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

He rose threateningly from his seat. His wife bleated out:

‘Bert, Bert—don’t say such things. Bert—they’ll think —’

‘Calm yourself, monsieur,’ said Poirot. ‘I demand only your account of your visit. That you refuse it seems to me—what shall we say—a little odd?’

‘Who said I refused anything?’ Mr Riddell sank back again into his seat. ‘I don’t mind.’

‘It was six o’clock when you entered the shop?’

‘That’s right—a minute or two after, as a matter of fact. Wanted a packet of Gold Flake[111 - Gold Flake – марка сигарет]. I pushed open the door —’

‘It was closed, then?’

‘That’s right. I thought shop was shut, maybe. But it wasn’t. I went in, there wasn’t anyone about. I hammered on the counter and waited a bit. Nobody came, so I went out again. That’s all, and you can put it in your pipe and smoke it.’

‘You didn’t see the body fallen down behind the counter?’

‘No, no more would you have done—unless you was looking for it, maybe.’

‘Was there a railway guide lying about?’

‘Yes, there was—face downwards. It crossed my mind like that the old woman might have had to go off sudden by train and forgot to lock shop up.’

‘Perhaps you picked up the railway guide or moved it along the counter?’

‘Didn’t touch the b— thing. I did just what I said.’

‘And you did not see anyone leaving the shop before you yourself got there?’

‘Didn’t see any such thing. What I say is, why pitch on me[112 - why pitch on me – что вы привязались] —?’

Poirot rose.

‘Nobody is pitching upon you—yet. Bonsoir[113 - Bonsoir (фр.) – До свидания], monsieur.’

He left the man with his mouth open and I followed him.

In the street he consulted his watch.

‘With great haste, my friend, we might manage to catch the 7.02. Let us despatch ourselves quickly.’

Chapter 8

The Second Letter

‘Well?’ I demanded eagerly.

We were seated in a first-class carriage which we had to ourselves. The train, an express, had just drawn out of Andover.

‘The crime,’ said Poirot, ‘was committed by a man of medium height with red hair and a cast in the left eye. He limps slightly on the right foot and has a mole just below the shoulder-blade.’

‘Poirot?’ I cried.

For the moment I was completely taken in. Then the twinkle in my friend’s eye undeceived me.

‘Poirot!’ I said again, this time in reproach.

‘Mon ami, what will you? You fix upon me a look of doglike devotion and demand of me a pronouncement a la Sherlock Holmes! Now for the truth—I do not know what the murderer looks like, nor where he lives, nor how to set hands upon him.’

‘If only he had left some clue,’ I murmured.

‘Yes, the clue—it is always the clue that attracts you. Alas that he did not smoke the cigarette and leave the ash, and then step in it with a shoe that has nails of a curious pattern. No—he is not so obliging. But at least, my friend, you have the railway guide. The ABC, that is a clue for you!’

‘Do you think he left it by mistake then?’

‘Of course not. He left it on purpose. The fingerprints tell us that.’

‘But there weren’t any on it.’

‘That is what I mean. What was yesterday evening? A warm June night. Does a man stroll about on such an evening in gloves? Such a man would certainly have attracted attention. Therefore since there are no fingerprints on the A В C, it must have been carefully wiped. An innocent man would have left prints—a guilty man would not. So our murderer left it there for a purpose—but for all that it is none the less a clue. That ABC was bought by someone—it was carried by someone—there is a possibility there.’

‘You think we may learn something that way?’

‘Frankly, Hastings, I am not particularly hopeful. This man, this unknown X, obviously prides himself on his abilities[114 - to pride oneself on smth. – гордиться чем-то]. He is not likely to blaze a trail[115 - to blaze a trail – оставлять след] that can be followed straight away.’

‘So that really the ABC isn’t helpful at all.’

‘Not in the sense you mean.’

‘In any sense?’

Poirot did not answer at once. Then he said slowly:

‘The answer to that is yes. We are confronted here by an unknown personage. He is in the dark and seeks to remain in the dark. But in the very nature of things be cannot help throwing light upon himself. In one sense we know nothing about him—in another sense we know already a good deal. I see his figure dimly taking shape—a man who prints clearly and well—who buys good-quality paper—who is at great needs to express his personality. I see him as a child possibly ignored and passed over[116 - passed over – оставленный без внимания]—I see him growing up with an inward sense of inferiority—warring with a sense of injustice… I see that inner urge—to assert himself—to focus attention on himself ever becoming stronger, and events, circumstances—crushing it down—heaping, perhaps, more humiliations on him. And inwardly the match is set to the powder train…’

‘That’s all pure conjecture,’ I objected. ‘It doesn’t give you any practical help.’

‘You prefer the match end, the cigarette ash, the nailed boots! You always have. But at least we can ask ourselves some practical questions. Why the ABC? Why Mrs Ascher? Why Andover?’

‘The woman’s past life seems simple enough,’ I mused. ‘The interviews with those two men were disappointing. They couldn’t tell us anything more than we knew already.’

‘To tell the truth, I did not expect much in that line. But we could not neglect two possible candidates for the murder.’

‘Surely you don’t think —’

‘There is at least a possibility that the murderer lives in or near Andover. That is a possible answer to our question: “Why Andover?” Well, here were two men known to have been in the shop at the requisite time of day. Either of them might be the murderer. And there is nothing as yet to show that one or other of them is not the murderer.’

‘That great hulking brute, Riddell, perhaps,’ I admitted. ц