Chapter 22 Chapter Twenty Two

Frances Jali was walking on Mandeville Road with her travel bag, talking with friends she met on the corner of the street, not far from the large courtyard of Bolloden Apartment. "Honestly, Frances, that apartment you live in is like a prison, like Absinthe Prison." "Nonsense, Ellen. We have a very comfortable building. I'm lucky enough to sub-let with someone as nice as Claudia - she's never been annoying. The maid who cleans up every day is wonderful too." .The apartment is also well managed.” "Just you two? I forgot. I thought you had a third girl living with you?"

"Oh, she, she seems to have left us." "Are you saying she doesn't pay the rent?" "Well, it's not about the rent. I think she's found a boyfriend." Allen lost interest at the moment.The matter of the boyfriend is of course another matter. "Where did you come from this time?" "Manchester. Closed exhibition, very successful." "Are you really going to Vienna next month?" "Yes, I'd love to. It's almost decided. It should be fun." "Wouldn't it be too bad if the painting I brought with me gets lost?"

"Oh, it's all insured." Frances said, "At least the valuables are insured." "How's your friend Peter doing at the exhibition?" "Not too good, I suppose, but the reviews in artist magazines are good. It's useful." Frances turned into the Borrowden apartment, and her friend walked to the old house where she lived at the front of the road.Frances said "good night" to the doorman, and took the elevator up to the sixth floor.She hummed a little tune and walked up the corridor. She inserted the key into the lock of the door.The light in the walkway inside the door hadn't been turned on yet.Claudia will be home from get off work in an hour and a half.But from the crack of the half-open living room door, light shot out.

Frances said loudly, "It's strange that the lights are on." She took off her coat and put down her travel bag.Pushing open the living room door and walking in... She froze for a moment, her mouth opened and then closed again.Her entire body froze—she stared at the figure lying on the floor, then turned to the hanging mirror on the wall, and saw her terrified face... She took a deep breath and was instantly paralyzed After passing by, she raised her head and screamed wildly.After stepping on the travel bag and kicking it away, she ran out of the room, ran to the corridor and knocked on the door of the apartment next door.

An elderly woman opened the door. "what happened--" "Somebody's dead in there - somebody's dead. I think I know... David Baker. He's lying on the floor... I think he's been stabbed... must've been stabbed to death. Blood —there's blood everywhere." She sobbed hysterically.Miss Jacobs thrust a wine glass into her hand. "Don't move, drink this." Frances took a sip obediently.Miss Jacobs hurried out of the room, down the corridor, and into the open door where the light leaked out.The drawing-room door opened wide, and Miss Jacobs strode in.

She is not a woman who screams easily.She stopped at the door, her mouth clenched tightly. what she saw.It was a nightmare scene.Lying on the floor was a young man with his arms outstretched, his long chestnut hair hanging down his shoulders.Wearing a bright red overcoat, the white shirt was soaked in blood... She was surprised to find that there was another person in the room.A girl leans her body against the wall, and the masked clown hanging above seems to be about to jump down from the colorful sky. The girl was wearing a flower-woven sweater, her gray-brown sticky hair was scattered on her cheeks, and she was holding a kitchen knife in her hand.

Miss Jacobs stared at her, and she stared back at Miss Jacobs. Afterwards, she said in a reflective tone as if answering someone: "Yes, I killed him... the blood on my hand is from a kitchen knife... I went to the bathroom to wash it off - but this kind of stuff can't be washed off, can it? Then, I came back to see Did this really happen...yes...poor David...however, I figured I couldn't help it." The shock drove Miss Jacobs to say something that did not seem to be true.To her own ears, it seemed absurd! "Really? Why would you do such a thing?" "I don't know . . . at least--I think I ought to know. He's really stuck. He called me--and he came . . . But I'm going to get rid of him, I'm going to leave him, I don't really love him."

She carefully placed the knife on the table and sat down on a chair. "It's not safe, isn't it," she said. "It's not safe to hate people... because you don't know what you're going to do... like Louise..." Then she said, "Aren't you calling the police?" Miss Jacobs dialed 999 obediently. At this time, besides the portrait of the clown hanging on the wall, there were six other people in the room, and a long time had passed.The police came and went. Andrew Resderick sat like a fool, saying the same thing from time to time: "I can't believe it..." After receiving the call, he was accompanied by Claudia Reese Holland , came from the office.Quietly, she has been extremely efficient.She called the lawyer and Clos Hedges respectively, and also inquired about two real estate companies, hoping to get in touch with Mary Resdrick.She gave Frances Jali a sedative and helped her to lie down.

Hercule Poirot sat side by side with Oliver on the couch, and they arrived at the same time as the police. Almost when everyone else was leaving, a gray-haired man with a gentle demeanor arrived last. He was Detective Superintendent Neil of the Metropolitan Police Service.He nodded to Poirot, and Poirot introduced him to Andrew Resderick.A tall, red-haired youth stood at the window, gazing out onto the patio below. What are you waiting for?Mrs. Oliver was puzzled.The body had been removed, and the photographers and other police officers had done their duty: and after they were taken into Claudia's bedroom, they were taken back into the living room, and she thought that everyone was waiting. The coming of the Metropolitan Police Constable.

"If you tell me to go away..." Mrs. Oliver said to him, somewhat bewildered. "You are Mrs Arland Oliver? No, if you don't mind, I should like you to stay. I know it's not very pleasant—" "It's unbelievable." Mrs. Oliver closed her eyes—the whole scene flooded into her eyes again.The peacock youth, as if lying on the stage, died so realistically.And the girl—someone else, it seemed—was no longer the cowering girl at Clos Hedges—nor the humble Ophelia, as Poirot called it—but A majestic and tragic figure—accepting his fate. Poirot had asked to make two telephone calls.Once it was to the Metropolitan Police Service, who gave him permission.After inquiring on the phone for a while, a police officer directed Poirot to use her extension in Claudia's bedroom. He closed the door and went to make a call.

The police officer still looked suspicious, and whispered to his subordinates: "They said it is possible. I don't know who this guy is? A short guy with a strange appearance." "Is it a gringo? Maybe it's from Miss Special Case?" "I don't think so. He wants Detective Superintendent Neil." His assistant raised his eyebrows and whistled. Having finished the call, Poirot opened the door and waved to Mrs. Oliver, who was standing bewildered in the kitchen, to come in. The two of them sat down side by side on Claudia Rishi Holland's bed. "I wish we could find something to do," said Mrs. Oliver, who was restless. "Be patient, my dear lady." "You must have something to do, right?" "I've done that. I've called the necessary people. There's not much we can do here until the police have done their initial investigation." "After you called the criminal police chief, who did you call? Her father? Can't he come and bail her out?" "There is no bail on suspicion of murder," said Poirot coldly. "The police have informed her father. They got the phone number from Miss Jiali." "Where is she now?" "As far as I know, it was in Miss Jacobs's room that she was frightened to death. She found the body. It seems that she was quite frightened. She ran out of the room screaming." "She's from the artsy school, isn't she? Claudia will be much calmer." "You're right. A very—steady girl." "So who were you calling?" "The first time, as you have heard, was to Sergeant Neil of the Metropolitan Police Service." "Would the group like him to intervene?" "He didn't come to meddle. He's done some research for me lately, which may help the case." "Oh—I see... who else did you call?" "Dr. John Sterling Freed." "Who is he? To prove that poor Norma is insane and unable to refrain from killing?" "Well, in terms of his qualifications, he will be qualified to give such necessary testimony in court in the future." "Does he know anything about her?" "I can tell quite clearly. He's been tending to her since the day you found her in the Dutch-room." "What? I've been dissatisfied with you all the time, and I'm desperately trying to get you to work harder—so you did something? And you never told me! It's too much, Poirot! Didn't say a word." How could you be so—so bad." "Don't be mad, ma'am. I beg you. I did it for the best of both worlds." "That's what people who do things like that always say. What else did you do that I don't know about?" "I managed to get her father to entrust me with the case, so that some arrangements could be made for her safety." "Is this Dr. Stillingwald you mean?" "Stilling Fried. Yes." "How did you do it? I never thought her father would choose someone like you to make such an arrangement. He must be the kind of person who doesn't trust foreigners very much. " "I used a tyrant to force my bow-like a trick, and bluffed him. I went to see him and pretended that I had received a letter from him, and he entrusted me to handle the case." "Did he believe it?" "Of course. I showed him the letter, typed on his private stationery, and signed - though he pointed out to me that it was not his handwriting." "You mean you actually wrote that letter yourself?" "Yes. As I judged, his curiosity was aroused, and he received me. Now that I have come to that point, I can only act on my own ability." "And you told him about your arrangement with Dr. Stalin Fried?" "No. No one told. You should know it's dangerous." "Dangerous for Norma?" "Dangerous to Norma, and maybe Norma dangerous to others. There are two possibilities in the first place, and many things can be interpreted in two ways. The attempt to poison Mary Resderick was not Too believable - dragged on for too long, doesn't look like a serious murder attempt. Second, there's no clear evidence of someone shooting a revolver here in Boloden - plus switchblades and blood. Every time something like this happened, she either didn't know it or didn't remember it. She found the poison in the drawer - but couldn't remember if she put it herself. She said she lost her memory a few times , as soon as I don't remember what I did, I forget that many days have passed. Now, we have to ask—is what she said true, or is it fabricated for some reason? She is a huge and Is she the victim of a grotesque conspiracy, or is she herself the mastermind of the conspiracy? Is she pretending to be a poor woman suffering from mental instability, or does she have murderous intentions in her heart, and she is too afraid to face it in the end? A self-defense method played out of responsibility?" "She looks different today," said Mrs. Oliver slowly. "Did you notice? Very different. Not so - not so crazy and silly. " Poirot nodded. "No longer Ophelia—nor the Iphigenia whose father nearly sacrificed her." A commotion outside the bedroom interrupted their concentration. "Do you see—" Mrs. Oliver hesitated.Poirot had gone to the window and was looking down into the patio when an ambulance arrived. "They've come to bring bodies?" asked Mrs. Oliver in a trembling voice.Then there was a burst of unbearable pity, and he said, "Poor peacock." "There's nothing cute about such a person." Poirot said coldly. "But it's very fancy . . . and so young," said Mrs. Oliver. "This is a woman's point of view." Poirot carefully opened the bedroom door a little, and peeked out. "I'm sorry," he said, "I have to excuse myself." "Where are you going?" asked Mrs. Oliver doubtfully. "As far as I know, it is not polite to ask such a question in your country." Poirot replied reproachfully. "Oh, I'm so sorry." "The dressing room is not over there," she replied behind his back with a low voice when she looked through the crack of the door. She went back to the window to look at the situation in the patio again. "Mr. Resderick has just arrived in a taxi." A few minutes later, when Poirot quietly returned to the bedroom, Mrs. Oliver said to Poirot while watching from the window: "Claudia is also with him." Get up. You just wanted to sneak into Norma's room, were you really anxious?" "Norma's house is being watched by the police." "You must be in a hurry. What's in that black clip in your hand?" Poirot also asked her back: "What's in your canvas bag with the Persian horse?" "You mean my shopping bag? There are only two green pears." "Then, I'll give you this clip. Be gentle, don't press it down. Please." "what?" "What I've been looking for—I finally found it—oh, there's already activity going on outside." He was referring to the sound of activity outside the house. Poirot's words, to Mrs. Oliver's ears, seemed more descriptive than the English language itself which he intended to speak.Resderick yelled harshly and angrily.Claudia is busy on the phone.Occasionally, a police stenographer can be glimpsed shuttling between the living room and the apartment next door, recording the narratives of Frances Jally and the enigmatic Miss Jacobos.The people who were ordered to deal with the incident came and went, and the last to leave were two people holding cameras. Then, a tall, limp young man broke into Claudia's bedroom unexpectedly. Without looking at Mrs. Oliver, he said to Poirot: "What did she do? Kill someone? Who? Her boyfriend?" "yes." "She admitted it?" "Seems." "That's not enough. Did she admit it verbatim." "I didn't hear her say that. I still haven't had a chance to ask her anything myself." A police officer poked his head in. "Dr. Stanley Freed?" he asked. "The doctor wants to speak to you." Dr. Stelling Freed followed him out of the room with a nod. "So he is Dr. Stilling Freed," said Mrs. Oliver.She pondered for a moment and then said, "It's not bad, isn't it?"