Читать книгу Peril at End House - Агата Кристи, Agatha Christie, Detection Club The - Страница 10

There was dancing that evening at the hotel. Nick Buckley dined there with her friends and waved a gay greeting to us.

She was dressed that evening in floating scarlet chiffon that dragged on the floor. Out of it rose her white neck and shoulders and her small impudent dark head.

‘An engaging young devil,’ I remarked.

‘A contrast to her friend—eh?’

Frederica Rice was in white. She danced with a languorous weary grace that was as far removed from Nick’s animation as anything could be.

‘She is very beautiful,’ said Poirot suddenly.

‘Who? Our Nick?’

‘No—the other. Is she evil? Is she good? Is she merely unhappy? One cannot tell. She is a mystery. She is, perhaps, nothing at all. But I tell you, my friend, she is an allumeuse.’

‘What do you mean?’ I asked curiously.

He shook his head, smiling.

‘You will feel it sooner or later. Remember my words.’

Presently to my surprise, he rose. Nick was dancing with George Challenger. Frederica and Lazarus had just stopped and had sat down at their table. Then Lazarus got up and went away. Mrs Rice was alone. Poirot went straight to her table. I followed him.

His methods were direct and to the point.

‘You permit?’ He laid a hand on the back of a chair, then slid into it. ‘I am anxious to have a word with you while your friend is dancing.’

‘Yes?’ Her voice sounded cool, uninterested.

‘Madame, I do not know whether your friend has told you. If not, I will. Today her life has been attempted.’

Her great grey eyes widened in horror and surprise. The pupils, dilated black pupils, widened too.