Roger Mystery

Chapter 32
Of course Miss Russell's walk into the clinic couldn't be hidden from Caroline.I prepared a set of excuses about how her knees were uncomfortable, but Caroline didn't bother to ask, because she thought she had seen through Miss Russell's true intentions, and I was the only one who was in the dark.

"She's come to test you, James," said Caroline. "There is no doubt that she is testing you in the most disgusting way. I dare say you don't see her sinister intentions at all. Men are too simple. She knows Poirot trusts you, and she wants to get something out of you. Guess what I think, James?"

"It's useless to guess, I can't stand your whimsical ideas."

"Why mock me. I think Miss Russell knows more about Mr. Ackroyd's death than she tells."

Caroline leaned back in her chair triumphantly.

"Really?" I said absently.

"You're listless today, James, you can't keep your spirits up. You must be too angry again."

The conversation that follows is purely family matter.

The next morning, the local morning papers published the news that Poirot had invented.I could not fathom Poirot's intentions at all, but the news had a great impact on Caroline.

She had the audacity to brag that it was all expected, which was bullshit.I raised my eyebrows and ignored her.But Caroline was always not at ease, so she said again: "Maybe I didn't specifically refer to Liverpool, but I expected him to find a way to escape to the United States. That's what Crippin did."

"But it failed." I reminded her.

"Poor boy, so he's under arrest. I'm thinking, James, it's your duty to save him from hanging."

"Then what do you want me to do?"

"Hey, aren't you a doctor? You watched this kid grow up, and you said he was mentally ill and couldn't bear criminal responsibility. That's right. I just read in the newspaper a few days ago that those mentally ill The sick live well in Broadmoor—it's become a high society club."

What Caroline said reminded me of something else.

"I've never heard that Poirot has a demented nephew." I asked curiously.

"You don't know? Oh, he told me all. Poor boy, poor family. He has been locked in the house, but his condition is getting worse and worse. I'm afraid he can only be sent to a mental hospital."

"I guess you have figured out the situation of Poirot's family." I was very annoyed.

"That is," Caroline said triumphantly, "it would be a relief for him to find someone to confide in."

"Maybe, if they're voluntary," I said, "but if they're forced to reveal their privacy, that's another story."

Look at Caroline's eyes, as if a martyr saint regards death as home.

"You're so selfish, James," she said. "You hate gossip, you keep your mouth shut, and you think everyone has to learn from you. I never force anyone to reveal their secrets. For example, if Poirot If sir came this afternoon—he said he was coming to our house—I wouldn’t ask who came into his house this morning.”

"Early this morning?" I asked.

"It was very early," said Caroline, "before the milk came. I just glanced out of the window - because the curtains were blowing up. It was a man, getting out of the car, all wrapped up Actually, I can't see his face. But I can tell you my guess first, and you will know how prescient I am later."

"Who do you think he is?"

Caroline lowered her voice mysteriously.

"Experts from the Ministry of Internal Affairs." She almost spoke with her breath.

"A specialist from the Home Office?" I was stunned. "Dear Caroline!"

"We'll see, James, you'll have to turn around. That Russell woman came to you that morning to inquire about poisons, and Roger Ackroyd's dinner that day could have been easily poisoned."

I laughed from ear to ear.

"Absurd," I cried, "he was stabbed in the neck, don't you know?"

"It was stabbed after death, James," said Caroline. "Smoke bombs."

"My dear sister," I said, "I did the autopsy, and I am responsible for the conclusion I draw. The wound was definitely not formed after death—that sword was the fatal cause of death, and it is [-]% correct. .”

Caroline continued to act omniscient, and I, annoyed, said, "Please tell me, Caroline, did I get a medical degree or not?"

"Yes, James, I dare say—at least, I know you have. But anyway, your imagination is poor."

"Since God gave you the imagination of three people, there is nothing left for me." I replied coldly.

In the afternoon, Poirot came as scheduled, and Caroline tried her best to spy on the information. I couldn't help laughing to myself.The sister didn't ask the question directly, but used all kinds of tricks she could think of to lead the topic to Poirot's mysterious guest in a roundabout way.From the light in Poirot's eyes, I knew he had already seen through Caroline's intentions.He responded one by one, virtually defusing Caroline's offensive.In the end, Caroline felt bored and couldn't continue.

Perhaps Poirot was enjoying this little game.He got up and suggested going for a walk.

"I need to relax," he explained. "Come along, doctor? Miss Caroline, please, get us some tea later."

"No problem," said Caroline. "Is your—er—guest coming?"

"You are very kind," said Poirot. "It is a pity that my friend is resting. But I will introduce you to him soon."

"Some people say that he is your old acquaintance." Caroline plucked up the courage to deliver the final blow.

"Really?" muttered Poirot. "Well, it's time to go."

Unsurprisingly, the direction we headed was Finley Park.Gradually I began to grasp Poirot's method of handling cases.Each seemingly isolated piece of the puzzle is actually an integral part of the overall picture of the case.

"I have a task for you, my friend," he said at last. "I want to have a little party at home tonight. Can you come?"

"Of course." I said.

"Very well. I would also like to invite everyone from Finley Park to attend - that is: Mrs. Ackroyd, Miss Flora, Major Brant, Mr. Raymond. The party is scheduled to start at nine o'clock in the evening, please. How about you go invite them?"

"Okay. Why don't you ask for it yourself?"

"Because they will ask: Why? What do you want? They will ask my purpose, and as you know, my friend, I do not like to reveal my little schemes prematurely."

I smile slightly.

"My friend Hastings I mentioned used to call me an oyster, too tight-lipped. But he was a little unfair. I never try to hide the truth. But everyone has a different opinion of the truth. understand."

"When do you want me to invite you?"

"Go now if it's convenient for you. We're pretty close to the mansion."

"You're not going in?"

"No, I'll just walk around the manor. We'll meet at the porter in 15 minutes."

I nodded and went to perform the task.Mrs Ackroyd, who was at her morning tea alone, received me graciously.

"I can't thank you enough, Doctor," she whispered, "for explaining that little incident to M. Poirot. Life is full of troubles, with ups and downs and ups and downs. Flora's Did you hear about it?"

"What happened?" I asked cautiously.

"Flora is engaged to Hector Brant. Not as well-suited, of course, as she is to Ralph, but happiness is all that matters anyway. Dear Flora needs an older man—stable and dependable." man, and Hector is indeed a very special man. Did you see the arrest of Ralph in the morning paper?"

"Yes," I said, "I see."

"It's terrible." Mrs Ackroyd closed her eyes and trembled. "Raymond was so anxious that he called Liverpool, but the police there said nothing. In fact, they claimed that no arrests were made at all." Mr. Wolfe. Mr. Raymond insists that it was all a misunderstanding, is--how do you say it? Newspapers and hype. I forbid anyone to mention it in front of the servants. It's a disgrace. Think about it, Flo If La really marries him, the consequences will be disastrous."

Mrs Ackroyd closed her eyes in pain.I guess it will take me quite a while before I can extend the invitation for Poirot.

Before I could speak, Mrs. Ackroyd continued: "You came to the house yesterday with that wicked Inspector Raglan, didn't you? The fellow was cruel to the last degree—he threatened Flora to admit that he had taken poor Roger's room." It's a simple matter, really. The good girl wants to borrow a few quid, and doesn't want to bother her uncle, who keeps the money very tight. Since she knows where it's put, she'll do it herself. Take a little."

"Is that what Flora said?" I asked.

"Dear doctor, it's not that you don't understand girls these days, and they are especially easy to be misled. Of course, you also understand hypnotism or something. The police inspector yelled at her, yelling 'thief', poor My kid was incoherent from being humiliated - or some kind of morbid phobia? - I can't tell the difference between the two symptoms - and actually thought I stole money. I saw the problem at a glance. But thank God Well, this misunderstanding has brought them both together--I mean Hector and Flora. I will tell you, I was worried about Flora in the past, alas, I thought there was a relationship between her and young Raymond. It's a bit ambiguous. Think about it!" Mrs. Ackroyd's voice was getting louder, and the sense of fear contained in it was particularly harsh, "It's just a private secretary-no much property at all."

"It will be a terrible blow to you if she does get on with Raymond," said I. "Now, Mrs. Ackroyd, M. Hercule Poirot has sent me a message."

"Send me a message?"

Mrs Ackroyd was suddenly alert.

I hastily explained Poirot's intentions and reassured her.

"No problem," said Mrs. Ackroyd with great concern. "Since Mr. Poirot asked, we must go. But what is his plan? I think it's better to know first."

I have to be honest, I don't know much more than she does myself.

"Well," Mrs. Ackroyd reluctantly agreed at last, "I'll tell the others to be there on time at nine o'clock."

So I took my leave and met Poirot at the agreed place.

"I'm afraid I've been around for more than fifteen minutes," I said. "The lady's chatter has gone on and on, and I haven't even had a chance to interject."

"Never mind," said Poirot. "I am enjoying myself. The gardens here are beautiful."

We are on our way home.Upon arriving home, Caroline unexpectedly answered the door herself, apparently waiting for us to return.

She covered her lips with her index finger, unable to suppress her complacency and excitement.

"Ursula Bonn," she said, "parlormaid at Finley Park, here she is! I put her waiting in the dining-room. She's in very bad shape, poor girl. She says M. Poirot must be seen at once." I've done my best to reassure her and make her a cup of hot tea. I can't bear to see other people like this."

"She's in the dining room?" asked Poirot.

"This way please." I pushed open the door of the restaurant.

Ursula Boone was sitting at the table.Her arms were spread out in front of her face, and she had obviously just been crying with her head buried in them, her eyes were red and swollen.

"Ursula Bonn," I called softly.

But Poirot moved past me and held out his hands to her.

"No," he said, "that's only half the name. You shouldn't be called Ursula Boone, should you, boy—is it Ursula Paton? You're Mrs. Ralph Paton. "

(End of this chapter)