Roger Mystery

Chapter 17 The Goldfish Pond

We walked back to the mansion together, and the Inspector was nowhere to be seen.Poirot paused for a moment on the terrace, his back turned to the house, and he looked around slowly.

"What a beautiful estate," he marveled. "Who will inherit it?"

This statement shocked me greatly.Strange to say, until just now I had not considered the question of inheritance.Poirot stared at me sharply.

"Looks like you've just thought of that," he said at last. "Haven't thought about it before, huh?"

"No," I said truthfully, "I wish I had thought of it sooner."

He looked at me curiously again.

"I don't understand what you mean," he mused. "Oh, no," he said loudly, just as I was about to start, "it's useless! You're not going to reveal what you really think anyway."

"Everyone has something to hide." I smiled and quoted what he had said earlier.

"Completely correct."

"You still think so?"

"More and more sure, my friend. But Hercule Poirot is not so easy to hide. I have the means to find out."

As he spoke he descended the steps leading to the Dutch garden.

"Let's go for a walk together," he turned to greet me, "today's air is very pleasant."

I followed closely.He led me into a path on the left, between yew hedges, between well-ordered flower beds, and at the end of the path in a semicircle, well paved, with seats, and A glance at the goldfish pond.Poirot did not go forward, but circled up the hillside surrounded by green trees.There is an open space on the slope, the trees have been cut down, and a bench has been placed. Sitting here, you can enjoy the countryside scenery, and the goldfish pond is below.

"The scenery in England is so beautiful," said Poirot with a smile, admiring the scenery before him. "The girls in England are also very beautiful." He lowered his voice, "Hush, my friend, and look at the beautiful scenery below."

That's when I discovered Flora.She was coming along the path we had just passed, humming.Her bouncing steps are not so much walking as dancing; although she is wearing a long black dress, her whole body is full of joy and joy.She stood on tiptoe and twirled briskly, the corners of her jet-black skirt suddenly lifted; at the same time, she turned her head and let out a silver bell-like laugh.

Just then, a man came out from behind the tree. It was Hector Brandt.

Flora was startled suddenly, her expression changed slightly.

"You scared me—didn't see you just now."

Brant said nothing, just stared at her quietly.

"What I like about you," Flora said stingingly, "is the pleasant conversation."

Brant's dark face also turned red.When he spoke, his voice was different—a strange humility mingled with it.

"I've always been clumsy, even when I was young."

"That must have been a long time ago," said Flora solemnly.

I caught the hidden smile in her words, but Brant might not have heard it.

"Yeah," he replied succinctly, "that's right."

"How does it feel to be Methuselah?" Flora asked again.

This time her banter was more obvious, but Brandt was just talking to himself.

"Remember the man who sold his soul to the devil in exchange for his youth? There's an opera about that."

"You mean Faust?"

"Yeah. Weird story. Most of us would be willing to make that kind of deal if it could be done."

"From what you said, I thought you were so old that your joints were cracking." Flora was annoyed and funny.

Brant was at a loss for words, his eyes wandered away from Flora, and he muttered to a nearby tree, "It's time to go back to Africa."

"Are you going away again? Going hunting?"

"I mean. Usually, um--I mean usually hunting."

"That animal head in the hall is a trophy, right?"

Brant nodded, and blurted out, "Do you like beautiful animal skins? If you like, I can bring some back." His face flushed.

"Oh! That's great!" Flora whispered. "Really? You won't forget, will you?"

"Unforgettable," said Hector Brandt.

Then he poured out another long paragraph hastily.

"I've got to go. I'm not good at this kind of life. I don't know manners. I'm a rough guy, I don't fit in the social circle, and I can't remember what to say. Yes, I really have to go."

"But you can't go now," cried Flora, "no—you can't go while we're in this trouble. Oh, please, if you go—"

She turned around a little.

"You want me to stay?" Brant asked.

It's straightforward to ask knowingly.

"We all thought so—"

"I'm asking about your personal opinion," Brant said bluntly.

Flora turned around slowly again, and the two looked at each other.

"I want you to stay," she said, "if—if it makes any difference."

"It made all the difference," Brandt said.

After a moment of silence, the two sat down on the stone bench by the goldfish pond.It seemed like he wasn't sure what to say next.

"What a . Woolen cloth?"

"Actually, it's quite natural," Brant said. "Didn't you first meet your uncle two years ago? The grief is not too strong, and it's reasonable. It's better than putting on airs."

"You are so comforting," said Flora, "that you make everything very simple."

"Things in the world are very simple." said the famous hunter.

"That's not quite the case," Flora continued.

Her voice trailed off, and Brant turned to look at her, as if taking his gaze away from what seemed to be the distant coast of Africa.He obviously thought he understood the reason for her sudden change of tone, and quickly spoke rashly:
"Well, I said, you needn't be worried. I mean there's no need to be worried about that boy. The Inspector's a jerk, everybody knows--it's ridiculous to think Ralph was the murderer. The murderer must be an outsider. Thief. That's the only possible answer."

Flora turned to look at him again.

"You really think so?"

"Don't you think so?" Brant asked immediately.

"I—oh, of course, I thought so too."

There was another silence, and then Flora said suddenly, nonchalantly, "I...I want to tell you why I'm so happy this morning. No matter how heartless you think I am, I'm going to tell you. Because our family The solicitor—Mr. Hammond—informed me of the will. Uncle Roger left me twenty thousand pounds. Come to think of it—that's twenty thousand pounds.”

Brandt was a little taken aback.

"Is it that important?"

"Is it important to me? Well, it's all I can get. Freedom—life—no more scheming, no more haggling, no more lying—"

"Lies?" Brant interrupted sharply.

Flora was momentarily shocked.

"You should know what I mean," she evasively said, "wealthy relatives give you the dirty things that have been eliminated, last year's coats, skirts, hats, etc., and you have to pretend to be grateful." appearance."

"I don't know much about women's clothing, but you've always dressed beautifully."

"But there's a price to pay for that," Flora whispered, "forget about the unpleasant stuff. I'm free to do what I want without--"

She stopped abruptly.

"No need?" Brandt asked hastily.

"I forgot. It doesn't matter."

Brant stuck his cane into the goldfish tank as if poking something.

"What are you doing, Major Brant?"

"There was something twinkling at the bottom of the water, I don't know what it was—it looked like a gold brooch. Now I've muddied the water so I can't see it."

"Maybe a crown," Flora quipped, "like the one Melisande found in the water."

"Melisande," Brant thought for a while, "is it a character from an opera?"

"Yes, you seem to be quite familiar with opera."

"Sometimes I'm taken to the theatre," said Brant despondently. "What a ridiculous form of entertainment—it's louder than the native drums."

Flora couldn't help laughing.

"I remember Melisande married an old guy," Brandt continued, "old enough to be her father."

He threw a small stone into the goldfish pond, then turned to Flora, his expression changed.

"Miss Ackroyd, is there anything I can do for you? I mean Peyton's business. You must be very anxious."

"Thanks," replied Flora icily, "there's nothing much to do. Ralph will be all right. I've got the best detective in the world, and he'll bring the truth to light."

It made me a little uncomfortable to be in our position.Strictly speaking, it wasn't eavesdropping, because these two in the garden below could see us as soon as they looked up.What's more, if my companion hadn't pressed his hand hard on my arm and warned me not to make a sound, I would have warned them that someone was here.Poirot obviously wanted me to keep silent.But now he acted quickly himself.

He stood up quickly and cleared his throat.

"Forgive me," he shouted, "for not reminding you that I am nearby, and I don't dare to take Miss Flora's compliments. Everyone says that when you eavesdrop, you never hear good things about yourself. This time But it is an exception. In order to avoid making a fool of myself again, I have no choice but to show up and apologize to the two of you."

He trotted down the path, and I followed him to the goldfish pond.

"This is M. Hercule Poirot," said Flora, "you must have heard of—"

Poirot bowed.

"Major Brant, I have known you for a long time," he said politely. "It is a pleasure to meet you. I am anxious to ask you some questions."

Brant looked at him inquiringly.

"When was the last time you saw Mr Ackroyd alive?"

"At dinner time."

"Did you never see him again, or hear him speak?"

"I haven't seen him again, but I've heard his voice."

"How to say?"

"I was walking on the terrace—"

"Excuse me, what time was it?"

"Around 09:30. I was walking up and down smoking a cigarette outside the living room window and heard Ackroyd talking in the study—"

Poirot stopped, and interrupted Brant by pulling a sliver of grass.

"From that position on the terrace, you can't be sure to hear the voices in the study," he whispered.

Poirot was not looking at Brant, but I was staring at him.To my amazement, Brant blushed.

"I've come all the way around the corner," he explained reluctantly.

"Ah! Really?" asked Poirot.

His extremely kind tone made one feel that he wanted to know more.

"I thought I saw... saw a woman creeping into the bushes. There was just a flash of white, well, maybe it was my eyesight. I was around the corner of the terrace and I heard Ackroyd talking to the secretary."

"He was talking to Geoffrey Raymond?"

"Yes—I thought so at the time, and now I seem to be mistaken."

"Did Mr. Ackroyd not call the other party's name?"

"Oh Nope."

"Then why do you think it's—"

Brant stammered and explained: "I took it for granted that it was Raymond, because before I went to the terrace, he said he was going to send some papers to Aykroyd. I never considered the possibility of anyone else."

"Do you remember what they said?"

"I'm afraid I don't remember. It's just a trivial matter. I only listened to a few sentences here and there. I was thinking about other things at the time."

"A trivial matter," muttered Poirot in a low voice. "After you found the body, did you move a chair against the wall when you entered the study?"

"Chair? Not moved. Why should I move the chair?"

Poirot shrugged his shoulders and made no answer.He turned to Flora again.

"One thing, miss. Was the short sword still there when you and Dr. Sheppard looked at the collection in the silver table?"

Flora pouted. "Inspector Raglan just cross-examined the matter," she said angrily. "I told him all about it, and I have to repeat it to you now. I am absolutely sure that the cutlass was no longer in the silver table." .He thought it was still there, and then Ralph sneaked in and stole it. And...and he didn't believe me at all, and decided that I said that to...to cover Ralph."

"Did you not cover him?" I asked seriously.

Flora stomped her feet anxiously: "Doctor Sheppard, you too... Oh! It's terrible!"

Poirot deflected the subject deftly.

"Major Brandt, just now you said that there is something shining in the pool, it is true. I will see if I can get it."

He knelt down by the pool, rolled up his sleeves to his elbows, and slowly stretched his hands into the water, for fear of disturbing the mud at the bottom of the pool.But in spite of his care, the mud swirled and started to rise.He had to withdraw his hand, but nothing was caught.

He stared pitifully at the mud on his arm.I handed over my handkerchief, but he refused repeatedly before taking it, thanking me frequently.Brant looked at his watch.

"It's almost time for lunch," he said. "We'd better go back to the house."

"Will you come to dinner too, M. Poirot?" asked Flora. "I would like you to see my mother, who—she is very fond of Ralph."

The little dwarf bowed slightly: "It's a great honor, miss."

"How about you staying too, Dr. Sheppard?"

I hesitated.

"Oh, just promise!"

In fact, I had exactly this intention, so I went along with the flow and stopped being polite.

We headed for the mansion, Flora and Brant leading the way.

"What beautiful hair," Poirot said to me in a low voice, nodding to Flora in front of him. "Really golden! She and the dark and handsome Captain Paton are a perfect match. Don't you think?"

I looked at him curiously, but he began to brush off a few drops of water on his sleeves.The guy was a bit like a cat at times: those green eyes, those fussy habits.

"It's a waste of time." I sympathized deeply, "I really want to know what kind of treasure is in the pool."

"Want to see it?" asked Poirot.

I widened my eyes and he nodded.

"My dear friend," he complained nicely, "Hercule Poirot would never risk soiling his clothes and go home empty-handed. That would be absurd. I never do absurd things. "

"But there's nothing when you pull your hand out of the water," I protested.

"Sometimes prudence is necessary. Do you speak straight to your patients, Doctor? I can't see it. You don't hold back even from your good sister, do you? Before showing it to you, I hid what I got in the other hand. Come and see what it is."

He stretched out his left hand, spread out his palm, and saw a small gold ring lying on his palm.It's a women's wedding ring.

I took the ring from his palm.

"Look inside." Poirot pointed.

I followed his instructions, and there was a line of thin words engraved on the inside of the ring in beautiful fonts:
R. Gift, March [-].

I glanced at Poirot, but he was too busy arranging his own image in a pocket mirror, especially with those mustaches, to completely ignore me.It can be seen that he has no desire to talk at all at the moment.

(End of this chapter)