Читать «The A B C Murders / Убийство по алфавиту. Книга для чтения на английском языке» онлайн - страница 6
Агата Кристи
‘He does not change much, the good Japp, eh?’ asked Poirot.
‘He looks much older,’ I said. ‘Getting as grey as a badger,’ I added vindictively.
Poirot coughed and said:
‘You know, Hastings, there is a little device—my hairdresser is a man of great ingenuity—one attaches it to the scalp and brushes one’s own hair over it—it is not a wig, you comprehend—but —’
‘Poirot,’ I roared. ‘Once and for all I will have nothing to do with the beastly inventions of your confounded hairdresser. What’s the matter with the top of my head?’
‘Nothing—nothing at all.’
‘It’s not as though I were going
‘Of course not! Of course not!’
‘The hot summers out there naturally cause the hair to fall out a bit. I shall take back a really good hair tonic.’
‘
‘And, anyway, what business is it of Japp’s? He always was an offensive kind of devil. And no sense of humour. The kind of man who laughs when a chair is pulled away just as a man is about to sit down.’
‘A great many people would laugh at that.’
‘It’s utterly senseless.’
‘From the point of view of the man about to sit, certainly it is.’
‘Well,’ I said, slightly recovering my temper. (I admit that I am touchy about the thinness of my hair.) ‘I’m sorry that anonymous letter business came to nothing.’
‘I have indeed been in the wrong over that. About that letter, there was, I thought, the odour of the fish. Instead a mere stupidity. Alas, I grow old and suspicious like the blind watch-dog who growls when there is nothing there.’
‘If I’m going to co-operate with you, we must look about for some other “creamy” crime,’ I said with a laugh.
‘You remember your remark of the other day? If you could order a crime as one orders a dinner, what would you choose?’
I fell in with his humour.
‘Let me see now. Let’s review the menu. Robbery? Forgery? No, I think not. Rather too vegetarian. It must be murder—red-blooded murder—with trimmings, of course.’
‘Naturally. The
‘Who shall the victim be—man or woman? Man, I think. Some big-wig. American millionaire. Prime Minister. Newspaper proprietor. Scene of the crime—well, what’s wrong with the good old library? Nothing like it for atmosphere. As for the weapon—well, it might be a curiously twisted dagger—or some blunt instrument—a carved stone idol —’
Poirot sighed.
‘Or, of course,’ I said, ‘there’s poison—but that’s always so technical. Or a revolver shot echoing in the night. Then there must be a beautiful girl or two —’
‘With auburn hair,’ murmured my friend.
‘Your same old joke. One of the beautiful girls, of course, must be unjustly suspected—and there’s some misunderstanding between her and the young man. And then, of course, there must be some other suspects—an older woman—dark, dangerous type—and some friend or rival of the dead man’s—and a quiet secretary—dark horse—and a hearty man with a bluff manner—and a couple of discharged servants or gamekeepers or somethings—and a damn fool of a detective rather like Japp—and well—that’s about all.’
