Загадочное происшествие в Стайлзе

Chapter VIII. Fresh Suspicions

           Thisismyspeciallysharpenedscimitar,andit’soffwithyourheadifI’matalldispleasedwithyou!’MissCynthia,shewaswhattheycallanApache,orsomesuchname—aFrenchifiedsortofcut-throat,Itakeittobe.Arealsightshelooked.You’dneverhavebelievedaprettyyoungladylikethatcouldhavemadeherselfintosucharuffian.Nobodywouldhaveknownher.”

           “Theseeveningsmusthavebeengreatfun,”saidPoirotgenially.“IsupposeMr.Lawrenceworethatfineblackbeardinthechestupstairs,whenhewasShahofPersia?”

           “Hedidhaveabeard,sir,”repliedDorcas,smiling.“AndwellIknowit,forheborrowedtwoskeinsofmyblackwooltomakeitwith!AndI’msureitlookedwonderfullynaturalatadistance.Ididn’tknowastherewasabeardupthereatall.Itmusthavebeengotquitelately,Ithink.Therewasaredwig,Iknow,butnothingelseinthewayofhair.Burntcorkstheyusemostly—though‘tismessygettingitoffagain.MissCynthiawasaniggeronce,and,oh,thetroubleshehad.”

           “SoDorcasknowsnothingaboutthatblackbeard,”saidPoirotthoughtfully,aswewalkedoutintothehallagain.

           “Doyouthinkitistheone?”Iwhisperedeagerly.

           Poirotnodded.

           “Ido.Younoticeithadbeentrimmed?”

           “No.”

           “Yes.ItwascutexactlytheshapeofMr.Inglethorp’s,andIfoundoneortwosnippedhairs.Hastings,thisaffairisverydeep.”

           “Whoputitinthechest,Iwonder?”

           “Someonewithagooddealofintelligence,”remarkedPoirotdryly.

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