Убийство в Восточном экспрессе
8. Further Surprising Revelations
“Pietro,”calledPoirot.
Thediningcarattendantcameatarun.
“TheNo.10—theSwedishlady.”
“Bien,Monsieur.”
“Another?”criedM.Bouc.“Ah,no—itisnotpossible.Itellyouitisnotpossible.”
“Moncher,wehavetoknow.EvenifintheendeverybodyonthetrainprovestohaveamotiveforkillingRatchett,wehavetoknow.Onceweknow,wecansettleonceforallwheretheguiltlies.”
“Myheadisspinning,”groanedM.Bouc.
GretaOhlssonwasusheredinsympatheticallybytheattendant.Shewasweepingbitterly.
ShecollapsedontheseatfacingPoirotandweptsteadilyintoalargehandkerchief.
“Nowdonotdistressyourself,Mademoiselle.Donotdistressyourself.”Poirotpattedherontheshoulder.“Justafewlittlewordsoftruth,thatisall.YouwerethenursewhowasinchargeoflittleDaisyArmstrong?”
“Itistrue—itistrue,”weptthewretchedwoman.“Ah,shewasanangel—alittlesweet,trustfulangel.Sheknewnothingbutkindnessandlove—andshewastakenawaybythatwickedman—cruellytreated—andherpoormother—andtheotherlittleonewhoneverlivedatall.Youcannotunderstand—youcannotknow—ifyouhadbeenthereasIwas—ifyouhadseenthewholeterribletragedy—Ioughttohavetoldyouthetruthaboutmyselfthismorning.ButIwasafraid—afraid.Ididsorejoicethatthatevilmanwasdead—thathecouldnotanymorekillortorturelittlechildren.Ah!Icannotspeak—Ihavenowords….”
Sheweptwithmorevehemencethanever.
Poirotcontinuedtopathergentlyontheshoulder.
