Убийство на поле для гольфа
27. Jack Renauld’s Story
Ah!”
Acryofabsoluteterrorfloatedoutontothenightasthegirldisappearedthroughtheright-handwindow;theninCinderella’scleartonescamethewords:
“No,youdon’t!I’vegotyou—andmywristsarejustlikesteel.”
AtthesamemomentthedoorofourprisonwasopenedcautiouslybyFrançoise.Poirotbrushedherasideunceremoniouslyandrusheddownthepassagetowheretheothermaidsweregroupedroundthefurtherdoor.
“It’slockedontheinside,monsieur.”
Therewasthesoundofaheavyfallwithin.Afteramomentortwothekeyturnedandthedoorswungslowlyopen.Cinderella,verypale,beckonedusin.
“Sheissafe?”demandedPoirot.
“Yes,Iwasjustintime.Shewasexhausted.”
Mrs.Renauldwashalfsitting,halflyingonthebed.Shewasgaspingforbreath.
“Nearlystrangledme,”shemurmuredpainfully.ThegirlpickedupsomethingfromthefloorandhandedittoPoirot.Itwasarolledupladderofsilkrope,veryfinebutquitestrong.
“Agetaway,”saidPoirot.“Bythewindow,whilstwewerebatteringatthedoor.Whereis—theother?”
Thegirlstoodasidealittleandpointed.Onthegroundlayafigurewrappedinsomedarkmaterialafoldofwhichhidtheface.
“Dead?”
Shenodded.
“Ithinkso.”
“Headmusthavestruckthemarblefender.”
“Butwhoisit?”Icried.
“ThemurdererofM.Renauld,Hastings.Andthewould-bemurdererofMadameRenauld.”
Puzzledanduncomprehending,Ikneltdown,andliftingthefoldofcloth,lookedintothedeadbeautifulfaceofMartheDaubreuil!
