Убийство в Восточном экспрессе
7. The Identity of Mary Debenham
”
“Youwillnottellmeyoursecret,Mademoiselle?”
Poirot’svoicewasverygentleandpersuasive.
Shesaidinalowvoice:
“Ican’t—Ican’t.”
Andsuddenly,withoutwarningshebrokedown,droppingherfacedownuponheroutstretchedarmsandcryingasthoughherheartwouldbreak.
TheColonelsprangupandstoodawkwardlybesideher.
“I—lookhere—”
Hestoppedand,turninground,scowledfiercelyatPoirot.
“I’llbreakeveryboneinyourdamnedbody,youdirtylittlewhippersnapper,”hesaid.
“Monsieur,”protestedM.Bouc.
Arbuthnothadturnedbacktothegirl.
“Mary—forGod’ssake—”
Shesprangup.
“It’snothing.I’mallright.Youdon’tneedmeanymore,doyou,M.Poirot?Ifyoudo,youmustcomeandfindme.Oh,whatanidiot—whatanidiotI’mmakingofmyself!”
Shehurriedoutofthecar.Arbuthnot,beforefollowingher,turnedoncemoreonPoirot.
“MissDebenham’sgotnothingtodowiththisbusiness—nothing,doyouhear?Andifshe’sworriedandinterferedwith,you’llhavemetodealwith.”
Hestrodeout.
“IliketoseeanangryEnglishman,”saidPoirot.“Theyareveryamusing.Themoreemotionaltheyfeelthelesscommandtheyhaveoflanguage.”
ButM.BoucwasnotinterestedintheemotionalreactionsofEnglishmen.Hewasovercomebyadmirationofhisfriend.
“Moncher,vousêtesépatant,”hecried.“Anothermiraculousguess.C’estformidable.”
“Itisincrediblehowyouthinkofthesethings,”saidDr.Constantineadmiringly.
“Oh,Iclaimnocreditthistime.Itwasnotaguess.CountessAndrenyipracticallytoldme
