Chapter 11 Chapter Eleven Jack Reynolds

What the next development of this conversation might be, I cannot tell, for at that moment the door was thrown open roughly, and a tall young man strode into the room. At this moment I have a strange feeling, as if the dead are alive again.Immediately I realized that this swarthy visitor with no gray and white accents on his head was actually just a child who had intruded into our group recklessly.He walked hurriedly and defiantly toward his mother. "Mother!" "Jack!" she exclaimed, taking him into her arms. "Dearest! How did you get here? Didn't you intend to leave Cherbourg on the Anchara two days ago?" She suddenly remembered There were other people present, so he turned and introduced, rather haughtily, "My sons, gentlemen."

"Aha!" said Mr. Ayut, bowing to the young man. "So you're not on the Anchara?" "No, sir. Let me just explain that the Anchara was delayed twenty-four hours by an engine failure. I was supposed to start last night instead of the night before, but I happened to buy a paper and read A piece of news that our family suffered misfortune..." His voice was choked, and tears welled up in his eyes. "My poor father . . . my poor, poor father." Madame Reynaud looked at her son dreamily, and repeated: "So you didn't leave?" Then, looking extremely tired, she murmured to herself: "After all, now ... it doesn't matter. "

"Mr. Renault, please sit down." Mr. Ayut said, pointing to a chair, "I express my deepest sympathy to you. When you hear this news, you must have suffered a terrible blow. Fortunately, you did not leave. I I hope you will give us all the information we need to get to the bottom of this bizarre case." "I'm at your command, sir. Feel free to ask any questions." "First of all, I understand that your father arranged for you to go on this trip, yes?" "Yes, sir. I have received a telegram ordering me to leave at once for Buenos Venlis, and from there to Valparaíso via the Andes, and on to Santiago."

"Ah! What is the purpose of this journey?" "I know nothing." ① South American mountains. ——Annotation. ② Seaport in central Chile. ——Annotation. "what?" "Know nothing, look at this telegram." The prosecutor took the telegram and read it aloud: "Quick to Cherbourg, take the Anchara to Buenos Aires tonight. Final destination is Santiago. Arrive in Buenos Aires with other instructions. It's important, don't miss it. Renault." "Has there been any correspondence before on this matter?" the prosecutor asked. Jack Reynolds shook his head.

"Only this telegram mentions it. Of course. I know my father lived there a long time and must have had a lot of property in South America, but he never offered to send me there." "Of course, you spent a lot of time in South America too, Mr. Renault?" "I was there as a kid. But I was educated in England and I spent most of my holidays in England, so I actually know a lot less about South America than people think. You know, when the war broke out I'm only seventeen." "You served in the British Flying Corps, didn't you?" "Yes, sir."

Mr. Ayut nodded, and began his interrogation in the now familiar manner.Jack Reynolds replied clearly that he had no idea of ​​any feuds his father might have had in San Diego or elsewhere in South America, and that he hadn't noticed any strangeness in his father's behavior lately.And never heard any secret from his father.He originally believed that the trip to South America was related to commercial interests. Mr. Ayut paused for a moment, at which point Giraud interrupted slowly: "I would like to ask a few questions that come to my mind, Mr. Prosecutor." "Go ahead, M. Giraud," said the prosecutor coldly.

Jiro moved the chair closer to the table. "Do you get on well with your father, Monsieur Renault?" "Of course very good." The boy replied arrogantly. "Are you absolutely sure of that?" "affim." "Not even a small argument, Nuan?" Jack shrugged: "Sometimes everyone has a different opinion." "Yes, yes. But if anyone asserts that you had a violent quarrel with your father on the night you left for Paris, surely that person is lying?" I can't help but admire Giro's resourcefulness. "I have everything under control." This big statement is not casual.Obviously, Jack was taken aback by the question.

"We...we did have an argument," he admitted. "Ah, an argument? In the middle of an argument, did you ever say, 'When you're dead, I'll do what I like'?" "I might have said," he whispered, "I can't say." "Did your father say when he answered: 'But I'm not dead yet!' Then you replied: 'I wish you were dead:'" The boy was silent, fiddling nervously with both hands on the table in front of him. decorations. "I must ask you to answer, Monsieur Renault," snapped Giraud. The child threw a heavy paper knife to the ground and shouted angrily:

"What's the matter? Let you know! Yes, I quarreled with my father. I might have said those things... I was so mad I can't even remember what I said! I was so mad... I almost killed him then... Well, it's up to you!'' He leaned back in the chair, blushing angrily. Giraud smiled, and then, moving his chair back a little, said: "That's it. No more questions. Go on with your questioning, Mr. Ayut." "Ah, yes, that's exactly it," said Mr. Ayut. "Then why the quarrel?" "I refuse to answer that." Mr. Ayut straightened up in his chair.

"Monsieur Reynolds, it is not permissible to make fools of the law:" he reprimanded, "why quarrel?" Young Renault remained silent, his boyish face gloomy.But another voice spoke calmly, that of Hercule Poirot: "I can tell you, sir, if you like." "you know?" "Of course I know. The quarrel is about Miss Marta Dobler." Renault was startled suddenly, and turned around.The prosecutor leaned forward. "Is that so, sir?" Renault bowed his head. "Yes," he admitted, "I love Marta Dobler and I want to marry her. When I told my father about it, he immediately flew into a rage.Of course, I cannot allow the girl I love to be insulted.Then I lost my temper too. "

Mr. Ayut looked at Mrs. Renault opposite. "Do you know about this... relationship, ma'am?" "I worry about having this relationship," she replied simply. "Mother," cried the child, "you object too: Marta is beautiful and kind. What do you dislike about her?" "I have nothing against Miss Dobler. But I'd rather you marry an English girl or a French girl than a girl with a dubious mother." Her tone clearly expressed resentment towards Mrs. Dobler.I understand how it must have been a heavy blow to her when her only son showed signs of falling in love with her rival's daughter. Mrs Reynaud went on to tell the prosecutor: "Perhaps I should have talked to my husband about it long ago, but I was hoping it was just a flirtation between young men and women, if not consciously. It will pass quickly.I am now deeply guilty of my silence at the time. But my husband, as I have told you, seemed anxious and brooding, he was almost entirely changed, and my chief concern was not to trouble him much. " Mr. Ayut nodded. "Was your father surprised when you told him you were interested in Miss Dobler?" he went on. "Totally beyond his expectations. So he flatly ordered me to dismiss the idea. He would never agree to the marriage. I was so angry that I asked him what he could do to Miss Dobler. On that point." He did not give me a satisfactory answer, but contemptuously told the mysterious parentage of the mother and daughter. I replied that I married Marta, not her ancestors. But his voice suppressed me, and he flatly refused to talk about it. This thing. This whole thing has to be dropped. This injustice and high-handedness drives me nuts, especially since he himself often goes to the trouble of courting the Doblers and the Doblers, and often offers to ask them to come. We came to our house. I lost my head, and the two of them really quarreled. My father reminded me that I was completely dependent on him. It must be to answer this question, I said what I like to do after he died what to do……" Poirot interrupted him with a quick question, "So you are aware of the arrangements in your father's will?" "I know that he left half of the property to me, and the other half is kept by my mother, and will be transferred to me after she dies." The young man replied. "Go ahead," said the prosecutor. "After that, the two exchanged rage at each other, until it occurred to me that I almost missed the train to Paris. I had to run to the station, still full of rage. But I left the house and calmed down. I wrote I wrote to Marta, telling her what had happened. I was comforted by her reply. She pointed out to me that any objection would eventually be resolved if we remained consistent. Our mutual love must be tested. And said my parents would no doubt change their minds about the two of us when they realized this was by no means a passing crush. Of course, I didn't say much to her about my father's main objections to the marriage. I soon realized It won't do our marriage any favors to see something rough." "And now for another matter. Do you know the name Duveen, Mr. Raynor?" "Dwayne?" Jack said, "Dwayne?" He bent down and picked up the paper knife he'd thrown off the table.When he raised his head, his eyes unexpectedly met Jiro's eyes watching him. "Tweezy? No, I can't say I know the name." "Look at this letter, Monsieur Renault. Tell me, do you know who this letter is to your father?" Jack Reynolds took the letter, and after reading it, his face turned red. "To my father?" The excitement and resentment in his tone were palpable. "Yes. We found the letter in the pocket of his coat." "Yes..." he stammered, casting a very brief glance at his mother. Prosecutors understood what he meant. "So far—not yet. Who wrote it? Can you shed some light?" "I don't know anything." Mr. Ayut sighed. "A really mysterious case. Ah, well, I think we can leave this letter out of the question entirely now. I see, what were we talking about just now? Well, the murder weapon. I'm afraid it will cause you pain." , Monsieur Reynolds. I understand that this is a gift from you to your mother. Terrible... really sad..." Jack Raynor leaned forward.His face, which had been flushed while reading the letter, was now gray. "You mean... my father was stabbed to death with a paper knife made out of sheet metal used to make airplanes? But that's impossible for such a small thing!" "Well, Monsieur Reynolds, it's quite true: it's an ideal little tool, my uncle, sharp and easy to use." "Where's the knife? Can I see it? Is it still in the... body?" "Well, no, it's been removed. Would you like to see it? To be sure? Perhaps, it would be better to be sure, although the lady has already identified it. But... Mr. Bex, may I trouble you? " "Of course. I'll get it right away." "Wouldn't it be better to take M. Reynolds to the shed?" suggested Giraud tactfully. "No doubt he would like to see his father's body." The young man trembled and made a negative gesture.The prosecutor, who always opposed Giraud whenever he could, replied: "No . . . not now. Mr. Bex, please bring the murder weapon here." The chief leaves the room.Stoner walked over to Jack and shook his hand tightly.Poirot was on his feet, and was setting a candlestick, which seemed to his trained eye to be a little out of place.The prosecutor read the love letter one last time, still clinging to his original inference that the stab in the back had been the result of jealousy. Suddenly the door opened and the chief rushed in. "Mr. Prosecutor! Mr. Prosecutor!" "Here. What's the matter?" "The dagger! It's gone!" "What...is it missing?" "It's gone. It's gone! It turns out that the glass jar where the knife was placed is empty!" "What?" I shouted, "Impossible. Nuan, I saw it this morning..." I couldn't go on. The attention of the entire room was turned to me. "What did you say?" cried the Commissioner. "This morning?" "I saw it where it was this morning," I said slowly, "about an hour and a half ago, to be exact." "So, you've been to the shed? How did you get the key?" "I asked the officer for it." "So you've been? Why?" I hesitated, but in the end I decided that the only solution was a complete confession. "Mr. Ayut," I said, "I have made a serious mistake and I beg your forgiveness." "Go on, sir." "What happened," I said, wishing I had somewhere to hide myself, "I met a young girl, an acquaintance of mine. She expressed a great desire to see all the sights. I ...Well, anyway, I got the key and showed her the body." "Ah!" exclaimed the prosecutor. "You have made a serious mistake, Captain Hastings. It is a complete violation of the rules. You should not have allowed yourself to do such a foolish thing." "I know," I said resignedly, "you can't say too much, sir." "You didn't invite this girl, did you?" "Of course not. I met her quite by chance. The girl is English, and happened to be staying in Melanville. I didn't know she was here until I met her by accident." "Well, well," the prosecutor's tone softened. "It's against the rules, but the girl must be young and beautiful. There are many advantages to being young!" he sighed with affectation. But the Chief, who was a more down-to-earth and less romantic man, took it up and said, "But you didn't close and lock the door when you left?" "That's the problem." I said slowly, "That's why I feel deeply guilty.My friend felt sick at the sight of the body and almost passed out.I got her some brandy and water, and then I insisted on taking her back to town. I was flustered and forgot to close the door, and I closed the door after returning to the villa. " "Then at least twenty minutes..." the chief said softly, then stopped again." "Exactly." I said, "Twenty minutes." The chief thought deeply. "What a pity," said Mr. Ayut, returning to his stern manner. "There is no precedent." Suddenly another voice spoke." "You think it's a bad thing?" Jiro asked. "Of course I do." "I think it's a good thing!" Gu Luo said arrogantly. This unexpected ally baffles me. "Good thing, Monsieur Giraud?" asked the prosecutor, watching him defensively out of the corner of his eye. "Exactly." "Why is it a good thing?" "Because we now know that the murderer, or an accomplice of the murderer, was near the villa only an hour ago. Now that we know this, we will be surprised if we catch him at once," he said threateningly. He took a great risk when he got it; perhaps he feared fingerprints would be found on it." Poirot turned towards Bex. "You said there were no fingerprints on it?" Jiro shrugged. "Perhaps he can't be sure." Poirot looked at him. "You are mistaken, Monsieur Giraud. The murderer wore gloves, and he must have known that well." "I'm not talking about the murderer himself. It could be an accomplice, he doesn't know the facts." The prosecutor's clerk was clearing up the records on the table.Mr. Ayut said to us: "Our work here is over. M. Renaud will, perhaps, hear your testimony from beginning to end. I have purposely made all these formalities as informal as possible. Some people call my way of doing things primitive, but I think primitiveness has many advantages.The case has now been carefully handled by the eminent M. Giraud.He's great, there's no question about that.To be honest, I would be surprised if he didn't catch the murderer: Ma'am, allow me to express my heartfelt sympathy to you again.Farewell, gentlemen. The prosecutor then left, accompanied by his secretary and director. Poirot took out his large pocket watch and checked the time. "Let's go back to the hotel for lunch, my friend," said he, "and tell me more about all the indiscretions you committed this morning. Luckily, no one is paying attention, and we don't have to say goodbye." We quietly walked out of the living room.The prosecutor had just left in his car.I was about to go down the steps when Poirot called to me: "Just a second, my friend." He deftly produced the tape measure, and solemnly began to measure a coat hanging in the porch, from the collar to the hem.I hadn't seen a coat hanging there before, and I figured it was either Mr. Stoner's or Jack Raynor's. Then, with a small grunt of satisfaction, Poirot put the tape measure back in his pocket and followed me out of the house.