Загадочное происшествие в Стайлзе
Chapter V. “It Isn’t Strychnine, Is It?”
Decorumandgoodbreedingnaturallyenjoinedthatourdemeanourshouldbemuchasusual,yetIcouldnothelpwonderingifthisself-controlwerereallyamatterofgreatdifficulty.Therewerenoredeyes,nosignsofsecretlyindulgedgrief.IfeltthatIwasrightinmyopinionthatDorcaswasthepersonmostaffectedbythepersonalsideofthetragedy.
IpassoverAlfredInglethorp,whoactedthebereavedwidowerinamannerthatIfelttobedisgustinginitshypocrisy.Didheknowthatwesuspectedhim,Iwondered.Surelyhecouldnotbeunawareofthefact,concealitaswewould.Didhefeelsomesecretstirringoffear,orwasheconfidentthathiscrimewouldgounpunished?Surelythesuspicionintheatmospheremustwarnhimthathewasalreadyamarkedman.
Butdideveryonesuspecthim?WhataboutMrs.Cavendish?Iwatchedherasshesatattheheadofthetable,graceful,composed,enigmatic.Inhersoftgreyfrock,withwhiterufflesatthewristsfallingoverherslenderhands,shelookedverybeautiful.Whenshechose,however,herfacecouldbesphinx-likeinitsinscrutability.Shewasverysilent,hardlyopeningherlips,andyetinsomequeerwayIfeltthatthegreatstrengthofherpersonalitywasdominatingusall.
AndlittleCynthia?Didshesuspect?Shelookedverytiredandill,Ithought.Theheavinessandlanguorofhermannerwereverymarked.Iaskedherifshewerefeelingill,andsheansweredfrankly:
“Yes,I’vegotthemostbeastlyheadache.”
“Haveanothercupofcoffee,mademoiselle?”saidPoirotsolicitously.“Itwillreviveyou.
