Убийство на поле для гольфа
26. I Receive a Letter
…
“I’mverytired. …Ican’twriteanymore. …”
ShehadbeguntosignherselfCinderella,buthadcrossedthatoutandwritteninstead“DulcieDuveen.”
Itwasanill-written,blurredepistlebutIhavekeptittothisday.
PoirotwaswithmewhenIreadit.Thesheetsfellfrommyhand,andIlookedacrossathim.
“Didyouknowallthetimethatitwas—theother?”
“Yes,myfriend.”
“Whydidyounottellme?”
“Tobeginwith,Icouldhardlybelieveitconceivablethatyoucouldmakesuchamistake.Youhadseenthephotograph.Thesistersareveryalike,butbynomeansincapableofdistinguishment.”
“Butthefairhair?”
“Awig,wornforthesakeofapiquantcontrastonthestage.Isitconceivablethatwithtwinsoneshouldbefairandonedark?”
“Whydidn’tyoutellmethatnightatthehotelinCoventry?”
“Youwereratherhigh-handedinyourmethods,monami,”saidPoirotdryly.“Youdidnotgivemeachance.”
“Butafterwards?”
“Ah,afterwards!Well,tobeginwith,Iwashurtatyourwantoffaithinme.Andthen,Iwantedtoseewhetheryour—feelingswouldstandthetestoftime.Infact,whetheritwaslove,oraflashinthepan,withyou.Ishouldnothaveleftyoulonginyourerror.”
Inodded.Histonewastooaffectionateformetobearresentment.Ilookeddownonthesheetsoftheletter.SuddenlyIpickedthemupfromthefloor,andpushedthemacrosstohim.
“Readthat,”Isaid.“I’dlikeyouto.”
Hereaditthroughinsilence,thenhelookedupatme
