chapter 2 a supper party

after a moment’s astonishment poirot recovered himself !

‘but, madame,’ he said, his eyes twinkling, ‘getting rid of husbands is not my speciality.’

‘well, of course i know that.’

‘it is a lawyer you require.’

‘that’s just where you’re wrong. i’m just about sick and tired of lawyers. i’ve had straight lawyers and crooked lawyers, and not one of them’s done me any good. lawyers just know the law, they don’t seem to have any kind of natural sense.’

‘and you think i have?’

she laughed.

‘i’ve heard that you’re the cat’s whiskers, m. poirot.’

‘comment? the cat’s whiskers? i do not understand.’

‘well – that you’re it.’

‘madame, i may or may not have brains – as a matter of fact i have – why pretend? but your little affair, it is not my genre.’

‘i don’t see why not. it’s a problem.’

‘oh! a problem!’

‘and it’s difficult,’ went on jane wilkinson. ‘i should say you weren’t the man to shy at difficulties.’

‘let me compliment you on your insight, madame. but all the same, me, i do not make the investigations for divorce. it is not pretty – ce métier là.’

‘my dear man. i’m not asking you to do spying work. it wouldn’t be any good. but i’ve just got to get rid of the man, and i’m sure you could tell me how to do it.’

poirot paused awhile before replying. when he did, there was a new note in his voice.

‘first tell me, madame, why are you so anxious to “get rid” of lord edgware?’

there was no delay or hesitation about her answer. it came swift and pat.

‘why, of course. i want to get married again. what other reason could there be?’

her great blue eyes opened ingenuously.

‘but surely a divorce should be easy to obtain?’

‘you don’t know my husband, m. poirot. he’s – he’s –’ she shivered. ‘i don’t know how to explain it. he’s a queer man – he’s not like other people.’

she paused and then went on.

‘he should never have married – anyone. i know what i’m talking about. i just can’t describe him, but he’s – queer. his first wife, you know, ran away from him. left a baby of three months behind. he never divorced her and she died miserably abroad somewhere. then he married me. well – i couldn’t stick it. i was frightened. i left him and went to the states. i’ve no grounds for a divorce, and if i’ve given him grounds for one, he won’t take notice of them. he’s – he’s a kind of fanatic.’

‘in certain american states you could obtain a divorce, madame.’

‘that’s no good to me – not if i’m going to live in england.’

‘you want to live in england?’

‘yes.’

‘who is the man you want to marry?’

‘that’s just it. the duke of merton.’

i drew in my breath sharply. the duke of merton had so far been the despair of matchmaking mammas. a young man of monkish tendencies, a violent anglo-catholic, he was reported to be completely under the thumb of his mother, the redoubtable dowager duchess. his life was austere in the extreme. he collected chinese porcelain and was reputed to be of aesthetic tastes. he was supposed to care nothing for women.

‘i’m just crazy about him,’ said jane sentimentally. ‘he’s unlike anyone i ever met, and merton castle is too wonderful. the whole thing is the most romantic business that ever happened. he’s so good-looking too – like a dreamy kind of monk.’

she paused.

‘i’m going to give up the stage when i marry. i just don’t seem to care about it any more.’

‘in the meantime,’ said poirot dryly, ‘lord edgware stands in the way of these romantic dreams.’

‘yes – and it’s driving me to distraction.’ she leaned back thoughtfully. ‘of course if we were only in chicago i could get him bumped off quite easily, but you don’t seem to run to gunmen over here.’

‘over here,’ said poirot, smiling, ‘we consider that every human has the right to live.’

‘well, i don’t know about that. i guess you’d be better off without some of your politicians, and knowing what i do of edgware i think he’d be no loss – rather the contrary.’

there was a knock at the door, and a waiter entered with supper dishes. jane wilkinson continued to discuss her problem with no appreciation of his presence.

‘but i don’t want you to kill him for me, m. poirot.’

‘merci, madame.’

‘i thought perhaps you might argue with him in some clever way. get him to give in to the idea of divorce. i’m sure you could.’

‘i think you overrate my persuasive powers, madame.’

‘oh! but you can surely think of something, m. poirot.’ she leaned forward. her blue eyes opened wide again. ‘you’d like me to be happy, wouldn’t you?’

her voice was soft, low and deliciously seductive.

‘i should like everybody to be happy,’ said poirot cautiously.

‘yes, but i wasn’t thinking of everybody. i was thinking of just me.’

‘i should say you always do that, madame.’

he smiled.

‘you think i’m selfish?’

‘oh! i did not say so, madame.’

‘i dare say i am. but, you see, i do so hate being unhappy. it affects my acting, even. and i’m going to be ever so unhappy unless he agrees to a divorce – or dies.

‘on the whole,’ she continued thoughtfully, ‘it would be much better if he died, i mean, i’d feel more finally quit of him.’

she looked at poirot for sympathy.

‘you will help me, won’t you, m. poirot?’ she rose, picking up the white wrap, and stood looking appealingly into his face. i heard the noise of voices outside in the corridor. the door was ajar. ‘if you don’t –’ she went on.

‘if i don’t, madame?’

she laughed.

‘i’ll have to call a taxi to go round and bump him off myself.’

laughing, she disappeared through a door to an adjoining room just as bryan martin came in with the american girl, carlotta adams, and her escort, and the two people who had been supping with him and jane wilkinson. they were introduced to me as mr and mrs widburn.

‘hello!’ said bryan. ‘where’s jane? i want to tell her i’ve succeeded in the commission she gave me.’

jane appeared in the doorway of the bedroom. she held a lipstick in one hand.

‘have you got her? how marvellous. miss adams, i do admire your performance so. i felt i just had to know you. come in here and talk to me while i fix my face. it’s looking too perfectly frightful.’

carlotta adams accepted the invitation. bryan martin flung himself down in a chair.

‘well, m. poirot,’ he said. ‘you were duly captured. has our jane persuaded you to fight her battles? you might as well give in sooner as later. she doesn’t understand the word “no.” ’

‘she has not come across it, perhaps.’

‘a very interesting character, jane,’ said bryan martin. he lay back in his hair and puffed cigarette smoke idly towards the ceiling. ‘taboos have no meaning for her. no morals whatever. i don’t mean she’s exactly immoral – she isn’t. amoral is the word, i believe. just sees one thing only in life – what jane wants.’

he laughed.

‘i believe she’d kill somebody quite cheerfully – and feel injured if they caught her and wanted to hang her for it. the trouble is that she would be caught. she hasn’t any brains. her idea of a murder would be to drive up in a taxi, sail in under her own name and shoot.’

‘now, i wonder what makes you say that?’ murmured poirot.

‘eh?’

‘you know her well, monsieur?’

‘i should say i did.’

he laughed again, and it struck me that his laugh was unusually bitter.

‘you agree, don’t you?’ he flung out to the others.

‘oh! jane’s an egoist,’ agreed mrs widburn. ‘an actress has got to be, though. that is, if she wants to express her personality.’

poirot did not speak. his eyes were resting on bryan martin’s face, dwelling there with a curious speculative expression that i could not quite understand.

at that moment jane sailed in from the next room, carlotta adams behind her. i presume that jane had now ‘fixed her face’, whatever that term denoted, to her own satisfaction. it looked to me exactly the same as before and quite incapable of improvement.

the supper party that followed was quite a merry one, yet i sometimes had the feeling that there were undercurrents which i was incapable of appreciating.

jane wilkinson i acquitted of any subtleties. she was obviously a young woman who saw only one thing at a time. she had desired an interview with poirot, and had carried her point and obtained her desire without delay. now she was obviously in high good humour. her desire to include carlotta adams in the party had been, i decided, a mere whim. she had been highly amused, as a child might be amused, by the clever counterfeit of herself.

no, the undercurrents that i sensed were nothing to do with jane wilkinson. in what direction did they lie?

i studied the guests in turn. bryan martin? he was certainly not behaving quite naturally. but that, i told myself, might be merely characteristic of a film star. the exaggerated self-consciousness of a vain man too accustomed to playing a part to lay it aside easily.

carlotta adams, at any rate, was behaving naturally enough. she was a quiet girl with a pleasant low voice. i studied her with some attention now that i had a chance to do so at close quarters. she had, i thought, distinct charm, but charm of a somewhat negative order. it consisted in an absence of any jarring or strident note. she was a kind of personified soft agreement. her very appearance was negative. soft dark hair, eyes a rather colourless pale blue, pale face and a mobile sensitive mouth. a face that you liked but that you would find it hard to know again if you were to meet her, say, in different clothes.

she seemed pleased at jane’s graciousness and complimentary sayings. any girl would be, i thought – and then – just at that moment – something occurred that caused me to revise that rather hasty opinion.

carlotta adams looked across the table at her hostess who was at that moment turning her head to talk to poirot. there was a curious scrutinizing quality in the girl’s gaze – it seemed a deliberate summing up, and at the same time it struck me that there was a very definite hostility in those pale blue eyes.

fancy, perhaps. or possibly professional jealousy. jane was a successful actress who had definitely arrived. carlotta was merely climbing the ladder.

i looked at the three other members of the party. mr and mrs widburn, what about them? he was a tall cadaverous man, she a plump, fair, gushing soul. they appeared to be wealthy people with a passion for everything connected with the stage. they were in fact, unwilling to talk on any other subject. owing to my recent absence from england they found me sadly ill-informed, and finally mrs widburn turned a plump shoulder on me and remembered my existence no more.

the last member of the party was the dark young man with the round cheerful face who was carlotta adams’ escort. i had had my suspicions from the first that the young man was not quite so sober as he might have been. as he drank more champagne this became even more clearly apparent.

he appeared to be suffering from a profound sense of injury. for the first half of the meal he sat in gloomy silence. towards the latter half he unbosomed himself to me apparently under the impression that i was one of his oldest friends.

‘what i mean to say,’ he said. ‘it isn’t. no, dear old chap, it isn’t –’

i omit the slight slurring together of the words.

‘i mean to say,’ he went on, ‘i ask you? i mean if you take a girl – well, i mean – butting in. going round upsetting things. not as though i’d ever said a word to her i shouldn’t have done. she’s not the sort. you know – puritan fathers – the mayflower – all that. dash it – the girl’s straight. what i mean is – what was i saying?’

‘that it was hard lines,’ i said soothingly.

‘well, dash it all, it is. dash it, i had to borrow the money for this beano from my tailor. very obliging chap, my tailor. i’ve owed him money for years. makes a sort of bond between us. nothing like a bond, is there, dear old fellow. you and i. you and i. who the devil are you, by the way?’

‘my name is hastings.’

‘you don’t say so. now i could have sworn you were a chap called spencer jones. dear old spencer jones. met him at the eton and harrow and borrowed a fiver from him. what i say is one face is very like another face – that’s what i say. if we were a lot of chinks we wouldn’t know each other apart.’

he shook his head sadly, then cheered up suddenly and drank off some more champagne.

‘anyway,’ he said. ‘i’m not a damned nigger.’

this reflection seemed to cause him such elation that he presently made several remarks of a hopeful character.

‘look on the bright side, my boy,’ he adjured me. ‘what i say is, look on the bright side. one of these days – when i’m seventy-five or so, i’m going to be a rich man. when my uncle dies. then i can pay my tailor.’

he sat smiling happily at the thought.

there was something strangely likeable about the young man. he had a round face and an absurdly small black moustache that gave one the impression of being marooned in the middle of a desert.

carlotta adams, i noticed, had an eye on him, and it was after a glance in his direction that she rose and broke up the party.

‘it was just sweet of you to come up here,’ said jane. ‘i do so love doing things on the spur of the moment, don’t you?’

‘no,’ said miss adams. ‘i’m afraid i always plan a thing out very carefully before i do it. it saves – worry.’

there was something faintly disagreeable in her manner.

‘well, at any rate the results justify you,’ laughed jane. ‘i don’t know when i enjoyed anything so much as i did your show tonight.’

the american girl’s face relaxed.

‘well, that’s very sweet of you,’ she said warmly. ‘and i guess i appreciate your telling me so. i need encouragement. we all do.’

‘carlotta,’ said the young man with the black moustache. ‘shake hands and say thank you for the party to aunt jane and come along.’

the way he walked straight through the door was a miracle of concentration. carlotta followed him quickly.

‘well,’ said jane, ‘what was that that blew in and called me aunt jane? i hadn’t noticed him before.’

‘my dear,’ said mrs widburn. ‘you mustn’t take any notice of him. most brilliant as a boy in the o.u.d.s. you’d hardly think so now, would you? i hate to see early promise come to nothing. but charles and i positively must toddle.’

the widburns duly toddled and bryan martin went with them.

‘well, m. poirot?’

he smiled at her.

‘eh bien, lady edgware?’

‘for goodness’ sake, don’t call me that. let me forget it! if you aren’t the hardest-hearted little man in europe!’

‘but no, but no, i am not hard-hearted.’

poirot, i thought, had had quite enough champagne, possibly a glass too much.

‘then you’ll go and see my husband? and make him do what i want?’

‘i will go and see him,’ poirot promised cautiously.

‘and if he turns you down – as he will – you’ll think of a clever plan. they say you’re the cleverest man in england, m. poirot.’

‘madame, when i am hard-hearted, it is europe you mention. but for cleverness you say only england.’

‘if you put this through i’ll say the universe.’

poirot raised a deprecating hand.

‘madame, i promise nothing. in the interests of the psychology i will endeavour to arrange a meeting with your husband.’

‘psycho-analyse him as much as you like. maybe it would do him good. but you’ve got to pull it off – for my sake. i’ve got to have my romance, m. poirot.’

she added dreamily: ‘just think of the sensation it will make.’

第二章 晚宴

波洛惊呆片刻才恢复常态。

“但是，夫人，”波洛眨着眼睛说，“摆脱丈夫可不是我的专长。”

“当然，我知道。”

“您需要的是一个律师。”

“那您可就错了。我对律师简直厌烦透了。我用过正直的、搞歪门邪道的、各种各样的律师，他们都毫无用处。律师只懂法律，好像根本不懂任何常识。”

“您认为我就懂吗？”

她大笑。“波洛先生，我听说您是一位杰出人物。”

“听说？杰出人物？我不明白。”

“可——您确实是杰出人物。”

“夫人，事实上，我可能有头脑，也可能没有，何必要装呢。而您的事不是我所能解决的。”

“我不明白为什么不是。我的事也是一个问题啊。”

“哦。一个问题。”

“而且是个难题。”简·威尔金森接着说，“我得说您不是不敢面对难题的人。”

“夫人，对您的洞察力我表示赞赏。但我不论怎样，都不会做离婚调查。那不是很好，这种事情。”

“我亲爱的先生，我不是让您做侦察。那毫无益处。可我不得不摆脱他。我相信您会告诉我怎样做的。”

波洛回答前先沉默片刻，待他说话时，他的话里含了一种新的腔调。

“夫人，首先告诉我，您为何如此急于摆脱，埃奇韦尔男爵？”

她的回答斩钉截铁、毫不迟疑，十分迅速而坚定。

“为什么？当然是因为我想再结婚。还能有什么原因呢？”

她蓝蓝的大眼睛机敏地眨着。

“但离婚肯定是可以的。”

“波洛先生，您不了解我丈夫。他是——他是——”她打了个颤。“我不知道该怎样解释。他不像其他正常人，他很古怪。”

她停了一下。接着说，

“他就不该和任何人结婚。我知道我在讲什么。我简直无法描述他，是个一怪人。您知道。他的前妻留下了三个月的婴儿，弃了他。他从未和她离婚，到她在国外悲惨地死去。然后他娶了我。可我再也忍受不了了。我真害怕，是我离开了他，了美国。我没有离婚的理由。就是我有离婚的理由，也不会理会。他是——他是个执迷不悟的人。”

“夫人，在美国的一些州您是可以离婚的。”

“我想居住在英国，那对我没用。”

“您想居住在英国？”

“是的。”

“您想和谁结婚？”

“就是因为这个。是默顿公爵。”

我深吸了一口气。到目前为止，默顿公爵让那些想给女儿许配人家的母亲们大失所望。这个年轻人是个有禁欲倾向的、狂热的英国国教高教会派的教徒。据说完全受他母亲，一位令人生畏的孀居的公爵夫人控制。他的生活极度朴素。他搜集中国瓷器，并很有艺术鉴赏能力。据推测他根本不关心女人。

“我真是为他疯狂了。”简动情地说，“他不像我遇到的其他人。另外默顿域堡棒极了。整个事是世上最浪漫的。他是这样英俊——像一个梦幻般的僧侣。”

她停顿片刻。

“我结婚后就放弃舞台生涯，我似乎什么都不在乎了。”

波洛不动声色地说：“这时埃奇韦尔男爵成了实现这些美梦的绊脚石。”

“是的，这事让我烦心。”她心事重重地靠到椅子上，“当然如果我们是在芝加哥，我可以很容易地谋杀他，但在这里好像不容易找枪手。”

“在这里，”波洛笑着说，“我们认为每个人都有活的权利。”

“哦，我不知道。我猜如果少了一些政客，你们的日子就会舒服一些。我除去埃奇韦尔男爵不是什么损失，反倒有益处。”

有人敲门，一个侍者送来了晚餐。简·威尔金森毫不在意他的存在，继续谈着她的话题。

“波洛光生。我不是让您为我杀他。”

“谢谢。夫人。”

“我想您能用什么聪明的方法劝劝他，让他接受这个想法。和我离婚。我相信您能做到。”

“夫人，我想您高估了我的说服能力。”

“哦！波洛先生，您一定能想出办法来的。”她前倾着身体。又睁大了大大的蓝眼睛。“您希望我快乐，是吧？”

她的声音非常温柔，充满诱惑。

“我希望每个人都快乐。”波洛小心谨慎地说。

“是的，但我没在想每个人。我只想我自己。”

“夫人，我得说您总是那样。”

她笑了。“您认为我自私吗？”

“哦！夫人，我可没这样说。”

“我敢说我是自私的。可您看。我不喜欢不快乐，它甚至会影响我的表演。如果他不离婚，或者不离开这世界，我会永远这样不快乐。”

“总之，”她又心事重重地说，“我是说，如果他死了，不错，我就更加觉得摆脱了他。”

她看着波洛先生希望得到同情。

“您会帮助我的，是吗？波洛先生。”她站了起来，拿起她的白色外套。乞求地盯着他的脸。门外走廊传来声音。门微开着。她继续说：“如果您不——”

“夫人，如果我不什么？”

她大笑。

“我就叫辆出租车，自己去把他杀了。”

她笑着穿过一个房门去了隔璧的房间。这时布赖恩·马丁和美国女孩卡洛塔·亚当斯，以及她的同伴和另外两个与布赖恩·马丁、简一起吃饭的人走了进来。那两位是威德伯恩夫妇。

“您好，”布赖恩说道，“简在哪里？我想告诉她我已顺利完成她交给我的任务。”

简从卧室走出来。她手里拿着一支口红。

“你找到她了？太好了。亚当斯小姐，我很欣赏您的表演。我想结识您。来坐一会和我谈谈，我再化一下妆。我看起来太糟糕了。”

卡洛塔·亚当斯接受了邀请。布赖恩·马丁重重地坐到椅子上。

“哦。波洛先生，”他说道，“您被及时地抓住了。简一定劝您为她而战了吧？您最好答应她，她根本不知道什么叫‘不’。”

“大概她还未遇到。”

“简有一种奇特的性格。”布赖恩·马丁说着，头仰着，悠闲地向天花板吐着烟圈，“禁忌对她不存在。也没什么道德不道德可言。我不是说她不道德——她不是。我相信，应该是非道德。她在生活中只能看到一样东西——就是她想要的东西。”

他大笑。

“我想她会很开心地杀死一个人，如果被抓住，被处决，她才会觉得是被伤害了。麻烦是她会被抓住的，因为她没头脑。她以为谋杀就是坐上出租车，以自己的名义去开枪。”

“我在想是什么让您这样说？”波洛喃喃道。

“哦？”

“先生，您很了解她吗？”

“我得说是很了解她。”

他又一次大笑，但我觉得他的笑有种不寻常的酸味。

他又突然转向别人问道：“你们同意我的说法，是吗？”

“哦！简是个利己主义者。”威德伯恩夫人同意道。“不过，一个演员要这样。我是说如果她要表达出她的个性。”

波洛没说话。他带着一种我不太明白的好奇的、审视的表情盯着布赖恩·马丁的脸。

这时简从隔壁的房间平稳地走出来，后面跟着卡洛塔·亚当斯。我猜测，现在简己经满意地“化完了妆”，至于什么妆，没人知道。她的脸还是那样。没有任何又一次上妆的痕迹。

接下来的晚要相当快乐，但有时我能感觉到一种我无法理解的潜流。

我没觉得简·威尔金森还有任何复杂之处。很明显她是那种只看眼前一事的年轻女士。她想和波洛见面，她达到了目的，毫无拖延地见到了波洛。显而易见地，她现在兴致很高。我料定她要卡洛塔·亚当斯参加晚宴只是一时兴致。她就像孩子一样。因为被很巧妙地模仿了而很高兴。

不对，我所感觉到的潜流和简·威尔金森无关。那是和谁有关呢？我轮流地研究着在座的客人。是布赖恩·马丁？他的表情当然不是很自然。但我又对自己说。那可能是因为他是电影名星的缘故。那是一个过分自高自大的爱慕荣耀者已习惯了的表演，不能轻易地放弃了。

无论怎样看，卡洛塔·亚当斯的表情都很自然。她是一个安静的女孩。声音低低的，很好听。既然我现在有了机会从近处看她，我就仔细地研究着她。我想，她是很迷人的，但带有一种消极的东西。她的声音决不刺耳、粗哑。她属于那种个性中带有一种柔顺的类型。她的外表属于消极的那一种一—软软的黑发、谈蓝色的眼睛、苍白的脸还有那富有动感、敏锐的嘴。这是一张你喜欢的面孔，但如果下一次她换了一身衣服的话，你再看见她，就很难辨认出了。

她好像对简的优雅风度和奉承话很开心。我在想，任何女孩都会这样，可就在那时，有什么微妙的东西让我改变了我的轻率的推断。

卡洛塔·亚当斯隔着桌子看着女主人”简正转过头和波洛先生说话。卡洛塔的目光里有一种好奇且审视的成分，在总结什么。同时我清晰地感觉到她的淡蓝色的眼睛里绝对有一种敌意。

大概只是羡慕，是因为职业嫉妒。简是一位已经到成功顶峰的艺人，卡洛塔只是正往上爬的人。

我看着晚宴上的其他三个人。威德伯恩先生是一位瘦长枯干的人。而威德伯思夫人矮矮胖胖的，说会道。他们是很富有的人，像对一切有关舞台的事情都感兴趣。事实上，们根本不想谈别的。因为我最近离开了英国一段时间。他们发现我对很多消息并不是很灵通。最后威德伯恩夫人索性转过身去。背对着我，也记不得我的存在了。

晚宴的最后一名人士是卡洛塔·亚当斯的同伴。那位圆面孔、深肤色、性格开朗的年轻人。从一开始我就怀疑他不如往常冷静，他喝了更多的香摈酒以后，一点愈发明显。

他好像受了很深的伤害，为在进餐的前半时段。他只是静静地坐在那里。直到后来，显然把我当作了他的知心老友，始向我吐露心声。

“我想说的是。”他说，不是的，。我的老朋友，是的——”

至于他说话的含混不清，更别提了。

“我是想说。”他继续说。“我问你？我的意思是，要是带着一个女孩——我是说——到处乱闯，处捣乱。我好像没对她说过一句我不该说的话。她不是那种人。你知道的——那些清教徒们——乘着‘五月花’号——等等。可恶！这女孩是正直的。我想说的是一—我都说了些什么？”

“你说事情难办。”

“唉，真可恶，是的。可恶。为了这宴会，我不得不向我的裁缝借钱。我的裁缝是一位热心助人的伙计。我欠他钱欠了很多年了。我们之间有一种契约。没什么能比得上契约，亲爱的老伙计。你和我。你和我。顺便问一下，你究竟是谁？”

“我叫黑斯廷斯。”

“你别这么说，我发誓你是一个叫斯宾塞·琼斯的伙计。亲爱的老斯宾塞·琼斯。我在伊顿和哈罗德时遇到他并从他那借了五英镑。我想说的是。人的面孔真是很像一—我就是想说这个。如果我们是一群中国人，我们彼此就分辨不清了。”

他悲哀地摇摇头。突然又振作起来，又喝了一些香摈酒。

“不管怎么说，”他说道，“我不是他妈的黑人。”

这一想法又让他得意洋洋起来，他又说了些乐观的话。

“朋友，往光明的一面看啊。”他恳切地对我说，“我要说的是，看光明的一面。总有一天，等我七十五岁左右的时候，我的叔叔死了。我就会成为一个富有的人。那时我就能还我的裁缝钱了。”

他坐在那里想着，很高兴地笑着。

说来奇怪，这个年轻人有什么地方令人喜欢。他圆圆的脸上很可笑地留着一小撮黑胡子，好似被困在沙漠中一样。

卡洛塔·亚当斯看了他一眼，我注意到，就是看过这一眼之后，她站了起来，也就结束了晚宴。

“非常感谢您能上来到我这里。”简说道，“我总是一时有了想法就要做出来。您是不是也是这样？”

“不是的。”亚当斯小姐说道，“我是做事之前先计划一下，这样避免多虑。”

她的态度里略微带有一点不愉快的成分。

“啊，不管怎么说。结果证明一切。”简笑着说，“我从未像今晚看您表演时那样高兴。”

美国小姐变得和气了一点。

“您过奖了。”她热情地说，“您这样说，我想我是很高兴。我需要鼓励，我们都需要鼓励。”

“卡洛塔，”留黑胡子的年轻人说道，“和简婶婶握手道谢，我们走吧。”

他能够集中精力一直地走出房门真是一个奇迹。卡洛塔赶紧跟了过去。

“啊”，简说道，“我听到什么，叫我简婶婶？我还没注意到他呢。”

“亲爱的，”威德伯恩夫人说，“您别理他。他从前在牛津大学戏剧社是一个很杰出的孩子。现在可不同了，您说是不是？我最痛恨看到原本大有作为的人最终一事无成。可是查理斯和我得走了。”

威德伯恩夫妇及时走了，布赖恩·马丁和他们一块出去了。

“那么。波洛先生？”

波洛微笑地望着她。

“怎么，埃奇韦尔夫人。”

“天哪。别这样叫我。如果您不是欧洲心肠最硬的人，就让我忘了这个吧。”

“唤。不、不、不，我不是硬心肠的人。”

我觉得波洛今天晚上多喝了酒，恐怕多喝了一两杯。

“那么您会去见我的丈夫？让他按我的意思办？”

“我会去见他。”波洛小心地应允了。

“如果他拒绝了您一—他可能会的一—您会为我想个好办法的。波洛先生，他们说您是欧洲最聪明的人。”

“夫人，当说我硬心肠时，您可以说欧洲，但要说我聪明，您最好说英国。”

“如果您把这件事解决了，我会说您是全世界最聪明的人。”

波洛摆手告饶。

“女士，我不能许诺什么。看在心理学的分上我会找机会和您的丈夫见一面。”

“您尽管用您的心理分析分析他好了。也许这对他有好处。但您可一定要成功——为了我的缘故。波洛先生，我要有我的浪漫生活。”

她又梦幻般地接着说：“想一想，那将是多么刺激啊。”