Chapter 17 16

(sixteen) "Walnut wood for the dock," said Nigel. "It's a majestic gentleman in the court, and a mouse on the clock. A boo from the policeman, and who's going to be in the dock at the end?" He added: "Speak or not? That's the question." He poured another cup of coffee and returned to the breakfast table. "Say what?" said Ryan Bateson. "Everyone knows everything," said Nigel with a gesture of gesture. Jane Tomlinson said disapprovingly: "But, of course! If we had any information that might be of use, of course we would tell the police. It was the right thing to do."

"It's a good word for us to call the beauty," said Nigel. Renee also joined the camp in French. "What?" asked Rain Bateson again. "Things we know," Nigel said, "about each other, I mean," he added matter-of-factly.He scanned the breakfast table with a malicious look. "After all," he said cheerfully, "we do know a lot about each other, don't we? I mean, living in the same house means knowing." "But who decides what is important and what is not? There are many things that have nothing to do with the police." Ahmed Ali joined hands.He was excited when he said it, as if he was hurt when the inspector severely criticized him for collecting pornographic pictures,

"I heard," said Nigel, turning to Mr. Akibumble, "that they found something very interesting in your room." Mr. Akibombo blushed imperceptibly by his natural complexion, but his eyelids fluttered awkwardly. "It's very superstitious in my country," he said, "and my grandfather gave me something to bring here. I've preserved it out of devotion. I'm a modern, scientific person myself; I don't believe in voodoo, but because With poor English skills, I found it difficult to explain to police personnel." "Even dear little Jane has her secrets, I suppose," said Nigel, turning his eyes to Miss Tomlinson.

Jane said excitedly that she would not tolerate insults. "I'm leaving this place to live at the YWCA," she said. "Come on, Jane," Nigel said, "give us another chance." "Oh, stop," Valerie said wearily, "I think In this case, the police would probably have to investigate everywhere. " Colin Macna cleared his throat, ready to make a speech. "It seems to me," he said justly, "that the circumstances should make it clear to us. What was the cause of Mrs. Nicole's death?" "I think we can probably hear it in the court of inquiry." Valerie said impatiently.

"I very much doubt it," said Colin. "It seems to me that they will adjourn the Inquiry." "I suppose she had a heart attack?" Patricia said. "She fell down in the street." "Drunk and unconscious," said Ryan Bateson, "that's how she was taken to the police station." "So she really does drink," said Jane, "you know, I've always thought so." "When the police came to search the house, they found a cabinet full of blank brandy bottles in her room, I believe," he added. "Jane knows all about bad things and we can trust her," Nigel agreed.

"Well, that does explain why she's so weird sometimes," Patricia said. Colin cleared his throat again. "Ah! Oh," said he, "I happened to see him go into the Queen's Necklace on Saturday night, on my way home." "I think that's probably where she's been drinking," Nigel said. "Man, I think she was just dead drunk?" Jane said. Ryan Bateson shook his head. "Cerebral hemorrhage? I doubt it." "For heaven's sake, you don't think she was murdered, too?" Jane said. "I suppose it must be," said Sally Finch, "and it doesn't surprise me at all."

"Please," said Akibombo, "someone killed her? Is that so?" He looked at them one by one. "We haven't had any reason to think that's the case," said Colin. "But who would want to kill her?" Genevieve asked. "Does she have a lot of money? If she has money, then I think it's possible." "She's a maddening woman, my dear," said Nigel, "and I'm sure everyone wants to kill her, as I do often," he added, spreading the marmalade cheerfully. . "Please, Miss Sally, may I ask you a question? It's one that came to mind after hearing those words at the breakfast table. I've been thinking about it."

"Well, if I were you, I wouldn't think too much about it, Akinbumble," said Sally, "it's not healthy." Sally and Archin Bumbo are having an outdoor lunch in Regin Park.Summer is officially here and al fresco restaurants are open. "All morning," said Akibumble sadly, "I've been very disturbed. I couldn't answer my professor's questions well. He wasn't happy with me. He said my answers were mostly scripted, not my own." Thought. But I'm here to get the wisdom from the book, and I think the book says it better than I do, because my English isn't very good. Besides, I found out this morning that nothing but Hickory Road It’s hard for me to think about anything other than things and problems.”

"You're right," said Sally, "I just couldn't concentrate this morning." "That's why I'm asking you to tell me something, because like I said, I've been thinking, thinking a lot." "Well, so tell me, what have you been thinking?" "Uh, it's boron-su-powder." "Bo--Powder? Oh, Bo-Powder! Yes. What's the matter with Bo-Powder?" "Well, I don't understand. They say it's an acid? An acid like sulfuric acid?" "Not like sulfuric acid, no," said Sally. "Isn't it something that's only tested in a laboratory?"

"I don't think they've ever done anything with it in the lab. It's a pretty benign, harmless thing." "You mean, it's even possible to put it in the eye?" "Yes, that's exactly what it's for." "Ah, then that should be enough to explain. Mr. Chandra Lal, he had a little white phial of white powder which he poured into hot water and used to wash his eyes. He put it in in the bathroom, and then disappeared one day, and he was very angry. Could it be the boron-su-powder?" "What's the matter with this boron powder?"

"I'll tell you slowly. Please don't ask me now. I'll have to think again." "Well, don't you stretch your neck too far," said Sally. "I don't want you to be a corpse, Akinbumble." "Valerie, do you think you could give me some advice?" "Of course, Jane, though I don't know why anyone would take other people's opinions. They never take it." "It's really a matter of conscience," Jane said. "Then you found the wrong person, you shouldn't ask me, I have no conscience." "Oh, Valerie, don't talk like that!" "Well, I'm telling the truth," said Valerie, putting out her cigarette, "I smuggle clothes in from Paris, and speak unconscionably to those damned women who go to salons. I even when money is tight You don't pay for the bus. But tell me, tell me, what's the matter?" "It's what Nigel said at breakfast. If a man knows something about someone else, do you think he ought to say it?" "What a stupid question! This kind of thing cannot be generalized. What is it that you want to say, or don't want to say?" "It's about the passport." "Passport?" Valerie sat up straight in surprise. "Whose passport?" "Nigel's. His passport is forged." "Nigel?" Valerie's voice showed disbelief. "I don't believe it. It seems very unlikely." "But it's true. And you know, I believe there's a problem—I think I've heard from the police that Celia said something about the passport. Suppose she finds out and he kills her?" "It sounds very dramatic," Valerie said, "but frankly, I don't believe it at all. What's the matter with this passport?" "I saw it with my own eyes." "How did you see it?" "Well, it's a complete coincidence," Jane said, "I was looking in my suitcase a week or two ago, and I must have made a mistake and mistook Nigel's suitcase for mine. They It's all on a shelf in the saloon." Valerie laughed in disapproval. "No such thing!" she said. "What are you actually doing? Investigating?" "No, of course not!" Jane said in a perfectly indignant voice, "I've never peeked at anyone's private papers. I'm not that kind of person. It's just that I was feeling a little distracted at the time, so I opened that box." , I'm starting to look for..." "Listen, Jane, you can't just say that. Nigel's suitcase is bigger than yours and a completely different color. When you admit to doing something like this you better admit that you are that kind of person .Well, you had an opportunity to check out Nigel's stuff, and you took advantage of it." Jane stood up. "Of course, Valerie, if you want to be so annoying, so unfair, so unreasonable, I..." "Oh, come back, child!" said Valerie. "Go on, I'm interested now, and I want to know." "Well, there's a passport in there," said Jane, "on the ground floor, and it has a name on it. Stanford or Stanley or something, and I thought, how strange that Nigel should have someone else's passport. I Open it up, and the photo inside is of Nigel! What I don’t know is, should I tell the police? Do you think I have an obligation to tell them?” Valerie laughed. "You're out of luck, Jane," she said, "in fact, I believe there's a fairly simple explanation for it. Patricia told me that. Nigel inherits a fortune or something, on condition that he change Name. He's fully legally deeded or something, but that's the whole thing. I believe his real name was Stanfield or Stanley or something." "Oh?" Jane looked very annoyed. "If you don't believe me, ask Patricia," Valerie said. "Oh—no—well, if that's what you say, then I must be mistaken." "Hope you have better luck next time," Valerie said. "I don't understand you, Valerie." "You resent Nigel, don't you? You want the police to trouble him?" Jane Zhengse said: "You may not believe me, Valerie," she said, "but I only want to do my duty." "Oh, fuck you!" Valerie said. She leaves the room. Someone knocked on the door lightly, and Sally walked in. "What's the matter, Valerie? You look a little unhappy." "It's all that disgusting Jane. She's so horrible! Don't you think it's possible that Jane killed poor Celia? If I saw Jane in the dock, I'd go mad with joy." "I feel the same way you do," said Sally, "but I don't think it's particularly likely. I don't think Jane would be brave enough to murder anyone." "What do you think about Mrs. Nicole?" "I just don't know what to think. I think we'll find out pretty soon." "I think she was probably killed too." Valerie said. "But why? What's going on here?" said Sally. "I wish I knew. Sally, don't you ever find yourself looking at other people?" "What do you mean, looking at someone else?" "Uh, looking and wondering, is that you? I have a feeling, Sally, there's a guy here who's crazy. Really crazy. Crazy, I mean--not just thinks he's cool That's all." "It's possible," said Sally, trembling. "Ouch!" she said, "I'm getting chills!" "Nigel, there is something I must tell you." "Uh, what's up, Patricia?" Nigel was rummaging through his drawers frantically, "I don't know where the hell I put my notes. I put them in here, I think .” "Oh, Nigel, don't rummage like that! You left them all over the place as soon as I straightened them." "Uh, fuck it, I gotta find my notes, don't I?" "Nigel, you must listen to me!" "Okay, Patricia, don't be so upset. What's the matter?" "There is something I must confess to you." "Not murder, I hope?" said Nigel with his usual indiscretion. "No, of course not." "Okay. Well, what's the lesser crime?" "One day I mended your socks, brought them to your room, and put them in your drawer..." "How about it?" "The bottle of morphine is in there. You told me it was the bottle you got from the hospital." "Yes, and you're making such a fuss about it!" "But Nigel, it's in the drawer with your socks, and anyone could find it." "Why would they come? No one else will touch my socks but you." "Well, it seems to me a horrible thing to put there like that, and I know you said you'd get rid of it after you won that bet, but it's still there." "Of course, I hadn't got the third thing yet." "Well, I thought that was very wrong, so I just took the bottle out of the drawer, dumped out the poison, and replaced it with some regular bicarbonate soda. It looks almost exactly the same on the outside." Nigel's search for notes stopped. "Jesus!" he said, "you really did that? You mean when I swore to Wren and old Colin that the thing was morphine sulphate or morphine tartrate or something, it was really just heavy carbon Salt soda?" "Yes. You know..." Nigel interrupted her.He frowned. "I'm not sure, you know, that doesn't invalidate that bet. Of course, it didn't occur to me--" "But Nigel, it's really dangerous to put it there," "Oh my God, Patricia, do you have to make such a fuss all the time? What do you do with the real stuff?" "I put them in bicarbonate soda bottles in the bottom of my handkerchief drawer." Nigel looked at her a little surprised. "Really, Patricia, your logical thought process is beyond description! Why do you do that?" "I think it's safer to put it there." "My dear girl, those morphines either have to be locked up properly, or if they don't, it doesn't really matter if they're with my socks or your handkerchief." "Uh, it's related. First, I have my own room, and you share a room with someone else." "Why, you don't think old Wren's going to steal my morphia, do you?" "I wasn't going to tell you, but now I have to. Because, you know, the bottle is missing." "You mean you were searched by the police?" "No. Not before that." "You mean to say...?" Nigel stared at her with wide-eyed panic. "Let's get this straight. There's a bottle labeled bicarbonate soda containing morphine sulphate lying around. Like, someone with a stomachache could take a teaspoon out and eat it anytime? God, Patricia! Look at what you've done! If you're so upset about that thing why don't you just throw the fuck away?" "Because I think it's something of value and should be taken back to the hospital instead of thrown away. I'm going to give it to Celia as soon as you win that bet and ask her to put it back." .” "Are you sure you didn't give it to her, and she used it to kill herself, and it's all my fault? Calm down, when are you gone?" "I'm not sure. I was looking for it the day before Celia died. I couldn't find it, but I just thought maybe I put it somewhere else." "The day before she died?" "I suppose so," Patricia said, pale. "I'm stupid." "That's an understatement," said Nigel. "What can a man with a good conscience and a muddled head do!" "Nigel, do you think I should tell the police?" "Oh, damn it!" said Nigel, "I guess maybe, yes, I should. And it's all going to be my fault." "Oh no, Nigel dear, it's me. I..." "I stole the damn thing first," said Nigel, "and it all seemed like a really fun stunt. But now—I can hear the judge's harsh words." "I'm sorry, when I took it away, I was really..." "You mean well. I know. Listen, Patricia, I can't believe that thing's gone. You just forgot where you put it. You do misplace things sometimes, you know." "Yes, but." She hesitated, a shadow of doubt appearing on her wrinkled face. Nigel rose nimbly. "We'll go to your room and search it thoroughly." "Nigel, those are my underwear." "Really, Patricia, you can't play it safe with me at this point. Under your panties is where you might be hiding that bottle, isn't it?" "Yes, but I'm sure I--" "Unless we look everywhere we can't be sure of anything. And I'm planning to do that." There was a hasty tap on the door, and Sally Finch entered.Her eyes widened in surprise.Patricia, clutching a handful of Nigel's socks, was sitting on the bed, and Nigel was frantically flipping through a pile of jumpers like a cat, drawers all pulled out, and he was surrounded by panties, bras, shorts. Hosiery and various women's clothing. "My God," said Sally, "what's the matter?" "Looking for bicarbonate," said Nigel curtly. "Bicarbonate, why?" "I ache," Nigel said with a grin, "a stomach ache—only bicarbonate can relieve it." "I have it there, I believe." "It's no use, Sally, it has to be Patricia's. Hers is the only brand that relieves my particular pain." "You're crazy," said Sally. "What's he looking for, Patricia?" Patricia shook her head mournfully. "You don't see my bicarbonate soda, do you, Sally?" she asked, "just a little bit in the bottom of the bottle." "No," Sally looked at her strangely.Then she frowned, "Let's see. There's someone here—no, I don't remember—do you have any stamps, Patricia? I've run out and I have to mail a letter." "In the drawer over there." Sally opened the shallow drawer of the writing desk, took out the stamp pad, picked one, and stuck it to the letter she was holding, put the stamp pad back in the drawer, and put two and a half cents on the table. "Thank you, would you like me to send this letter for you?" "She—no—no, I don't think so." Sally nodded and left the room. Patricia dropped the socks from her hands and twisted her fingers nervously. "Nigel?" "What's the matter?" Nigel shifted to the wardrobe and was checking the pockets of a coat. "There's one more thing I have to confess to you." "Christ, Patricia, what else have you done?" "I'm afraid you will be angry." "I'm used to it. I'm terrified. If it's true that Celia was poisoned by something I stole, even if they don't hang me, I'll probably live in jail forever .” "It's not about that, it's about your father." "What?" Nigel turned around suddenly, with an expression of disbelief on his face. "You know he's very ill, don't you?" "I don't care how ill he is." "It was reported on the radio last night that Sir Arthur Stanley, the eminent chemist, is in bed very ill." "It's great to be a big shot, and people all over the world know when you're sick." "Nigel, if he's dying, you should make up with him." "What a fart!" "But he's dying." "He's a pig as long as he's dead." "You shouldn't be like this, Nigel. So bitter and unforgiving." "Listen, Patricia—I told you this once: He killed my mother." "I know you do, and I know you love her. But I do think, Nigel, that you sometimes exaggerate. Many are heartless husbands whose wives are outraged, and it makes them feel Very unhappy. But to say that your father killed your mother is an exaggeration, not true." "Are you so clear?" "I know one day you'll regret not reconciling with your father before he died. So—" Patricia paused and said bravely, "so I—I wrote to your father—tell him --" "You wrote him a letter? Is it the one that Sally wanted to mail for you?" He stepped towards the writing desk, "I see." He picked up the addressed and stamped letter, quickly tore it into pieces with nervous fingers, and threw it into the wastebasket. "That's it! How dare you do this kind of thing again." "Yes, Nigel, you are extremely childish. You can tear up that letter, but there's nothing you can do to prevent me from writing another, and I will." "You're hopelessly sentimental. Did it never occur to you that when I said my father killed my mother, I was speaking of the indelible truth? My mother died of a Verona overdose. They In the court of inquiry it was said to be eating by mistake. But she was eating by mistake in the hospital room. My father gave it to her on purpose. He wants to marry another woman. You know, and my mother does not want to divorce him. This is a clear, Nasty murder. What would you do? Go and call the police? My mother wouldn't think of that.. So I did the only thing I could do - tell that pig I knew - and forever Cut ties with him. I even changed my name." "Nigel - sorry - it never occurred to me..." "Well, you know now... the respected and famous Arthur Stanley with his fucking research work and his antibiotics. Career as green as the bay? But the woman of his dreams Didn't marry him after all. She avoided it. I think she guessed what he'd done—" "Nigel, darling, how dreadful--I'm sorry..." "Never mind, let's not talk about it anymore. Let's answer this damn bicarbonate thing. Now you think about what you did to that thing -- put your head in your hands and think about it Think, Patricia." Genevieve entered the saloon very excitedly.In a low, excited voice, she spoke to the assembled students: "Now I'm sure, absolutely sure that I know who killed little Celia." "Who is it, Genevieve?" Wren asked. "What makes you so sure?" Genevieve looked around cautiously to make sure that the door to the saloon was closed.she lowered her voice "It's Nigel Chapman." "But why?" "Listen, I was just walking down the hall and down the stairs when I heard a conversation in Patricia's room, and it was Nigel." "Nigel? In Patricia's room?" Jane said in a rather disapproving voice.Genevieve went on to say: "He's telling her that his father killed his mother, and, besides, he changed his name. So it's clear, isn't it? His father was a murderer, and Nigel got it from him..." "It's possible," said Mr. Chandra Lal, pondering the possibility cheerfully, "it's possible. He's so rough, Nigel, so unbalanced. Has no self-control, do you?" He turned humbly. Ajinbangbo, who was smiling with his furry black head, was nodding fiercely. "I've always had a very strong feeling," said Jane, "that Nigel had no sense of morals... a thoroughly depraved individual." "It was a sexual murder, yes," said Mr. Ahmed Ali, "he slept with this girl and then he killed her. Because she was a good girl, a noble person, and she expected to get married..." "Nonsense," said Rain Bateson in a crackling voice. "What did you say?" "I'm talking nonsense!" Lane yelled.