Загадочное происшествие в Стайлзе
Chapter V. “It Isn’t Strychnine, Is It?”
Iwonderedwhether,ifshehadremainedatStyles,thetragedywouldhavetakenplace,orwouldthemanhavefearedherwatchfuleyes?
Iwasrelievedwhensheshookmebythehand,withherwellrememberedpainfulgrip.Theeyesthatmetmineweresad,butnotreproachful;thatshehadbeencryingbitterly,Icouldtellbytherednessofhereyelids,buthermannerwasunchangedfromitsoldgruffness.
“StartedthemomentIgotthewire.Justcomeoffnightduty.Hiredcar.Quickestwaytogethere.”
“Haveyouhadanythingtoeatthismorning,Evie?”askedJohn.
“No.”
“Ithoughtnot.Comealong,breakfast’snotclearedawayyet,andthey’llmakeyousomefreshtea.”Heturnedtome.“Lookafterher,Hastings,willyou?Wellsiswaitingforme.Oh,here’sMonsieurPoirot.He’shelpingus,youknow,Evie.”
MissHowardshookhandswithPoirot,butglancedsuspiciouslyoverhershoulderatJohn.
“Whatdoyoumean—helpingus?”
“Helpingustoinvestigate.”
“Nothingtoinvestigate.Havetheytakenhimtoprisonyet?”
“Takenwhotoprison?”
“Who?AlfredInglethorp,ofcourse!”
“MydearEvie,dobecareful.Lawrenceisoftheopinionthatmymotherdiedfromheartseizure.”
“Morefool,Lawrence!”retortedMissHoward.“OfcourseAlfredInglethorpmurderedpoorEmily—asIalwaystoldyouhewould.”
“MydearEvie,don’tshoutso.Whateverwemaythinkorsuspect,itisbettertosayaslittleaspossibleforthepresent.Theinquestisn’tuntilFriday.
