Hercule Poirot: The Complete Short Stories. Агата Кристи

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СКАЧАТЬ up as far as possible, and, to this day, people talk of the remarkable series of deaths in connection with the Tomb of Men-her-Ra as a triumphal proof of the vengeance of a bygone king upon the desecrators of his tomb – a belief which, as Poirot pointed out to me, is contrary to all Egyptian belief and thought.

       14 The Veiled Lady

      ‘The Veiled Lady’ was first published as ‘The Case of the Veiled Lady’ in The Sketch, 3 October 1923.

      I had noticed that for some time Poirot had been growing increasingly dissatisfied and restless. We had had no interesting cases of late, nothing on which my little friend could exercise his keen wits and remarkable powers of deduction. This morning he flung down the newspaper with an impatient ‘Tchah!’ – a favourite exclamation of his which sounded exactly like a cat sneezing.

      ‘They fear me, Hastings; the criminals of your England they fear me! When the cat is there, the little mice, they come no more to the cheese!’

      ‘I don’t suppose the greater part of them even know of your existence,’ I said, laughing.

      Poirot looked at me reproachfully. He always imagines that the whole world is thinking and talking of Hercule Poirot. He had certainly made a name for himself in London, but I could hardly believe that his existence struck terror into the criminal world.

      ‘What about that daylight robbery of jewels in Bond Street the other day?’ I asked.

      ‘A neat coup,’ said Poirot approvingly, ‘though not in my line. Pas de finesse, seulement de l’audace! A man with a loaded cane smashes the plate-glass window of a jeweller’s shop and grabs a number of precious stones. Worthy citizens immediately seize him; a policeman arrives. He is caught red-handed with the jewels on him. He is marched off to the police, and then it is discovered that the stones are paste. He has passed the real ones to a confederate – one of the aforementioned worthy citizens. He will go to prison – true; but when he comes out, there will be a nice little fortune awaiting him. Yes, not badly imagined. But I could do better than that. Sometimes, Hastings, I regret that I am of such a moral disposition. To work against the law, it would be pleasing, for a change.’

      ‘Cheer up, Poirot; you know you are unique in your own line.’

      ‘But what is there on hand in my own line?’

      I picked up the paper.

      ‘Here’s an Englishman mysteriously done to death in Holland,’ I said.

      ‘They always say that – and later they find that he ate the tinned fish and that his death is perfectly natural.’

      ‘Well, if you’re determined to grouse!’

      ‘Tiens!’ said Poirot, who had strolled across to the window. ‘Here in the street is what they call in novels a “heavily veiled lady”. She mounts the steps; she rings the bell – she comes to consult us. Here is a possibility of something interesting. When one is as young and pretty as that one, one does not veil the face except for a big affair.’

      A minute later our visitor was ushered in. As Poirot had said, she was indeed heavily veiled. It was impossible to distinguish her features until she raised her veil of black Spanish lace. Then I saw that Poirot’s intuition had been right; the lady was extremely pretty, with fair hair and blue eyes. From the costly simplicity of her attire, I deduced at once that she belonged to the upper strata of society.

      ‘Monsieur Poirot,’ said the lady in a soft, musical voice, ‘I am in great trouble. I can hardly believe that you can help me, but I have heard such wonderful things of you that I come literally as the last hope to beg you to do the impossible.’

      ‘The impossible, it pleases me always,’ said Poirot. ‘Continue, I beg of you, mademoiselle.’

      Our fair guest hesitated.

      ‘But you must be frank,’ added Poirot. ‘You must not leave me in the dark on any point.’

      ‘I will trust you,’ said the girl suddenly. ‘You have heard of Lady Millicent Castle Vaughan?’

      I looked up with keen interest. The announcement of Lady Millicent’s engagement to the young Duke of Southshire had appeared a few days previously. She was, I knew, the fifth daughter of an impecunious Irish peer, and the Duke of Southshire was one of the best matches in England.

      ‘I am Lady Millicent,’ continued the girl. ‘You may have read of my engagement. I should be one of the happiest girls alive; but oh, M. Poirot, I am in terrible trouble! There is a man, a horrible man – his name is Lavington; and he – I hardly know how to tell you. There was a letter I wrote – I was only sixteen at the time; and he – he –’

      ‘A letter that you wrote to this Mr Lavington?’

      ‘Oh no – not to him! To a young soldier – I was very fond of him – he was killed in the war.’

      ‘I understand,’ said Poirot kindly.

      ‘It was a foolish letter, an indiscreet letter, but indeed, M. Poirot, nothing more. But there are phrases in it which – which might bear a different interpretation.’

      ‘I see,’ said Poirot. ‘And this letter has come into the possession of Mr Lavington?’

      ‘Yes, and he threatens, unless I pay him an enormous sum of money, a sum that is quite impossible for me to raise, to send it to the Duke.’

      ‘The dirty swine!’ I ejaculated. ‘I beg your pardon, Lady Millicent.’

      ‘Would it not be wiser to confess all to your future husband?’

      ‘I dare not, M. Poirot. The Duke is a rather peculiar character, jealous and suspicious and prone to believe the worst. I might as well break off my engagement at once.’

      ‘Dear, dear,’ said Poirot with an expressive grimace. ‘And what do you want me to do, milady?’

      ‘I thought perhaps that I might ask Mr Lavington to call upon you. I would tell him that you were empowered by me to discuss the matter. Perhaps you could reduce his demands.’

      ‘What sum does he mention?’

      ‘Twenty thousand pounds – an impossibility. I doubt if I could raise a thousand, even.’

      ‘You might perhaps borrow the money on the prospect of your approaching marriage – but I doubt if you could get hold of half that sum. Besides – eh bien, it is repugnant to me that you should pay! No, the ingenuity of Hercule Poirot shall defeat your enemies! Send me this Mr Lavington. Is he likely to bring the letter with him?’

      The girl shook her head.

      ‘I do not think so. He is very cautious.’

      ‘I suppose there is no doubt that he really has it?’

      ‘He showed it to me when I went to his house.’

      ‘You went to his house? That was very imprudent, milady.’

      ‘Was СКАЧАТЬ