you to that goddamn 'place' you're talking about, He has no strength left." "I hate him." "You seem to be hated by no one." "Only hate my father and Mary." "Well, anyway, it's natural for a man to remarry." "But don't forget what he was to my mother." "But wasn't that all a long time ago?" "Yes. I was very young, but I remember. He ran away and abandoned us. He only sent me presents at Christmas—never came to see me. When he finally came back, if I I met him on the street, and I didn't recognize him at all. I didn't have him in my heart at all. I think he must have locked up my mother too. She was sent away when she was sick, and I didn't Don't know where it was sent. I don't know what's wrong with her, I sometimes think... I doubt it, David. I think, you know, maybe I'm out of my mind, and one day I might do something really horrible things, like the knife." "What knife?" "Nothing. Just a knife." "Oh! Can you tell me what the hell you're talking about?" "I think it's got blood on it--under--my stockings." "Do you remember hiding the knife there?" "I seem to remember, but I don't remember if I used it before that. I can't remember where I was... An hour passed that night. I didn't know where I was for a whole hour, I must have been somewhere did something." "Hush!" He came over after seeing the waitress, and quickly scolded her. "You'll be fine. I'll take care of you. Let's order something," he said loudly to the waitress, picking up the menu. "Two toast and baked beans."