Death in the Clouds. Agatha Christie

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      He glanced over his shoulder. Davis had disembarked the passengers from the front car by the emergency door and had now gone in search of orders.

      The wait was not a long one, but it seemed to the passengers as though half an hour at least had passed before an erect soldierly figure in plain clothes, accompanied by a uniformed policeman, came hurriedly across the aerodrome and climbed into the plane by the door that Mitchell held open.

      ‘Now, then, what’s all this?’ demanded the newcomer in brisk official tones.

      He listened to Mitchell and then to Dr Bryant, and he flung a quick glance over the crumpled figure of the dead woman.

      He gave an order to the constable and then addressed the passengers.

      ‘Will you please follow me, ladies and gentlemen?’

      He escorted them out of the plane and across the aerodrome, but he did not enter the usual customs department; instead, he brought them to a small private room.

      ‘I hope not to keep you waiting any longer than is unavoidable, ladies and gentlemen.’

      ‘Look here, Inspector,’ said Mr James Ryder. ‘I have an important business engagement in London.’

      ‘Sorry, sir.’

      ‘I am Lady Horbury. I consider it absolutely outrageous that I should be detained in this matter!’

      ‘I’m sincerely sorry, Lady Horbury; but, you see, this is a very serious matter. It looks like a case of murder.’

      ‘The arrow poison of the South American Indians,’ murmured Mr Clancy deliriously, a happy smile on his face.

      The inspector looked at him suspiciously.

      The French archaeologist spoke excitedly in French, and the inspector replied to him slowly and carefully in the same language.

      Venetia Kerr said, ‘All this is a most crashing bore, but I suppose you have your duty to do, Inspector,’ to which that worthy replied, ‘Thank you, Madam,’ in accents of some gratitude.

      He went on:

      ‘If you ladies and gentlemen will remain here, I want a few words with Doctor—er—Doctor—?’

      ‘Bryant, my name is.’

      ‘Thank you. Just come this way with me, Doctor.’

      ‘May I assist at your interview?’

      It was the little man with the moustaches who spoke.

      The inspector turned on him, a sharp retort on his lips. Then his face changed suddenly.

      ‘Sorry, M. Poirot,’ he said. ‘You’re so muffled up, I didn’t recognize you. Come along, by all means.’

      He held the door open and Bryant and Poirot passed through, followed by the suspicious glance of the rest of the company.

      ‘And why should he be allowed out and we made to stay here?’ cried Cicely Horbury.

      Venetia Kerr sat down resignedly on a bench.

      ‘Probably one of the French police,’ she said, ‘or a customs spy.’

      She lit a cigarette.

      Norman Gale said rather diffidently to Jane:

      ‘I think I saw you at—er—Le Pinet.’

      ‘I was at Le Pinet.’

      Norman Gale said, ‘It’s an awfully attractive place. I like the pine trees.’

      Jane said, ‘Yes, they smell so nice.’

      And then they both paused for a minute or two, uncertain what to say next.

      Finally Gale said, ‘I—er—recognized you at once in the plane.’

      Jane expressed great surprise. ‘Did you?’

      Gale said, ‘Do you think that woman was really murdered?’

      ‘I suppose so,’ said Jane. ‘It’s rather thrilling in a way, but it’s rather nasty too,’ and she shuddered a little, and Norman Gale moved just a little nearer in a protective manner.

      The Duponts were talking French to each other. Mr Ryder was making calculations in a little notebook and looking at his watch from time to time. Cicely Horbury sat with her foot tapping impatiently on the floor. She lit a cigarette with a shaking hand.

      Against the door on the inside leaned a very large blue-clad impassive-looking policeman.

      In a room nearby Inspector Japp was talking to Dr Bryant and Hercule Poirot.

      ‘You’ve got a knack of turning up in the most unexpected places, M. Poirot.’

      ‘Isn’t Croydon aerodrome a little out of your beat, my friend?’ asked Poirot.

      ‘Ah, I’m after rather a big bug in the smuggling line. A bit of luck my being on the spot. This is the most amazing business I’ve come across for years. Now, then, let’s get down to it. First of all, Doctor, perhaps you’ll give me your full name and address.’

      ‘Roger James Bryant. I am a specialist on diseases of the ear and throat. My address is 329 Harley Street.’

      A stolid constable sitting at a table took down these particulars.

      ‘Our own surgeon will, of course, examine the body,’ said Japp, ‘but we shall want you at the inquest, Doctor.’

      ‘Quite so, quite so.’

      ‘Can you give us any idea of the time of death?’

      ‘The woman must have been dead at least half an hour when I examined her; that was a few minutes before we arrived at Croydon. I can’t go nearer than that, but I understand from the steward that he had spoken to her about an hour before.’

      ‘Well, that narrows it down for all practical purposes. I suppose it’s no good asking you if you observed anything of a suspicious nature?’

      The doctor shook his head.

      ‘And me, I was asleep,’ said Poirot with deep chagrin. ‘I suffer almost as badly in the air as on the sea. Always I wrap myself up well and try to sleep.’

      ‘Any idea as to the cause of death, Doctor?’

      ‘I should not like to say anything definite at this stage. This is a case for post-mortem examination and analysis.’

      Japp nodded comprehendingly.

      ‘Well, Doctor,’ he said, ‘I don’t think we need detain you now. I’m afraid you’ll—er—have to go through СКАЧАТЬ