Murder Killing
40

“Betul. I found the stick you were wearing in Andover and Chuiston in a cupboard in Combeside. A regular stick with a sturdy round handle. Some of the wood is removed and in the former the hole is filled with lead. Your photo was selected from a half-dozen other photos by two witnesses who saw you leave the movie theater at the time you were supposed to be looking at a horse race in Doncaster. You are seen in Bexhill, on the day of the murder, by Milly Higley and a girl from the Scarlet Runner Roadhouse, to where you bring Betty Barnard to dinner on that fateful night. And lastly the most barbaric of all you neglect one of the most basic precautions. You left a fingerprint on Mr. typewriter. Cust the typewriter, when you are innocent it is impossible for you to hold.”

Clarke sat quietly for a moment, then she said, “Rouge, impair, manque you won, Mr. Poirot! But it never hurts to try!”.

With such a quick movement he pulled out an automatic small weapon from his pocket and pointed it at his own head. I shouted and subconsciously distanced myself while waiting for the eruption.

But there was no sound of the trigger eruption, but there was no sound of eruption. Clarke looked at him in surprise and swore.

“Wait, Mr. Clarke,” Poirot said. “Maybe you noticed I have a male pembanxu today my friend is a ,copet expert. It takes the gun out of your pocket, discards its contents and returns it again without your knowledge.” “Bigger! Foreign midget!” clarke shouted red in anger.

“Yes, yes, that's your feeling. No, Mr, Clarke, no easy death for you. You told Mr. Cust that you almost drowned. You know what it means to be born to another fate.”

“You ”

There are no words he can say. Face is pale. His hands were full of threats. Two detectives from Scotland Yard emerge from the next room. One of them is Crome. He went ahead and said his greetings, “‘I warn you that everything you say can be used as proof.”

“He has spoken quite a lot,” said Poirot, then added to Clarke, “You have many insular advantages, but I personally consider your crimes in no way elegant, dishonest, elegant, unsportsmanlike Finally.

I have to admit that once the door closed after Franklin Clarke was taken away, I laughed hysterically. Poirot looked at me with a bit of surprise.

“I laughed because you said his evil mind was unsportsmanlike,” I said in the middle of my laughter.

“It's true. Nauseating not because he killed his brother but his cruelty that made the poor man sentenced to death but left alive. Catch an Mbah and put it in a box and never release it again It's not le sport Vegan Barnard long jostling.

“I can't believe it doesn't. Really?”

“Yes, Mademoiselle. Nightmare has passed.” The girl looked at him and her face grew red.

Poirot turned to Fraser.

“During this time Mademoiselle Megan is haunted by the fear that you are the one who committed the second crime.”

Donald Fraser said calmly, “My own guess is also so at some point.” ⁇ “Because of your dreams?” Poirot approached the young man and he spoke with confidence his voice lowered. “Your dreams punva very reasonable explanation. You find that the shadow of a girl disappears from your memories and her place has been replaced by her sister. Mademoiselle Megan replaces her sister in your heart, but because you don't want to think that you can so quickly lose allegiance to the Dead, you struggle to suppress such thoughts, and kill her! That's the explanation of your dream.” Fraser's eyes stared at Megan.

“Do not be afraid to forget it,” soft Poirot said. “That girl is not worth remembering. Mademoiselle Megan's personality is only one among a hundred un coeur magnifi-que her heart is really good!”

Donald Fraser's eyes glowed.

“I'm sure you're right.”

“Some of them are simplement une blague just to outwit. But I got one thing I wanted to know that Franklin Clarke was in London at the time the first letter was sent and also I wanted to see her face at the time I asked Mademoiselle Thora. He was less careful. I saw the malice and anger in his eyes.” “You do not pay the slightest attention to my feelings,” said Thora Grey.

“I do not expect you will answer the sava honestly, Mademoiselle,” Poirot said indifferently. “And your second hope is let down. Franklin Clarke won't inherit his brother's money.” Thora Grey raised her head.

“What is the need for me to stay here when only to get humiliation?”

“‘No humiliation,” Poirot said as he politely opened the door for the girl.

“Those fingerprints cleared up everything, Poirot,” I said seriously. “He instantly call it.” He added,

“I call it to please you, monami.”

“But, Poirot,” seruku, “doesn't that be true?” “At least not, monami,” Hercule Poirot said.

I must tell you about Mr.'s visit. Alexander Bonaparte Cust told us a few days later. Having experienced Poirot strongly and in a confused manner tried to thank Poirot but to no avail, Mr. Cust stood up straight and said, “Do you, a newspaper actually offered me a hundred pounds a hundred pounds for my story and history of life. Sava I really don't know what I should do.”

“If I were, I would definitely not want to accept if it was only a hundred,” said Poirot.

“Trustly only. Tell me you want five hundred. And do not limit yourself to one newspaper only.”

“Do you really think that I will?"

“You should be aware,” said Poirot smiled, “You are a famous person. Probably the most famous oiang in the UK today.” Mr. Cust slightly straightened his body again. His face was delighted.

“I think you're right! Famous! In all the newspapers. I'll follow your advice, Mr. Poirot's. The money is best suited. I'm going on vacation…. Then I want to give a beautiful wedding gift to Lily Marbury a really good girl, Mr. Marbury. Poirot.” Poirot patted Mr.'s shoulder. Cust with warm attitude.

“You're right. Have fun. And a little advice how about you see an eye doctor. That headache, maybe you need new glasses.” “In your opinion, is that the cause so far?”

”Ya.” Mr. Cust shook Poirot's hand warmly.

“You're a big man, Mr. Poirot.”

As usual Poirot did not avoid the sightings. He didn't even manage to seem humble. In the time of Mr. Cust sauntered out proudly, my best friend smiling at me.

“So, Hastings we go hunting once again, don't we? Vive le sportl”