Three Character Girl

Meeting point 3

 "Where did you find this mate, Poirot?" "This sheath was thrown with a wooden stalk at the hall table on Bury Street. Really careless Monsieur Parker. Dude, we need to conduct a thorough investigation. I'm gonna go to Park Lane to make sure." Of course I accompanied my best friend. Johnston wasn't there, but we met his private secretary. It turned out that Johnston had just arrived from South Africa and had never been to England before.

"Your master is interested in precious stones, isn't he?" Poirot tried to guess.

"Gold mine to be more precise" the secretary said with a laugh. Poirot came out with a serious face. How surprised I was that night when I discovered that Poirot was studying Russian grammar in earnest.

"God, Poirot!" myrag. "You learned Russian to chat with Countess Rossakoff in her native language?"

"He won't listen to my English, my friend."

"But, Poirot, all honorable Russians can speak French."

"You're the source of the information, Hastings! I don't need to be confused anymore with the intricacies of the Russian script." Throw the book in dramatic motion. I am really not satisfied. His eyes threw a familiar wink. That is the undeniable sign that Hercule Poirot is satisfied. "Maybe," I said understandingly, "you doubt his existence as a Russian. You're gonna test it?"

"Ah, no, no, he's really Russian." "Then - "

"If you really want to be famous for this, Hastings, I recommend this First Steps in Russians as a valuable tool." Poirot laughed without saying anything more. I picked up the book and read it curiously. But, Poirot's words cannot be understood. The next day we did not receive any news, but did not seem to worry about my little friend. At breakfast Poirot expressed his desire to see Hardman that early in the morning. We met the butterflies of this society in his house. It seemed to be a bit calmer than the day before.

"Monsieur Poirot, what's up?" tanyanya excitedly. Poirot handed me a piece of paper. "This is the man who took the jewels, Monsieur. Should I hand it over to the police" Or, you'd rather I return the jewel without bringing the police in on the matter?" Hardman stared at the paper in his hand.

"Ah, you smart little guy! It's great! And amazingly fast."

"On the other hand I promised Hardman to return the gems to him today."

"So?" "Therefore, Madame, I would be most grateful if you would be willing to put those gems in my hands without wasting any more time. I'm sorry, I'm hustling you; I'm waiting for a taxi - otherwise we need to see Scotland Yard; and we, the Belgians, Madame, embrace a frugal lifestyle." The countess has lit a cigarette. He sat motionless for a few seconds, exhaling circles of smoke and staring fixedly at Poirot. Then his laughter exploded and he stood up. Countess Rossakoff walked towards the wardrobe, opened one drawer, and took out a black silk handbag. He slowly threw the bag at Poirot. When speaking, his tone of voice was really light and did not change. "Instead we, the Russians, are wasteful" he said.

"Unfortunately, for that we have to have money. You don't have to look at the bag. It's all in it." Poirot stand. "Congratulations, Madame. For your quick thinking ability in grasping your meanings and attitudes that do not procrastinate."

"ah! You let the cab wait, so what else can I do?" "You're too good, Madame. You're going to stay in London long?" "I guess not because of you." "I'm sorry then." "We'll meet somewhere else - maybe."

"I hope so." "And - I don't!" the Countess cried with a laugh. "I'm so grateful to you - there are very few men in the world that I'm afraid of. Goodbye, Monsieur Poirot."

"Goodbye, Madame la Countess. Ah, sorry, I forgot! Let me return your cigarette box." While bowing Poirot handed me a small box of moir? the black he found in the jewel vault. The countess accepted the object without a change in facial expression - only her eyebrows were raised and she muttered, "I understand!" *** "Not playing that woman!" poirot exclaimed excitedly as we descended the stairs. "Mon Dieu, quelle femme! Not to argue in the slightest - nor to protest or pretend. Just a brief flick; and he could calculate his position precisely. Hastings, the woman who could accept such defeat - with a light smile - would go far! He was happy because of his steel nerves; he - "Poirot fell slipping. "If you can reduce the length of your swing and see the direction, you will not slip" I suggested. "When did you first suspect the Countess?" "Buddy, gloves and a cigarette case that's the cause - the double clue, how about we call it that" - that's what worries me. It may be possible that Bernard Parker dropped one of those things - but it is almost impossible for both. That means too careless! Likewise, if someone else had put both items there to incriminate Parker, one would have been enough anyway - a cigarette box or gloves - again neither. Therefore I was forced to conclude that one of those things did not belong to Parker. At first I thought the cigarette box was hers and the gloves weren't. But, once I learned that the glove belonged to him, I realized the truth was the opposite. Then, who does the cigarette case belong to" Clearly, it can't belong to Lady Runcorn. The initials don't match. Johnston" Only if he uses a pseudonym. When I interviewed his secretary, it immediately became apparent that everything was clear and honest. There was no silence about his past. Later Countess. He is expected to have brought with him the jewels of his family from Russia. He only had to take the stones from their place - and it was doubtful that they could be identified as Hardman's. What's easier than picking up one of Parker's gloves from the hall and putting it in the vault" But, bien s?r, he certainly didn't plan to drop his own cigarette box."

"If the cigarette case belongs to him, why is his initials B.P." The Countess' initials should have been V.R." Poirot smiled gently. "Persis, buddy. But, in the Russian script B is V and P is equal to R."

"Well, of course you can't expect me to guess that. I don't know Russian." "I don't either, Hastings. That's why I bought that little bookand I encourage you to pay attention to it." Poirot sighed. "An amazing woman. Dude, I feel - very sure - about to see her again. Just where, huh?" VI RAJA KLAVER "TRUTH" I said, putting the Daily Newsmonger aside, "more difficult to understand than fiction!" These words may not be heard for the first time. And it seems my words made my best friend angry. Tilting his egg-shaped head, Poirot's fingers carefully flicked the imaginary dust from his neatly ironed trousers, and he chimed in, "Not playing into the meaning of those words! Truly a great thinker my best friend Hastings is!" Without showing any annoyance at this unsolicited scorn, I patted the newspaper I had just removed. "You read the paper this morning?" "It has. After reading, I folded it again symmetrically. Not throwing it on the floor like you did, your deplorable demeanor without rules and methods." (That is the worst side of Poirot To him rules and methods are gods. It was as if these two things were what led to his success.) "Then you read the account of the murder of Henry Reedburn, the impresario" That's what prompted me to say these words. Truth is not only more difficult to understand than fiction - it is also more dramatic. Imagine, an established middle-class British family, the Oglander family. Fathers, mothers, sons, and daughters; the hallmark of thousands of families in this land. The man goes to the city every day, the woman takes care of the household. Their lives were completely serene and monotonous. Last night they sat in their neat sitting-room in the suburbs of Daisymead, Streatham, playing bridge. Suddenly without any sound before, the doors snapping the windows facing the garden opened and a woman staggered in. There was a deep red stain on the woman's gray satin outfit. He said a word, 'Murder!', before falling unconscious From the pictures of the woman, they recognized her as Valerie Saintclair, the famous dancer who recently shook London!"