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Christie Agatha - Sleeping Murder Sleeping Murder

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Фантастика и фэнтези

Детективы и триллеры

Проза

Любовные романы

Приключения

Детские

Поэзия и драматургия

Старинная литература

Научно-образовательная

Компьютеры и интернет

Справочная литература

Документальная литература

Религия и духовность

Юмор

Дом и семья

Деловая литература

Жанр не определен

Техника

Прочее

Драматургия

Фольклор

Военное дело

Последние комментарии
оксана2018-11-27
Вообще, я больше люблю новинки литератур
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Professor2018-11-27
Очень понравилась книга. Рекомендую!
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Vera.Li2016-02-21
Миленько и простенько, без всяких интриг
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ст.ст.2018-05-15
 И что это было?
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Наталья222018-11-27
Сюжет захватывающий. Все-таки читать кни
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Sleeping Murder - Christie Agatha - Страница 29


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He looked again sharply at Gwenda. 

‘Was she afraid of her husband? Was he jealous of other men where she was concerned?’

‘You seem to think not.’

‘Jealousy is a very queer thing. It can hide itself sometimes so that you’d never suspect it.’ He gave a short quick shiver. ‘But it can be frightening-very frightening…’

‘Another thing I would like to know-’ Gwenda broke off.

A car had come up the drive. Major Erskine said, ‘Ah, my wife has come back from shopping.’

In a moment, as it were, he became a different person. His tone was easy yet formal, his face expressionless. A slight tremor betrayed that he was nervous.

Mrs Erskine came striding round the corner of the house.

Her husband went towards her.

‘Mrs Reed dropped one of her rings in the garden yesterday,’ he said.

Mrs Erskine said abruptly: ‘Indeed?’

‘Good morning,’ said Gwenda. ‘Yes, luckily I have found it.’

‘That’s very fortunate.’

‘Oh, it is. I should have hated to lose it. Well, I must be going.’

Mrs Erskine said nothing. Major Erskine said: ‘I’ll see you to your car.’ 

He started to follow Gwenda along the terrace. His wife’s voice came sharply.

‘Richard. If Mrs Reed will excuse you, there is a very important call-’

Gwenda said hastily, ‘Oh, that’s quite all right. Please don’t bother.’

She ran quickly along the terrace and round the side of the house to the drive.

Then she stopped. Mrs Erskine had drawn up her car in such a way that Gwenda doubted whether she could get her own car past and down the drive. She hesitated, then slowly retraced her steps to the terrace.

Just short of the french windows she stopped dead. Mrs Erskine’s voice, deep and resonant, came distinctly to her ears.

‘I don’t care what you say. You arranged it-arranged it yesterday. You fixed it up with that girl to come here whilst I was in Daith. You’re always the same-any pretty girl. I won’t stand it, I tell you. I won’t stand it.’

Erskine’s voice cut in-quiet, almost despairing.

‘Sometimes, Janet, I really think you’re insane.’

‘I’m not the one who’s insane. It’syou! You can’t leave women alone.’

‘You know that’s not true, Janet.’

‘Itis true! Even long ago-in the place where this girl comes from-Dillmouth. Do you dare tell me that you weren’t in love with that yellow-haired Halliday woman?’

‘Can you never forget anything? Why must you go on harping on these things? You simply work yourself up and-’

‘It’s you! You break my heart…I won’t stand it, I tell you! I won’t stand it! Planning assignations! Laughing at me behind my back! You don’t care for me-you’ve never cared for me. I’ll kill myself! I’ll throw myself over a cliff-I wish I were dead-’

‘Janet-Janet-for God’s sake…’

The deep voice had broken. The sound of passionate sobbing floated out into the summer air.

On tip-toe Gwenda crept away and round into the drive again. She cogitated for a moment, then rang the front-door bell.

‘I wonder,’ she said, ‘if there is anyone who-er-could move this car. I don’t think I can get out.’

The servant went into the house. Presently a man came round from what had been the stable yard. He touched his cap to Gwenda, got into the Austin and drove it into the yard. Gwenda got into her car and drove rapidly back to the hotel where Giles was waiting for her.

‘What a time you’ve been,’ he greeted her. ‘Get anything?’ 

‘Yes. I know all about it now. It’s really rather pathetic. He was terribly in love with Helen.’

She narrated the events of the morning.

‘I really think,’ she ended, ‘that Mrs Erskine is a bit insane. She sounded quite mad. I see now what he meant by jealousy. It must be awful to feel like that. Anyway, we know now that Erskine wasn’t the man who went away with Helen, and that he knows nothing about her death. She was alive that evening when he left her.’

‘Yes,’ said Giles. ‘At least-that’s what he says.’

Gwenda looked indignant.

‘That,’ repeated Giles firmly, ‘is what hesays.’