Убийство на поле для гольфа
27. Jack Renauld’s Story
Butforme,andmyentanglementwiththisgirl,hewouldbealiveandwelltoday.Andthenmycursedcarelessnessintakingawaythewrongovercoat.Ican’thelpfeelingresponsibleforhisdeath.Itwillhauntmeforever!”
“No,no,”Isaidsoothingly.
“Ofcourseit’shorribletometothinkthatBellakilledmyfather,”resumedJack,“butI’dtreatedhershamefully.AfterImetMarthe,andrealizedI’dmadeamistake,Ioughttohavewrittenandtoldhersohonestly.ButIwassoterrifiedofarow,andofitscomingtoMarthe’sears,andherthinkingtherewasmoreinitthanthereeverhadbeen,that—well,Iwasacoward,andwentonhopingthethingwoulddiedownofitself.Ijustdrifted,infact—notrealizingthatIwasdrivingthepoorkiddesperate.Ifshe’dreallyknifedme,asshemeantto,Ishouldhavegotnomorethanmydeserts.Andthewayshe’scomeforwardnowisdownrightplucky.I’dhavestoodtheracket,youknow—uptotheend.”
Hewassilentforamomentortwo,andthenburstoutonanothertack:
“WhatgetsmeiswhytheGovernorshouldbewanderingaboutinunderclothesandmyovercoatatthattimeofnight.Isupposehe’djustgiventheforeignjohnniestheslip,andmymothermusthavemadeamistakeaboutitsbeing2o’clockwhentheycame.Or—or,itwasn’tallaframeup,wasit?Imean,mymotherdidn’tthink—couldn’tthink—that—thatitwasme?”
Poirotreassuredhimquickly.
“No,no,M.Jack.Havenofearsonthatscore.Asfortherest,Iwillexplainittoyouoneofthesedays.Itisrathercurious.
