Убийство на поле для гольфа
27. Jack Renauld’s Story
StonorhasnotbeeninMerlinvilletoday,hashe?”
IcouldnotatallfathomthepointofthisquestionwhichIwellknewtobemeaninglessasfarasPoirotwasconcerned.
MadameDaubreuilrepliedquitecomposedly:
“NotthatIknowof.”
“HehasnothadaninterviewwithMrs.Renauld?”
“HowshouldIknowthat,monsieur?”
“True,”saidPoirot.“Ithoughtyoumighthaveseenhimcomingorgoing,thatisall.Goodnight,madame.”
“Why—”Ibegan.
“No‘whys,’Hastings.Therewillbetimeforthatlater.”
WerejoinedCinderellaandmadeourwayrapidlyinthedirectionoftheVillaGeneviève.PoirotlookedoverhisshoulderonceatthelightedwindowandtheprofileofMartheasshebentoverherwork.
“Heisbeingguardedatallevents,”hemuttered.
ArrivedattheVillaGeneviève,Poirottookuphisstandbehindsomebushestotheleftofthedrive,where,whilstenjoyingagoodviewourselves,wewerecompletelyhiddenfromsight.TheVillaitselfwasintotaldarkness,everybodywaswithoutdoubtinbedandasleep.WewerealmostimmediatelyunderthewindowofMrs.Renauld’sbedroom,whichwindow,Inoticed,wasopen.ItseemedtomethatitwasuponthisspotthatPoirot’seyeswerefixed.
“Whatarewegoingtodo?”Iwhispered.
“Watch.”
“But—”
“Idonotexpectanythingtohappenforatleastanhour,probablytwohours,butthe—”
Buthiswordswereinterruptedbyalongthindrawncry:
“Help!”
Alightflashedupinthesecondfloorroomontherighthandsideofthehouse.Thecrycamefromthere.
