The A B C Murders / Убийство по алфавиту. Книга для чтения на английском языке. Агата Кристи

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СКАЧАТЬ 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[38] 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 hors-d’œuvres[39].’

      ‘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.’

      ‘That is your idea of the cream, eh?’

      ‘I gather you don’t agree.’

      Poirot looked at me sadly.

      ‘You have made there a very pretty resume of nearly all the detective stories that have ever been written.’

      ‘Well,’ I said. ‘What would you order?’

      Poirot closed his eyes and leaned back in his chair. His voice came purringly from between his lips.

      ‘A very simple crime. A crime with no complications. A crime of quiet domestic life… very unimpassioned —very intime.’

      ‘How can a crime be intime?’

      ‘Supposing,’ murmured Poirot, ‘that four people sit down to play bridge[40] and one, the odd man out[41], sits in a chair by the fire. At the end of the evening the man by the fire is found dead. One of the four, while he is dummy[42], has gone over and killed him, and intent on the play of the hand[43], the other three have not noticed. Ah, there would be a crime for you! Which of the four was it?’

      ‘Well,’ I said. ‘I can’t see any excitement in that!’

      Poirot threw me a glance of reproof.

      ‘No, because there are no curiously twisted daggers, no blackmail, no emerald that is the stolen eye of a god, no untraceable Eastern poisons. You have the melodramatic soul, Hastings. You would like, not one murder, but a series of murders.’

      ‘I admit,’ I said, ‘that a second murder in a book often cheers things up. If the murder happens in the first chapter, and you have to follow up everybody’s alibi until the last page but one—well, it does get a bit tedious.’

      The telephone rang and Poirot rose to answer.

      ‘’Allo[44],’ he said. ‘’Allo. Yes, it is Hercule Poirot speaking.’

      He listened for a minute or two and then I saw his face change.

      His own side of the conversation was short and disjointed.

      ‘Mais oui[45]…’

      ‘Yes, of course…’

      ‘But yes, we will come…’

      ‘Naturally…’

      ‘It may be as you say…’

      ‘Yes, I will bring it. À tout à l’heure[46] then.’

      He replaced the receiver and came across the room to me.

      ‘That was Japp speaking, Hastings.’

      ‘Yes?’

      ‘He had just got back to the Yard. There was a message from Andover…’

      ‘Andover?’ I cried excitedly.

      Poirot said slowly:

      ‘An old woman of the name of Ascher who keeps a little tobacco and newspaper shop has been found murdered.’

      I think I felt ever so slightly damped. My interest, quickened by the sound of Andover, suffered a faint check. I had expected something fantastic—out of the way[47]! The murder of an old woman who kept a little tobacco shop seemed, somehow, sordid and uninteresting.

      Poirot continued in the same slow, grave voice:

      ‘The Andover police believe they can put their hand on the man who did it —’

      I felt a second throb of disappointment.

      ‘It seems the woman was on bad terms[48] with her husband. He drinks and is by way of being[49] rather a nasty customer. He’s threatened to take her life more than once.

      ‘Nevertheless,’ continued Poirot, ‘in view of what has happened, the police there would like to have another look at the anonymous letter I received. I have said that you and I will go down to Andover at once.’

      My spirits revived a little. After all, sordid as this crime seemed to be, it was a crime, and it was a long time since I had had any association with crime and criminals.

      I hardly listened to the next words Poirot said. But they were to come back to me with significance later.

      ‘This is the beginning,’ said Hercule Poirot.

      Chapter 4

      Mrs Ascher

      We were received at Andover by Inspector Glen, a tall fair-haired man with a pleasant smile.

      For the sake of conciseness[50] СКАЧАТЬ