Murder Killing
23. Doncaster I
Doncasters!
I think I'll remember that September 11th of my life.
Every time I hear St. Leger touted, automatically my mind does not drift on horse racing, but on killing.
If I remember my own feelings, the most striking is the sickening sense of helplessness. We're here at the scene of Poirot, myself, Clarke, Fraser, Megan Barnard, hora Grey, and Mary Drower, and in a last resort, what can we do?
We have slim hopes of getting a chance to recognize a face or posture that was once seen imperfectly one, two, or three months ago among a crowd of thousands of people.
The reality is even stranger. Among all of us, the only person who might recognize him was Hora Grey.
Some of his calm has been lost to tension. His calm and efficient attitude vanished. He sits down while ******-**** both hands, almost crying. This drew Poirot's attention and confused him.
”I've never really looked at him... Why didn't I do that? How stupid of me. You are all dependent on me and I will disappoint you. Even if I see him, I may not recognize him anymore. I have difficulty remembering the face.”
Poirot just showed me his kindness, with whatever he was going to tell me, and no matter how hard he wanted to criticize the girl. His attitude is unusually gentle. I was surprised, because Poirot was more indifferent to beauty in difficult circumstances unlike me.
He patted the girl on the shoulder kindly. ”Alright, Petite Sweet boy, don't get hysterical. We cannot experience that. When you see that person, you will recognize him.”
”How do you know?”
”Oh, many reasons one of them, because the red one replaces the black one.”
”What do you mean, Poirot?” myrag.
”I speak in gambling language. In the game of roulette maybe the black one gets a longer turn but eventually the red one should appear as well. This is what is called chance in the laws of mathematics.”
”You mean the luck will appear?”
”Betul, Hastings. And that's where the gambler (and the killer, who is really just a reckless gambler, because what he bets on is not his money, but his life) often lacks intelligent considerations. Since he had already won, he thought that he would continue to win! He did not leave the gambling table just in time, that is, when his pockets were full. So in a criminal case, the successful killer doesn't want to think about the possibility that he will fail! He piles himself all the awards for his successful performance but believe me, Comrades, even with careful planning, no crime succeeds without luck!”
”Are you not too far-fetched?” said Franklin Clarke.
Poirot moved his hands excitedly.
”No, no. Let's say the opportunity is the same, but it should still be with good fortune in our hands. Try you think! If someone goes into Mrs's shop. Ascher was just as the killer was about to leave. The person may want to look behind the display table, see the murdered woman and immediately catch the killer, or else he can give the police the perfect picture of the person, then the killer will be arrested immediately.”
”True. A killer is always a gambler. And, like most gamblers, a killer does not know when to stop. Every crime makes him think that his abilities are getting bigger. He can no longer think clearly. He didn't say, ’I'm clever and lucky!’ No, he just said, ’I'm smart!’ And his opinion about his ingenuity is getting stronger..then, the amis mes Friends, the ball is rolling, and the color of his choice no longer gets a turn the ball falls on a new number and the city shouts ’Red’.”
”According to you, that's what will happen in this case?” Megan asked, furrowing her brows. ”Should be so fast or slow! As long as this luck is in the hands of the killer sooner or later will surely turn to us. I am sure it has turned around! The instructions on stocking are the beginning. Now, things no longer side with the killer, but turn against him! And he will also start making mistakes.”.
”I think you just want to encourage,” said Franklin Clarke. ”We all need a little entertainment. I feel as if I have been paralyzed and helpless since I woke up this morning.”
”It feels too complicated for me to believe that we can achieve a practical and valuable result,” said Donald Fraser.
Megan lashed out, ”Don't be so desperate, Don.”
With a slightly red face, Mary Drower said, ”I don't think we'll ever know. The Evil Devil is here, too we are and however, sometimes we meet someone in a very funny, and unexpected way.”
I grumble, ”If only we could do more of this.”
”You must remember, Hastings, the police are doing everything possible that makes sense. Special police have been assigned. Good Inspector Crome may be annoying, but he's a very capable police officer. Colonel Anderson, the Chief of Police, is an active man. They have taken maximum measures to supervise and patrol the city and at the racetracks. Everywhere keep watch the officers in thug clothes. Also a press conference. Masya-rakat already got a full warning.”
Donald Fraser nodded.
”I was thinking, he wouldn't try it,” he said, more hopeful. ”Those people are going to get crazier!”
”Originally,” Clarke said indifferently, ”she is indeed crazy! What do you think, Mr. Poirot's? Will he give up or continue?”
”I think his obsession is so strong that he should try to keep his promise! Otherwise, he is forced to admit defeat, and the egoism of his madness is not
will allow that to happen. I think Dr. Thompson thinks so. Our hope, he will be caught up in his attempt to kill again.”
Donald shakes again. ”He's definitely getting slippery.”
Poirot looked at his watch. We caught the signal. It was mutually agreed that we would be on full-day guard, early in the morning watching as many roads as possible, and afterwards placing ourselves in various places inside the racecourses.
I called ”kami”. Of course, to me those warnings won't mean much because I haven't seen the ABC myself. Nevertheless, since the intention was to split up and keep an eye on the vast area, I suggested that I should accompany one of the girls.
Poirot agreed I guess, with a wink that hinted at something.
The girls went to wear their hats. Donald Fraser stood by the window staring out, clearly glued to his mind.
