Убийство в Восточном экспрессе
14. The Evidence of the Weapon
“Letmepass,ifyouplease,”saidM.Bouc.
Squeezinghisrotunditypasttheobstructingpassengers,heenteredthecompartment,Poirotclosebehindhim.
“IamgladyouhavecomeMonsieur,”saidtheconductorwithasighofrelief.“Everyonehasbeentryingtoenter.TheAmericanlady—suchscreamsasshegave—mafoi!Ithoughtshetoohadbeenmurdered!Icameatarunandthereshewasscreaminglikeamadwoman,andshecriedoutthatshemustfetchyouandshedeparted,screechingatthetopofhervoiceandtellingeverybodywhosecarriageshepassedwhathadoccurred.”
Headded,withagestureofthehand:
“Itisinthere,Monsieur.Ihavenottouchedit.”
Hangingonthehandleofthedoorthatgaveaccesstothenextcompartmentwasalarge-sizecheckedrubberspongebag.Belowitonthefloor,justwhereithadfallenfromMrs.Hubbard’shand,wasastraightbladeddagger—acheapaffair,shamOriental,withanembossedhiltandataperingblade.Thebladewasstainedwithpatchesofwhatlookedlikerust.
Poirotpickeditupdelicately.
“Yes,”hemurmured.“Thereisnomistake.Hereisourmissingweaponallright—eh,docteur?”
Thedoctorexaminedit.
“Youneednotbesocareful,”saidPoirot.“TherewillbenofingerprintsonitsavethoseofMrs.Hubbard.”
Constantine’sexaminationdidnottakelong.
“Itistheweaponallright,”hesaid.“Itwouldaccountforanyofthewounds.”
“Iimploreyou,myfriend,donotsaythat.”
Thedoctorlookedastonished.
“Alreadyweareheavilyoverburdenedbycoincidence.TwopeopledecidetostabM.Ratchettlastnight.
