Причуда мертвеца / Dead Man's Folly. Книга для чтения на английском языке

A nice summer-house now, made rustic like with stained glass. I’d have nothing against that.’

Poirot smiled faintly.

�The London ladies,’ he said, �they must have their fancies. It is sad that the day of the Folliats is over.’

�Don’t ee never believe that, sir.’ The old man gave a wheezy chuckle. �Always be Folliats at Nasse.’

�But the house belongs to Sir George Stubbs.’

�That’s as may be—but there’s still a Folliat here. Ah! Rare and cunning the Folliats are!’

�What do you mean?’

The old man gave him a sly sideways glance.

�Mrs Folliat be living up tu[74 - tu = (зд.) to] Lodge, bain’t[75 - bain’t = (зд.) be not] she?’ he demanded.

�Yes,’ said Poirot slowly. �Mrs Folliat is living at the Lodge and the world is very wicked, and all the people in it are very wicked.’

The old man stared at him.

�Ah,’ he said. �Yu’ve got something there, maybe.’

He shuffled away again.

�But what have I got?’ Poirot asked himself with irritation as he slowly walked up the hill back to the house.

II

Hercule Poirot made a meticulous toilet, applying a scented pomade to his moustaches and twirling them to a ferocious couple of points. He stood back from the mirror and was satisfied with what he saw.

The sound of a gong resounded through the house, and he descended the stairs.

The butler, having finished a most artistic performance, crescendo, forte, diminuendo, rallentando[76 - crescendo, forte, diminuendo, rallentando – крещендо (муз.

увеличение силы звука); форте (муз. громко); доминуэндо (муз. уменьшение силы звука); раллентандо (муз. замедление темпа).], was just replacing the gong stick on its hook. His dark melancholy face showed pleasure.

Poirot thought to himself: �A blackmailing letter from the housekeeper—or it may be the butler…’ This butler looked as though blackmailing letters would be well within his scope.

Poirot wondered if Mrs Oliver took her characters from life.

Miss Brewis crossed the hall in an unbecoming flowered chiffon dress and he caught up with her, asking as he did so:

�You have a housekeeper here?’

�Oh, no, M. Poirot. I’m afraid one doesn’t run to niceties of that kind nowadays, except in a really large establishment, of course.