Загадочное происшествие в Стайлзе
Chapter VII. Poirot Pays His Debts
Bauerstein,now,whatwashedoingupanddressedatthathourinthemorning?Itisastonishingtomethatnoonecommentedonthefact.”
“Hehasinsomnia,Ibelieve,”Isaiddoubtfully.
“Whichisaverygood,oraverybadexplanation,”remarkedPoirot.“Itcoverseverything,andexplainsnothing.IshallkeepmyeyeonourcleverDr.Bauerstein.”
“Anymorefaultstofindwiththeevidence?”Iinquiredsatirically.
“Monami,”repliedPoirotgravely,“whenyoufindthatpeoplearenottellingyouthetruth—lookout!Now,unlessIammuchmistaken,attheinquestto-dayonlyone—atmost,twopersonswerespeakingthetruthwithoutreservationorsubterfuge.”
“Oh,comenow,Poirot!Iwon’tciteLawrence,orMrs.Cavendish.Butthere’sJohn—andMissHoward,surelytheywerespeakingthetruth?”
“Bothofthem,myfriend?One,Igrantyou,butboth——!”
Hiswordsgavemeanunpleasantshock.MissHoward’sevidence,unimportantasitwas,hadbeengiveninsuchadownrightstraightforwardmannerthatithadneveroccurredtometodoubthersincerity.Still,IhadagreatrespectforPoirot’ssagacity—exceptontheoccasionswhenhewaswhatIdescribedtomyselfas“foolishlypig-headed.”
“Doyoureallythinkso?”Iasked.“MissHowardhadalwaysseemedtomesoessentiallyhonest—almostuncomfortablyso.”
Poirotgavemeacuriouslook,whichIcouldnotquitefathom.Heseemedtospeak,andthencheckedhimself.
“MissMurdochtoo,”Icontinued,“there’snothinguntruthfulabouther.”
“No.
