Chapter 6 Chapter 6 scene

Both the doctor and Mr. Ayut carried the unconscious woman into the house.The chief watched them from behind, shaking his head. "Pauvre femme," he murmured, "this shock has been too great for her. Well, there is nothing we can do. M. Poirot, how about we go and see the scene now?" "Please, Mr. Bex." We walked through the mansion and out the front door.As they passed the stairs Poirot glanced up and shook his head dissatisfied. "The servants heard nothing. It's unbelievable. The creaking staircase, when three people descended it, woke the dead."

"Don't forget, it was in the middle of the night, when everyone was fast asleep." ①French: Poor woman. ——Annotation. Still Poirot shook his head, as if he could not quite accept the explanation.He stopped at the bend in the driveway and looked up at the house again. "In the first place, what prompted them to try to see if the door was open? It was so unreasonable. It would have been more reasonable to say that they should try to open the window first." "But the windows on the ground floor are covered with iron shutters." The director objected. Poirot pointed to a window on the second floor.

"That's the room we got out of there, isn't it? Look, there's a tree by the window. Isn't it easy to climb up the tree?" "Possibly so," admitted the Commissioner, "but in doing so they cannot fail to leave footprints in the flower-beds." I think what he said makes sense.On either side of the steps leading to the front door was a large oval bed of bright red geraniums.The roots of the tree mentioned are actually behind the flower bed, and to get to the tree one has to step on the flower bed. "You see," went on the Commissioner, "the drive and the path are pretty bare of footsteps because of the dry weather. But it's another thing to step on the soft soil of the flower beds."

Poirot approached the flower-bed and examined it carefully.As Mr. Bakers said, the soil was very smooth, and there was no sign of a depression. Poirot nodded, Bex's words seemed to convince him.We turned away, but Poirot abruptly moved away again to examine another flower-bed. "Mr. Bakers!" he cried, "look here, there are plenty of marks for you to see." The chief stepped aside from him, smiling. "My dear M. Poirot, there is no doubt that these are the footprints of the gardener's big spiked boots. In any case, they are of no importance, since there are no trees here, and therefore no way to climb to the upper story."

"Really," said Poirot, looking despondent. "Then you think these footprints are insignificant?" "It doesn't matter at all." Then Poirot said: "I don't agree with you. I have a small opinion: These footprints are the most important thing we've seen so far." These words really surprised me. Mr. Bakers shrugged his shoulders without answering.He was too rigid in his manners to say what he really thought.Instead, he asked: "Shall we go forward?" "Of course, I will investigate these footprints later," said Poirot cheerfully.

Instead of following the drive to the gate, Mr. Bakers took a path that branched off to the right.The path has a gentle slope and turns up to the right side of Qiu's house, and there are shrubs on both sides.Suddenly the path leads to a small clearing where there is a glimpse of the sea.There was a seat in the clearing, and a rickety shed not far away.A few steps further on was a neat row of low trees that marked the boundaries of the Villa Geneviève.Mr Bex passed through the bushes, and we found ourselves in a wide open field.I looked around and saw a scene that took me by surprise. "Hey, it's a golf course," I yelled.

Becks nodded. "The stadium isn't finished yet," he explained. "It's going to open sometime next month. The body was found by a few people working on the stadium early this morning." I gasped.A moment ago, I hadn't noticed that there was a long and narrow pit immediately to my left, in which lay the body of a man lying face down! Instantly, my heart was beating violently.I couldn't help but think wildly: Could it be a tragedy repeating itself.But the director interrupted my thoughts, and he stepped forward and shouted angrily: "What are my police doing? They have strict orders that no one is allowed near the grounds without official papers."

The man lying on the ground turned his head. "But I have official documents," said the man, slowly getting up from the ground. "It's the venerable Monsieur Giraud," cried the Commissioner. "I didn't even expect you to come. The prosecutor has already grown impatient with you." As he spoke, I regarded the newcomer with great curiosity.I have heard the name of this famous detective from the Paris security department for a long time, and I am very interested to meet him in person.He was tall, in his thirties, with a brown beard and hair, and he looked like a soldier.His haughty demeanor showed that he was very self-important.Becks introduced us to each other, and he introduced Poirot as a colleague.There was a gleam of interest in the detective's eyes.

"I've heard your name, M. Poirot," said he. "Earlier, you were quite conspicuous, weren't you? But now the method is very different." "True, but a crime is a crime," said Poirot softly. I realized right away that Jiro was not going to be friendly.He did not want Poirot to work with him.I feel that if he finds out something important, he won't tell anyone. "Prosecutor..." Bex spoke again. But Giraud interrupted him roughly: "What's the use of the prosecutor, the light is the important thing. Seriously, it's going to be dark in half an hour or so. I know all about this case. As for some people in this room, it's not good to wait until tomorrow to question them." Late. But that's the only place to find clues about the murderer. Is your police running around in this place? I thought they'd know a little better by now.'' "They must know a lot more.Those footprints you complained about were left by the workers who found the body. "

Jiro grunted in disgust. "I can see the tracks of the three of them coming in through the fence--they're crafty. You can recognize Mr. Renault's in the middle, but the footprints on the sides have been carefully erased. Not that, in the There are still many things to be seen on this solid ground, but they must not be allowed to slide over by chance." "A sign of appearance," said Poirot. "So that's what you want from me, isn't it?" The detective glared at him. "Of course." A slight smile played on Poirot's lips.He seemed about to say something, but restrained himself.He leaned over, where a shovel lay flat.

"It's for digging graves, all right," said Giraud, "but you won't get any clues from it. It's Raynor's own shovel, and the man with the shovel is wearing gloves. .Here, here it is.” He tapped the place where two muddy gloves were left with the tip of his toe. "It belonged to Reynolds too... or at least his gardener's. I tell you, the man who planned the crime took no risks. The man was stabbed with his own dagger, and the original plan was to use His own shovel came to bury him. They figured no trace would be left. But I must thwart them. There will always be something left! I must find it." But Poirot was evidently interested in something else at this time.It was a short piece of discolored lead pipe, next to the shovel.He touched it lightly with his finger, "So this belongs to the victim too?" he asked.I noticed a subtle sarcasm in this question. Giro shrugged, indicating that he didn't know, and dismissed it. "Maybe been here for weeks. Anyway, I'm not interested." "On the contrary, I find it very intriguing," said Poirot calmly, and I guessed that he was only trying to annoy the detective from Paris.If so, he did.Giraud turned roughly, saying that he had no time to waste, and stooping again to continue his careful examination of the ground. At this moment, Poirot seemed to have an idea, retreated to the side of the field, and tried to open the door of the small shed. "It's locked," Giraud said, turning his head. "That's just where the gardener puts the sundries. I didn't get the shovel from there. I got it from the tool room at the other end of the Kew House." "Brilliant," Bex whispered to me ecstatically. "He's only been here for half an hour, and he already knows everything. It's really remarkable: Giraud is without a doubt the greatest detective alive." Although I didn't like this man from the bottom of my heart, I couldn't help but admire him secretly.His image seems to give the impression of being productive.I could not help thinking that, to my chagrin, Poirot had so far had nothing to boast of.His attention seemed to be preoccupied with all sorts of silly objects that had nothing to do with the case at hand.Seriously, at this moment, he suddenly asked: "Mr Bex, please tell me, what is the meaning of this white chalk line around the grave? Was it drawn by the police?" "No, M. Poirot, it was drawn by the man who repaired the golf course. It means that there is a 'hole' here." "The hole?" Poirot turned to me. "It's an irregular hole, filled with sand, with a pile of sand on one side, isn't it?" I agree. "Mr. Renault is undoubtedly a golfer?" "Yeah, he's a golf fan. It's mostly because of him and his big donations that the course was built. He even had a say in the design." Poirot nodded thoughtfully, and went on: "They didn't choose a good place to bury the bodies. As long as the workers start digging the ground, everything will be found at once." "Yes," said Giraud triumphantly, "that proves that they are not natives. That is the best circumstantial evidence." "Yes," said Poirot doubtfully, "no one with any common sense would bury a body there—unless they want it to be discovered. But that's obviously absurd, isn't it?" Jiro didn't even bother to answer. "Yes," said Poirot in a slightly dissatisfied tone, "yes . . . no doubt . . . absurd!"