Chapter 5 The Fourth Erymanthian Boar
(Annotation: Erymanthus wild boar: A wild boar in Greek mythology, which was originally a tribute to Mount Artemis. It ravaged the area around Erymanthus. Hercule roared loudly and pulled it from He was blasted out of the jungle, and followed him up the snow-covered slopes, and caught the exhausted boar alive with a slipknot. This was Hercule's fourth great deed.)
1
It was in Switzerland that Hercule accomplished his third feat.He decided that now that he was there, he would take this opportunity to visit a few places he hadn't been to so far.
He spent a few days comfortably in Chamonix, another day or two in Montreux, and then went to Adema, which several friends had spoken highly of to him.
Adma, however, made him unhappy.It was at the end of a valley, surrounded by snow-capped mountains towering above the sky.He found it too stifling.
"There is no way of staying here long," thought Hercule Poirot, as he caught a glimpse of the cable car.
"That's it. I'll go up the mountain to have a look."
He found that the cable car went up first to Le Havin, then to Caluset, and finally to Snow Rock Ridge, which was ten thousand feet above sea level.
Poirot had no intention of going to such a high place, thinking that Leavine would suffice.
But he hadn't accounted for that element of chance that often plays a role in life.After the cable car started, the conductor came to Poirot to check the ticket.He checked it, punched a hole in the ticket with a pair of scary ticket clips, and handed it back to him with a bow.At the same moment Poirot felt a small wad of paper thrust into his hand along with the ticket.
Hercule Poirot raised his eyebrows, and then slowly and quietly smoothed the ball of paper.It was a note hastily scribbled with a pencil.
Impossible to mistake that mustache!I salute you, dear colleague.if you wish
Yes, you can do me a big favor.You must have read the Shari case in the newspapers, right?according to
Thought the murderer Marasher—who was going to meet some of his accomplices at Snow Rock Ridge—how could
Will look for such a place!Of course the whole thing could be nothing - no
However, our sources are reliable - there's always going to be a leak, right?So please stay
Pay attention, my friend.Please contact Inspector Drouet who is on the scene.he is capable
A dry man—but he was no match for the wise Hercule Poirot.must be caught
Malasher, my friend, this is very important--to be captured alive.he is not human
—but a wild boar—one of the most dangerous killers in the world today.I do not
ventured to speak to you in Adma for fear that I might have been under surveillance;
It will be more comfortable and convenient to work if people feel that they are just tourists.I wish Lie Huo Cheng
achievement!Your old friend - Le Mantel.
Hercule stroked his mustache thoughtfully.Yes, indeed no one would have mistaken Hercule Poirot for his moustache.But what is going on?He had indeed read in the newspapers the detailed account of the Chali case--the assassination of a prominent Parisian publisher.The identity of the murderer has been clarified, and Malasher is a member of a horse-racing gambling ring.He's a suspect in multiple homicides - but this time his guilt has been fully proven.He escaped, and is said to have fled France, and police forces across Europe are working together to capture him.
Now, it is said that Maratha will appear in Xueyan Ridge...
Hercule Poirot shook his head slowly and inexplicably, for Snow Rock Ridge was high above the snowfall line.There was a hotel there, but his only connection with the people below was a cable that ran over the narrow ledge in the valley.The hotel starts to open in June every year, and except for July and August, there are hardly any tourists.The access conditions there are very poor - if a person is hunted there, it is tantamount to a person being caught.It seems a bit bizarre that a group of thieves should choose such a place to gather, which is unbelievable.
Inspector Lemantai, however, said his information was very reliable.That said, he's probably right, too.Hercule Poirot had always respected the Swiss police chief as a competent and reliable man.
There must be some unknown factor that led Marasher to choose this rendezvous far from civilization.
Hercule Poirot sighed. Capturing a ruthless murderer was at odds with his idea of a pleasant holiday.He thinks sitting in an armchair and reasoning with his brain is what he should be doing, not hunting a wild boar in the wild mountains!
A wild boar—this is Le Mantel's exact words.What a strange coincidence...
He murmured to himself: "The fourth great deed of Hercule. The Erymanthian boar?"
He quietly and quietly observed the passengers on the same road carefully.
Opposite him sat an American traveler.From the style of his clothes, coat and handbag to his proactive friendly attitude and innocent expression looking at the scenery outside the window, even the tourist guide in his hand reveals that he is from a small county in the United States, visiting for the first time in his life. European travel.Poirot reckoned that in a minute or two the man would speak.There was no mistaking his eager eagerness.
On the other side of the carriage was a tall, respectable-looking man with gray hair and a large aquiline nose, reading a book in German.He had the long, nimble fingers of a musician or a surgeon.
At the far end were three men of the same type, all bow-legged, with an indescribably rough air.They are playing cards.After a while they might add a stranger to their game.At first, the stranger might win, but then the odds turn.
There was nothing very unusual about those three people, the only unusual thing was why they came to this place.
The kind of guy you might meet on any train to the racetrack—or on an ordinary steamer, but on an almost empty cable car—something was a little off!
There was another passenger in the carriage—a woman.She was tall, with thick dark hair, and a beautiful face--a face that could probably express all kinds of emotions--but now it was cold and expressionless.She looked at no one but the valley below.
At last the American spoke, as Poirot had predicted.He said his name was Schwartz and that this was his first visit to Europe.He said the scenery in Europe was simply amazing.He was very impressed with Chiron Castle.He didn't think Paris was anything special as a great city - exaggerated it too much - he visited the L'Eddess, the Louvre and the Notre Dame Church - and found that no one in the restaurants or cafes could play it properly Crazy jazz.He thought the Élysée was fine, and he particularly liked the fountains, which were admirable especially when they were lit up brightly.
No one got off the cable car when it reached the two stations of Lehawen and Corouchet.This shows that the passengers in the car are all going to Xueyanling.
Mr. Schwartz explained why he was there.He said that he has always wanted to visit the high snow-capped mountains.Ten thousand feet wasn't bad—he'd heard you couldn't cook an egg that high.
Mr. Schwartz tried, with innocent friendliness, to engage the tall gray-haired gentleman on the other side of the carriage into the conversation, but the latter gave him only a cold look over his pince-nez, and continued to read his book.
Mr. Schwartz again offered to switch seats to the dark-haired lady—she had a better view, he explained.
It is not clear whether she understands English.Anyway, she just shook her head, huddling it tighter in the fur collar of her overcoat.
Mr. Schwartz whispered to Poirot:
"When you see a woman traveling alone, it always feels inappropriate to have no one to take care of her luggage or something. A woman travels and needs people to take care of her."
Hercule Poirot, recalling certain American women he had met on the Continent, agreed with him.
Mr. Schwartz sighed.He found the world to be a very unfriendly one, and his brown eyes expressed expressively: Surely it wouldn't hurt to be nice to all of us!
2
To be received by a shopkeeper in a formal dress and patent leather shoes in this remote or otherworldly place seemed somehow absurd.
The owner of the store is a tall, handsome man.Be dignified and always apologetic.
It's early for the holiday season..the hot water unit is faulty..everything is barely in working order..of course, he will try his best to provide the service..staffing is not always available..he is very kind to so many people The sudden arrival of the tourists was a little unprepared.
These words were uttered in polite, professional language, but behind this surface of gentleness Poirot caught a little bit of the shopkeeper's most intense uneasiness.Although he pretended to be relaxed, he was very uncomfortable, as if he was worried about something.
Lunch was served in a long room overlooking the valley.The sole waiter, Gustav, was skilled and dexterous.He darted around, made suggestions for customers to order, and also took out the price list of alcohol available in the store and introduced them to customers.Those three vulgar fellows were sitting at a table, talking and laughing in French, their voices getting louder and louder.
That good old Joseph! —How is little Denise, old man? —Remember that bad horse that blew us all off at Autor?
They're cheerful and full of personality - but they don't match the atmosphere here!
The woman with the pretty face sat alone at a table in the corner.She doesn't look at anyone.
Later, as Poirot was sitting idle in the drawing-room, the shopkeeper came up to him and whispered to him:
"Sir, don't judge the state of this hotel by the current depression. It's not the peak season. No one comes here before the beginning of July. Maybe the lady, sir, has noticed? She is at this time of year every year." Came here because her husband died 3 years ago when he was climbing here. Very sad. They have always been a very good couple. She always chooses to come here before the high season - so it is quieter. It is a An act of mourning. The elderly gentleman was the famous Dr. Karl Lutz from Vienna. He said he had come here to rest in peace."
"It is very quiet here indeed," said Hercule Poirot, "but where are the gentlemen over there?" He pointed to the three rude men. "Do you think they, too, have come to seek quiet?"
The innkeeper shrugged his shoulders and looked anxiously in his eyes.He said vaguely:
"Oh, tourists, they always hope to find some new experience... This height-is to provide a new feeling."
There was not a very comfortable feeling here, thought Poirot.He realized he had a tachycardia.A nursery rhyme suddenly lingered in his mind stupidly: "It lives above the world, like a tea tray in the sky."
Schwartz came to the lounge, his eyes lit up as soon as he saw Poirot, and he walked up to him immediately.
"I was talking to the doctor just now. He speaks so-so English. He's a Jew—the Nazis kicked him out of Austria. Hey, I reckon those guys are nuts! I reckon Dr. Lutz is a big shot — neurologists — psychoanalysts — that sort of thing.”
He turned his eyes to the tall woman, who was looking out the window at the cruel and unforgiving valley scenery.He lowered his voice and said: "I learned her name from the waiter. She is Mrs. Grandier. Her husband fell to his death while climbing a mountain a few years ago. She came here to pay homage for this reason. I There is a feeling that we should think of a way-to let her mourn, not to be too sad. What do you think?"
Hercule Poirot said: "If I were you, I would never take care of such things!"
Mr. Schwartz, however, was tireless in trying to be friendly.
Poirot saw his prelude and saw him being rebuffed coldly.The two of them, silhouetted against the light, stood together for a moment.The woman was a little taller than Schwartz, her head thrown back, her expression cold and stern.
He didn't hear what he said, but Schwartz came back looking distraught.
"Nothing has been done," he said thoughtfully. "I've always felt that we all got together and there was no reason not to be on good terms with each other. Do you agree, sir? You know, I don't know your Your honorable name."
"My name is Poirot," said Poirot, adding, "I am in the silk trade in Lyon."
"I will give you my business card, M. Poirot. If you have the opportunity to go to Fountain Town in the future, you will definitely be welcomed."
Poirot took the business card, patted his coat pocket, and murmured: "It's a pity, I don't have a business card with me..."
That night, before going to bed, Poirot read Lemantel's letter again carefully, folded it carefully, and put it back in his wallet.As he went to bed, he thought:
"Strange thing—I wonder if it's..."
3
Gustav the waiter brought in breakfast - coffee and bagels, and apologized for the lukewarm coffee.
"Sir must understand that the coffee can't be boiled hot at this altitude. It's already at boiling point."
Poirot murmured: "One must persevere in the face of the vagaries of nature."
Gustave said softly, "Sir is a philosopher."
He went to the door, but did not go out, but glanced at the door quickly, closed the door again, went back to Poirot's bed, and said: "Mr. Hercule Poirot, I am Drew from the police station." Inspector Aye."
"Oh," said Poirot, "I'm already aware of that."
Drouet said in a low voice: "Monsieur Poirot, something serious has happened. There has been an accident with the cable."
"Accident?" Poirot sat up. "Accident of what kind?"
"No one was hurt, it happened at night. It could have been a natural disaster - an avalanche that had brought down a lot of gravel. But it could have been man-made, I don't know yet. But it will take several It will take a few days to restore and use, and now we are completely cut off from the outside world and trapped here! It is still early in the peak season, and the snow is still thick, and it is impossible to get in touch with the valley below."
Hercule Poirot sat up in bed and said softly: "This is very interesting."
The inspector nodded. "Yes," he said, "that shows that our commissioner's intelligence is correct. Malasher has an appointment here, and try to keep it undisturbed."
Hercule Poirot said impatiently: "But this is too strange!"
"I agree," said Inspector Drouet, throwing up his hands. "It's unnatural—but it happened. That fellow Malasher is a queer man!" He nodded, and said, "Personally, I think he's crazy." .”
Poirot said: "A madman and murderer!"
Drouet said dryly, "I agree. It's such a boring thing."
Poirot said slowly: "But if he has made an appointment here, on this icy cliff above the world, then it can be said that Marasher himself is already here, because any contact has been broken."
Drouet said quietly, "I understand."
Both were silent for a minute or two, and then Poirot asked: "Doctor Lutz? Could he be Marascher?"
Drouet shook his head. "Not really. There's a Dr. Lutz--I've seen pictures of him in the papers--a very famous man. He looks exactly like the man in the picture."
Poirot murmured: "If Marasher is an expert in disguise, he can successfully play the doctor."
"Yes. But would Marasher do that? I never heard of him being good at disguises. He has no femme fatale cunning. He's just a crazy boar, murderous, terrible, and blind."
Poirot said: "But still..."
Drouet immediately agreed.
"Oh, yes, he was a fugitive, so he had to disguise himself. So he might—he must—disguise himself, more or less."
"Have you described his material."
The other shrugged.
"Only general information. The official Bertillon The determination photo material was originally scheduled to be sent to me today. All I know is that he is a guy in his thirties, a little taller than average, with a dark complexion and no obvious features."
Poirot shrugged.
"That description can be applied to anyone. How about that American Schwartz?"
"That's what I was going to ask you. You've talked to him, and I think you've lived for a long time with both Americans and Britons. At first glance, he appears to be a normal American traveler with a good passport, Strange perhaps why he chose this place to visit—but American travel has always been rather unpredictable. What do you think of it yourself?"
Hercule Poirot shook his head uncertainly, and said:
"Anyway, on the surface, he looks like a harmless and a little too friendly guy, maybe a bit annoying, but it seems difficult to see him as a dangerous person." He continued, "But there are three other people here. Where are the passengers?"
The inspector nodded, and the expression on his face suddenly became anxious.
"Yes, they're exactly the kind of people we're looking for. M. Poirot, I'll swear to you, those three fellows must be Malasher's associates. I can tell they're rough men at the racetrack! Three One of them might be Marasher himself."
Hercule Poirot mused, recalling the three faces.
One of them had a broad face, drooping eyebrows, and a fat chin—a rough, cruel face.The other was thin and small, with a long, pointed face and two hard, unforgiving eyes.The third was a pale fellow with a sort of dandy air.
Yes, one of those three might have been Marascher, but if that were the case, an immediate question would arise: why?Why did Marasher and his two companions travel together into such a predicament on a high mountain?A meeting could have been arranged in a less intimidating and safer place—in a café—in a railway station—in a crowded movie theater—in a park— —a place with multiple exits—and not in this snow-capped desolate mountain far away from the world.
He outlined this idea to Inspector Drouet, who agreed with him unequivocally.
"Yeah, it's really bizarre and makes no sense at all."
"If it's a date, why would they travel here together? No, it doesn't make any sense."
Drouet said anxiously:
"If that's the case, we need to analyze another hypothesis. These three people are all Marasher's accomplices, and they are here to meet Malasher himself. So who is Marasher?"
Poirot asked: "How are the staff in the hotel?"
Drouet shrugged. "Basically no staff. There's an old woman who cooks and her wife Jack--I think they've been working here for fifty years. And the waiter, whose job I'm doing now, It's these people."
Poirot said: "Of course the shopkeeper knows who you are?"
"Yes, his cooperation is required."
"Have you noticed," said Hercule Poirot, "that he looks disturbed?"
This sentence seemed to touch Drouet a bit.He said thoughtfully, "Yes, that's what happened."
"Maybe it's just a fear of getting involved with the police."
"But don't you think there might be some other reason? Do you think he might know anything?"
"I'm just thinking about it."
"I don't think so," said Drouet gloomily.
He paused, then went on:
"Do you think you can get him to talk?"
Poirot shook his head suspiciously. "I think it best not to let him know our suspicions. Just pay him more attention."
Drouet nodded and walked towards the door.
"Have you no advice, Monsieur Poirot? I—I know your name, it is known to everyone in our country."
Poirot said perplexedly: "There are no suggestions for the time being. The main reason is that I can't find the reason—why should we make a date at this place. In fact, why should we have this date?"
"Money," Drouet said dryly.
"So that poor Shari was robbed as well as being killed?"
"Yes, and a large sum of money that he was carrying disappeared at the same time."
"You think the purpose of dating is to split money?"
"That's the most obvious reason."
Poirot shook his head dissatisfied.
"Well, but why here?" he went on slowly. "This is the worst place for convicts to meet. But it's a good place for trysts with women..."
Drouet took an eager step forward and asked excitedly:
"Don't you think—?"
"I think," said Poirot, "that Madame Grandier is a very beautiful woman. I think it is worthwhile for anyone to climb ten thousand feet to see her—that is, if she proposes such a suggestion."
"You know," said Drouet, "that's very interesting. It never occurred to me that she had anything to do with the case. But she's been coming to this place for several years, after all."
Poirot said softly: "Yes—so her appearance will not cause any discussion. So that may be why Xueyan Ridge was chosen as the meeting place, is it not?"
Drouet said excitedly: "You really know how to think, M. Poirot. I will investigate from this angle."
4
Nothing happened that day, it was very peaceful.Fortunately, the hotel was well stocked with food.The shop owner please don't worry, the supply can be guaranteed.
Hercule Poirot tried to speak to Dr. Karl Lutz, but was refused.The doctor made it clear that psychology was his specialty and he did not intend to discuss this subject with laymen.He was sitting in a corner while reading a thick German book on the study of the subconscious, taking notes and adding comments.
Hercule Poirot went outside and wandered aimlessly about.He went to the kitchen in the backyard, where he chatted with old Jack, who was stubborn and suspicious, but his wife, the cook, was more easygoing.Luckily, she explained to Poirot, there was a large stock of canned food - but she herself did not like to eat that kind of thing; it was expensive as hell, and what nutrition was there in it?A merciful God never intended for people to live on canned food.
The conversation turned to the hotel staff.The housemaids and more attendants who clean up the rooms don't arrive until early July.For three weeks there was a shortage or near shortage of staff.At present, most tourists come here and go down after lunch.She got by with Jack and a waiter.
Poirot asked: "There was not a waiter before Gustave came here, was there?"
"Yes, but a lousy waiter, with neither skill nor experience. No class at all."
"How long did he work before Gustave replaced him?"
"Just a few days—less than a week. Of course he got fired, and we're not surprised at all. Sooner or later."
Poirot murmured: "Then he didn't complain?"
"Oh, no, he left quietly. What can he do? This is a high-end hotel. It must be attentive."
Poirot nodded and asked: "Where did he go?"
"You mean that Robert?" She shrugged. "He must have gone back to the little café where he used to work."
"Did he go down by cable car?"
She looked at him wonderingly.
"Of course, sir, is there any other way of getting down?"
Poirot asked: "Did anyone see him go down?"
The old couple stared at him with wide eyes.
"Ah! Do you think he'll be seen off when a little beast like him goes away--will be bid farewell to him? Every one has his own business to do!"
"That is quite true," said Hercule Poirot.
He walked away slowly, looking up at the buildings above him.A large hotel—only half of the building is currently occupied by tourists, and the other half has more rooms vacant, the shutters are closed, and no one seems to have entered...
He turned to another corner of the hotel and almost ran into one of the three card players.It was the pale, glassy-eyed fellow who gave Poirot an expressionless glance, and only grinned, showing his teeth like a vile horse.
Poirot walked past him.There was a figure ahead—the tall, graceful Madame Grandier.
He took a few steps forward, caught up with her, and said:
"It's distressing to have had an accident with the cable. I hope, Madame, it's no inconvenience to you!"
"It doesn't matter to me," she replied.
Her voice was deep—a true contralto.Without looking at Poirot she turned and entered the hotel through a side door.
5
Hercule Poirot went to bed early.After midnight, something woke him up.
Someone was flicking the lock on his door.
He sat up and turned on the light.At this moment, the door was pried open, and there were three people standing there, the three guys who played cards.Poirot thought they were a little drunk.They were silly-faced, but malicious.He saw a razor gleaming.
The biggest guy came forward and growled, "You stinky detective, bah!"
He spat out a stream of vulgar expletives.Three guys approach the unarmed man on the bed.
"Let's cut him up, fellas. Uh, pony? Let's put a scuttle in Mr. Detective's face. He ain't the first one tonight!"
Resolutely they approached - three razors gleamed...
At this moment, a voice from the other side of the ocean came loudly: "Hands up!"
They turned and saw Schwartz standing in the doorway, wearing a brightly striped pajamas suit and holding an automatic pistol.
"Hands up, guys. I'm a good shot."
boom!A bullet whizzed past the big man's ear and embedded itself in the wooden frame of the window.
Three hands raised quickly.
Schwartz said: "Can I do you a favor, M. Poirot?"
Hercule jumped out of bed at once.He took down the shiny razors from the three men, searched the three men again, and found out that they had no weapons on them.
Schwartz said, "Now listen, go! There's a big closet down the hall. There's no windows in it. Just do it."
He drove the three men in, and locked the door with a key from the outside.He turned to Poirot with joy in his voice.
"If it hadn't been for the show, you know, M. Poirot, I was laughed at at home because I said I was going abroad with a gun. 'Where do you want to go?' they asked me,' To the jungle?' But now, sir, I must say I'm laughing. Have you seen anything rougher than this bunch?"
"My dear Mr. Schwartz," said Poirot, "you have come at just the right time. It must be a play on the stage! I am very grateful to you."
"Nothing. What are we going to do next? We should have turned these guys over to the police, but we can't do that now! It's a real hassle. We'd better talk to the shopkeeper."
Hercule Poirot said: "Oh, shopkeeper. I think we should first consult with the waiter - Gustave. Yes - the waiter Gustave is a real Detective, alias of Inspector Drouet."
Schwartz looked at him with wide eyes: "That's why they did it!"
"So who did what?"
"The second on the blacklist of these bandits is you. They have already hacked Gustav."
"what?"
"Come with me. The doctor is busy with him."
Drouet's room was a cabin on the top floor.Dr. Lutz, in his nightgown, was busy wrapping gauze over the injured man's face.
He turned his head as they entered. "Ah! It's you, Mr. Schwartz? It's a vicious thing. A butcher! A bloodthirsty beast!"
Drouet lay motionless, moaning faintly.
"Is he in danger?" Schwartz asked.
"If you mean life, he can't die. But he can't talk—no tension or agitation. I've taken care of the wound—there's no risk of tetanus."
The three of them left the room together.Schwartz said to Poirot:
"Did you just say that Gustav was a policeman?"
Hercule Poirot nodded.
"But what is he doing here at Xueyan Ridge?"
"He was ordered to hunt down a very dangerous criminal."
Poirot explained the situation briefly in a few sentences.
Dr. Lutz said: "Marasher? I've read about the case in the papers, and I'd love to meet this fellow. There's something deeply perverted about it! I'd love to know the details of his childhood."
"For me," said Hercule Poirot, "I am curious to know where he is at this very moment."
Schwartz said, "Isn't he one of the three we locked in the closet?"
Poirot said dissatisfied: "It may be—well, but I, I'm not sure... I have an idea—"
He stopped suddenly and stared at the carpet.It was a light yellow carpet with deep rust marks on it.
Hercule Poirot said: "Footprints—I think they are bloody ones, and from the unoccupied part of the hotel. Come—we must hurry over there. trip!"
They followed him through a revolving door and down a dark, dusty corridor.They turned the corner and followed the footprints on the carpet until at last they came to a door that was ajar.
Poirot pushed open the door and went in.
He screamed in horror.
It was a bedroom, someone had slept in the bed, and there was a tray of food on the table.
A dead body lay on the ground in the middle of the room.He was a man of medium height, who had been brutally hacked to death, with more than a dozen wounds on his arms, chest, and head, and his face was almost mutilated and blurred.
Schwartz let out a gasp, and turned his head as if to vomit.
Dr. Lutz also exclaimed in German.
Schwartz asked feebly, "Who is this guy? Does anyone know?"
"I suppose," said Poirot, "that they call him Robert here. A very incompetent waiter..."
Luz moved closer, bending over the corpse.He points with one finger.
Pinned to the dead man's chest was a small note scrawled in ink: "Marascher can no longer kill—nor rob his friends!"
Suddenly Schwartz exclaimed: "Marasher? So he is Marasher! But why did he come to this remote place? And why do you say his name is Robert?"
Poirot said: "He's here pretending to be a waiter - in every way he's a very bad waiter. No wonder he was dismissed and no one was surprised. He left - it is said that he returned to Adma went. No one saw him leave."
Lutz asked in his slow, low voice, "And you—what do you think happened?"
Poirot replied: "I think that explains the somewhat anxious look on the innkeeper's face. Malasher must have paid the innkeeper a considerable bribe to allow him to hide in a room not in use in the hotel." ..."
He added thoughtfully: "But the shopkeeper isn't happy about it. Oh, really, he's not at all happy about it."
"Marasher has been living in this closed room, and no one knows about it except the shop owner?"
"It seems so. You know it might be so."
Dr. Lutz asked: "Then why did he get killed again? Who is the murderer?"
Schwartz exclaimed, "It's simple. He was supposed to share the money with his accomplices, but he didn't. He cheated them, so he went to this remote place to hide from the limelight. He thought it was the world To where they would never have expected, but he was wrong. Somehow they sniffed it out and came after it." He touched the body with the toe of his shoe. "That's what they--took him up."
Hercule Poirot murmured: "Yes, this is quite different from the kind of rendezvous we imagined."
Dr. Lutz said irritably:
"The circumstances and reasons you mentioned are very interesting, but what I am concerned about is our current situation. There is a dead person here. I still have a wounded number at hand, and the medicine is limited. We are still isolated from the world. ! How long will it be?"
Schwartz continued: "We still have three criminals locked in the closet! It's really a situation I would call pretty interesting."
卢兹医生说：“咱们该怎么办？”
波洛说：“首先咱们得找到店老板。他不是个罪犯，只是个贪财的家伙。他也是个懦夫。咱们让他干什么他都会干的。我的好朋友杰克和他的老伴或许或以提供些线索。三名歹徒得关在一个严密看守的地方，等援助到来再说。我想施瓦兹先生那把自动手枪可以使我们的任何计划都能有效执行。”
卢兹医生说：“我呢？我干点什么？”
“你，医生，”波洛低沉地说，“尽最大努力来管好你那个伤号。我们别的人都得坚持不懈地提高警惕——等待救援。我们没有别的办法。”
6
三天过后，清晨有一伙人来到旅馆门前。
是赫尔克里·波洛兴高采烈地把前门打开了：“欢迎，老伙计。”
警察署长勒曼泰警督用双手抓住波洛的胳臂。
“哦，我的朋友，该用什么样的心情向你致敬啊！这起惊人事件——你们经历了多么让人心情紧张的过程啊！我们在下面也焦虑担心——什么情况都不知道——生怕出了事儿。没有无线电——没有任何联络办法。可你用日光反射信号器传递消息真是天才之举！”
“哪里，哪里。”波洛尽量表示谦虚，“人类的发明一失效，你只得返回头来求助于大自然。天上总有日光嘛！”
这群人陆续走进旅馆。勒曼泰说：“没人想到我们会到来吧？”他得意地微笑。
波洛也微微一笑，说道：“没人！大家都以为缆索还没完全修好呐！”
勒曼泰激动地说：“啊，今天真是个好日子。你认为没错儿吗？肯定是马拉舍吗？”
“是马拉舍，错不了。跟我来。”
他们来到楼上。一扇门打开了，施瓦兹穿着晨袍从里面走出来，一看到那群人，不禁瞪大眼睛。
“我听到有人说话的声音。”他说，“这是怎么回事？”
赫尔克里·波洛夸张地说：“救援到了！随我们一起来，先生。这是一个了不起的时刻。”
他又爬上一层楼。
施瓦兹说：“您是到德鲁埃那里去吗？顺便问一声，他现在到底怎么样啦？”
“卢兹医生昨天晚上说他恢复得很好。”
他们来到德鲁埃那个房间。波洛把门推开。他庄重地宣布道：
“先生们，这就是你们要抓的那头野猪。把他活生生地带走吧，千万注意别让他逃脱断头台。”
床上躺着的那个人，脸仍然用纱布包扎着呐，吃惊地坐起来，但是他再想挣扎，却让几名警察把他胳臂抓住了。
施瓦兹困惑地惊呼道：“可他是侍者古斯塔夫——德鲁埃警督啊。”
“他是古斯塔夫，没错儿——可他不是德鲁埃。德鲁埃是前一名化名的侍者，也就是那名给关闭在楼那半边不营业的房间里的侍者罗伯特；马拉舍那天晚上把他杀了，又来袭击我。”
7
早餐时，波洛慢慢向那个困惑不解的美国人解释这整个儿事件。
“要知道，有些事总是在你干的那一行的过程中慢慢搞清楚的。譬如说，一名侦探和一名杀人凶手之间的区别！古斯塔夫不是一名侍者——这一点我一开始就怀疑——可他同样也不是一名警察。我一辈子都在跟警察打交道，我了解这种区别。他在外行人面前可以冒充一名侦探——可对一个本身就是侦探的人来说就不好办了。
“所以，我立刻就怀疑上他了。那天晚上，我没喝我那杯咖啡，把它全倒掉了。我做得很明智。那天半夜里，一个男人进入我的房间，以为我已经让他用麻醉药蒙住了，就搜查我的房间。他检查我的东西，在我的皮夹子里找到了那封信——我放在那里就是有意让他找到！第二天早晨，古斯塔夫端着咖啡进入我的房间。他向我打招呼，直呼我的姓名，完全有把握地扮演他的角色。可他很着急——急忙地——警察怎么竟会知道了他的踪迹！人家已经知道他藏在这里了，这对他来说可是个大灾难。这打乱了他的全部计划。他被困在这里如同瓮中之鳖。”
施瓦兹说：“这个笨蛋怎么到这个地方来了！为了什么呢？”
波洛庄重地说：“他可不像你想像的那么愚蠢。他需要，急切需要一个远离繁华世界、可以休息的地方，可以在那里跟某个人碰头，办那么一件事。”
"who?"
“卢兹医生。”
“卢兹医生？他也是一名歹徒吗？”
“卢兹医生倒是那位真的卢兹医生——可他不是个神经学专家——也不是个心理分析专家。他是一名外科医生，我的朋友，一名专门做整容手术的医生。他就是为此到这里来会见马拉舍的。他被赶出了祖国，现在十分贫穷。有人付给他一大笔钱，请他到这里来，用他的外科技术把马拉舍的外貌改一改。他也许猜到那人可能是个罪犯，如果是那样，他也会睁一眼闭一眼，豁出去了。他们理解到了这一点，可又不敢冒险到国外一家医院去动手术，所以就到这里来了。除了有个别人来这里一游之外，在这淡季里是不会有什么人来的。店老板正缺钱，乐意接受贿赂。在这儿做整形手术可说是最理想不过的地方了。
“然而，我要说，事态起了变化。马拉舍被出卖了，那三个家伙是他的保镖，说好到这里来照护他，可是还没有来到。马拉舍自己不得不立即采取行动。于是那个化装成侍者的警察就给绑架关了起来，马拉舍取而代之。后来那伙匪徒又设法把缆索破坏掉。这只是迟早会发生的问题。次日，德鲁埃被害，在他的尸体上别了一张小纸条。原本希望等跟外界的联系恢复后，德鲁埃的尸体想必可以顶着马拉舍的名义给埋掉——卢兹医生迅速进行手术，但是需要灭一个人的口——那就是赫尔克里·波洛。所以那伙人就给派来袭击我。谢谢你，我的朋友——”
赫尔克里·波洛潇洒地向施瓦兹鞠了一躬，后者说：“这么说，您真的是赫尔克里·波洛了。”
“正是在下。”
“您一点也没有让那具尸体蒙骗住吗？一直知道那不是马拉舍？”
"certainly."
“那您干吗不早说呢？”
赫尔克里·波洛的脸色突然变得很严肃。
“因为我要保证把真正的马拉舍交给警察局。”
他喃喃自语道：
“要生擒活捉那头厄律曼托斯野猪……”