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

I gave a shiver.

‘Well,’ said Crome, ‘we’d better be getting along.’

We set out forthwith.

Our first visit was to the Ginger Cat. Situated on the sea front, this was the usual type of small tearoom. It had little tables covered with orange-checked cloths and basket-work chairs [134] basket-worked chairs – плетеные стулья of exceeding discomfort with orange cushions on them. It was the kind of place that specialized in morning coffee, five different kinds of teas (Devonshire, Farmhouse, Fruit, Carlton and Plain), and a few sparing lunch dishes for females such as scrambled eggs and shrimps and macaroni au gratin [135] macaroni au gratin – макароны, запеченные под сыром .

The morning coffees were just getting under way [136] to get under way – начинаться . The manageress ushered us hastily into a very untidy back sanctum.

‘Miss—eh—Merrion?’ inquired Crome.

Miss Merrion bleated out in a high, distressed-gentle-woman voice:

‘That is my name. This is a most distressing business. Most distressing. How it will affect our business I really cannot think !’

Miss Merrion was a very thin woman of forty with wispy orange hair (indeed she was astonishingly like a ginger cat herself). She played nervously with various fichus and frills that were part of her official costume.

‘You’ll have a boom,’ said Inspector Kelsey encouragingly.

‘You’ll see! You won’t be able to serve teas fast enough!’

‘Disgusting,’ said Miss Merrion. ‘Truly disgusting. It makes one despair of human nature.’

But her eyes brightened nevertheless.

‘What can you tell me about the dead girl, Miss Merrion?’

‘Nothing,’ said Miss Merrion positively. ‘Absolutely nothing!’

‘How long had she been working here?’

‘This was the second summer.’

‘You were satisfied with her?’

‘She was a good waitress—quick and obliging.’

‘She was pretty, yes?’ inquired Poirot.

Miss Merrion, in her turn, gave him an ‘Oh, these foreigners’ look.

‘She was a nice, clean-looking girl,’ she said distantly.

‘What time did she go off duty last night?’ asked Crome.

‘Eight o’clock. We close at eight. We do not serve dinners. There is no demand for them. Scrambled eggs and tea (Poirot shuddered) people come in for up to seven o’clock and sometimes after, but our rush is over by 6.30.’

‘Did she mention to you how she proposed to spend her evening?’

‘Certainly not,’ said Miss Merrion emphatically. ‘We were not on those terms [137] to be on ( a kind of ) terms – быть в каких-либо отношениях .’

‘No one came in and called for her? Anything like that?’

‘No.’

‘Did she seem quite her ordinary self? Not excited or depressed?’

‘Really I could not say,’ said Miss Merrion aloofly.

‘How many waitresses do you employ?’

‘Two normally, and an extra two after the 20th July until the end of August.’

‘But Elizabeth Barnard was not one of the extras?’

‘Miss Barnard was one of the regulars.’

‘What about the other one?’

‘Miss Higley? She is a very nice young lady.’

‘Were she and Miss Barnard friends?’

‘Really I could not say.’

‘Perhaps we’d better have a word with her.’

‘Now?’

‘If you please.’

‘I will send her to you,’ said Miss Merrion, rising. ‘Please keep her as short a time as possible. This is the morning coffee rush hour.’

The feline and gingery Miss Merrion left the room.

‘Very refined,’ remarked Inspector Kelsey. He mimicked the lady’s mincing tone. ‘Really I could not say.’

A plump girl, slightly out of breath, with dark hair, rosy cheeks and dark eyes goggling with excitement, bounced in.

‘Miss Merrion sent me,’ she announced breathlessly.

‘Miss Higley?’

‘Yes, that’s me.’

‘You knew Elizabeth Barnard?’

‘Oh, yes, I knew Betty. Isn’t it awful ? It’s just too awful! I can’t believe it’s true. I’ve been saying to the girls all the morning I just can’t believe it! “You know, girls,” I said, “it just doesn’t seem real. Betty! I mean, Betty Barnard, who’s been here all along, murdered ! I just can’t believe it,” I said. Five or six times I’ve pinched myself just to see if I wouldn’t wake up. Betty murdered… It’s—well, you know what I mean—it doesn’t seem real.’

‘You knew the dead girl well?’ asked Crome.

‘Well, she’s worked here longer than I have. I only came this March. She was here last year. She was rather quiet, if you know what I mean. She wasn’t one to joke or laugh a lot. I don’t mean that she was exactly quiet —she’d plenty of fun in her and all that—but she didn’t—well, she was quiet and she wasn’t quiet, if you know what I mean.’

I will say for Inspector Crome that he was exceedingly patient. As a witness the buxom Miss Higley was persistently maddening. Every statement she made was repeated and qualified half a dozen times. The net result [138] the net result – конечный результат was meagre in the extreme.

She had not been on terms of intimacy with the dead girl. Elizabeth Barnard, it could be guessed, had considered herself a cut above [139] a cut above – на голову выше Miss Higley. She had been friendly in working hours, but the girls had not seen much of her out of them. Elizabeth Barnard had had a ‘friend’ who worked at the estate agents near the station. Court & Brunskill. No, he wasn’t Mr Court nor Mr Brunskill. He was a clerk there. She didn’t know his name. But she knew him by sight well. Good-looking—oh, very good-looking, and always so nicely dressed. Clearly, there was a tinge of jealousy in Miss Higley’s heart.

In the end it boiled down to this [140] it boiled down to this – дело сводилось к следующему . Elizabeth Barnard had not confided in anyone in the café as to her plans for the evening, but in Miss Higley’s opinion she had been going to meet her ‘friend’. She had had on a new white dress, ‘ever so sweet with one of the new necks.’

We had a word with each of the other two girls but with no further results. Betty Barnard had not said anything as to her plans and no one had noticed her in Bexhill during the course of the evening.

Elizabeth Barnard’s parents lived in a minute bungalow, one of fifty or so recently run up by a speculative builder on the confines of the town. The name of it was Llandudno. Mr Barnard, a stout, bewildered-looking man of fifty-five or so, had noticed our approach and was standing waiting in the doorway.

‘Come in, gentlemen,’ he said.

Inspector Kelsey took the initiative.

‘This is Inspector Crome of Scotland Yard, sir,’ he said. ‘He’s come down to help us over this business.’

‘Scotland Yard?’ said Mr Barnard hopefully. ‘That’s good. This murdering villain’s got to be laid by the heels [141] to lay by the heels – посадить в тюрьму . My poor little girl —’ His face was distorted by a spasm of grief.

‘And this is Mr Hercule Poirot, also from London, and er —’

‘Captain Hastings,’ said Poirot.

‘Pleased to meet you, gentlemen,’ said Mr Barnard mechanically. ‘Come into the snuggery. I don’t know that my poor wife’s up to seeing you. All broken up, she is.’