Murder Killing
33. Capturing A Fox II
Poirot did not bother to dispute the girl's mistake about her nationality. He even glanced at the girl in a style that left me flabbergasted and shocked.
”Voila,” said Poirot, ”I'm done with Bexhill. I'm going to Eastbourne. There was one small question after it was over. You don't all need to accompany me. Now, let's go back to the hotel and enjoy a cocktail. Carlton tea sucked!”
While we were enjoying the cocktail, Franklin Clarke said curiously, ”I think we can guess what you're looking for. You want to deny that alibi. But I don't understand why you're so happy. You have not obtained any new facts.”
”Not yet true.” ”So?”
”Propa. Everything will be clear by itself, it only takes time.”
”You seem to save the excitement for yourself.”
”So far there is nothing that goes against my simple thinking that is the reason.”
His face turned serious.
”My friend Hastings once told me that when he was young he liked to play a game called Honesty. A game in which everyone gets three questions in turn, two of which must be answered honestly. The third question can be excluded. The questions can be about anything. However, to start, everyone should swear that they will answer honestly, completely just honesty, and just honesty.”
She's quiet.
”How?” megan.
”Eh my bien, I want to play that game. However, there is no need for three questions. One is enough. One question for each of you.”
”Alright,” Clarke said impatiently. ”We will answer it.”
”Ah, but I want to be more serious than that. Do you all swear to be honest?”
He was so serious about this that even with question marks, others were serious. They all swore as Poirot demanded.
”Bon,” says Poirot firmly. ”Good, let's start” ”I'm ready,” said hora Grey.
”Ah, women are usually welcome first but this time we do not consider manners. We'll start with anyone.”
He looked at Franklin Clarke.
”Mon cher, Mr. Clarke, what do you think of the hats women wear in Ascot this year?”
Franklin Clarke looked at him. ”Is this a joke?”
”Of course not.”
”Is your question serious?” ”Ya.”
Clarke grinned.
”Alright, Mr. Poirot, I actually did not go to Ascot, but from what I saw when they drove the car, the hats of women who went to Ascot were much more ridiculous than the hats they wore everyday.”
”Authorizible?” ”What a marvel.”
Poirot smiled and turned to Donald Fraser.
”When did you take a leave of absence this year, Monsieur?” It's Donald Fraser's turn to wonder. ”Cuti? First two weeks of August.”
His face trembled for a moment. I think the question reminded him of the death of the girl he loved.
But Poirot doesn't seem to pay much attention to his answer. He turned to the Grey hora and I heard a slight change in his increasingly authoritative voice. The question is drawn sharply and clearly, ”Mademoiselle, if Lady Clarke died first, would you marry Sir Carmichael if she proposed to you?”
The girl jumped.
”What a heart you can ask such a question. That, that's an insult!”
”Maybe. But you have sworn to answer honestly. Bien yes or no?”
”Sir Carmichael was very kind to me. He thinks I am almost like his son. And that's how I feel to her there is only affection and gratitude.”
”I'm sorry, but you haven't answered yes or no, Mademoiselle.”
He hesitated.
”The answer, of course, is not!” Poirot made a comment. ”Thank you, Mademoiselle.”
He looked at Megan Barnard. The girl's face was pale. He exhaled deeply, as if he was enduring a severe ordeal.
Poirot's voice sounded like a whip. ”Mademoiselle, what do you expect as a result of my investigation? You want me to get
The head of the girl looked up haughtily. I'm sure of the answer. I know, Megan's a big fan of the truth.
The answer was clear and astonished me. ”No!”
We're all dumbfounded. Poirot leaned forward, observing the girl's face.
”Mademoiselle Megan,” she said, ”You may not want the truth, but mafoi, for your oath, you can tell the truth!”
He walked to the door, then remembered, and approached Mary Drower.
”Say, mon enfant, do you have any male friends?”
Mary, who looked agitated, looked in shock and her cheeks flushed red.
”Oh, Mr. Poirot's. Me, I hm, I'm not sure. ”
She smiles.
”Alors c’est bien, mon enfant so much better, my son.”
He looked around looking for me.
”Come, Hastings, we have to leave for East-bourne.”
The car was waiting and a little later we went down the beach, through Pevensey to East-burne.
”Is it any good if I ask you something, Poirot?”
”Currently not. Draw your own conclusions on what I did.”
I went back to silence.
Poirot, who seemed to be harboring excitement, hummed a song. On passing Pevensey, he proposed that we stop and look around the palace.
On our way back to the car, we stopped for a moment to notice the children, who were standing in a small circle of guides, I guess, when they see their uniforms—they sing a simple short song with a shrill voice that does not bother...
”What do they sing, Hastings? I didn't
can catch his words.”
I listened until I caught the refrain.
”And caught a fox And put it in the box And not release it anymore.”
”And caught a fox and put it in a box and not release it again!” reset Poirot.
His face suddenly turned grim and tense. ”That's terrible, Hastings.” He was silent for a moment.
”You hunt foxes here?”
”No. I never could stand hunting. And I don't think much hunting is done in this area.”
”You mean in the UK in general. Strange sport. Waiting in hiding, then they shouted the hunter's cue, didn't they? Then the hunt begins to cross the meadow jumping over fences and ditches and the fox runs away sometimes he returns to the same path but the dogs”
”Pursuit him!”
”the dogs hunted him, smelled his tracks, and finally they managed to catch him and he died fast and horribly.”
”It sounds so cruel, but it's actually”
”The fox enjoyed it? Don't say it's stupid, man. Les betises. Tout de mede is better a quick and heinous death than what it looks like
sung those kids..”.
”To be held in the box forever...
No, it's not good.”
She shook her head. Then he said in a different tone,
”Tomorrow I will visit Cust,” then add to driver, ”Back to London.”
”Aren't you going to Eastbourne?” my yelling. ”What's the point? I know this is enough for my purpose.”
