Убийство в Восточном экспрессе
4. The Grease Spot on a Hungarian Passport
Armstrong.”
Therewasadeadsilenceforaminuteortwo.BoththeCountandCountesshadgonedeadlywhite.Poirotsaidinagentlertone:
“Itisofnousedenying.Thatisthetruth,isitnot?”
TheCountburstoutfuriously:
“Idemand,Monsieur,bywhatrightyou—”
Sheinterruptedhim,puttingupasmallhandtowardshismouth.
“No,Rudolph.Letmespeak.Itisuselesstodenywhatthisgentlemansays.Wehadbettersitdownandtalkthematterout.”
Hervoicehadchanged.Itstillhadthesouthernrichnessoftone,butithadbecomesuddenlymoreclearcutandincisive.Itwas,forthefirsttime,adefinitelyAmericanvoice.
TheCountwassilenced.HeobeyedthegestureofherhandtheybothsatdownoppositePoirot.
“Yourstatement,Monsieur,isquitetrue,”saidtheCountess.“IamHelenaGoldenberg,theyoungersisterofMrs.Armstrong.”
“Youdidnotacquaintmewiththatfactthismorning,MadamelaComtesse.”
“No.”
“Infact,allthatyourhusbandandyoutoldmewasatissueoflies.”
“Monsieur,”criedtheCountangrily.
“Donotbeangry,Rudolph.M.Poirotputsthefactratherbrutally,butwhathesaysisundeniable.”
“Iamgladyouadmitthefactsofreely,Madame.WillyounowtellmeyourreasonsforsodoingandalsoforalteringyourChristiannameonyourpassport.”
“Thatwasmydoingentirely,”putintheCount.
Helenasaidquietly:
“Surely,M.Poirot,youcanguessmyreason—ourreason.Thismanwhowaskilledisthemanwhomurderedmybabyniece,whokilledmysister,whobrokemybrother-in-law’sheart.
