Убийство на поле для гольфа
15. A Photograph
Calmlyandalmostscornfullyhereplied:
“CertainlyIagree.”
Themurmurofsurpriseandinterestbrokeoutagain.
“Butwhatanidea!”criedM.Hautet.“Tostabamanafterheisdead!Barbaric!Unheardof!Someunappeasablehate,perhaps.”
“No,M.lejuge,”saidPoirot.“Ishouldfancyitwasdonequitecold-bloodedly—tocreateanimpression.”
“Whatimpression?”
“Theimpressionitnearlydidcreate,”returnedPoirotoracularly.
M.Bexhadbeenthinking.
“How,then,wasthemankilled?”
“Hewasnotkilled.Hedied.Hedied,M.lejuge,ifIamnotmuchmistaken,ofanepilepticfit!”
ThisstatementofPoirot’sagainarousedconsiderableexcitement.Dr.Durandkneltdownagain,andmadeasearchingexamination.Atlastherosetohisfeet.
“Well,M.ledocteur?”
“M.Poirot,Iaminclinedtobelievethatyouarecorrectinyourassertion.Iwasmisledtobeginwith.Theincontrovertiblefactthatthemanhadbeenstabbeddistractedmyattentionfromanyotherindications.”
Poirotwastheheroofthehour.Theexaminingmagistratewasprofuseincompliments.Poirotrespondedgracefully,andthenexcusedhimselfonthepretextthatneitherhenorIhadyetlunched,andthathewishedtorepairtheravagesofthejourney.Aswewereabouttoleavetheshed,Giraudapproachedus.
“Onemorething,M.Poirot,”hesaid,inhissuavemockingvoice.“Wefoundthiscoiledroundthehandleofthedagger.Awoman’shair.”
“Ah!”saidPoirot.“Awoman’shair?Whatwoman’s,Iwonder?”
“Iwonderalso,”saidGiraud.Then,withabow,heleftus
