Убийство на поле для гольфа
4. The Letter Signed “Bella”
“Courage!”criedPoirot,clappinghimontheback.“Withoutdoubt,MadameRenauldwillbeabletotellusallaboutthismysteriouspersonnamedDuveen.”
Thecommissary’sfacecleared.“Thatistrue.Letusproceed.”
Asweturnedtoleavetheroom,Poirotremarkedcasually:“ItwasherethatM.Renauldreceivedhisguestlastnight,eh?”
“Itwas—buthowdidyouknow?”
“Bythis.Ifounditonthebackoftheleatherchair.”
Andheheldupbetweenhisfingerandthumbalongblackhair—awoman’shair!
M.Bextookusoutbythebackofthehousetowheretherewasasmallshedleaningagainstthehouse.Heproducedakeyfromhispocketandunlockedit.
“Thebodyishere.Wemoveditfromthesceneofthecrimejustbeforeyouarrived,asthephotographershaddonewithit.”
Heopenedthedoorandwepassedin.Themurderedmanlayontheground,withasheetoverhim.M.Bexdexterouslywhippedoffthecovering.Renauldwasamanofmediumheight,slenderandlitheinfigure.Helookedaboutfiftyyearsofage,andhisdarkhairwasplentifullystreakedwithgrey.Hewascleanshavenwithalongthinnose,andeyessetratherclosetogether,andhisskinwasdeeplybronzed,asthatofamanwhohadspentmostofhislifebeneathtropicalskies.Hislipsweredrawnbackfromhisteethandanexpressionofabsoluteamazementandterrorwasstampedonthelividfeatures.
“Onecanseebyhisfacethathewasstabbedintheback,”remarkedPoirot.
Verygently,heturnedthedeadmanover.There,betweentheshoulder-blades,stainingthelightfawnovercoat,wasarounddarkpatch.
