Загадочное происшествие в Стайлзе / The Mysterious Affair at Styles. Книга для чтения на английском языке.

‘When you went into Mrs Inglethorp’s room, was the door leading into Miss Cynthia’s room bolted?’

‘Oh! Yes, sir; it always was. It had never been opened.’

‘And the door into Mr Inglethorp’s room? Did you notice if that was bolted too?’

Annie hesitated.

‘I couldn’t rightly say, sir; it was shut but I couldn’t say whether it was bolted or not.’

‘When you finally left the room, did Mrs Inglethorp bolt the door after you?’

‘No, sir, not then, but I expect she did later. She usually did lock it at night.

‘Did you notice any candle grease on the floor when you did the room yesterday?’

‘Candle grease? Oh, no, sir. Mrs Inglethorp didn’t have a candle, only a reading lamp.’

‘Then, if there had been a large patch of candle grease on the floor, you think you would have been sure to have seen it?’

‘Yes, sir, and I would have taken it out with a piece of blotting paper and a hot iron.’

Then Poirot repeated the question he had put to Dorcas:

‘Did your mistress ever have a green dress?’

‘No, sir.

‘Nor a mantle, nor a cape, nor a—how do you call it?—a sports coat?’

‘Not green, sir.’

‘Nor anyone else in the house?’

Annie reflected.

‘No, sir.’

‘You are sure of that?’

‘Quite sure.’

‘Bien![83 - Bien! – (фр.) Ладно!] That is all I want to know. Thank you very much.’

With a nervous giggle, Annie took herself creakingly out of the room. My pent-up excitement burst forth[84 - My pent-up excitement burst forth.

‘Poirot,’ I cried, ‘I congratulate you! This is a great discovery.’

‘What is a great discovery?’

‘Why, that it was the cocoa and not the coffee that was poisoned. That explains everything! Of course it did not take effect until the early morning, since the cocoa was only drunk in the middle of the night.’

‘So you think that the cocoa—mark well what I say, Hastings, the cocoa—contained strychnine?’

‘Of course! That salt on the tray, what else could it have been?’

‘It might have been salt,’ replied Poirot placidly.

I shrugged my shoulders. If he was going to take the matter that way, it was no good arguing with him. The idea crossed my mind, not for the first time, that poor old Poirot was growing old. Privately I thought it lucky that he had associated with him someone of a more receptive type of mind.

Poirot was surveying me with quietly twinkling eyes.