Вбивство на поле для гольфу
5. Mrs. Renauld’s Story
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“DoyouknowanyonewhoseChristiannameisBella?”
HewatchedMrs.Renauldnarrowlyashespoke,seekingtosurpriseanysignsofangerorconsciousness,butshemerelyshookherheadinquiteanaturalmanner.Hecontinuedhisquestions.
“Areyouawarethatyourhusbandhadavisitorlastnight?”
Nowhesawtheredmountslightlyinhercheeks,butsherepliedcomposedly.
“No,whowasthat?”
“Alady.”
“Indeed?”
Butforthemomentthemagistratewascontenttosaynomore.ItseemedunlikelythatMadameDaubreuilhadanyconnectionwiththecrime,andhewasanxiousnottoupsetMrs.Renauldmorethannecessary.
Hemadeasigntothecommissary,andthelatterrepliedwithanod.Thenrising,hewentacrosstheroom,andreturnedwiththeglassjarwehadseenintheouthouseinhishand.Fromthis,hetookthedagger.
“Madame,”hesaidgently,“doyourecognizethis?”
Shegavealittlecry.
“Yes,thatismylittledagger.”Then—shesawthestainedpoint,andshedrewback,hereyeswideningwithhorror.“Isthat—blood?”
“Yes,madame.Yourhusbandwaskilledwiththisweapon.”Heremovedithastilyfromsight.“Youarequitesureaboutit’sbeingtheonethatwasonyourdressing-tablelastnight?”
“Oh,yes.Itwasapresentfrommyson.HewasintheAirForceduringtheWar.Hegavehisageasolderthanitwas.”Therewasatouchoftheproudmotherinhervoice.“Thiswasmadefromastreamlineaeroplanewire,andwasgiventomebymysonasasouveniroftheWar.”
“Isee,madame.Thatbringsustoanothermatter.
