Убийство в Восточном экспрессе
5. The Crime
Hergazewentpasthim,outofthewindowtowherethesnowlayinheavymasses.
“Youareastrongcharacter,Mademoiselle,”saidPoirotgently.“Youare,Ithink,thestrongestcharacteramongstus.”
“Oh,no.No,indeed.IknowonefarfarstrongerthanIam.”
“Andthatis—?”
Sheseemedsuddenlytocometoherself,torealizethatshewastalkingtoastrangerandaforeignerwithwhom,untilthismorning,shehadonlyexchangedhalfadozensentences.
Shelaughedapolitebutestranginglaugh.
“Well—thatoldlady,forinstance.Youhaveprobablynoticedher.Averyuglyoldlady,butratherfascinating.Shehasonlytoliftalittlefingerandaskforsomethinginapolitevoice—andthewholetrainruns.”
“ItrunsalsoformyfriendM.Bouc,”saidPoirot.“Butthatisbecauseheisadirectoroftheline,notbecausehehasamasterfulcharacter.”
MaryDebenhamsmiled.
Themorningworeaway.Severalpeople,Poirotamongstthem,remainedinthediningcar.Thecommunallifewasfelt,atthemoment,topassthetimebetter.HeheardagooddealmoreaboutMrs.Hubbard’sdaughterandheheardthelifelonghabitsofMr.Hubbard,deceased,fromhisrisinginthemorningandcommencingbreakfastwithacerealtohisfinalrestatnightinthebedsocksthatMrs.Hubbardherselfhadbeeninthehabitofknittingforhim.
ItwaswhenhewaslisteningtoaconfusedaccountofthemissionaryaimsoftheSwedishladythatoneoftheWagonLitconductorscameintothecarandstoodathiselbow.
“Pardon,Monsieur.”
“Yes?”
“ThecomplimentsofM.
