Убийство на поле для гольфа
5. Mrs. Renauld’s Story
Yourson,whereishenow?Itisnecessarythatheshouldbetelegraphedtowithoutdelay.”
“Jack?HeisonhiswaytoBuenosAyres.”
“What?”
“Yes.Myhusbandtelegraphedtohimyesterday.HehadsenthimonbusinesstoParis,butyesterdayhediscoveredthatitwouldbenecessaryforhimtoproceedwithoutdelaytoSouthAmerica.TherewasaboatleavingCherbourgforBuenosAyreslastnight,andhewiredhimtocatchit.”
“HaveyouanyknowledgeofwhatthebusinessinBuenosAyreswas?”
“No,monsieur,Iknownothingofitsnature,butBuenosAyresisnotmyson’sfinaldestination.HewasgoingoverlandfromtheretoSantiago.”
And,inunison,themagistrateandthecommissaryexclaimed:
“Santiago!AgainSantiago!”
Itwasatthismoment,whenwewereallstunnedbythementionofthatword,thatPoirotapproachedMrs.Renauld.Hehadbeenstandingbythewindowlikeamanlostinadream,andIdoubtifhehadfullytakeninwhathadpassed.Hepausedbythelady’ssidewithabow.
“Pardon,madame,butmayIexamineyourwrists.”
Thoughslightlysurprisedattherequest,Mrs.Renauldheldthemouttohim.Roundeachofthemwasacruelredmarkwherethecordshadbittenintotheflesh.Asheexaminedthem,IfanciedthatamomentaryflickerofexcitementIhadseeninhiseyesdisappeared.
“Theymustcauseyougreatpain,”hesaid,andoncemorehelookedpuzzled.
Butthemagistratewasspeakingexcitedly.
“YoungM.Renauldmustbecommunicatedwithatoncebywireless.ItisvitalthatweshouldknowanythinghecantellusaboutthistriptoSantiago.”Hehesitated
