Roger Mystery

Chapter 30 Flora Aykroyd
Inspector Raglan greeted me the next morning when I returned from my medical visit.I stopped, and the inspector caught up in two steps in three steps.

"Good morning, Dr. Sheppard," he said. "Well, the alibi has been checked."

"Charles Kent's?"

"Yes. Sally Jones, the barmaid at the Dog Whistle, was so impressed with him that she recognized him from five photographs. He entered the bar at exactly nine forty-five, and the Dog Whistle was about a mile away from Finley. It was a mile from the farm. And Sally said he had a lot of money on him--she was horrified to see him pull a wad of bills out of his pocket, because the boots on the guy's feet were cheap, no Like a rich man. The whereabouts of the forty pounds should be obvious."

"He still won't confess. Why did he go to Finley Park?"

"Stubborn as a donkey. I spoke to Hayes from Liverpool this morning."

"Hercule Poirot says he knows why the fellow went to Finlay Park that night."

"Really?" asked the inspector impatiently.

"Yes," I said maliciously, "Poirot said Kent went there because he was born in Kent."

Being able to infect him with my confusion made me very happy.

Raglan stared at me blankly for a long time.Then, a smile crossed his weasel-like cunning face, and he slapped his forehead.

"Speaking of which," he said, "I've thought so for a long time, and that's why he retired to the country. Poor old man, it must be in the family, and his nephew is crazy."

"Is there such a thing?" I was dumbfounded.

"Yes. Did he never reveal it? I heard that the child is quite docile, but the condition is too serious, poor."

"Who told you that?"

Inspector Raglan grinned again.

"Your sister, Miss Sheppard, said it all."

Caroline is great.She had to dig out everyone's family affairs privacy to finish.Unfortunately, no matter how I teach her the principle of "strictly keeping secrets", she will not be able to learn it.

"Get in the car, Inspector," I pushed open the door. "Let's go to Larch and update our Belgian friends."

"Alright. Although he's a bit silly, at least he gave me useful hints on the issue of fingerprints. But he cares too much about Kent, but who knows—maybe there's something hidden behind it."

Poirot, as usual, greeted us with a big smile.

He listened carefully to the news we brought, nodding from time to time.

"There doesn't seem to be a loophole, does it?" said the Inspector sullenly. "He can't kill someone while drinking at a bar a mile away."

"Are you going to let him go?"

"There's no way. You can't just keep him in detention because the source of his money is unknown. There's no way to prove that he's the murderer."

The Inspector grumbled and groaned as he threw a match into the fireplace.Poirot picked it up again and threw it into a box for matches.From that mechanical movement, it could be seen that he had other thoughts.

"I," he said after a long time, "wouldn't have released Charles Kent so soon."

"How do you say that?"

Raglan glared at him.

"I said I would not release Charles Kent so soon."

"You don't think he has anything to do with the murder?"

"Murder shouldn't be his business, but it's not entirely certain."

"But I didn't say all that—"

Poirot interrupted him with a wave.

"Yes, yes, I hear it all, and I'm not deaf - I'm not blind, thank God! But you're dealing with this entirely on the wrong...false premise. 'Wrong' is the word I use Is it quite appropriate?"

The inspector gave him a sharp look.

"I don't understand how you came to that conclusion. Mind you, Mr. Ackroyd was alive at nine forty-five. You must admit that?"

Poirot watched him for a long time, smiled and shook his head. "I don't take anything for granted that isn't confirmed!"

"Well, the evidence is sufficient. We have the testimony of Miss Flora Aykroyd."

"You mean she said good night to her uncle? But—I don't always accept everything I say to young ladies... No, even if she is beautiful and beautiful."

"Damn it, man, Parker saw her coming out of the study!"

"No," retorted Poirot suddenly, loudly, "he obviously didn't see it. I proved it the other day with a little experiment—remember, doctor? Parker only saw her standing outside the door with her hand on it. Come on, I didn't see her walk out of the study with my own eyes."

"But—then where was she?"

"Maybe on the stairs."

"On the stairs?"

"It was my epiphany again—yes."

"But the stairs lead only to Mr Ackroyd's bedroom."

"Completely correct."

The inspector was dumbfounded again.

"You think she's been in her uncle's bedroom before? Well, why? Why did she lie?"

"Ah! That's the point. It depends on what she does in the bedroom, doesn't it?"

"You mean—money? Damn, are you implying that it was Miss Ackroyd who stole the forty pounds?"

"I didn't say anything," said Poirot, "but I must remind you that their mother and daughter are very hard-pressed. There are a lot of bills, and they are always stretched out. Roger Ackroyd was very strict with money, and a small debt was enough to make the girl desperate. Let us imagine the scene at that time: she stole the money, went down the small flight of stairs, and heard the sound of glasses and plates in the drawing room on the way. He immediately understood what was going on—Parker was going to the study. He couldn’t find himself on the stairs anyway—Parker was not forgetful, and he would be suspicious. If he found out that the money was short by then, Parker would definitely think of her The thing about coming down the stairs. Just long enough for her to rush to the study door—hands on the doorknob, pretending to have just come out of the study, and then Parker came in. She had an idea, and she made up a line to tell the story of the morning. I repeated Roger Ackroyd's orders at some point, and went to my room in good standing."

"That's right, but didn't she realize the importance of confessing afterward?" The inspector was still unconvinced, "This is the core issue of the whole case!"

"How could Flora say it afterwards?" Poirot was unmoved. "At first she only heard that the house was burglarized and the police came. Naturally, she immediately came to the conclusion that the loss of money was exposed. She just She can stick to her own story. When she learned that her uncle was killed, she was completely terrified. Sir, if a young girl is not particularly stimulated these days, she will not faint easily. Well, that's the end of the matter , she has only two options: either stick to the original testimony, or confess everything. And a young and beautiful girl is unlikely to be willing to admit that she is a thief-especially in front of those she is eager to gain respect."

Raglan slammed his fist on the table.

"I don't believe it," he said, "this...this is outrageous. You...you already found out?"

"I have considered this possibility from the beginning," admitted Poirot. "I have always believed that Miss Flora is hiding something from us. In order to prove this, I devised a small experiment. Well, Dr. Shepherd was there."

"You clearly said that you were going to test Parker." I replied angrily.

"My friend," Poirot apologized, "I told you before that an excuse must be found."

The inspector stood up.

"Without further ado," he announced, "she must be asked at once. How about going to Finley Park together, M. Poirot?"

"No problem, just ask Dr. Sheppard to drive."

I readily agree.

Having indicated that we were looking for Miss Ackroyd, we were led into the pool-room.Flora and Major Hector Brandt were sitting on a bench by the window.

"Good morning, Miss Ackroyd," said the Inspector, "may I speak to you alone?"

Brandt immediately got up and walked out.

"What's the matter?" Flora asked nervously. "Don't go, Major Brant. May he stay?" she turned to the inspector.

"Whatever." The inspector replied coldly, "I have one or two questions for you, Miss. But it's better not to have others present, I promise, you would prefer to talk in private."

Flora stared at him, pale, then turned to Brant and said, "Please stay—please—yes, I mean it. Whatever the Inspector has to say, I want you Listen."

Raglan shrugged.

"Well, since it doesn't matter to you, it's up to you. Well, Miss Ackroyd, M. Poirot has an idea that you didn't go into the study at all last Friday night to say good night to Mr. Ackroyd." ; you were not in the study, but just coming down from your uncle's bedroom, when you heard Parker coming down the hall."

Flora's eyes moved to Poirot, who nodded.

"Miss, I begged you to take the initiative to confess at the meeting that day. You can't hide anything from Papa Poirot, and I will always find out in the end, don't you? Well, let's open the sky and tell the truth. You took the money." ,right?"

"Money?" Brant blurted out.

For at least a minute, the room was silent.

Then Flora straightened herself up, and answered:

"M. Poirot is right. I took the money. I stole it, and I was a thief—yes, a common, self-serving thief. Now you all understand! I'm happier for the truth." , The past few days have been like nightmares!" She sat down suddenly, covered her face with her hands, and said in a hoarse voice from between her fingers, "You don't understand what kind of life I've lived since I came to this house. To buy things, to have to think, to lie, to cheat; to be in debt, to belittle the creditor--oh! I hate it when I think of it! That's why Ralph and I came together, we were all so Vulnerability! I understand him and I feel for him - he is also dependent. We are all helpless, fragile, pathetic, despicable little people."

She looked at Brant, and suddenly stamped her feet and shouted:

"Why do you look at me that way - unbelievable? I'm a thief - but at least now I'm out of my disguise, I don't have to lie, I don't want to pretend to be the girl you like —Young, naive, heartless. It doesn’t matter if you never want to see me again. I hate myself, I despise myself—but you must believe that if telling the truth could save Ralph, I would have I will. But I always thought that my confession would not only not help him—but would push him further into desperation. I stick to my lie, and it is not harmful to him."

"Ralph," said Brant, "get it--you can't get around Ralph."

"You don't understand," said Flora desperately, "you never will."

She turned to the Inspector again.

"I'll admit everything. I couldn't do anything else to get the money. I didn't see my uncle again after supper that day. As for the theft, do what you want, it can't be any worse than it is now." !"

She suddenly burst into tears, covered her face and rushed out the door.

"Very well," said the inspector dully, "so be it."

Brandt stepped forward.

"Inspector Raglan," he said calmly, "the money was given to me by Mr Ackroyd for a special purpose, and Miss Ackroyd never touched any of it. She claimed to have stolen it, In fact, it was a lie, thinking that this would cover Captain Peyton. I am telling the truth, and I can go to court to testify under oath at any time."

He bowed hastily, turned and left the room hastily.

Poirot hurried off and overtook him in the hall.

"Sir—please hold on, please."

"What is the matter, M. Poirot?"

Brant, evidently impatient, stared at Poirot, frowning.

"Well," said Poirot quickly, "I cannot be fooled by your whims. No, I will not be fooled. It is true that Miss Flora took the money. But your words are very imaginative. I am very happy to hear that. You have done a very good job, and you are indeed a man who dares to think and do."

"I don't care what you think, thank you." Brant replied coldly.

As soon as he finished speaking, he was about to leave, but Poirot was not angry, but grabbed him again.

"Ah! But you must listen to me. The other day I said that everyone has something to hide. Well, I have seen through your secret long ago. Since the first time I saw Miss Flora, you have fallen in love with all your heart She's gone, isn't it? Oh! There's no need to be ashamed—why is it such a shameful secret to fall in love in England? You love Miss Flora dearly, and you want to keep it from the world. Very well—there's nothing wrong with that , but take Hercule Poirot's advice—don't hide your love from Mademoiselle Flora herself."

While Poirot was babbling on, Brant seemed unusually embarrassed, but the last two sentences caught his attention.

"What does that mean?" he asked sharply.

"You think she's still in love with Captain Ralph Paton—but I, Hercule Poirot, can tell you that's not the case. Miss Flora's consent to marry Captain Paton was purely To please her uncle, and this marriage would free her from the miserable life she was in. Yes, she liked Captain Paton, and there was sympathy and understanding between them, but love—no! Miss Flora's heart The one I love is definitely not Captain Peyton."

"What are you trying to say?" Brandt asked.His dark face was flushed.

"You are blind, Mr. Brant! This lady is very loyal. Ralph Paton is now suspected of murder, and she is standing firmly on his side for his honor."

I think I should also say a few words to make this beautiful thing happen.

"My sister told me that night," I encouraged him, "that Flora never liked Ralph, and never will. Caroline is always right on such matters."

Brant didn't seem to have heard my good words, and asked Poirot directly: "Do you really think—" He hesitated to speak.

He is not very expressive, and he just can't get the words out of his mouth.It is estimated that Poirot has never seen a person who is so clumsy and clumsy.

"If you don't believe me, you can ask her to her face. But maybe you don't want to--because of the money--"

Brant laughed angrily.

"Do you think I will dislike her because of this? Roger is always so stingy with money. She lives in distress, but she dare not tell him. Poor girl, poor and lonely girl."

Poirot looked thoughtfully at the side door.

"I think Miss Flora has gone into the garden," he whispered.

"What an idiot I am," cried Brant suddenly. "What an odd conversation we had. It was like a Danish play. You're a very nice fellow, M. Poirot, thank you."

He squeezed Poirot's hand tightly, and Poirot flinched in pain.Then Brant strode out the side door and into the garden.

"He's not too stupid," muttered Poirot, gently rubbing his aching hand, "only a fool when it comes to love."

(End of this chapter)