Chapter 7 Chapter Seven: The Mysterious Mrs. Dobler

Mr. Bakers parted us as we walked back to the mansion, saying that he must immediately inform Inspector Giroux of his arrival.Giraud looked pleased when Poirot declared that he had seen everything he wanted to see.The last thing we saw as we left the grounds was Giraud, crawling on all fours and still doing a thorough search, which I couldn't help admiring.Poirot guessed what I was thinking, for as soon as we were alone he said sarcastically: "At last you have met the detective you adore--a hound with humanity! Haven't you, my friend?" "Where's he anyway," I said sharply. "If he's looking for anything, he'll find it. But you..."

"Eh bien: I found something too! A piece of lead pipe." ①French: Hello. ——Annotation. "Nonsense, Poirot. You know very well that it has nothing to do with the case. I mean the little things—those clues which lead infallibly to the murderer." "Mon ami, a clue two feet long is as valuable as a clue two centimeters long! But all important clues must be infinitely small, which is a romantic idea. To say that this lead pipe It has nothing to do with the case, and just because Giraud told you so, you're going to do it. No."—I was about to put in a question—"Let's not talk. Let Giraud search for Well, I have my own ideas. The case seems simple enough... But... But, mon ami, I'm not satisfied! Do you know why? Because the watch is two hours fast. And there are a few The small doubts seem to be inconclusive. For example, if the murderer's purpose is revenge, why didn't they attack Renault while he was sleeping, and it's over?"

"They want 'secrets,'" I reminded him. Poirot brushed a little dust off his sleeve with a dissatisfied expression. "Well, where's the 'secret'? Let's say there's some distance, because they want him to get dressed. But he's found murdered close by, almost at hand. Besides, something like a dagger It was also pure chance to have the murder weapon lying around and within easy reach." He paused.He frowned, and then went on to say: "Why didn't the servants hear anything? Were they drugged? Was there an accomplice? Did the accomplice calculated to keep the door open? I wonder if..."

①French: my friend.One by one translation notes ②French: my friend.One—Annotation He stopped suddenly.We were in the driveway in front of the Kew House when he turned suddenly towards me. "My friend, I intend to surprise--delight you: for I take your reproach seriously. Let us examine the footprints!" "where?" "It's right there in the flower-bed on the right. Mr. Bakers says that's the gardener's footprint. Let's see if that's the case. Here he comes with his wheelbarrow." Indeed, an elderly man was pushing a cart of saplings across the driveway.Poirot greeted him, and the man put down the cart and came limping towards us.

"Are you going to ask him for a boot to compare with the footprints?" I asked breathlessly.My confidence in Poirot regained a little.Since he said that the footprints on the flower bed on the right are important, let's consider them important. "Exactly," said Poirot. "But wouldn't he be surprised?" "He wouldn't think so at all." We stopped talking because the old man was approaching us. "Sir, what do you want me to do?" "Yes. Have you been a gardener here long?" "Twenty-four years, sir." "your name……"

"My name is August, sir." "I was admiring these wonderful geraniums just now. They're really nice. Haven't they been growing for a long time?" "Sometimes, sir. But of course, to make these flower-beds pleasing, the dead ones have to be removed and new ones put in, and the dying ones have to be picked off." "You got some new varieties yesterday, didn't you? Some here, and some in the other bed." "Sir, you have a good eye. It takes a day or two for the flowers to grow. Yes, I planted ten new varieties in each bed last night. Of course, sir, you know that it is not good to plant when the sun is shining." ’” August was pleased with Poirot’s interest in flowers, and was therefore more than happy to talk.

"That's a fine breed," pointed Poirot. "May I cut it off?" "Of course, sir." The old man stepped into the flower bed.Carefully cut a cutting from the flower Poirot admired. Poirot thanked him again and again, and August went to the car. "Did you see that?" said Poirot, smiling, looking down at the flower-bed at the marks left by the gardener's spiked boots. "Very simple." "I don't get it..." "Understanding that the foot is inside the boot? You have not used your excellent intelligence to the fullest. Nuan, what do you think of the footprint?"

I inspected the flower beds carefully. "The footprints in this flower bed belong to the same person." After careful inspection, I finally said this. "Do you think so? Eh bien! I agree with you," said Poirot. He seemed uninterested, as if he was thinking of something else. ①French: All right. ——Annotation. "Anyway," I said, "you've got one less bee in your hat now." "Mon Dieu! How do you say that? What do you mean?" "I mean, you're not going to be interested in footprints now." But to my surprise Poirot shook his head.

"No, no, monami. I'm on the right track at last. I'm still in the dark, but I've hinted to Mr. Bakers just now that these footprints are the most important and intriguing thing in the whole case: the poor Giro, I wouldn't be surprised if he didn't care about the footprints." At this moment the front door opened, and Mr. Ayut and the chief came down the steps. "Ah, M. Poirot, we're looking for you," said the prosecutor. "It's getting dark, but I'd like to call on Mrs. Dobler. No doubt she must be very upset at the death of M. Reynolds. Better luck." We might get some clues from her, if we did. The secret he didn't tell his wife, but it's possible to tell the woman who has made him a captive of love. We know our Samson's weakness, don't we? ?”

Having said that, we go in groups.Poirot walked with the prosecutor, and the director and I followed a few steps later. "There is no doubt that what François said is basically true," he said to me in a tone of trust. ②French: my friend. ——Annotation. ③A character in the Christian Bible, famous for his physical strength.Later, he became a prisoner of love because of the temptation of the temptress Delilah.was eventually betrayed. ——Annotation. Mrs. NeDobler had deposited large sums of cash into her bank account on three occasions, that is to say, since Mr. Reynolds came to Melanville.The total amounted to two hundred thousand franc miles:"

"My God!" I reckoned, "that's four thousand quid." "Exactly. That's what it is. He is undoubtedly charmed. But it depends on whether he tells her the secret." The prosecutor was full of confidence, but it was difficult for me to agree with him. We were talking about where our car had been parked earlier in the afternoon.For a moment I realized that the home of the mysterious Mrs. Dobler, the Villa Margaret, was the little house where the beautiful girl had ordered and appeared. "She has lived here for many years," said the Commissioner, nodding toward the house. "Life is quiet and unobtrusive. Apart from a few acquaintances in Melanville, it appears that she has no relations, nor Friend. She never mentioned her past life, nor her husband. I don't know whether he is dead or alive. You know, this is a woman who has a mysterious experience." I nodded, his words piqued my interest. "So... what about the daughter?" I mustered up the courage to ask. "A beautiful girl indeed--quiet, devout, and as good as she could be. People pity her, for though she may be ignorant of the past, yet a suitor cannot help asking, and so Come..." The chief shrugged mockingly. "But it's not her fault!" I exclaimed indignantly. "Yes. But what if you do? Men are picky about their wives' family background." We have reached the door, so there is no further argument.Mr. Ayut rang the doorbell.A few minutes later, we heard footsteps inside.The door opened, and standing on the threshold was the young girl we had seen that afternoon.When she saw us, she turned dead white and bloodless, and her eyes were wide open with fear.Needless to say, she was terrified: "Miss Dobler," said Monsieur Ayut, taking off his hat, "I am very sorry to disturb you. I hope you will understand that this is an urgent matter. My regards to Madame—your mother. Could she see me for a few minutes? " The girl was stunned for a while, pressing her left hand on her chest, as if trying to stop the sudden uncontrollable excitement in her heart.She restrained herself and whispered: "I'll go and see. Come in, please." She went into a room to the left of the porch.We heard her whisper, followed by another woman's voice, with exactly the same sound quality, but it sounded a little stiff in the mellowness: "Of course. Just invite them in." A minute later we are face to face with the mysterious Mrs. Dobler. She is slightly shorter than her daughter, but with a plump figure, she fully demonstrates the charm of a mature woman.The color of her hair was different from that of her daughter's, it was black and oily, parted in the middle, parted on both sides, and combed in the style of the Madonna, and her blue eyes were half hidden by her drooping eyes.Although she is well maintained, she is indeed not young, but her charm is not diminished by age. "Sir, do you want to see me?" she asked. "Yes, ma'am." Mr. Ayut cleared his throat, "I'm investigating Mr. Renault's murder. You must have heard about it?" She lowered her head without saying a word, maintaining her original expression. "We've come to ask you, can you... um... give me some information about the case?" "Me?" she asked startled. "Yes, ma'am. We have reason to believe that Madam has a habit of visiting victims at the villa at night. Am I right?" The lady's pale cheeks were flushed, but she still replied calmly: "You have no right to ask me questions like:" "Madam, we are investigating a murder." "Well, so what? The murder has nothing to do with me." "Madame, we will leave that aside for the moment. But you knew the dead man very well. Did he ever tell you of any danger threatening him?" "there has never been." "Did he mention that part of his life in San Diego, or his enemies there?" "No." "Then there's nothing you can do to help us?" "I can't help it. I don't understand. Why are you looking for me. Couldn't his wife tell you what you want to know?" There was a hint of sarcasm in her voice. "Madame Reynolds has told us all she knows." "Ah!" said Mrs. Dobler, "I wonder..." "What do you wonder, ma'am?" "nothing." The prosecutor looked at her.He knew he was about to have a gladiatorial fight, and he had no easy opponents to deal with. The doctor rang the doorbell.A few minutes later, we heard footsteps inside.The door opened, and standing on the threshold was the young girl we had seen that afternoon.When she saw us, she turned dead white and bloodless, and her eyes were wide open with fear.Needless to say, she was terrified: "Miss Dobler," said Monsieur Ayut, taking off his hat, "I am very sorry to disturb you. I hope you will understand that this is an urgent matter. My regards to Madame—your mother. Could she see me for a few minutes? " The girl was stunned for a while, pressing her left hand on her chest, as if trying to stop the sudden uncontrollable excitement in her heart.She restrained herself and whispered: "I'll go and see. Come in, please." She went into a room to the left of the porch.We heard her whisper, followed by another woman's voice, with exactly the same sound quality, but it sounded a little stiff in the mellowness: "Of course. Just invite them in." A minute later we are face to face with the mysterious Mrs. Dobler. She is slightly shorter than her daughter, but with a plump figure, she fully demonstrates the charm of a mature woman.The color of her hair was different from that of her daughter's, it was black and oily, parted in the middle, parted on both sides, and combed in the style of the Madonna, and her blue eyes were half hidden by her drooping eyes.Although she is well maintained, she is indeed not young, but her charm is not diminished by age. "Sir, do you want to see me?" she asked. "Yes, ma'am." Mr. Ayut cleared his throat, "I'm investigating Mr. Renault's murder. You must have heard about it?" She lowered her head without saying a word, maintaining her original expression. "We've come to ask you, can you... um... give me some information about the case?" "Me?" she asked startled. "Yes, ma'am. We have reason to believe that Madam has a habit of visiting victims at the villa at night. Am I right?" The lady's pale cheeks were flushed, but she still replied calmly: "You have no right to ask me questions like:" "Madam, we are investigating a murder." "Well, so what? The murder has nothing to do with me." "Madame, we will leave that aside for the moment. But you knew the dead man very well. Did he ever tell you of any danger threatening him?" "there has never been." "Did he mention that part of his life in San Diego, or his enemies there?" "No." "Then there's nothing you can do to help us?" "I can't help it. I don't understand. Why are you looking for me. Couldn't his wife tell you what you want to know?" There was a hint of sarcasm in her voice. "Madame Reynolds has told us all she knows." "Ah!" said Mrs. Dobler, "I wonder..." "What do you wonder, ma'am?" "nothing." The prosecutor looked at her.He knew he was about to have a gladiatorial fight, and he had no easy opponents to deal with. "Are you still saying that M. Renault has not told you the secret?" "Why do you think he will tell me the secret?" "Because, ma'am," said M. Ayut with deliberate cruelty, "what a man doesn't want to tell his wife always tells his mistress." "Ah!" She rushed forward, her eyes flashing with anger. "Sir, you insult me: and in front of my daughter! I won't tell you anything. Please leave my house immediately!" Undoubtedly she had the upper hand.We left Villa Margaret like a bunch of shy schoolchildren.The prosecutor cursed under his breath alone.Poirot seemed to be in deep thought, and suddenly he woke up from his contemplation. He asked Mr. Ayut if there was any good hotel nearby. "There's a little dwelling on this side of town called Bay's Lodge. A few hundred yards down the road. It's a good spot for your case. See you in the morning, I suppose." "Good. Thank you, Mr. Ayut." We parted after we saluted each other.Poirot and I walked towards Meranville, and the others returned to the Villa Geneviève. "The police system in France is really amazing." Poirot said, looking at their backs: "The information they have on a man's life is astonishing, down to the most insignificant detail. Mr. Renault has only been here a little over six weeks, and they know everything about his tastes and hobbies. In a minute. They can also come up with information on Mrs. Dobler's bank deposits, and her recent deposits. The file is undoubtedly a wonderful facility. What is that?" He turned back abruptly. body. A figure without a hat came running towards us along the road.It's Marta Dobler. "Forgive me," she called out, breathlessly, as she ran up to us. "I know, I... I shouldn't have done it. Don't you tell my mother. Someone said. Is it true that Mr. Reynolds called in a detective before he died? So... was that you?" " "Yes, madam," said Poirot mildly, "it is. But how do you know?" "François told our Amelie." Marta explained shyly. Poirot made a strange face. "It's almost impossible to keep a secret like this: it's not that it matters. Well, miss, what do you want to know?" The girl hesitated.She wanted to say it, but was afraid to say it.Finally, in a voice almost as low as a whisper: "Is anyone under suspicion?" Poirot watched her keenly.Then he evasively replied: "Miss, doubts are still hanging in the air." "Yes, I know... but... is there any specific..." "Why do you want to know this?" This question seemed to frighten the girl.Suddenly I remembered something Poirot had said about her earlier that day—"a girl with anxious eyes." "Monsieur Reynolds has always been kind to me," she replied at last, "and it is only natural that I care." "I see," said Poirot. "Well, Mademoiselle, the suspicion is centered on two persons." "Two people?" I could have sworn that there was both surprise and relief in her voice. "I don't know the names of these two people, but let's say they were two Chileans from Santiago. Here, madam, you see the consequences of youth and beauty! I've spilled my professional secrets on you. " The girl laughed merrily, and thanked Poirot sheepishly. "Now I have to go back. Mother wants me." She turned and ran like a modern Atlanta.I stared at her intently. "Monami," said Poirot softly, sarcastically, "have we stood here all night—perplexed by the sight of a beautiful girl?" I laughed and argued: "But she is beautiful, Poirot. Anyone can be forgiven for being dazzled by her." But, to my surprise, Poirot shook his head seriously. "Ah, monami, don't set your heart on Marta Dobler. That girl is not yours: take this advice from Papa Poirot!" "Nuan, the director assured me that she is both kind and beautiful: she is a perfect angel!" ① Greek mythology. Atlanta is good at running, and anyone who proposes to her must beat her in the race, or he will be killed. Hippomenes dropped three golden apples during the race to lure Atlanta to stop to pick them up.thus winning her over.Annotation one by one. ②French: my friend. ——Annotation. ⑦French: my friend. ——Annotation. "The few felons I know have angelic beauty," said Poirot enthusiastically. "The deformity of the gray cells easily fits the Madonna-like features." "Poirot," I cried, horrified, "you cannot doubt such an innocent child!" "Ah, ah! Don't get excited: I didn't say I doubted her. But you have to admit it. Her eagerness to know the circumstances of the case was somewhat anomalous. " "For once I see farther than you," I said. "She's not worried about herself—she's worried about her mother." "My friend," said Poirot, "as usual, you saw nothing. Mrs. Dobler was so good at taking care of herself that she didn't need her daughter to worry about her.I admit, I was teasing you just now, but I'll repeat what I said.Don't set your heart on that girl.She is not yours! I am Hercule, Poirot knows. Sacre①! As long as I can recall where I saw that face!" "What face?" I asked in surprise, "Daughter's?" "No, mother's." Seeing my astonishment, Poirot nodded decisively. "But really... as I told you. It was a long time ago, when I was with the Belgian police. I didn't really see this woman before, but I saw pictures of her... ...involved in a case. I would rather..." "yes?" "I may be wrong, but I think it's a murder!" ①French: Damn it. ——Annotation.