Chapter Text
Whitehavens mansions: Poirot's apartment.
Herlcues Poirot often wondered if ever there would come a time when a murderer would actually try and kill him.
"Hastings?" Poirot asked his best friend Captain Arthur Hastings who looked up from his newspaper.
"Yes?"
"If someone tried to murder me...or if I was to hear of you somehow being murdered...what would happen do you think?" Poirot asked.
Hastings stood up straight in shock.
"Poirot...we both know you'd solve my murder. But...I would do everything I could of course to solve yours but...you know me old man.
But why do you ask?"
Poirot looked at the calander.
"It is the anniversary of the first time I...during the great war you understand mon ami...I was nearly killed."
Hastings shook his head and smiled good-naturedly.
"Poirot, myself and almost everyone I ever knew from school were "nearly killed" on many occasions, and some were killed, during that dreadful beyond imagining war."
"Yes mon ami. But war and what we deal with are not quite the same thing."
"Of course not. Its easy to point a gun and fire at an enemy wearing a very specific uniform. But not identify a murderer who could be wearing the same sort of clothing as you or me, could speak the same language as you or me, could be living in the same city as you and me.
It gives me the creeps, to imagine that evil is so...dishonest and secretive."
"You prefer evil when it is obvious Hastings?"
"Of course. There's a certain dignity in it. The idea of killing in cold blood, often through decietful means...it is fundamentally more frightening, the idea of a monster that you can't see coming until it's too late."
"But why is it that murderers so often get awayy with their crimes when they do so by simple means? Wheras I...EVERY TIME I catch a murderer it almost always involves the murderer doing something excessively elaborate, as if just for the sake of doing so, with one tiny detail going astray being what I find and the murderer getting caught.
No...it's almost as if somewhere in the subconcious of the killer there is a desire to be caught, even if more so out of some perverted form of vanity, rather than something I can respect like guilt.
When was the last time I ever investigated a simple murder? Someone who does something like fire a bullet from a rifile from outside the window, in the dark while wearing a dark mask and dark clothing, and runs away taking the murder weapon with him or her to dispose of later carefully? Someone who picks the lock to a house when no-one else besides the victim is inside and with a knife or axe kills the victim, cuts the victim into pieces, then burns the pieces and flushes them down the toilet or bath or shower? Someone who plants a bomb with a remote control, or a pressure sensor, or quiet timer in the victim's bedroom when no-one is looking, such as throwing it through the window with a fuse by night, or doing so immediately after the room has been cleaned and tidied during the day?"
"Poirot...not to sound proud but...that's the sort of murder that would require you to think like a soldier." Hastings answered.
" "Like a soldier" Hastings?" Poirot asked.
"To kill in a simple, but effective manner which gives the enemy as little opportunity as possible to counter attack. To kill in a manner where there are very few things that could go wrong. To kill, and get away with it, in such a way that works with no reliance on others not under your command behaving in a pre-supposed manner.
During the war, we on the front, dug trenches, rained down fire from mortar and canons from a distance, used long range rifile, powerful machine guns, bombs dropped from planes, and so on, specifically because we wanted to kill our opponents in such a way that there was as little chance as possible of getting caught.
Take for example the battle of the Somme: we fired over 1 and a half million canon shells on the germans, thinking it would be enough to obliterate their defenses. It didn't work I grant you, but had we done as the murderers in our cases do Poirot...sneak around the trenches disguised as germans stabbing enemy soldiers in the back...poison the drink of the germans...there is every chance we'd have been caught."
"Did you not do some sneak attacks Hastings?"
"Yes, and often we killed sneakily, but always at night, we never wore enemy uniform, and we never did anything along the lines of trying to frame german soldiers as allied secret officers."
"What a shame. Had you done so, the germans would have had them executed as traitors, saving you the trouble of having to kill them yourselves."
"Poirot, it would have been more trouble than it would have been worth for us to have done something like plant papers on a sleeping german officer, rather than just cut his throat. Consider how it would have probably ended with him waking up and sounding the alarm with a single shout.
We mostly used quiet methods for when our targets were solitary sentries or if we got far enough, the first few of the germans in large amounts.
Trying to use knives or spiked clubs for quietly killing enemy officers in large groups, even when most if not all were sleeping, without support weapons like grenades or pistols, would have been laughably impractical because we'd only kill a tiny handful of them before an alarm was raised and then we'd be the ones in trouble.
Normally whenever we went on silent raids we killed, or caught, only less than a dozen. Many attempts to attack by stealth failled."
"Ah yes. But obviously Hastings, in the war, you and the enemy were expecting enemy attacks, wheras most of my cases involve the victim not suspecting an enemy attack.
Did you not have your rations being mostly vaccum packed, making it impossible for the enemy to poison them?
Were not most of the casualties from artillery fire? As opposed to some sneaky villains?"
"Yes. But almost none of the artillery shells actually hit their mark. In Verdun for example, only 1 in every 500 artillery shells resulted in "irrecoverable casualties" meaning killed or wounded to too much a degree to be fit for active service.
Also, 1/3 of all artillery shells in the war failed to explode entirely."
"What?! Oh if only every murder attempt had so abysmal a failure rate."
"Poirot...be honest...what would you be without crime?"
Poirot looked sharply at Hastings.
"Any way, its not the crime that you delight in. It's solving puzzles which are impossible for everyone else.
But imagine a puzzle impossible for even you to solve, due to the killer simply not leaving any clues of any kind that would hold up in court. Has that ever happened before Poirot?"
Poirot looked Hastings in the eyes sharply.
"Oui mon ami."
"How many times?"
"More than I know. But at least 20."
"Hmm. Well don't let it get you down old man.
Mind you, perhaps there is something to be said for the sneaky attack. Did you know that the first trench raid of the war was in Belgium? 100 splendid chaps from Canada went to Ypres and destroyed 30 yards of German trenches, with only 5 KIAs and 11 wounded."
"30 yards? Hmm."
"Were you ever in the trenches Poirot?"
"No Hastings. What do you imagine I'd have become if I had?"
Hastings eyes wondered wildly from side to side at that.
"...I'm guessing someone who takes either exclusively murder cases, or exclusively not murder cases, depening on how you reacted to the experience."
"Oh indeed? You think I'd see every murder as like that of a comrade and every murder just like another enemy soldir for me to point out to the generals on a map? Or that I'd run away from the horror of murder having seen so many beforehand?"
Hastings sighed. "Poirot...I'm a man of sentiment. I am usually the last to suspect any woman over a man as a murderer because...well...let's just say that I saw...the most violent capabilities of men during the war. I consider women to be in general the gentler sex. I was delighted when women were first allowed to vote.
I wonder if perhaps...you'd have remained in Belgium, without germans bombing the place of course, or at least western Europe, to solve cases out of love for your homeleand born out of a strong sense of national obligation."
"I was too old to be in the trenches mon ami."
"Of course, but I wonder nonetheless what would have been had you been in the trenches."
"Oui mon ami. As do I."
The doorbell rang.
"Ah. Perhaps Hastings it is another opportunity."
In walked Chief Inspector Japp.
"Hello Poirot."
"Bonjour Chief Inspector."
"Here, this might interest you." Japp handed to Poirot an envelope containing several letters and diaries.
"Basically 10 bodies were found on Soldier Island. The police of course looked and looked, but couldn't find any clues to the identity of the killer.
But here's what we did find: all that evidence, observed and catalogued.
What do you make of it?"
Poirot looked at it all for several minutes.
Hastings looked at them to.
Then ms Lemon entered the room.
"Dear me what a mansion on an island. It must've cost a preety penny to buy Mr Poirot." Ms Lemon said.
Poirot looked up at Ms Lemon with his mouth agape.
Then Hastings smiled and whisperd something into Poirot's ear.
Then without warning....
Poirot laughed loudly.
"Are you...Are you...what's the english expression? Pulling the ankle?"
"The "leg" Poirot." Hastings supplied.
"What is it Poirot?" Japp asked.
"Mon ami consider please these important details:
1: the island was bought from the previous owner, a millionaire, who obviously sold the island, it wasn't inherited. So bearing in mind the island as I see it described in this report...it seems that obviously the island's mansion was considerably luxurious...I dare say it was considerably expensive. Being paid by checque would be out of the question as it would only be too easy for the authorities to trace the money to the culprit, so it must've been by cash. All one would need to do is check the financial records of the victims to tell who is a valid suspect.
2: Consider if you will the risks the killer took. Oh yes, the risks:
For one thing: the killer and the victims was on an island, cut off from the mainland. Now of course Devon is known for its bad weather. But a storm that last 2 to 3 days...possible, but rare. The killer could not have known for sure it would happen. Had it not, the victims could have used signals, or some sort of rudimentary boat made from bits and pieces from the house.
For another thing: if even just one of the victims had brought with them, even only 1 other person, such as a friend or family member along for the visit to the trip...it would have increased the risk of the killer's plans not working, or forced the killer to kill that person who might very well have been innocent thus ruining the killer's pattern.
Moreover: Had even just 1 of the victims declined the invitation, (and there was every possibility of at least 1 of them declining the inviation, dear me have I not declined many invitations over the years, especially from totoal strangers), or just 1 of the victims being delayed by something like an accident...the killer's plan would have never fully worked.
Furthermore: consider the risk of the go-between Mr Morris. Oh yes he detroyed documents that might have lead the police to uncovering the identity of the murderer, but the killer couldn't possibly have known that Morris wouldn't have done that, even if instructed to. Morris was already under suspicion, and destroying evidence of purchases, even if he was unaware of the purpose of the purchases, is illegal. Morris obviously knew that something illegal was up, how could he not being a lawyer asked to destroy anything that might lead the police to this "Mr Owen"? Had the police come to Morris whilest he was still alive, him haivng been discovered as destroyed anyhting that could lead to the criminal would have certainly have resulted in him beind prosecuted.
Additionally: the killer could have easily been seen by even just one of the victims killing another. With the killer outnumbered 9 to one...it was not in the killer's favour.
But most obvious of all: that the killer gave them all warning that the killer was among them before even killing just one of them. Such a warning is almost unheard of in my line of work.
So...with how dangerous the crime was, one must consider the motive.
Normally whenever I catch a murderer, the murderer is motivated by some form of greed or jealousy, or some perveted form of love. This murderer on the other hand was obviously driven by some form of hatred, but not a hot-blooded form of hatred, no it is a hatred mixed with some type of psychological sadism.
Consider the gramaphone warning, the nursury rhyme on each of the victim's rooms, the way each death was designed to mirror the nursury rhyme, the deaths occuring one after the other with the future victims seeing each of the previous victims beforehand...
What could drive a killer to such risk-taking? If it were simply their deaths the killer wanted the killer could have killed them in their homes, he obviously knew their adresses or else how would the killer have sent the letters?
But no, this is the work of a killer with a certain...vanity. A vanity that is odious. The killer deliberately set the scene up to be, seemingly "unsolveable" just for it's own sake. To mock the justice system of the law.
The killer is clearly a vigilantee. Vigilantees are by nature lacking in confidence in the law, but this vigilantee has through killing people the law couldn't touch, and doing so in such a way that was meant to be so that the law couldn't punish him for it, nor even discover it was he who did it, he has essentially shouted to the world "The law is pathtetic!". It wasn't only the killed victims he was after, he wanted to humiliate the law.
But Poirot, Ms Lemon and Hastings mon ami, have bested him. Poirot now spits upon his grave.
So...the only way the killer could have made this crime so unsolvable is if through the killer was to ensure that whover the killer was, the killer was placed above proof.
If the killer had left the island alive, the killer would be immediately identified.
So the killer committed suicide. Suicide is by nature an act that is based on belief that the suicide committer has nothing to loose from dying that would be worth living for. Which would explain the risks the killer took, believing the killer had nothing to loose."
"So...it was Vera Claythorn then? She's the only one who could have committed suicide, she was the one whose death was by hanging: the last one in the rhyme and she shot Philip Lombard." Japp said.
"No mon ami, she was nowhere near wealthy enough to afford the island and mansion. She definietly shot Philip Lombard there could be no doubt about that, the gunpowder traces on her hands confirm it, but she did so on the basis of the belief that he was the killer, which is precisly what the real killer wanted her to think. In any case, there was no kicked chair or bucket or anything underneath her, meaning that someone on the island after she died removed whatever she'd been placed on for the hangning."
"So it was Philip Lombard then?" Japp offered.
"No mon ami, again Philip Lombard was no-where near wealthy enough to afford the island and mansion."
"Who then?" Japp asked.
"I have mentined earlier that the killer was suicidal. I looked at the medical records of the victims to see if any of them were already dying. One was: Judge Wargrave."
"No. How could Wargrave have tricked Claythorn into thinking Lombard was the murderer?" Japp asked.
"My best guess, based on the verse of the rhyme "A red herring swallowed one", and the diaries kept by the victims, is that the judge tricked Dr Armstrong into helping him fake his death and then killed him to keep his secret.
But here are several other clues that make it impossible for anyone other than the judge to be the killer:
1: the judge was shot yes, but the gunpowder residue on his body, combined with the ballistics of the bullet entering his brain and the elastic cord on his eyeglasses, and the evidence on the hankerchief, makes it so that only he could have shot himself, with the elastic cord being there to pull the gun away from him, with the elastic cord being tied to the gun and wrapped around something else to enable the gun to be pulled away from him, I'm guessing based on the discovery of the crime scene the door handle.
2: And the time of death, as measured by the forensic examiners, which I'm guessing justice wargrave somehow underestimated, is contrary to the records kept.
3: the alleged killing of justice wargrave earlier...it couldn't possibly have been real. I know that now, thanks in no small part to Hastings. How ironic mon ami that he asks me what I'd be today had I been in the trenches. I believe had I been in the trenches, and been on the island as a...what's the expression..."crosser of the gate"?"
" "Gate crasher" " Hastings supplied.
"Merci mon ami. Had I been on the island, the revelation that justice Wargrave was the killer would certainly have been known to me for one perfectly simple reason, I'm shocked that Monsieur Lombard didn't notice it himself, especially bearing in mind that it was his gun used for it."
"And what is this "simple reason" Poirot?" Japp asked.
"The gunshot mon ami. Why was no gunshot heard? Had there been a gunshot heard, the guests could have told for certain precisly when the judge was killed, and through that who the only one who could have been the killer was. But there was no heard gunshot recorded.
Japp...what do you remember of gunshots during the great war?"
Japp at that gritted his teeth. "Far too much for me to be comfortable with."
"Would you recognise the sound of a gunshot from a pistol such as that of Monsieur Lombard, even through the walls of a house such as the one on Soldier Island, even through locked doors?"
"If I was standing close enough, yes definitely, any kind of revolver really for I've been trained, but especially a heavy one."
"Hmm. You wouldn't confuse it with the sound of thunder, or someone running down the stairs?"
"No Poirot definitely not."
Poirot looked down and shook his head sadly.
"Well then I envy you that mon ami, for had I been as well trained in hearing the sound of a gunshot as yourself or Hastings...I would have many killers caught much earlier.
The 4th clue, is that the killer was obviously judgemental. The gramaphone, the carefull looking at the records and choosing of the victims...I know of course that the man edward steton was most definitely guilty, the judge alone couldn't have made everyone think that he was guilty when he wasn't. There must have been some intesne evidence against him. I myself am well aquainted with the ways of the court.
But by far the most important two clues are this: The deaths of the general and Mr Rogers. I think the damage to the head of the general would have certainly resulted in at least a tiny amount of blood being on the judge's clothes, and Mr Rogers death would have undoubetdly resulted in some blood being on him.
I'm guessing the blood wouldn't have been noticed if the others were stupid, or the justice had somehow replaced his clothes with identical copies. I
All the other guests, they were loathsomely greedy, almost pitiably frightened, but not the judge at any point in his career was there ever any indication that he was ever evil. Merciless yes, but not evil...except to the end of course."
"How did he get Vera Claythorn to hang herself?" Hastings asked.
Poirot frowned at the desk in front of him.
"This is guesswork mon ami, but I think...had she actually been innocent of the death of Cyril...she more likely than not would have been succesful in stopping him from drowning."
"Are you saying that she...what...held him underwater?" Hastings asked appalled.
"No mon ami. There would have been...I think...signs of a struggle."
"Then what? Did she get someone else to help her?" Japp asked.
"Oh my dear chief inspector, you who having spent years working in the police as part of teams, are used to working in groups. Don't misunderstand me I am glad of it for your willingness to consider people working together is undoubedly part of the reason you and myself and Hastings work toghether, wheras others might out of professinal jealousy, pride or vanity refuse to offer or give any help to me and Hastings.
But no. Can you imagine anyone at all asking someone else to drown a child and being replied with anything contrary to refusal?
No, what I think happened was: she allowed Cyril to go out to sea, perhaps even deliberately tempted him to do so, and let him drown."
"But according to a police report she tried to save him, they found her carried out to sea and she was only rescued just in time by a passing boat, that wouldn't have happened had she meant for him to die."
"Well if that's true, she either she only staged that attempt in order to fool others, with the sea nearly killing her as an unintended effect of her plan and the rescue from others being a stroke of luck...or...and I like to think this is the real reason for that...She had a last-minute change of heart and desperately tried to save his life, and somehow forgot about the last-minute change of heart.
But whichever...I think she killed herself out of either grief of her lost love of Hugo...perhaps the fear of being murdered making her feel an intense desire to be loved, reminding her of that lost love...or maybe simple guilt...or maybe she somehow got the impression that it was Hugo Hamilton who was the killer, hidden on the island, saving her for last...and maybe...just maybe she thought that if she hanged herself it would somehow...win his love for her which she craved insatiably back."
"But hanging herself could never bring Cyril back." Hastings said.
"Indeed mon ami. I am myself appalled that there are people in the world so desperate to be with others that they would kill a child for it, I think somewhere deep in her subconcious she felt intense guilt over it or perhaps only grief for loosing Hugo.
She certainly didn't deserve him.
Perhaps her subconcious mind manifested her guilt haunting her as the idea of Hugo being somewhere on the island as the murderer, for Hugo obviously left her, probably because he somehow found out, but couldn't prove nor produce reliable testimony from himself, that she was the murderer, probably by intuition or knowing something about her that would at any rate make her suspicious, though not conclusive, perhaps both."
"That makes no sense, they searched the place. Hugo couldn't have been on the island." Japp answered.
"Of course it makes no sense, she was mad. Like Lady Macbeth haunted by guilt, or only grief maybe, like Ophelia being mad about losing Hamlet.
Consider if you will: she was on an island with the sea all around her, obviously the scene would bring back memories of the drowning of Cyril. The accusation of the gramaphone...being surrounded by people, all of whom were murderers or at least nasty in some way, reminding her of herself, her own worst parts."
At this Japp smirked.
"Well in a sense Poirot he was on the island, albeit by proxy." Japp produced from his pocket a notebook "This is a copy of a written confession from the actual murderer. Hugo Hamilton did indeed know, or at least strongly suspected, that Vera Claythorn was the murderer, albeit by neglect rather than action, of Cyril Hamilton. I doubt Hamilton knew that him telling the judge would result in Claythorn being killed, he was drunk at the time, but anyway I wonder how it must feel for him: the knowledge that she hanged herself out of guilt, or wanting Hugo's love back...or both perhaps."
"A confession? You mean you knew all along?" Poirot asked.
"I was merely testing you."
Japp handed Poirot the confession and Poirot and Hastings read it.
"I feel dreadful for Mr Hamilton, to feel...not love I think, love would imply forgiveness, but lust certainly for such a horrid villain and hate her for it." Poirot said.
"And she was such a coward. She didn't do it herself, she got the boy to do it to himself. Added to which she dare not let herself live, even after she shot Lombard believing him to be the killer to save her own life, so his death was ultimately pointless." Hastings sneered.
"Mon ami...yes she was selfish and destructive, inexcusably so. But what good would her confessing to the crime and being hanged for it have done? None. The thing about death is, once you're dead no more opportunities to do good.
I don't approve of murder and I am under no illusions that Vera Claythorn richly deserved her end, wether it be murder by neglect or by action she certainly intended his death...but then again...aren't all of us in some way or another guilty of murder by neglect? Even without intent?
Also, I do not understand why Hugo and Vera, if they did love each other, not marry despite Hugo's financial problems? Vera as a governess obviously was a woman willing and able to work for a living.
Cyril's mother was obviously rich enough to afford her as a governess, that or Hugo was already paying her as a governess, either way she was not a burdun to the family.
Hugo could have worked for a living, and obviously the mother of cyril could have supported them, the money of Maurice obviously had at least some of it go to her.
And obviously Hugo Hamilton, despite not having the money, was able to get by without it during Cyril's childhood and his brother being the heir while he was alive.
So why not marry her despite being broke?" Poirot asked.
"Maybe he had debts. Honestly Poirot I think you're overthinking it. The simple actuality of the matter is she was guilty." Hastings said.
"Oui. But I wonder why she was so in love with such a weak man? She could have cared for them both by herself could she not? Unless he did have debts in which case why did she think him worthy of her?" Poirot wondered.
"I don't know Poirot. There are some people in the world, men and women, who are...just not able to live without each other, even if it is unreasonable." Hastings said.
"The world is a big place and there are many opportunities. She certainly was able to take care of herslef after she stopped being a governess." Japp said.
"Oui. It makes no sense her mad love for Hugo Hamilton.
No mon ami I cannot understand why she committed suicide, unless somehow she had something wrong with her mind."
"Brain damage perhaps from something somehow?" Japp asked.
"Perhaps.
Vera Claythorn, should've held her head up high and not been so been so desperately hungry for the love of a man so weak as to not marry her and take care of her, that she'd kill a child for owning his heart, then kill herself out of at best guilt at worse grief." Poirot said resoloutly clenching his fist, before sighing.
"Still...I would rather pity moreso than hatred linger in Mr Hamilton's heart for Claythorn.
Show Mr Hamilton Wargrave's confession, and tell him the full truth of the matter. Had she and him married...who knows? Obviously this will not erase his horror. But at least now, hopefully, she and Cyril's memory can be laid to rest. In a way, both of them were victims of lust: her lust for Hugo, Cyril's lust for swimming out to sea.
We can forgive those without the decency, but we must not excuse them.
But back to the topic of death:
Suppossing...just supposing...I were to be framed, or worse genuinely guilty, of a murder. Then what mon ami? Would I be sent to life imprisonment? If so, could I not volunteer myself for testing of things medical or at least sceientific to benefit humanity? Could I not be made to work on a farm to provide food for orphans? Could I not donate blood to save someone's life?
My point is, I abhor suicide, capital punishment, murder, or premature death of any kind, because it is a waste."
"I killed many people during the war Poirot." Hastings said.
"Yes and I applaud you for it Hastings, but you fought otherwise-would-have-been-unstoppable monsters would hve destroyed Europe. That is by no stretch of the imagination comparable to killing people whilest they are locked up and harmless."
"Agreed Poirot. But if we don't enforce our way of life on others, even if we don't completely agree with them, others inevitably will." Japp argued.
"Oui...yet I wonder...are our ways of life really better than others, and even so, is enforecing them worth the cost not only in terms of time or money...but also to our faiths? Once we start thinking to ourselves that others are irredeemably evil and that it is acceptable for a person to play judge, jury and exceutioner, simply because no-one else will...where will it end?
I can excuse killing that drunk driver, the drunk doctor, the vile ex police officer, had they lived there is every possibility they would have gotten others killed...but I wonder if the death of that man Mr Lombard was really necessary? Yes he left others to die, but had he not wouldn't they all have died? What good would that have been? The vile woman who threw out her servant, oh yes she was horrid, but could not the servant Beatrice Taylor have gone to an orphanage, worked in a school, or a nunnery?" Poirot asked.
"Well regardless, in one sense Wargrave will have been succesful in making future efforts to bring murderers who got off free to justice." Japp said.
"If Wargrave had came to ME, mon ami, I'd have gotten those people who were guilty to justice." Poirot answered.
"Oh really? Well anyway Poirot the confession openly admits it was murder the judge did, albeit one of people who were at least in his opinion guilty."
"That alone makes his behaviour inexcusable.
Furthermore consider: the money he spent on purchasing the island and mansion, could it not have been spent in such a way that otherwise would've died people would've lived? So by the logic that killing by negligence constitutes murder, Wargrave most definitely is a murderer." Poirot said.
"Yes...you're absoloutly right Poirot. We're all of us guilty of the good we did not do. But still people must fear the law or what would there be to prevent future generations of people being murderers?"
"Guilt mon ami, personal guilt of consience.
Why do you think I try so hard to solve crimes? It's because I...like a coward fled from my home country when it needed me the most. Not in the trenches of course, but it needed me nonetheless in other areas. I could have been an ambulance driver, I could have worked as a nurse, or a deliverer of equipment and rations to frontline soldiers...but I was...a coward." As he spoke Poirot's hands began trembling and clenching and unclenching. "Do I deserve this? Hm. Yes I solve crimes, but besides that what am I good for? Without crimes I am nothing but selfish...an insufferable, detestable, bombastic, tiresome, ego-centric little creep." Poirot's eyes were watering as he spoke.
"NOW HOLD ON THERE HERCULE!" Hastings shouted.
Poirot looked up at Hastings, for this was the first time he'd ever been called by his first name.
"YES!!! You were a coward, but no more. YOU ARE BETTER THAN ANY OF THOSE SAD, SELFISH, SODS on the island ever were!"
Hercule looked at Hastings as if he were Jesus.
After he took a deep breath to calm himself Hastings continued "Look...there are always moments when we think to ourselves "I am nothing without this" or "I am nothing without that."...and those things can bring out the worst in us, I've seen you hunt down people who are precisly that way. I've known people who do things like go mad, commit suicide, commit murder maybe even because they feel they have some sort of something in them that not being able to fill is unbearable.
But here's the thing Poirot. Do you remember that time we first met, at Syles? I saw Cynthia weeping over the fact that she felt horribly unloved, and I a man who had lost to say the least many of my friends in the trenches already, and was fated to go back to those horrific beyond belief perils in the war, do you know what I did?"
"What Hastings and how is it significant?" Poirot asked.
"I proposed marriage to her, if for no reason than because I wanted to feel compassion inside my pattign me on the back and saying "good boy Arthur for beign a good man", for letting sympathy into my heart to balance out the horror in my life at that time. She rejected me, but nonetheless I feel proud of myself for having the sympathy to at least offer.
How is it significant? Because Poirot, no you are not a "detestable little creep". You're a good man who offers sympathy to others, even perhaps when they don't deserve it. Vera Claythorn certainly doesn't deserve one ounce of sympathy and yet I see in your face and tone of voice some sympathy for her.
So stop feeling so bad about yourself. If I were your parent I'd be proud of you."
Poirot looked up at Hastings and smiled warmly at him.
"I should have more faith in myself and you mon ami.
Ironically, it was faith in only the worst of people that enabled the murderer to take place. Had they stuck together long enough, keeping each other in sight, instead of self-isolating, at least most of them would have lived.
Fear, Greed, Vanity and addiction...almost like the 4 horsmen of the apocalype:
Greed, or "famine" that is to say not having enough to satiate.
Addiction: a form of disease that corrupts the body and often the mind.
Fear, fear of not having or loosing, the source of most fatal conflict or war, remeber the great war was started by imperislism which corrupted nations one after the other like dominoes falling.
And Vanity: sucidal vanity, or "death" is the source of Cyril's, Claythorn's and Wargrave's death.
What is it about my murderers?" Poirot looked back and forth between his two dear friends.
"Why is is that they keep killing, out of some form of vanity? The type of vanity that comes from something like: a scandal making them kill blackmailers or witnesses, or the desire to show off with a ridiculouly expensive house or clothes, how rich they are, or the desire to somehow possess another person's heart driving them to kill those who stand in the way of their monopoly over the persons heart or kill those whose heart they desire to possess because they abhor the pain of the rejection...
And then there's the way in which they kill, always somehow pointing the finger at others, or trying to mislead the detectives, including me into thinking they couldn't have done it...but they normally kill in places where, even by chance, they could easily be caught, and they never try to kill me, the famous detective...it's almost as if there's something in them that wants to be caught, or at least heard about in the newspapers.
Take this murder mystery for example: the killer could have let Claythorn be the scapegoat, have her be the one everyone concluded was the murderer all along...but no the killer dare not let her take the credit, which eliminated her as a suspect. The killer's vanity was everything.
But...the tragedy is not being thought of by others as somehow...unworthy. But being thought of as unworthy by yourself."
"Still...Poirot we beat him." Hastings said, smiling warmly.
"Oui mon ami." Poirot said . "The whole thing feels...almost like there is a god and he or she, wanted all of this to happen from the start: "Wargrave"..."Soldier Island"...the ten characters, all dying, or at least seeming to die, precisly the same way as the nursury rhyme, despite their having been so many ways the crime could've gone wrong...the childish vanity of it all...and underneath it all a fundamental patheticness, a needyness for the love of others...the tragedy is what others are in love with is either something that they pity, or worse a lie that makes the one who craves the love seem better than she or he is." Poirot said gloomily.
"I don't understand why in detective novels they always keep the gunshot quiet somehow." Japp said.
"I think its based on the writers somehow not having the stomach for giving serious thought to how death occurs in real life, mon ami. Murders in real life are committed...not by people who stop and think what they are doing through, nor by people who do such rational things as shoot from a safe position, or throw a bomb on a brick through a window at night wearing a mask.
In real life muder is...more often then not...irrational, unstable, loud...insane.
Consider: the evil of the world today: monsters marching all over places like Germany and Russia... or even something as harmless as being nasty to someone you should be nice to, such as a parent being nasty to a child, or a spouse being nasty to the other spouse...is any of this well thought out? Is any of this considered carefully? Is any of this completely invisible?
Of course not.
You can, if you're lucky, escape other people's judgement...but never the judgement of nature and nature always leaves its clues.
That is how we won today my friends: we contemplated the details and the nature."
Poirot smiled at them all.
Ms lemon, who'd been quiet throughout the whole conversation between Poirot and Hastings after Poirot's laguhter, finally spoke "By the way Mr Poirot there's a letter for you."
Ms Lemon handed Poirot a letter which he read earnestly.
Poirot's face got gloomier and gloomier as he read it.
"Mon dieu...I had never thought to see her in this country ever. I got the impression she was too much taken with the United States." Poirot grumbled then set the letter down.
"It seems...a woman whose skill in noticing details and putting them together in ways that far surpass others, rivals my own is coming to see me and wishes to..."catch up" I believe is the expression." Poirot looked embarassed as he looked at the corner.
"A woman as smart as you Poirot? Who is this then?" Japp smiled.
"A lady whose genius is in geology and she is head of a company for providing mass electrictiy, and mass underwater grown foods...is remarkable. She's one of the wealthiest women in the world, and she is called Ms Felicia Topiro...although that is not her birth name."
Poirot wrote down the name "Topiro" and drew a line from each letter of the name. Then he wrote next to the end of each line facing away from the name "Topito" a copy letter, with the lines going in directions that resulted in the name "Poirot" being formed.
"She is my sister." Poirot said, to his friends whose mouths were open wide.