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Five Little Pigs :: Christie Agatha
Страница: 65 из 147After all, what was she? Not more than thirty-six now if she had been twenty at the time of the tragedy. Her black hair was perfectly arranged round her shapely head, her features were almost classic, her make-up was exquisite.
He felt a strange pang. It was, perhaps, the fault of old Mr Jonathan, speaking of Juliet…No Juliet here-unless perhaps one could imagine Juliet a survivor-living on, deprived of Romeo…Was it not an essential part of Juliet’s make-up that she should die young?
Elsa Greer had been left alive…
She was greeting him in a level rather monotonous voice.
‘I am so interested, M. Poirot. Sit down and tell me what you want me to do?’
He thought:
‘But she isn’t interested. Nothing interests her.’
Big grey eyes-like dead lakes.
Poirot became, as was his way, a little obviously foreign.
He exclaimed:
‘I am confused, madame, veritably I am confused.’
‘Oh no, why?’
‘Because I realize that this-this reconstruction of a past drama must be excessively painful to you!’
She looked amused. Yes, it was amusement. Quite genuine amusement.
She said:
‘I suppose my husband put that idea into your head? He saw you when you arrived. Of course he doesn’t understand in the least. He never has. I’m not at all the sensitive sort of person he imagines I am.’
The amusement was still in her voice. She said:
‘My father, you know, was a mill hand. He worked his way up and made a fortune. You don’t do that if you’re thin-skinned. I’m the same.’
Poirot thought to himself: Yes, that is true. A thin-skinned person would not have come to stay in Caroline Crale’s house.
Lady Dittisham said:
‘What is it you want me to do?’
‘You are sure, madame, that to go over the past would not be painful to you?’
She considered a minute, and it struck Poirot suddenly that Lady Dittisham was a very frank woman. She might lie from necessity but never from choice.
Elsa Dittisham said slowly:
‘No, notpainful. In a way, I wish it were.’
‘Why?’
She said impatiently:
‘It’s so stupid never to feel anything…’
And Hercule Poirot thought:
‘Yes, Elsa Greer is dead…’
Aloud he said:
‘At all events, Lady Dittisham, it makes my task very much easier.’
She said cheerfully:
‘What do you want to know?’
‘Have you a good memory, madame?’
‘Reasonably good, I think.
He felt a strange pang. It was, perhaps, the fault of old Mr Jonathan, speaking of Juliet…No Juliet here-unless perhaps one could imagine Juliet a survivor-living on, deprived of Romeo…Was it not an essential part of Juliet’s make-up that she should die young?
Elsa Greer had been left alive…
She was greeting him in a level rather monotonous voice.
‘I am so interested, M. Poirot. Sit down and tell me what you want me to do?’
He thought:
‘But she isn’t interested. Nothing interests her.’
Big grey eyes-like dead lakes.
Poirot became, as was his way, a little obviously foreign.
He exclaimed:
‘I am confused, madame, veritably I am confused.’
‘Oh no, why?’
‘Because I realize that this-this reconstruction of a past drama must be excessively painful to you!’
She looked amused. Yes, it was amusement. Quite genuine amusement.
She said:
‘I suppose my husband put that idea into your head? He saw you when you arrived. Of course he doesn’t understand in the least. He never has. I’m not at all the sensitive sort of person he imagines I am.’
The amusement was still in her voice. She said:
‘My father, you know, was a mill hand. He worked his way up and made a fortune. You don’t do that if you’re thin-skinned. I’m the same.’
Poirot thought to himself: Yes, that is true. A thin-skinned person would not have come to stay in Caroline Crale’s house.
Lady Dittisham said:
‘What is it you want me to do?’
‘You are sure, madame, that to go over the past would not be painful to you?’
She considered a minute, and it struck Poirot suddenly that Lady Dittisham was a very frank woman. She might lie from necessity but never from choice.
Elsa Dittisham said slowly:
‘No, notpainful. In a way, I wish it were.’
‘Why?’
She said impatiently:
‘It’s so stupid never to feel anything…’
And Hercule Poirot thought:
‘Yes, Elsa Greer is dead…’
Aloud he said:
‘At all events, Lady Dittisham, it makes my task very much easier.’
She said cheerfully:
‘What do you want to know?’
‘Have you a good memory, madame?’
‘Reasonably good, I think.