Chapter 23 Chapter Twenty-Three

Sergeant Neil took out a piece of paper, wrote down a few lines, and looked around at the other five people in the room.His voice is clear and solemn. "Miss Jacobs?" he asked, glancing at a policeman standing by the door, and adding: "I know Sheriff Connolly has taken notes of her conversation. But I still have some questions to ask her myself." .” A few minutes later, Miss Jacobs was ushered into the house.Neil stood up politely to greet her. "I'm Sheriff Neal," he said, shaking her hand. "I'm sorry to bother you again. But this is a casual conversation. To understand more clearly. I'm afraid it may be quite painful for you—"

"Painful? No," said Miss Jacobs, sitting down in the chair offered to her. "Of course, a shock is inevitable. But there is absolutely no emotional factor involved." She added: "It seems that everything is sorted out." He presumably meant that she meant that the body had been removed. Her penetrating and stern glance swept over the group, noting Poirot's undisguised surprise, (Who is this old woman?) Mrs. Oliver's curiosity, and Stilling Fried's red hair. She gave a nod to her neighbor Claudia, and finally gave Andrew Resderick some sympathy. "You must be her father," she said to him. "A stranger's condolences are meaningless and better avoided. It's a miserable world we live in today - at least I think so. According to me It seems that the girls study too hard."

After that, she calmly turned her face to Neil. "How about it?" "I want you, Miss Jacobs, to tell me exactly what you have seen and heard in your own words." "I think it's a long way from what I said earlier," Jacobs said unexpectedly. "It's the usual thing, and you know it. One wants to be as accurate as possible in describing himself." I will use more words and phrases. But I don't think this means that what I say will be more accurate. I think, unconsciously, I will think that I saw, or must have seen or heard things, Add some more lip service. Of course, I'll do my best anyway.

"I heard a scream first. I was taken aback and I thought maybe someone had been hurt. So I was already walking towards the door when there was a knock on the door, which was still screaming. I opened the The door, it's my neighbor's girl—one of the three girls at No. 67. Sorry, I don't know her name, but only her face." "Frances Jali," Claudia said. "She was a little incoherent, and was muttering that someone had died—she knew—something called David—I didn't get his last name. She was shaking and crying. I led her into the room , gave her some brandy, and went to see it by myself."

It was felt that this was what Miss Jacobs would have done in her life. "You know what I found? Shall I describe it?" "Perhaps it could be more concise." "A young man, a fashionable young man - gaudy clothes, long hair. He was lying on the floor, clearly dead. The blood on the shirt was stiff." Stalling Freed was stabbed and turned to stare at Miss Jacobs. "Then I found out there was another girl in the room, and she was holding a kitchen knife. She looked very composed, very collected - really, really weird." Stanley Fried said: "Did she say anything?"

"She said she had gone to the bathroom to wash the blood off her hands - and then said: 'But this kind of thing doesn't wash off, does it?'" "Actually, these damn bloodstains can't be washed off?" "I can't say she necessarily reminds me of Shakespeare's Mrs. Markpass. But she—what shall I say? — very quiet.She put the kitchen knife on the table and sat down on the chair. " "What else did she say?" Sheriff Neil asked, his eyes falling on some scribbled notes in front of him. "It's like hating or something. It's not safe to hate people."

"She said something like 'poor David,' didn't she? That's what you told Officer Connolly. And she said she was going to get rid of him." "Oh, I forgot. She said he made her come here—and something about Louise." "What did she say about Louise?" It was Poirot who asked, leaning forward suddenly.Miss Jacobs looked at him rather puzzled. "Nothing, just the name. 'Like Louise,' was all she said, and stopped. She said it after she said something unsafe to hate..." "and after?" "Later, she told me very calmly that I'd better call back. I did. The two of us -- just sat there and waited for them to come...I didn't think it was okay to leave her there alone. We Nothing was said, she seemed lost in thought, and I—frankly, couldn't think of anything else to say."

"You can see that it must be possible. Her mentality is unstable?" Andrew Restarick said, "You can tell she doesn't know what she's done and why, can't she? Poor child." He said pleadingly—hopefully. "If the ability to display extraordinary calm and composure after a murder is a sign of mental instability, then I agree with you." Miss Jacobs' tone made it clear that she disagreed. Sterling Fried said: "Miss Jacobs, did she admit at any point that she killed him?" "Oh, yes, I should have mentioned earlier - that was the first thing she said. It was like she was answering my question. She said: 'Yes, I killed him .' And then it comes to her washing her hands."

Resderick buried his head in his hands mournfully, and Claudia took his arm. Poirot said: "Miss Jacobs, you say that the girl put the knife in her hand on the table. Very close to you? You saw it clearly? Do you think that the knife has been washed too?" Miss Jacobs looked at Sergeant Neil hesitantly. She obviously felt that Poirot had brought some abnormal and informal colors to this supposedly official question. "Maybe you don't mind answering his question?" Neal said. "No—I don't think the knife was washed or wiped at all. It's got a sticky stain on it."

"Oh," Poirot sat back. "I thought you should have a good understanding of this murderous knife," Jacobs said to Neil reproachfully, "Haven't your police inspected it? If not, it would be too negligent." "Of course, the police checked," Neil said, "but we—er—always hope to have your assistance." She gave him a sly look. "Actually, it seems to me that what you mean is to test how correct your witnesses' observations are. How much of it is fabricated by them, and how much is really seen or what they think they saw." He said with a little smile:

"I don't think we need to doubt your testimony, Miss Jacobs, you are the best witness." "I don't think it's very enjoyable. But I don't think this kind of thing can't be avoided when it happens." "I think so. Thank you, Miss Jacobs." He looked around and asked again: "Anyone else want to ask a question?" Poirot signaled that he had, and Jacobos stopped at the door in displeasure. "What's the problem?" she said. "It's that Louise you mentioned. Do you know who that girl is?" "how could I know?" "Is it possible that she might mean Louise? Mrs. Zapentry. You know Mrs. Zapenty, don't you?" "I do not recognize." "You should know that she jumped out of the window in this building recently, right?" "Of course I do. I didn't know her name was Louise, and I didn't know her personally." "Or, you don't particularly want to know her?" "I didn't say that, let alone this woman is dead. But I admit that what you said is true. She is the most unwelcome tenant in our apartment. I and other residents often complain to the manager here." "What exactly are you complaining about?" "Frankly, this woman is a heavy drinker. She happens to live upstairs from me, and she keeps having some really loud parties where she's constantly breaking glasses, knocking over furniture, singing and yelling, and a lot of—uh , People who come and go.” "Perhaps she is a very lonely person," Poirot reminded her. "She wouldn't have given me that impression," said Jacobs bitterly. "The autopsy concluded that she was depressed because of years of illness. It was all her own fantasy. I see, what is she with?" nor." After utterly showing no sympathy for the dead Mrs. Chabenti, Jacobos departs. Poirot turned his attention to Andrew Resderick.He asked softly: "I don't know if I'm right, Mr. Resderick, but you knew Mrs. Chapentry for some time, didn't you?" For a long time, Resderick didn't answer.Afterwards, he let out a long sigh, and shifted his dull eyes to Poirot. "Yes. I did know her very well for a while, many years ago... but her last name was not Chabenti. When I knew her her name was Lois Beryl. " "You're - er - in love with her!" "Yes, I'm in love with her... utterly in love with her! I ditched my wife for her. We went off to South Africa and within a year we had a falling out and she came back to England. I haven't heard from her again, and I don't know what's going on with her at all." "Where's your daughter? Does she know Lois Beryl?" "Of course I don't remember, she was only a five-year-old child!" "But she does know her." Poirot did not relax. "Yes," Resderick said slowly, "she knows Louise. It's because Louise has been at our house, and she has played with my children." "So it's possible that your daughter remembers her, even after all these years?" "I don't know, I really don't know. I don't know what she looks like now, or how much Louise has changed. I told you I never saw her again." Poirot said softly: "But you have had letters from her, haven't you, Mr. Restarick? I mean letters from her after your return to England?" There was another silence, followed by that long, uncomfortable sigh: "Yes, I've had letters from her..." said Resderick.After that, he suddenly asked strangely: "How do you know, M. Poirot?" Poirot took out a neatly folded piece of paper from his pocket, unfolded it, and handed it to Resderick. Resderick frowned slightly puzzled and looked.Dear Andy: I read in the newspaper that you are back again.We must meet.Talking about how we've been with each other over the past few years--the letter ends here--and then continues. Andy - do you know who I am!Louise.How dare you say you forgot about me! Dear Andy, as you can tell from the address above the letter, I live in the same apartment building as your secretary.It's really where we don't meet each other in life!We must meet.Can I have a drink next Monday or Tuesday? But Andy, I've got to see you... I've only got you on my mind--you haven't forgotten me, have you? "How did you get this letter?" Resderick asked Poirot, tapping the letter gently. "A friend of mine got it from a van," said Poirot, casting a glance at Mrs. Oliver. Resderick looked at Mrs. Oliver with distaste. "I didn't mean it," said Mrs. Oliver, as if explaining his displeasure very justly. The drawer fell down, and things fell all over the floor. This piece of paper was blown into the patio by the wind. I picked it up and wanted to give it to them. They were annoyed and said no, so I stuffed it into my coat pocket without thinking about it. Yes. I didn't read until this afternoon, when I was taking my coat to the laundry and cleaning out the pockets. So it's really no wonder to me. " She finally finished speaking out of breath. "Did she send you the letter at last?" asked Poirot. "Yes, she sent it—a decent letter! I didn't answer it. I thought it best not to." "You don't want to see her again?" "She's the last person I want to see again! She's an extremely difficult woman--always has been. I've heard a lot of gossip about her, too--like how she drinks a lot. And--lots of others things." "Have you kept the letter she wrote you?" "No, I tore it off!" At this point Dr. Stilling Fried interjected; "Has your daughter ever mentioned her to you?" Resderick seemed unwilling to answer. Dr. Sterling Freed urged him: "You know, if she mentioned it, it might be of great importance to the matter." "You doctors! Yes, she did mention her once." "What the hell did she say?" "She said it out of the blue: 'I saw Louise the other day, father.' I was taken aback. I said: 'Where did you meet her?' She said: 'It was at our apartment I saw her in the dining room.' I was a little embarrassed and said, 'I never thought you'd remember her.' She said, 'I never did. Mother wouldn't let me forget, even if I'm going to forget her.'" "Yes," said Dr. Sterling Friedman, "yes, it may indeed be of considerable importance." "What about you, madam?" Poirot asked suddenly, turning to Claudia, "did Norma ever talk to you about Louise Zaventi?" "Talked—after her suicide. She seemed to say: She's a bad woman. She sounded very childish, I think you know what I mean." "Were you in this building the night Mrs. Chabenty committed suicide--or rather early morning?" "No! I wasn't here that night! I wasn't at home. I don't remember hearing about it until I got back the next day." She turned to Riesdrick and said, "You remember? It was the twenty-third. I went to Liverpool." "Yes, indeed. You represented me at the Buddha Trust meeting." "But Norma spent the night here," said Poirot. "Yes," Claudia said slightly uneasy. "Claudia?" Resderick said, putting his hand on her arm, "what on earth do you know about Norma? There must be something, you are hiding something. " "No! What can I know about her?" "You think she's out of her head, don't you?" said Dr. Stelling Fried in a chatty tone. "That brunette thinks so, and so do you." As he spoke, he suddenly turned to Resderick: "We all pretended to be nonchalant, avoided the question with our mouths, but thought the same thing in our hearts! Of course, except for Sergeant Neil. He didn't think of anything, he Just looking for facts: Madness or murder.What about you, ma'am? " "Me?" Mrs. Oliver was startled. "I have no idea." "You reserve your judgment. I don't blame you. It's really difficult. Generally speaking, most people agree with what they think in their hearts, but they use different words when they say it. Confused, Confused, flying all day long, cranky, mentally unbalanced, delusional. Does anyone think this girl is normal?" "Miss Birdsby," said Poirot. "How come there is another Miss Bidsby?" "A headmistress." "If I had a daughter, I would send her to her school... Of course, I am different from you. I know everything about this girl!" Norma's father glared at him. "Who is this guy?" he asked Neil. "How can he say he knows everything about my daughter?" "Of course I know," said Dr. Stanley Freed, "because she has been under my medical care and care for the past ten days." "Dr. Stanley Freed is a highly qualified and prestigious psychoanalyst." "And how did she fall into your hands—without asking my permission first?" "Ask Alice Beard," said Dr. Stilling Fried, nodding to Poirot. "you you……" Resderick was too angry to speak. When Poirot spoke, his tone was calm. "I had instructions from you. You said to take care of and protect your daughter after you found her. Fortunately, I persuaded Dr. Sterling Freed to agree to take care of her. She has been in danger, Resid Mr. Rick, very serious danger." "Will she be more dangerous than she is now! Arrested for homicide!" "From a legal point of view, she has not been charged with such a crime," Neal added after whispering this: "I understand, Dr. Sterling Fried, that you would like to offer your professional opinion as to Miss Resderick's state of mind, and to what extent does she know the nature and significance of her actions?" "Let's leave it to the courts to discuss the psychological evaluation of the prisoner under the McNaughton Act," said Dr. Stilling Fried. "What you need to know now, is very simple, is this girl of sound mind? Well, I'll tell you, that girl's sane--as sane as anyone sitting in our room here!"