Roger Mystery

Chapter 25 Geoffrey Raymond
On the same day I had new evidence that Poirot's strategy was indeed a formidable one.Based on a deep understanding of human nature, his provocations are just right.Under the dual effects of fear and guilt, Mrs. Ackroyd was the first to react.

As soon as I got home from my clinic that afternoon, Caroline told me that Geoffrey Raymond had just left.

"He came to see me?" I asked while hanging my coat by the entrance.

Caroline was around me for a long time.

"It was M. Poirot he wanted to see," she said. "He went to the Larch first, but M. Poirot was not at home. Mr. Raymond thought he was with us, or you may know where he went. "

"I have no idea."

"I was going to keep him a little longer," said Caroline, "but he said he would go to the Larch in half an hour, and then he went to the village. It's a pity that M. Poirot came after him as soon as he left. "

"Come to our house?"

"No, go back to his own house."

"Then how did you know?"

"The side windows," Caroline said succinctly.

It seemed to me that the subject was over, but Caroline had other plans.

"Aren't you going to have a look?"

"Where to go?"

"To 'Larch,' of course."

"My dear Caroline, what am I doing there?"

"Mr. Raymond is so anxious to see him," said Caroline, "you can find out what it is when you go."

I raise my eyebrows.

"I'm not that curious," I replied coldly. "Even if I don't know what the neighbors are doing or thinking, I can live comfortably."

"Nonsense, James," said my sister, "you must want to know as much as I do. You're dishonest, and that's the problem; you're always trying to look like you're not interested."

"That's enough, Caroline," I said as I walked into the consulting room.

Ten minutes later, Caroline knocked on the door and walked in, holding a jar of jam or something.

"James, would you please send this jar of loquat jam to M. Poirot? I promised to give it to him. He has never tasted homemade loquat jam."

"Why don't you let Annie take it?" I asked angrily.

"She's mending clothes, she's not free."

Caroline and I met our eyes.

"Very good," I stood up, "If I have to take this boring thing, I'll leave it at his door, do you understand?"

My sister also raised her eyebrows.

"Okay," she said, "who says you need to do anything else?"

Thanks to Caroline, I can only make an extra trip.

"If you happen to meet M. Poirot," she said as I opened the front door, "tell him about the boots."

This trick is not unwise.I can't wait to solve the boot mystery too.The old lady in the Breton hat answered the door, and I couldn't help asking if M. Poirot was at home.

Poirot responded and welcomed me into the room with a wide smile.

"My friend, please sit down," he said, "this larger chair, or that smaller one? It's not too hot in the room, is it?"

I felt that the room was tense, but I held back and said nothing.The windows were closed, and the fire was burning brightly.

"The English are very fond of fresh air," said Poirot. "There is plenty of fresh air outside, so why bring it in? We shall not discuss these platitudes. Have you brought me something?"

"Two things," I said, "first this, from my sister."

I handed him the jar of loquat jam.

"Miss Caroline is very kind. I remember the promise so well. What about the second one?"

"It's some news."

I then relayed to him my interview with Mrs Ackroyd.He listened with interest, but not too much excitement.

"That makes sense," he mused, "and also helps to verify the housekeeper's testimony. Remember, she said she found the silver table lid open when she passed by, and closed it."

"She also said that she went to the living room to check the freshness of the flowers, what do you think?"

"Ah, we never took that part seriously, did we, my friend? She was evidently eager to explain why she was in the drawing room, and she invented the excuse in a hurry--but then again, you probably didn't take it to heart. On. I originally speculated that she was so nervous because she tampered with the silver table, but now it seems that there is something else hidden."

"Yeah," I said, "who is she out meeting and why?"

"You think she's out to meet someone?"

"Yes."

Poirot nodded.

"I feel the same way." He mused.

We all fell silent.

"By the way," said I, "my sister sent me a message. Ralph Paton's boots are black, not brown."

I looked at him as I spoke.I don't know if it was a hallucination, but for a moment, his expression was a little uneasy.But even if it were true, that tinge of uneasiness is fleeting.

"Is she really sure the boots aren't brown?"

"Absolutely."

"Ah!" sighed Poirot with regret. "What a pity."

He seemed quite upset, but without further explanation, he changed the subject immediately.

"Miss Russell, the housekeeper who came to see you last Friday morning—would you mind telling me what you talked about? I mean, apart from the details of the normal consultation?"

"Never mind," I said. "After we got down to business, we talked about poison for a while, and whether it could be tested after poisoning, and finally we talked about drug use and addicts."

"Especially cocaine?" asked Poirot.

"How do you know?" I was slightly surprised.

Instead of answering directly, he got up and walked across the room to the papers filed across the room, brought over a copy of the Daily Budget for Friday, September [-], and motioned for me to read an article on cocaine smuggling.The content of the article is shocking and the description is very vivid.

"She read the article and got mad about cocaine," said Poirot.

I was still puzzled, and just about to ask, the door opened, and the servant announced that Geoffrey Raymond had come.

Raymond walked in, still smiling brightly, and greeted us warmly.

"Greetings, doctor. M. Poirot, this is my second visit this morning, and I am anxious to see you."

"Maybe I should avoid it." I suggested rather awkwardly.

"I don't mind, doctor. No, that's what it is," he said, taking his seat as Poirot instructed. "I've come to make a confession."

"Really?" asked Poirot, genial and interested.

"Oh, it's not really a big deal, really. But, to tell you the truth, I've been suffering from a torment of conscience since yesterday afternoon. You accuse us all of hiding something, M. Poirot, I admit it. I did. No confession."

"What is it, Mr. Raymond?"

"As I said, it was a trifle--well, I owed a debt--a great debt, and Mr Ackroyd's bequest came at the right time. Not only did five hundred pounds get me through. , and there is still a little left.”

He smiled charmingly again, no wonder this young man is popular.

"You know, the police are very suspicious - I don't want to admit that I'm short of money - or I'm sure they'll be on their radar. But I'm a fool, I've been with Brant since nine forty-five In the billiard room, my alibi is impeccable, and there is nothing to be afraid of. But since you are so angry at me for concealing the truth, I can't bear the condemnation of my conscience, so I had better confess."

He stood up again and smiled at us.

"You are a very sensible young man." Poirot nodded approvingly. "To be honest, once I find out that someone is hiding the truth from me, I cannot help but suspect that there may be something very serious behind it. You are very right."

"I'm glad I cleared the suspicion," Raymond laughed. "Then I'm leaving."

"Such a trivial matter." After the young secretary went out, I said.

"Well," said Poirot also, "barely worth mentioning. But God knows what would have happened if he hadn't been in the pool-room? Many murders have been motivated by less than five hundred pounds. It depends on how much money is enough to make a desperate man." , money is relative, is it not? Did it occur to you, my friend, that many people in that house benefited from Mr Ackroyd's death. Mrs Ackroyd, Flora Miss, young Mr. Raymond, the housekeeper, Miss Russell. In fact, there is only one person who has not benefited from it, and that is Major Brant."

His tone of voice when he mentioned Brant was so unnatural that I couldn't help but look up at him, a little confused.

"I didn't understand," I said.

"Two of the people I've accused have spoken out."

"You think Major Brant has secrets too?"

"Well," said Poirot nonchalantly, "the Englishman, as the saying goes, only conceals one thing—and that is love. As for Major Brant, I must say, he does not conceal it very well."

"Sometimes I wonder," I said, "that we're jumping to conclusions about that."

"How to say?"

"We have always believed that the person who blackmailed Mrs. Ferrars must be the murderer of Mr. Ackroyd. Could this be a misunderstanding?"

Poirot nodded vigorously.

"Very good, very good. I thought you hadn't thought of this. Of course it is possible. But one thing must be kept in mind: the letter is missing. Of course, you are right, the person who took the letter may not be The murderer. When you first found the body, Parker might have taken the letter while you weren't looking."

"Parker?"

"Yes, Parker. I can't help thinking of Parker, though I don't think he's the murderer. No, he didn't kill, but who is more like that mysterious villain who blackmailed Mrs. Ferrars? He's very The cause of Mr Ferrars' death may have been extracted from one of Kingspaddock's servants. At any rate, Parker is more likely than an occasional visitor, say, Brant."

"Perhaps it was Parker who took the letter," I admitted. "I didn't notice it until later."

"How long did it take to find out? Before or after Brant and Raymond entered the house?"

"I can't remember." I mused. "I think it was before—no, after they entered the house. Yes, almost certainly after they came."

"Then the scope has been extended to three people," Poirot thought, "but Parker is still the most likely. I intend to conduct a small experiment to test Parker. My friend, how about going to Finley Manor with me?"

I tacitly agreed, and we set off at once.On arrival at the estate, Poirot asked to see Miss Aykroyd, who promptly came to meet us.

"Miss Flora," said Poirot, "I have to reveal a little secret to you. I still do not believe that Parker is innocent, so I would like to ask you to cooperate in a little experiment. I am going to reconstruct some of his actions that night, But gotta make up a story to trick him—ah! Yes, let's say we want to make sure we can hear the little porch out on the terrace. Well, if you please ring for Parker."

I did as I was told and the butler showed up promptly and was as attentive as ever.

"Did you ring for me, sir?"

"Yes, good Parker, I wanted to do a little experiment. I had Major Brant stand on the terrace outside the study window, to see if anyone there could hear Miss Ackroyd and you on the porch that night. The voices in it. I want to recreate that scene. Can you go get the tray or something that was there?"

Parker is out.We went to the corridor outside the study door together, and after a while we heard the chatter of cups and plates, and Parker appeared with a tray containing a siphon, a bottle of whiskey, and two glasses.

"Wait a moment," cried Poirot, raising his hand excitedly, "step by step, it must be exactly the same as the scene at that time. This is my method of investigation."

"Is this a custom abroad, sir?" said Parker. "The so-called reconstruction of a crime scene?"

He stood there calmly, waiting for Poirot to send him.

"Ah! Parker knows quite a bit," exclaimed Poirot. "It seems that he has read some books on this subject. Now, I beg you to proceed as far as possible. You come in from the outer hall-- —Like this. Is the lady standing—where?”

"Here." Flora said, standing at the door of the study.

"Exactly, sir," said Parker.

"I had just closed the door," Flora continued.

"Yes, ma'am," echoed Parker, "your hand is on the doorknob just as it is now."

"Begin then," said Poirot, "act this short comedy for me."

Flora stood holding the doorknob, and Parker came through the door from the hall carrying the tray.

He stopped at the door, and then Flora said: "Oh! Mr. Ackroyd has ordered Mr. Ackroyd not to disturb him to-night, Parker."

"Is this my exact words?" She added in a low voice.

"That's the exact words, Miss Flora, if I remember correctly," said Parker, "but I think you used 'tonight' instead of 'tonight'." He replied in a low voice, "Understood, miss. Do you want to lock the door as usual?"

"Ok."

Parker exited the door, followed by Flora, then up the main stairs.

"Is that okay?" she asked, turning her head.

"Excellent," said the little man, rubbing his hands together. "By the way, Parker, are you sure there were actually two glasses in the tray that night? Who was the other for?"

"I'm sending two glasses each time, sir," said Parker. "Anything else?"

"that's all, thanks."

Parker withdrew, neither humble nor overbearing from beginning to end.

Poirot stood in the middle of the hall, his brows furrowed.Flora came down the stairs to join us.

"Did your experiment work?" she asked. "I don't quite understand, you know—"

Poirot smiled at her appreciatively.

"No need to find out," he said, "but tell me, were there really two glasses in Parker's tray that night?"

Flora frowned and thought about it.

"I really can't remember," she said, "it should be. Is this the purpose of your experiment?"

Poirot took her hand and patted it lightly.

"Let's put it this way," he said, "I've always been very careful about whether what people say is true or not."

"Did Parker tell the truth?"

"I don't think he's lying." Poirot was lost in thought.

After a few minutes, we returned to the village along the same road.

"What's the purpose of your question about the cup?" I asked curiously.

Poirot shrugged.

"If you have nothing to say, you always have to find something to say." He said, "Ask this question and ask other questions, and the effect is the same."

I glared at him.

"Anyway, my friend," he said seriously, "I have found out all I want to know, and this question will stop here."

(End of this chapter)