Chapter 15 Chapter fifteen

Beside Hercule Poirot was a cup of hot juice that George had prepared for him, and he sipped it thoughtfully.His way of contemplating was also very special to himself.He chose his thoughts as skillfully as a jigsaw puzzler chooses his pictures.Piece by piece, put together in sequence, it will present a clear and coordinated picture.At this moment, the most important thing is selection and classification.He took a sip of his juice, put down his glass, leaned his arm on the arm of the chair, and let the picture piece by piece piece together in his mind.After he recognizes everything clearly, he will have to choose.A patch of blue sky, a patch of green shore, maybe a strip of tiger stripes... His feet ached in the black patent leather shoes.Just start here.He followed a path blazed by his good friend Mrs. Oliver.a stepmother.He saw his hand pushing a gate.Did he see a woman turn round, bending over to trim a rose, turning to look at him?Does he have anything to choose from?No.There was only one fair head of hair, corn-field blond, curled in locks rather like Mrs. Oliver's.He smiled a little, thinking that Mrs. Mary Restarick's hair was much neater than Mrs. Oliver's.It was framed on her face like a golden portrait, but it was a little too big.He remembered old Ser Roderick had told him that she had to wear a wig because of a serious illness.So young, what a pity.Now that he thought about it, it was no wonder that her head seemed strangely heavy to him.It's too beautiful to sort out, too rigid.He was thinking about Mary Resderick's wig - if it was a wig - because he really didn't know how much he should trust Sir Roderick.He began to study the possibility of this wig, which might involve some importance.He thought again of their conversation.Have they talked about anything important?He didn't think so, and he also remembered the room they entered together.A nondescript house that someone else had lived in not so long ago.On the wall hung two pictures, one of a woman in pale gray.The thin lips were pressed together tightly.Gray-brown hair, that's the first Lady Restarick.It seemed that she was older than her husband.His portrait hangs directly opposite on the other wall.Both are very well drawn, and Lansberg is a very good painter.His thoughts were fixed on the portrait of her husband.When he saw it for the first time, he didn't see it so clearly later in Resderick's office...Andrew Resderick and Claudia Reese Holland, what kind of ambiguity will there be between the two of them Does it matter?

It shouldn't be.He is a man who has just returned from the long period of the country, has no close friends or relatives, and is angry about his daughter's temperament and behavior.It was only natural, therefore, that he should consult the very able secretary whom he had recently hired for advice on finding a place for his daughter to live in London.This is also a chance for her to give a favor, because she is also looking for a "third girl"... This name, which he got from Mrs. Oliver's mouth, seems to have been lingering in his heart.There seemed to be a second meaning that he had somehow been unable to think of.

George, his manservant, entered the house and gently closed the door behind him. "There's a lady coming, sir. The lady who was here the other day." His words were too coincidental with what Poirot was thinking at the moment.He sat up almost startled. "The lady who came at breakfast that day?" "Oh, no, sir. I mean the lady who came with Sir Roderick Horsfield." "Oh, yes." Poirot raised his eyebrows and said: "Ask her to come in. Where is she?" "I ask her to wait in Miss Limon's room, sir." "Oh, yes. Ask her to come in."

Sunia did not wait for George's introduction.She came in ahead of him rather quickly. "It's not easy for me to double, but I can't help but tell you I didn't take those papers. I didn't steal, you understand?" "Did someone say you stole?" Poirot asked: "Please sit down, miss." "I don't want to sit, I don't have that much time. I'm just here to tell you that this is totally nonsense, I'm very honest and I only do what I'm told to do." "I understand what you say, and I have. You are saying that you have not taken any papers, materials, letters or files from Sir Roderick Horsfield's house? That is so, is it not?"

"Yes, that's what I came here to tell you. He trusts me, and he knows I wouldn't do such a thing." "That's fine. I'll take what you say." "Do you think you'll find those documents?" "I have other inquiries at hand," said Poirot. "Sir Rodrik's papers must be sorted." "He's in a hurry, very anxious. There are things I can't say to him, but I'm going to tell you. He's forgetful and misplaces things. He puts things in—how do you say that?" —Uh, weird place. Well, I know, you doubt me. Everyone doubts me because I'm a foreigner. Because I'm from a foreign country, they think—just think I'm like Stealing secret documents like in those British spy novels. I'm not that kind of guy, I'm an intellectual."

"Oh," said Poirot, "thank you for telling me." Then, "Is there anything else you want to tell me?" "Why should I?" "It's hard to say." "You said you have other cases at hand. What kind of cases are they?" "Oh, I don't want to waste your time. Maybe, you are on vacation today." "Yes. One day a week I can do what I like. When I come to London, I can visit the British Museum." "Oh, yes. Needless to say, I will also go to the Victoria and Albert Museum." "Exactly." "I also go to the National Gallery of Art to see paintings. If the weather is fine, I can also go to Kingston Gardens, or even go to the National Botanic Gardens farther away."

She froze... She glanced at him bitterly. "Why do you mention the National Arboretum?" "Because there are a lot of nice plants and shrubs and big trees there. Ah! Don't miss the National Botanic Gardens. The entrance fee is very cheap, I think it's only a penny or two. You can go in and see a lot for so little money." Tropical trees, or sit on a bench and read a book." He smiled reassuringly at her, and noticed that her uneasiness had become more pronounced. "But I don't think I'll delay you, miss. You may be going to see a friend at the embassy."

"Why did you say that?" "No particular reason. It's just that, by your own account, you are a foreigner, and it is probable that you have friends connected with the embassy." "Someone has sent you my report. Someone must have said something bad about me! I tell you, he's a forgetful old fool, and that's all right! He doesn't know anything great. He doesn't have any secret papers." Or letters, never." "Oh, but you haven't given much thought to what you said yourself. Time passes, you know. He was once an important man who knew many great secrets."

"You're trying to scare me." "No, no. I'm not making such a fuss." "Mrs. Resderick. Mrs. Resderick must have told you that she doesn't like me." "She didn't tell me." "Anyway, I don't like her either. She's the kind of woman I don't trust the most. I think she has secrets." "real?" "Yes. She has a secret and doesn't want her husband to know it. I think she often goes to London or somewhere to meet other men, or at least a man." "Really," said Poirot, "that's quite a novelty. You think she's been seeing other men a lot?"

"Yes, yes, she used to come to London, and I don't think she told her husband very often, and if she did, she only said that she was shopping, or something like that. He was busy in the office all day, and he didn't would wonder why his wife came to London. She comes more to London than to the country, and yet she pretends to enjoy being in the garden." "Don't you know who this man she's dating is?" "How would I know? I don't follow her. Mr. Restarick is not a suspicious person. He believes everything his wife says. I'm afraid all he thinks about is business. I think he is also very worried." His daughter."

"Yes," said Poirot, "he is really troubled by his daughter. How much do you know of his daughter? Do you know her well?" "I don't know her very well. If you ask me what I think of her, I'll tell you! I think she's mentally ill." "You think she's mentally ill? Why?" "She has fantasies in her head." "She fantasizes?" "No one was there at all, and she said she saw it. Sometimes it was loud and noisy, and sometimes it seemed like a dream. When you talk to her, she doesn't seem to hear at all, and she doesn't answer.I think she seems to be hoping someone will die. " "Do you mean Mrs. Reslick?" "And her father. The way she looked at him, she seemed to hate him too." "Because they both want to prevent her from marrying the young man of her choice?" "Yes, they did not agree to the marriage. Of course, they were right in their opinion, but it made her very angry. Well, one day," said Sunia with some joy, "I think she will kill herself. I hope she doesn't do that stupid thing, but that's what a man does when he gets mad." She shrugged and said, "Well, I'm going." "Tell me one more thing, does Mrs. Restarick wear a wig?" "Wig? How would I know?" She thought for a moment. "Perhaps," he said firmly, "yes, it seems to be. Useful for traveling.And it's very popular now, and I sometimes wear it myself.A green one!Probably yes," Then I added "I'm leaving." and went out.