Roger Mystery

Chapter 20 Poirot's Visit
When I rang the doorbell at Malby Farm the next afternoon, I was a little nervous.I could not understand what Poirot wanted to know.Why did he entrust me with carte blanche for this task?Is it because he wants to stay hidden, like he asked me to question Major Brant last time?It's easy to understand if the other party is Brant, but this time, I don't see any point.

My thoughts were interrupted by an ingenious parlor maid who answered the door.

Yes, Mrs. Friot is at home.I was led into a spacious living room.While waiting for the hostess, I looked around curiously, and saw a large empty room, with some nice old china, some beautiful copper engravings, some old carpets and curtains, and it looked like a lady s room.

I was admiring the Bartoloch painting on the wall when Mrs Friot came in.She was tall, with tousled brown hair and a charming smile.

"Are you Dr. Sheppard?" she asked uncertainly.

"I am," I answered, "and I am taking the liberty of calling here. I want to hear from you about a parlor-maid who was once in your employment. Her name is Ursula Byrne."

As soon as she heard the name, her smile disappeared immediately, and her friendly attitude froze.She looked rather uncomfortable and uncomfortable.

"Ursula Byrne?" she said hesitantly.

"Yes," I said, "maybe you don't remember?"

"Oh, no, of course not, I... I'm very impressed with her."

"As far as I know, it's only been a year since she left you?"

"Yes. Yes, yes. You are quite right."

"So, were you satisfied with her performance when she was working here? By the way, how long has she served you?"

"Oh, maybe a year or two—I don't remember. She...she's very capable, and I promise you'll find her a satisfactory servant. I didn't know she was leaving Finley Park, not at all. .”

"Can you tell me about her?" I asked again.

"any sitiuation?"

"Yeah, where is she from, who are her parents—that sort of thing."

Mrs. Friot's face hardened even more.

"I have absolutely no idea."

"Whose house did she work for before she came to you?"

"I'm afraid I don't remember."

At this moment, there was a hint of anger floating in her tense expression.She stroked her hair, which seemed familiar.

"Are these questions necessary?"

"That's not true," I said, surprised and apologetic. "I didn't expect you to mind. I'm sorry."

Her anger vanished, and she became confused again.

"Oh, I don't mind, I really don't. Why should I? It's just... just kind of weird, you know, that's it, kind of weird."

One of the great advantages of being a professional doctor is that you can always see through whether the other party is lying.From Mrs. Friot's conversation alone, I could tell at a glance that she really cared a lot about my question--was terribly caring.She was restless and restless, and there was obviously a lot to it.As far as I could judge, she was a woman very bad at telling lies, so when she had to answer against her will, she was inevitably very embarrassed and flustered.Even a three-year-old can't hide this.

But it was clear that she didn't want to reveal anything more to me.Whatever secrets Ursula Byrne harbored, it was only so far that Mrs Freeot could tell.

I apologized again for bothering her, then took my hat and said goodbye, without success.

I stopped by to visit some patients and didn't get home until about six o'clock.Caroline sat at the table with the leftovers of tea.I could see that she was trying to suppress the joy in her heart, because I was so used to that expression.Either she has just found out some important news, or she has just spread the inside story. I can't help but speculate on what big news happened in the village.

"This afternoon was so much fun," Caroline said as I settled into the easy chair and stretched my feet by the warm fire.

"Is that so?" I replied. "Miss Gannett is here for tea?"

Miss Gannett was one of the main force of the "Long Tongue Group" in the village.

"Guess again." Caroline was complacent.

I guessed several times, and finally guessed all the members of Caroline's think tank one by one.Every time she guessed, my sister victoriously shook her head and denied it.Finally she couldn't hold it anymore.

"It's M. Poirot!" she said. "Well, what do you think?"

I had a lot on my mind, but I tried to stay as quiet as possible in front of Caroline.

"What is he doing here?" I asked.

"Of course he came to visit me. He said, since I know my younger brother so well, I wish I could have the honor of meeting his charming sister—it's your charming sister, I'm confused—anyway, you understand what I said Who is it?"

"Then what did he say?" I asked again.

"He told a lot about himself and the cases he had. You know that Prince Paul in Mauritania—the one who just married a dancer?"

"What's up with him?"

"I just came across an interesting little article about her in the Social Silhouette the other day, which suggested that the actress was actually a Russian Grand Duchess—that is, the Tsar's daughter—who managed to get the Bolshevik The men escaped. Well, Poirot seems to have solved a murder involving them both. Prince Paul is very grateful to him."

"Then did the prince give him a tie clip with an emerald the size of a bird's egg inlaid on it?" I deliberately sarcastically said.

"He didn't say that. What's the matter?"

"Nothing," I said, "I thought it was inevitable in the end. That's how it's written in detective stories, anyway. The great detective's room is full of rubies, pearls, emeralds, everything. From the hands of the grateful royal client."

"It's exciting to hear these inside information." My sister was proud.

For Caroline it certainly was.I cannot help admiring M. Hercule Poirot's ingenuity in picking, from among the mysteries he has solved, the one most fatal to the older women of the small village. .

"Then did he tell you whether the dancer is really the Grand Duchess?" I asked.

"It's not convenient for him to disclose." Caroline said solemnly.

I doubt very much how much Poirot lied in his chat with Caroline - not a single one, I'm afraid.All he had to do was hide the false cue in winks and head-shrugs.

"After hearing these stories," I demanded, "are you going to be his follower?"

"Don't speak so harshly, James. I don't know where you got all that foul language."

"Basically from my patients, the only connections I have with the outside world. Unfortunately, in my line of work, I'm not lucky enough to see princes and interesting Russian exiles and the like."

Caroline pushed back her glasses and gave me a glare.

"You're so grumpy today, James. You must be overheated. Take a blue pill tonight."

No one who sees me in my house can imagine that I am a doctor myself.Our family doctor is Caroline. She not only prescribes for herself, but also arranges what medicine I should take.

"To hell with him," I said angrily, "did you discuss the murder?"

"Well, of course, James. In our small place, where is there any other topic? I succeeded in correcting some of M. Poirot's opinions. He not only thanked me, but also praised me as a born detective. —that I have outstanding psychological insight and can see through human nature in one fell swoop.”

Caroline purred proudly like a cat fed cream.

"He talks about the little gray cells and what they do, and says his own gray cells are of the highest quality."

"It's no wonder he said that," I commented sourly, "'Humility' isn't his middle name anyway."

"Don't be so arrogant as a Yankee, James. He thinks the most important thing right now is to find Ralph as soon as possible, and persuade him to come forward and prove his innocence. He also said that during the autopsy, Ralph's disappearance will make the People have a very bad impression of him."

"Then how do you answer?"

"I agree with him," said Caroline seriously. "I've told him what people are talking about."

"Caroline," I said sternly, "did you also tell M. Poirot the conversation you heard in the woods that day?"

"Yes." Caroline was extremely proud.

I stood up and paced back and forth.

"I wish you could realize what you've done," I couldn't help it. "You're clearly putting a noose around Ralph Paton's neck!"

"No," Caroline was unmoved, "I'm surprised you didn't tell him."

"I've been careful to keep it a secret," I said. "I'm particularly fond of that kid."

"Me too, that's why I say you're talking nonsense. I don't believe Ralph would kill, and it wouldn't do him any harm to tell the truth. And we should do all we can to assist M. Poirot. Well, come to think of it, murder Ralph probably went out with the same girl that night, and if that's true, he'd have a perfect alibi."

"If he has a perfect alibi," I retorted, "why hasn't he been able to make it clear?"

"Maybe that would get the girl into trouble," said Caroline smartly, "but if Mr. Poirot finds her and makes sense of her, she will surely stand up and clear Ralph's name." injustice."

"You seem to be making up a romantic fairy tale for your own amusement," I said. "You read too much rubbish, Caroline, how many times have I said that."

I sit back in the chair again.

"What else did Poirot ask?" I asked again.

"Just about the patients you saw that morning."

"Patient?" I pressed, unable to believe my ears.

"Yes, your surgical patients. How many, who are they, etc."

"You can actually say these things?" I couldn't help being surprised.

Caroline is a miracle.

"Why not?" she asked arrogantly, "From this window, the path leading to the front door of the clinic can be clearly seen. Besides, my memory is so outstanding, I don't know how many times better than yours, James."

"You're amazing." I muttered like a deflated ball.

My sister counted the names on her fingers.

"There's old Mrs. Bennett; the boy from the farm with the broken finger; Dolly Grice to pull the splinter out of her finger; the American steward from the ship. Come to think of it—that's four Oh. And, by the way, old George Evans came to see his ulcer. The last one—”

She drew a long tone meaningfully.

"anything else?"

Caroline successfully delivered the long-awaited orgasm, carried away with joy, and her mouth was hissing - but the name she gave had a lot of "s" sounds.

"Miss Russell!"

She sat back in her chair and stared at me meaningfully.When Caroline stares at you with so much meaning, there's no turning back.

"I don't understand what you mean," I deliberately pretended to be stupid, "Miss Russell has a knee problem, can't you come and see me?"

"Knees?" sniffed Caroline. "Nonsense! Her knees are as healthy as ours. She has other plans."

"What attempt?" I asked hurriedly.

Caroline had to admit she didn't know either.

"But, as you can imagine, that's what he's trying to find out—I mean M. Poirot. The woman is a little unreliable, and he knows that."

"Your theory is pretty much the same as Mrs. Ackroyd put into me yesterday," I said. "She also said Miss Russell was furtive."

"Ah!" cried Caroline angrily. "Mrs Ackroyd! Another one!"

"Another what?"

Caroline refused to explain.She just nodded and rolled up her knitting and went upstairs to put on the lavender turtleneck and gold jewellery.This is what she calls dressing and dining.

I sat there, staring into the fire, thinking over what Caroline had said.Had Poirot really come to inquire about Miss Russell?Or was it just Caroline's much ado about nothing mind that put every little thing in her line of thinking?
There was really nothing suspicious about Miss Russell's behavior that morning.At least--

Now that I think about it, she's always pissed off the topic of drug use—and then leads the conversation back to all kinds of poisons and methods of poisoning.But this case has nothing to do with poisoning, and Aykroyd was not poisoned to death.It's still a weird thing though...

Caroline screamed from upstairs, "James, the food is getting cold."

I threw a few lumps of coal into the fireplace and obediently went upstairs.

As long as there is peace at home, I am willing to pay any price.

(End of this chapter)