Пуаро ведёт следствие
X. The Adventure of the Italian Nobleman
Asmallclockonthewriting-tablehadbeensweptoffbyFoscatini’sarm,andhadstoppedatthathour,whichagreedwithMissRider’stelephonesummons.
Thepolicesurgeonhadmadehisexaminationofthebody,anditwasnowlyingonthecouch.Isawthefaceforthefirsttime—theolivecomplexion,thelongnose,theluxuriantblackmoustache,andthefullredlipsdrawnbackfromthedazzlinglywhiteteeth.Notaltogetherapleasantface.
“Well,”saidtheinspector,refasteninghisnotebook.“Thecaseseemsclearenough.TheonlydifficultywillbetolayourhandsonthisSignorAscanio.Isupposehisaddressisnotinthedeadman’spocket-bookbyanychance?”
AsPoirothadsaid,thelateFoscatiniwasanorderlyman.Neatlywritteninsmall,precisehandwritingwastheinscription,“SignorPaoloAscanio,GrosvenorHotel.”
Theinspectorbusiedhimselfwiththetelephone,thenturnedtouswithagrin.
“Justintime.OurfinegentlemanwasofftocatchtheboattraintotheContinong.Well,gentlemen,that’saboutallwecandohere.It’sabadbusiness,butstraightforwardenough.OneoftheseItalianvendettathings,aslikelyasnot.”
Thusairilydismissed,wefoundourwaydownstairs.Dr.Hawkerwasfullofexcitement.
“Likethebeginningofanovel,eh?Realexcitingstuff.Wouldn’tbelieveitifyoureadaboutit.”
Poirotdidnotspeak.Hewasverythoughtful.Alltheeveninghehadhardlyopenedhislips.
“Whatsaysthemasterdetective,eh?”askedHawker,clappinghimontheback.“Nothingtoworkyourgreycellsoverthistime.
