Убийство в Восточном экспрессе
4. A Cry in the Night
“Why,”hecried,“Ithoughtyou’dleftus.YousaidyouweregettingoffatBelgrade.”
“Youmisunderstoodme,”saidPoirot,smiling.“Iremembernow,thetrainstartedfromStambouljustasweweretalkingaboutit.”
“But,man,yourbaggage—it’sgone.”
“Ithasbeenmovedintoanothercompartment—thatisall.”
“Oh,Isee.”
HeresumedhisconversationwithArbuthnotandPoirotpassedondownthecorridor.
Twodoorsfromhisowncompartment,theelderlyAmericanlady,Mrs.Hubbard,wasstandingtalkingtothesheep-likeladywhowasaSwede.Mrs.Hubbardwaspressingamagazineontheother.
“No,dotakeit,mydear,”shesaid.“I’vegotplentyotherthingstoread.My,isn’tthecoldsomethingfrightful?”ShenoddedamicablytoPoirot.
“Youaremostkind,”saidtheSwedishlady.
“Notatall.Ihopeyou’llsleepwellandthatyourheadwillbebetterinthemorning.”
“Itisthecoldonly.Imakenowmyselfacupoftea.”
“Haveyougotsomeaspirin?Areyousure,now?I’vegotplenty.Well,goodnight,mydear.”
SheturnedtoPoirotconversationallyastheotherwomandeparted.
“Poorcreature,she’saSwede.AsfarasIcanmakeout,she’sakindofmissionary—ateachingone.Anicecreature,butdoesn’ttalkmuchEnglish.ShewasmostinterestedinwhatItoldheraboutmydaughter.”
Poirot,bynow,knewallaboutMrs.Hubbard’sdaughter.EveryoneonthetrainwhocouldunderstandEnglishdid!HowsheandherhusbandwereonthestaffofabigAmericancollegeinSmyrnaandhowthiswasMrs.
