Chapter 22 twenty one

(twenty one) "I haven't seen you for a long time," said old Mr. Endicott to Hercule Poirot.He stared at the other one closely, "It's good that you can come and have a seat." "Not necessarily," said Hercule Polo, "I go to the Three Jewels Hall for nothing." "Well, you know, I owe you a lot. You helped me clear up that tricky thing about Abernethir." "I was genuinely surprised to find you here. I thought you were retired." The old lawyer smiled wryly. His company had a long history and was well respected. "I'm here today to see an old client in particular. I'm still taking over an old friend or two."

"Sir Arthur Stanley is an old friend and client?" "Yes, we've taken on all his legal affairs since he was quite young. A very clever man, Poirot—very brilliant mind." "His death was reported on the six o'clock news yesterday, I believe." "Yes, the funeral is on Friday. He has been ill for some time. A malignant tumor, as I understand it." "Mrs. Stanley died a few years ago?" "About two and a half years ago." A pair of sharp eyes under bushy eyebrows stared straight at Polo. "How did she die?" The lawyer responded quickly.

"Overdose of sleeping pills. Soluble Ferrona, I think." "Have you opened a court of inquiry?" "Yes. The findings say she was mistaken." "yes?" Mr. Antictor was silent for a moment. "I don't want to humiliate you," he said, "and I don't doubt that you have a good reason for asking. Ferona is a dangerous drug, as far as I understand it, because between the effective and the deadly It doesn't make much difference. If the patient gets groggy, forgets she's taken the medicine, and takes it again—well, it can have fatal consequences."

Polo nodded. "Is that what she is?" "Probably. Not suicidal, or suicidal." "Nor—any other associations?" Sharp eyes turned to him again. "Her husband gave testimony." "How did he say?" "He said clearly that she did get confused sometimes, and asked someone to take medicine for her after taking the medicine." "Is he lying?" "Really, Poirot, what a question. Why do you think I should know?" Polo smiled.Such attempts at bluff could not fool him. "I think, my friend, that you know very well. But at present I will not trouble you by asking what you know. I will ask your opinion instead. One man's opinion of another. Arthur Stein Is Leigh the type to kill his wife if he wants to marry another woman?"

Mr. Endicott jumped up as if stung by a wasp. "Ridiculous," he said angrily. "Pretty ridiculous. And there's no other woman. Stanley loved his wife dearly." "Well," said Poirot, "I think so. Now—I'll tell you the purpose of my visit. You were the lawyer who drew up Arthur Stanley's will. Are you perhaps his executor?" "That's right." "Arthur Stanley had a son. The son quarreled with his father while his mother was alive. After the quarrel he ran away. He even got into a fight to the point of changing his name."

"Then I don't know. What is his name now?" "We'll talk about that. Before we do, I'm going to make a guess. If I'm right, maybe you'll admit it. I think Arthur Stanley left you a sealed letter, a Letters to be opened by you under certain circumstances or after his death." "Really, Polo! In the Middle Ages you would have been chained and burned at the stake like a wizard. How could you know that!" "So I'm guessing right? I think there are two options for this letter. Either you destroy it—or you take some kind of action."

He paused.The other person was silent. "Ah!" said Polo alarmedly, "you can't have ruined—" Mr. Antikt slowly shook his head in denial, which relieved him and stopped. "We never act in haste," he said accusingly, "I'm going to make a full investigation—to my complete satisfaction—" He paused. "It's a—" he said sternly, "a matter of great privacy. Even to you, Polo—" He shook his head. "What if I give you a good reason why you should tell me? "That's up to you. I don't see how you can possibly know anything about what we're talking about."

"I don't know—so I'll have to guess. If I guess right—" "Extremely unlikely," said Mr. Endicott, waving his hand. Polo took a deep breath. "Well, then. I think you were instructed as follows. After Sir Arthur's death, you were to find his son, Nigel, and find out where he lived, how he lived, and especially whether he was involved in any illegal activity." In this way Mr. Antikt's unbreakable lawyer's calm was really shattered.He let out a cry of surprise that rarely came out of his mouth. "Since you seem to have the facts right," he said, "I'll tell you whatever you want to know. I judge you've met young Nigel in the course of your professional activities. What the lad's been up to ?”

"I think his story is as follows. He changed his name after he left home and told people he had to because it was a condition of his inheritance. Then he joined a smuggling ring - smuggling drugs and jewellery. I think the ring It was he who resorted to the final smuggling method - a very clever one involving the exploitation of good and innocent students. The whole thing was run by two men, Nigel Chapman, as he now called himself, and a young woman It's Valerie Holmes, and I think she got him into the smuggling business, which is a small private group and they work on a commission--but the profits are astonishingly high. But the thousands of pounds of jewels and narcotics on the shelf took up very little space. Everything was going well until an unforeseen event occurred. One day a police officer came to a school to inquire about a murder near Cambridge. I think You know why this panicked Nigel. He thought the police were looking for him. He took some light bulbs away to dim the light, and at the same time, in a panic, he took some rucksack into the backyard Go, cut it into pieces and throw it behind the boiler, because he was afraid the police would find traces of narcotics in the false basement.

"His panic was pretty pointless - the police were just going to ask some questions about some Eurasian student - but a girl who lived at the school happened to look out the window and saw him destroying the rucksack ...which didn't get her an immediate death sentence. Instead, they came up with a clever plan to induce her to do something stupid and put her in a very jealous position. But they went too far with this plan .I was sought.I suggested to the police.The girl panicked and confessed.That is to say,he confessed what she had done.But I think,she ran to Nigel, Urging him to come clean about the rucksack too, and about spilling ink on another classmate's paper. Neither Nigel nor his accomplice wanted attention about the rucksack—so their The whole plan would be ruined. Besides, this girl named Celia knew another dangerous thing, and she revealed it the night I was there for dinner. She knew Nigel's real identity."

"But of course—" Mr. Endicott frowned. "Nigel was all over the place. Any friends he'd known before would probably know he called himself Chapman now, but they had no idea what he was doing. Nobody in that house knew his real last name was Stanley—but Celie She suddenly confided that she knew about his double identity. She also knew that Valerie Hobs, on at least one occasion, had left the country with a false passport. She knew too much. The next night she went out to meet him at an appointment somewhere. He offered her a cup of coffee with morphine in it. She died in her sleep, arranged to look like a suicide." Mr. Endicott agitated, and an expression of deep distress crossed his face.He murmured something. "But that's not all," said Poirot, "the woman who owned the chain of schools and the student club died under suspicious circumstances shortly afterwards, and finally, one last crime of the most brutal and merciless nature. Patricia Lane , a girl who was in love with Nigel, and he really liked her, unwisely got involved in his affairs, and then insisted that he reconnect with his father before he died. He lied to her, but Knowing that her stubbornness might have prompted her to actually write a second letter after the first one was ruined. I thought, friend, you could tell me why, from his point of view, this thing would be so damned .” Mr. Antikt stood up.He went to a safe, opened it, and came back with a long envelope in his hand.There was a cracked red sealing wax on the back of the envelope.He took out two things and placed them in front of Polo. "Dear Endikt. You will open this letter after my death. I want you to go to my son Nigel and see if he has committed any crime. "The facts I'm about to tell you are known only to me. Nigel's temperament has always been very unsatisfactory. Twice he has written a check in my name. I have accepted it each time, but warned him that I will not let him do it again." Do. The third time he forged his mother's name. She reprimanded him. He begged her not to show it. She refused. She and I have talked about his behavior. She made it clear that she was going to tell me. At that time, when giving her sleeping pills, he over-dosed. However, before the attack, she came to my room and told me everything. When she was found dead the next morning , I know who did it. "I accused Nigel and told him I was going to tell the police all the truth, and he begged desperately. What would you do if it were you, Antikt? I have no delusions about my son, I know what he is like man, one of those dangerous men who have neither conscience nor compassion. I have no reason to save him. But thinking of my beloved wife shakes my heart. Will she expect me to do justice? I think I know the answer What—she would want her son to be spared torture. Like me, she would hold back from ruining our reputation. But there was another concern. I am convinced that once a murderer, always a murderer. In the future, maybe There will be other victims. I have three chapters with my son. I don't know what I did right or wrong. He has to write a confession and I keep it. He has to leave my house and never come back. , self-reliance. I will give him another chance. His mother's property belongs to him. He has finished a good education. He has a lot of opportunities to live a good life. "But—if he commits any crime, then the confession he left for me will be turned over to the police. I'm going to explain to him that even if I die, it won't help me. "You are my oldest friend. I place a burden on your shoulders, but in the name of a dead woman who is also your friend. Go to Nigel. If his record is clean, then put Destroy this letter and the accompanying confession. Otherwise—let justice be done. your dear friend Arthur Stanley "Ah!" Polo let out a long sigh. He opens the attachment. I hereby solemnly admit to myself that I murdered my mother on November 18, 1950, with an overdose of soluble ferola. Nigel Stanley