Загадочное происшествие в Стайлзе
Chapter VIII. Fresh Suspicions
Thisismyspeciallysharpenedscimitar,andit’soffwithyourheadifI’matalldispleasedwithyou!’MissCynthia,shewaswhattheycallanApache,orsomesuchname—aFrenchifiedsortofcut-throat,Itakeittobe.Arealsightshelooked.You’dneverhavebelievedaprettyyoungladylikethatcouldhavemadeherselfintosucharuffian.Nobodywouldhaveknownher.”
“Theseeveningsmusthavebeengreatfun,”saidPoirotgenially.“IsupposeMr.Lawrenceworethatfineblackbeardinthechestupstairs,whenhewasShahofPersia?”
“Hedidhaveabeard,sir,”repliedDorcas,smiling.“AndwellIknowit,forheborrowedtwoskeinsofmyblackwooltomakeitwith!AndI’msureitlookedwonderfullynaturalatadistance.Ididn’tknowastherewasabeardupthereatall.Itmusthavebeengotquitelately,Ithink.Therewasaredwig,Iknow,butnothingelseinthewayofhair.Burntcorkstheyusemostly—though‘tismessygettingitoffagain.MissCynthiawasaniggeronce,and,oh,thetroubleshehad.”
“SoDorcasknowsnothingaboutthatblackbeard,”saidPoirotthoughtfully,aswewalkedoutintothehallagain.
“Doyouthinkitistheone?”Iwhisperedeagerly.
Poirotnodded.
“Ido.Younoticeithadbeentrimmed?”
“No.”
“Yes.ItwascutexactlytheshapeofMr.Inglethorp’s,andIfoundoneortwosnippedhairs.Hastings,thisaffairisverydeep.”
“Whoputitinthechest,Iwonder?”
“Someonewithagooddealofintelligence,”remarkedPoirotdryly.
