Убийство в Восточном экспрессе
9. The Evidence of Mr. Hardman
Isteppedoutintothecorridortoseewhatitwasallabout—feltamitenervous,youunderstand—butitwasonlytheAmericandame.Shewasraisinghellaboutsomethingorother.Igrinned.Thenhewentontoanothercompartmentandcamebackandgotabottleofmineralwaterforsomeone.Afterthathesettleddowninhisseattillhewentuptothefarendtomakesomebody’sbedup.Idon’tthinkhestirredafterthatuntilaboutfiveo’clockthismorning.”
“Didhedozeoffatall?”
“ThatIcan’tsay.Hemayhavedone.”
Poirotnodded.Automaticallyhishandsstraightenedthepapersonthetable.Hepickeduptheofficialcardoncemore.
“Besogoodasjusttoinitialthis,”hesaid.
Theothercomplied.
“Thereisnoone,Isuppose,whocanconfirmyourstoryofyouridentity,M.Hardman?”
“Onthistrain?Well,notexactly.UnlessitmightbeyoungMacQueen.Iknowhimwellenough—seenhiminhisfather’sofficeinNewYork—butthat’snottosayhe’llremembermefromacrowdofotheroperatives.No,Mr.Poirot,you’llhavetowaitandcableNewYorkwhenthesnowletsup.Butit’sO.K.I’mnottellingthetale.Well,solong,gentlemen.Pleasedtohavemetyou,Mr.Poirot.”
Poirotprofferedhiscigarettecase.
“Butperhapsyoupreferapipe?”
“Notme.”
Hehelpedhimself,thenstrodebrisklyoff.
Thethreemenlookedateachother.
“Youthinkheisgenuine?”askedDr.Constantine.
“Yes,yes.Iknowthetype.Besides,itisastorythatwouldbeveryeasilydisproved.”
“Hehasgivenusapieceofveryinterestingevidence,”saidM.Bouc.
“Yes,indeed
