Загадочное происшествие в Стайлзе
Chapter VIII. Fresh Suspicions
Poirotbundledeverythingoutonthefloorwithscantceremony.Therewereoneortwogreenfabricsofvaryingshades;butPoirotshookhisheadoverthemall.Heseemedsomewhatapatheticinthesearch,asthoughheexpectednogreatresultsfromit.Suddenlyhegaveanexclamation.
“Whatisit?”
“Look!”
Thechestwasnearlyempty,andthere,reposingrightatthebottom,wasamagnificentblackbeard.
“Ohó!”saidPoirot.“Ohó!”Heturneditoverinhishands,examiningitclosely.“New,”heremarked.“Yes,quitenew.”
Afteramoment’shesitation,hereplaceditinthechest,heapedalltheotherthingsontopofitasbefore,andmadehiswaybrisklydownstairs.Hewentstraighttothepantry,wherewefoundDorcasbusilypolishinghersilver.
PoirotwishedhergoodmorningwithGallicpoliteness,andwenton:
“Wehavebeenlookingthroughthatchest,Dorcas.Iammuchobligedtoyouformentioningit.Thereis,indeed,afinecollectionthere.Aretheyoftenused,mayIask?”
“Well,sir,notveryoftennowadays,thoughfromtimetotimewedohavewhattheyounggentlemencall‘adress-upnight.’Andveryfunnyitissometimes,sir.Mr.Lawrence,he’swonderful.Mostcomic!IshallneverforgetthenighthecamedownastheCharofPersia,Ithinkhecalledit—asortofEasternKingitwas.Hehadthebigpaperknifeinhishand,and‘Mind,Dorcas,’hesays,‘you’llhavetobeveryrespectful.
