Chapter 27 Chapter 4 Oil Stains on Passports

Poirot and M. Bowker.The doctor sat at the same table. The people who came to eat in the dining car seemed very gentle and self-possessed.They rarely speak.Even Mrs. Hubbard, who was usually very garrulous, seemed so quiet, of course.While muttering in her mouth, she sat down: "I don't seem to have anything." She only ate some food brought up with the encouragement of Mrs. Sweden.Mrs. Sweden seems to have taken care of her and special responsibilities. Before the food was served, Poirot held the head waiter by the sleeve and whispered something to him.Konstantin guessed these whispers very well.He noticed that the meals of Count Andrei and his wife were always served last, and after the meal, the checkout was deliberately delayed.In this way, the Count and Countess were the last to leave the dining car.

When they stood up and walked towards the door, Poirot quickly stood up and followed them. "Excuse me, ma'am, but you have lost your handkerchief." He handed her a very small piece.A handkerchief with woven letters. She took the handkerchief, looked at it, and gave it back to him. "You are mistaken, sir, it is not mine." "Not yours? Are you sure?" "Certainly not, sir." "But, ma'am, your initials are on the handkerchief—H." The Count moved suddenly.Poirot ignored him, his eyes fixed on the countess's face. She looked at him without moving, and said:

"I don't understand, sir. My name and initial are E?A." "I don't think so. Your name is not Elena, but Helena Goldberg, Linda Arden's youngest daughter--Helena Goldberg, Mrs. Armstrong's sister .” The whole dining car suddenly became dead silent.The faces of the count and his wife were as pale as death with fright.Poirot said in a milder tone: "It's no use denying it. It's the truth, isn't it?" The count roared angrily: "Excuse me, sir, what right do you have—" His wife interrupted him, putting her little hand over his mouth.

"No Rudolph. Let me say it. It's no use continuing to deny what this gentleman said. Let's sit down and talk." Her voice had changed, and though it still had a southern accent, it suddenly became clearer and sharper.There is no doubt that it is an authentic American voice. The count was silent.He obeyed his wife's gesture, and they both sat down opposite Poirot. "You are quite right, sir," said the countess. "I am Helena Goldenborough, sister of Mrs. Armstrong." "You did not tell me this fact this morning, Countess." "No."

"In fact, everything your husband and you have said is nothing but lies." "Sir," cried the Count angrily. "Don't be angry, Rudolph. M. Poirot's facts are cruel, but they cannot be denied." "I am glad you can admit the truth so frankly, ma'am. Tell me, then, why you have done this, and why have you altered your Christian name in your passport?" "It's all my doing," broke in the count. Helena said quietly: "Of course, M. Poirot, you can guess my reason—our reason. The victim was the murderer of my little niece, who killed my sister and broke my brother-in-law's heart. That's my favorite." Three people. They are my home—my everything!"

Her voice was full of passion.She is really her mother's daughter.The emotional charm of the famous actor's performance has moved countless audiences to tears. She went on, but much calmer. "In the entire car, perhaps, I was the only one with the most legitimate motive for killing him." "Did you not kill him, ma'am?" "I swear to you, Monsieur Poirot, my husband knows me, and he can swear—though I most likely killed him, I never even touched the man." "I also swear, sir," said the count, "on my honor that Helena did not leave the box for a moment last night. As I say, she took a sleeping pill. She is perfectly innocent. "

Poirot looked at this and then at that. "On my honor," repeated the count. Poirot shook his head slightly. "So, it was you who changed your name on the passport?" "Monsieur Poirot," said the count passionately, "consider my position. Do you think I can involve my wife in a disgusting case? She is innocent, I know. But she's telling the truth—she'll be suspected right away because of the Armstrongs. She'll be arraigned and maybe arrested. Since bad luck put us in the car with Ratchett, I I feel that there is only one way. I admit, sir, that what I have said this morning is all false, except for one thing—my wife did not leave the private room last night."

He spoke so earnestly that it was hard to deny. "I didn't say I didn't believe you, Monsieur," said Poirot slowly. "Your family, I know, is old and proud. It is painful indeed if your wife is involved in an unpleasant criminal case. I sympathize with you on that point. However, your wife's handkerchief , it was indeed found in the room of the deceased, how do you explain this?" "That handkerchief is not mine, sir," said the countess. "Whether that has the initial H on it?" "Never mind. It does resemble my handkerchief, but it's not that kind of handkerchief. Of course, I know, and I don't expect you to believe me. But I assure you, that handkerchief is not mine."

"Maybe someone put it there to hurt you?" She smiled. "But, after all, you are trying to induce me to admit that it is mine? But in fact, M. Poirot, it is not mine." She was very serious when she spoke. "If the handkerchief wasn't yours, why did you redact the name on the passport?" The Count answered the question. "Because we heard that the initials on the handkerchief were H. We discussed the matter before being interrogated. I pointed out to Helena that if the initials of her Christian name were discovered, she would immediately You will be subject to more and more severe interrogation. And this matter, changing Helena to Elena, it is so easy to change the passport because of this."

"You have done as well as a good criminal, Monsieur Count," said Poirot grimly, "a creation of great genius, and with an unrepentant determination to mislead justice." "Oh, no, no," said the woman in French, leaning forward, "Monsieur Poirot, he is explaining to you what happened." She paused, and said in English: "I'm afraid— I was terribly afraid, as you know. I was terrified—at that time—to bring up the horrors of the past again. I was terrified to think that I might be suspected, and even thrown into prison, M. Poirot. Don’t you think so? Don't you understand?"

Her voice was moving—deep—feeling—pleading, and it was the voice of actress Linda Arden's daughter. Poirot looked at her gravely. "If I believe you, ma'am--I don't mean that I don't believe you--you can help me." "help you?" "Yes. The cause of the murder should be traced back to the past--the tragedy that destroyed your home and made your girlhood bitter. Tell me about it, madam. Then I can find out Explain the ins and outs of the whole case." "What's there to say? They're all dead," she repeated painfully. "They're all dead—all dead, Robert, Sonia—dear, dear Daisy. She's so beautiful— How happy--how lovely her curls are. Her disappearance is driving us all crazy." "Another victim, ma'am. An indirect victim, you may say." "Poor Susan? Yes, I almost forgot about her. The police questioned her, and they were sure she had something to do with the case. Maybe—but if she had, she was innocent. I believe, at the time, She was talking to someone about Daisy's holidays. Poor thing, terribly agitated—she thought Daisy's disappearance was all her fault." And she shuddered. "She just jumped out of the window, oh, it was horrible." She covered her face with her hands. "What country is she from, madam?" "French." "What's her last name?" "It's absurd, but I can't remember it—we called her Susan, a pretty, laughing girl. She was devoted to Daisy." "She's a nanny, isn't she?" "yes." "Who's the nurse?" "She's a trained hospital nurse. Her name is Stegelberg. She's devoted to Daisy—to my sister." "Now, ma'am, I want you to think carefully before answering this question. Have you seen anyone you know since you got in the car?" She stared blankly at him. "Me? No, not one." "Princess Dregomilov, do you know her?" "Oh, she? Of course. I thought you meant anyone in—then—by." "That's what it means, ma'am. You have to think about it now. Remember, it's been years. The man may have changed." Helena was lost in thought.Then she said: "No--I believe--no one I know." "You yourself—you were a girl then—didn't anyone take care of your studies, or take care of your life?" "Oh, yes, I have a stern guardian--like my governess, and also Sonia's secretary, who is English, Scottish to be exact--a tall red-haired woman." "What's her name?" "Miss Freeporti." "Old is still young." "She looked terribly old to me. Actually, I don't think, she was more than forty. Susan, of course, often looked after my clothes and waited on me." "Is there no one else in that house?" "Only servants." "Then you're sure—very sure, ma'am—that you didn't know any of the people in the car?" She answered seriously: "No, sir, not one."``