Chapter 9 Chapter Nine Mister Giroux Finds Some Clues

In the living room, I found the prosecutor busy questioning the old gardener August.Poirot and the Director were also there, one greeted me with a smile and the other nodded politely.I quietly sat down on a seat.Mr. Ayut tried his best to cross-examine him to the extreme, but he couldn't get any important information. August admitted that the work gloves were his.He wears these gloves when he handles the primrose, which is poisonous to some people.But he couldn't say when he last wore those gloves.Of course he wouldn't think of it.Where are the gloves? Sometimes in one place, sometimes in another.The shovel was always in the little tool shed.Is that shed locked? Of course.Where is the key? Parbleu①,①French: Of course. - An annotation.

That's stuck in the door.There is nothing of value to steal.Who would have thought that there was a party of bandits or assassins? Such things never happened when the Duchess lived. Mr. Ayut signaled that he had finished his questioning, and the old man kept mumbling all the way when he left.I remembered that Poirot had repeatedly mentioned footprints in the flower-beds, and I studied him carefully as he gave his testimony.Either he had nothing to do with the crime, or he was the best actor.Just as he was about to walk out the door, a thought suddenly occurred to me. "Pardon, Monsieur Ayut," I called, "will you allow me to ask him a question?"

"Of course, sir." I got support and turned to August and asked: "Where did you keep your boots?" "On my feet," the old man said in a rough voice, "where else can I put it?" "And when you go to bed at night?" "Under my bed." "And who cleaned the boots?" "No one. Why clean it up? Do I have to go around showing off like a young lad? I wear Sunday boots on Sunday, or..." He shrugged. I shook my head feeling discouraged. "Well," said the prosecutor, "we're not making much progress. No doubt we're getting St. ① French: Excuse me. Annotation.

No action could be taken until Diego's call back.Has anyone seen Giro? Seriously, that guy was rude.I should like to send for him to come—down, and . . . " "You don't have to send someone far away." His calm tone startled us.Jiro stood just outside, looking in through the open window. With a quick leap, he entered the room and walked to the table. "My lord is here, waiting for orders. Please forgive me for not reporting earlier." "Not at all... not at all..." the prosecutor said rather at a loss. "Of course, I'm only a detective," Giraud went on, "and I don't know anything about interrogations. If I were in charge of an interrogation, I wouldn't open the windows. Anyone who stands outside knows what an interrogation is like." Hear it perfectly. But it doesn't matter."

Mr. Ayut blushed angrily.Obviously, the prosecutor and the detective in charge of this case did not have a good relationship at all, because the two contradicted each other from the beginning.Anyway, it's always the same thing.To Giraud, all prosecutors are idiots; and to the serious Mr. Ayut, the careless behavior of the detective from Paris only annoys him. "Eh bien, Monsieur Giraud," said the prosecutor sharply, "it is needless to say that you have made excellent use of your time! Have you prepared to give us the names of the assassins? And their exact location? "

M. Giraud, unmoved by the sarcasm, replied: ①French: Hello. ——Annotation, "At least I know where they came from." Giraud took two small objects from his pocket and put them on the table. We surrounded the past.These are two very simple things: a cigarette butt and an unlit match.Detective Giroux turned to Poirot. "Can you see what's going on?" he asked. There was something almost unbearable in his tone of voice, and I could not help blushing.But Poirot remained calm. He shrugged his shoulders. "A cigarette butt and a match." "Then tell you what?"

Poirot spread his hands. "They didn't tell me anything." "Ah!" said Jiro with satisfaction, "you haven't studied these things. It's not an ordinary match--at least not a domestic one. It's very common in South America. It's a good thing it wasn't overlit, otherwise I wouldn't be able to recognize it." Well. Apparently one of the two fellows dropped the butt and lit another, and a match fell out of the box at the same time." "And what about the other match?" asked Poirot. "Where did you get the other match?"

"The one the man used to light his cigarette. Did you find that one too?" "No." "Perhaps you can't search the house." "You can't find the house..." At this moment, the detective seemed to be furious, but he tried his best to restrain himself. "I see you are joking, Monsieur Poirot. Anyway, there are matches, or there are no matches. This cigarette will suffice. It was a South American cigarette rolled in licorice paper for cough relief. " Poirot bowed.The Secretary said: "The cigarette butts and matches may belong to Mr. Reynolds. Don't forget, he has only been here from South America for two years."

"No," said Giraud confidently. "I have searched M. Reynolds' belongings. The cigarettes he smokes and the matches he uses are of a different kind." "Don't you wonder that these strangers come here without a weapon, without a glove, and without a shovel, and yet they are at their fingertips?" asked Poirot. Ji Luo smiled slightly, looking a little superior. "Strange, no doubt. In fact, it would be inconceivable but for the evidence I had." "Aha!" said Mr. Ayut, "there are accomplices in the house!" "Or outside the house," said Jiro with a sly smile.

"But someone has to open the door to let them in. We can't think they're lucky enough to find the door ajar for them to come in?" "The door is just for them. It's just as easy to open from the outside—if you have the key." "But who has the key?" Jiro shrugged. "As far as that goes, the man who has the key will never admit it. But there are a few who may have the key, for example, Mr. Jack Reynolds son. True, he is on his way to South America, but he may have the key. The key has been lost, or stolen. And there is the gardener—he has been here for years. Some of the young servants, who may have had a lover, got the impression of the key, and made another No trouble. There are all kinds of possibilities. There is one other person who, in my opinion, is very likely to have the key."

"Who?" "Mrs. Dobler," said the detective. "Well, well!" said the prosecutor, "so you heard about it, didn't you?" "I've heard it all," said Jiro calmly. "There's one thing I dare say you haven't heard of," Mr Ayut said.This time he was proud of the opportunity to show that he knew more than Giroud.So he immediately repeated the story of the mysterious visitor the night before.He also talked about the check to "Duveen" and finally handed Giron the letter signed "Bella". "It's all very interesting. But it doesn't affect my analysis at all." "What about your analysis?" "I don't want to talk about it just yet. Remember, my investigation is just beginning." "There is one thing you must tell me, Monsieur Giraud," said Poirot suddenly. "According to your analysis, the door was opened without explaining why it was left open. When they left, the door was opened." Isn't it natural to just close it? If an officer happens to come along, which he does sometimes, to see if it's all right, he'll spot them almost immediately and catch them." "Bah: they forgot. I dare you, it was a mistake." At this moment, to my surprise, Poirot said almost the same thing as he had said to Bex the evening before: "I don't agree with you. The door was left open either by plan or necessity. Any analysis that doesn't acknowledge that fact must accomplish nothing." We all looked at the little man with great amazement.He was forced to admit that he knew nothing about the match, which I thought must have humiliated him.How could he know that at this moment, as usual, he was complacent, and he was not ashamed to give orders to Giraud. The detective twirled his beard and glared at my friend somewhat playfully. "You don't agree with me, eh? Well, what's your particular take on the case? Let's see what happens." "One thing seems important to me. Say, M. Giraud, don't you feel something familiar about this case? Doesn't it remind you of something?" "Acquaintance? Reminds me? I can't say right away, but I don't think so." "You are mistaken," said Poirot calmly. "There has been an almost identical case before." "When? Where?" "Oh, well, I'm sorry I can't remember it just now, but I will. I would have liked you to help me." Giro snorted disbelievingly and said: "There are a lot of cases about people who wear masks. I can't remember all the details. There are always similarities in crimes." "There is a peculiar technique here," said Poirot, speaking suddenly to us present, in a didactic tone. "What I am speaking to you now is the psychology of crime. M. Giraud understands very well that every criminal has his own Unique tactics. He also knows that when the police are called in to investigate, say, a robbery, they usually need only make shrewd guesses about the perpetrator, based on the particular tactics employed by him. (Japp will also tell you So, Hastings.) Man is an animal devoid of original ideas. In his ordinary, respectable life, he is conventional within the confines of the law, and equally outside it. If a If a man commits one crime, his other crimes will be very similar to the first one. The English murderer's method of drowning people in bathtubs was an example of his successive wives. If he changed His method may not be discovered to this day. But he obeyed the dictates of ordinary human nature. The reason is that since he succeeded once, he will succeed again. cost." "What's the point of this theory?" said Giraud with a sneer. "That is, when you take two cases that are very similar in design and execution, you find that the same mind is behind the scheme. I'm looking for that mind, Mr. Giro, and I'll find it. Here We have a real clue—a psychological one. You may know all about cigarette butts and matchsticks, Monsieur Giraud, but I, Hercule Poirot, understand the human mind." Oddly, Giro remains unmoved. "To show you the way," continued Poirot. "I would also like to point you to a fact that you may not have noticed: Madame Renaud's watch was two hours ahead on the day of the tragedy." Jiro stared. "Perhaps the watch always goes fast." "Actually. Someone told me it was fast." "that is good." "At any rate, almost two hours is too much," said Poirot softly. "And there is the question of footprints in the flower-beds." He nodded toward the open window.Giraud took two quick strides and looked out of the window. "I can't see any footprints?" "No," said Poirot, stacking a pile of books on the table, "no footprints." At this moment, Jiro became angry from embarrassment, with a murderous look on his face.He took two strides towards his tormentor, but at that moment the drawing-room door opened, and Malshaw announced: "Mr. Stoner, Secretary, has just arrived from England. Let him in?"