Убийство на поле для гольфа
27. Jack Renauld’s Story
MadameDaubreuilmightsaysomethingwhichwouldwoundher.”
Weunlatchedthegate,andwalkedupthepath.Aswewentroundtothesideofthehouse,IdrewPoirot’sattentiontoawindowonthefirstfloor.ThrownsharplyontheblindwastheprofileofMartheDaubreuil.
“Ah!”saidPoirot.“IfiguretomyselfthatthatistheroomwhereweshallfindJackRenauld.”
MadameDaubreuilopenedthedoortous.SheexplainedthatJackwasmuchthesame,butperhapswewouldliketoseeforourselves.Sheledusupstairsandintothebedroom.MartheDaubreuilwasembroideringbyatablewithalamponit.Sheputherfingertoherlipsasweentered.
JackRenauldwassleepinganuneasyfitfulsleep,hisheadturningfromsidetoside,andhisfacestillundulyflushed.
“Isthedoctorcomingagain?”askedPoirotinawhisper.
“Notunlesswesend.Heissleeping—thatisthegreatthing.Mamanmadehimatisane.”
Shesatdownagainwithherembroideryaswelefttheroom.MadameDaubreuilaccompaniedusdownthestairs.SinceIhadlearnedofherpasthistory,Iviewedthiswomanwithincreasedinterest.Shestoodtherewithhereyescastdown,thesameveryfaintenigmaticalsmilethatIrememberedonherlips.AndsuddenlyIfeltafraidofher,asonemightfeelafraidofabeautifulpoisonoussnake.
“Ihopewehavenotderangedyou,madame,”saidPoirotpolitelyassheopenedthedoorforustopassout.
“Notatall,monsieur.”
“Bytheway,”saidPoirot,asthoughstruckbyanafterthought,“M.
