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- Стр. 17/327
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He
was
a
man
of
between
sixty
and
seventy
.
From
a
little
distance
he
had
the
bland
aspect
of
a
philanthropist
.
His
slightly
bald
head
,
his
domed
forehead
,
the
smiling
mouth
that
displayed
a
very
white
set
of
false
teeth
,
all
seemed
to
speak
of
a
benevolent
personality
.
Only
the
eyes
belied
this
assumption
.
They
were
small
,
deep
set
and
crafty
.
Not
only
that
.
As
the
man
,
making
some
remark
to
his
young
companion
,
glanced
across
the
room
,
his
gaze
stopped
on
Poirot
for
a
moment
,
and
just
for
that
second
there
was
a
strange
malevolence
,
and
unnatural
tensity
in
the
glance
.
Then
he
rose
.
"
Pay
the
bill
,
Hector
,
"
he
said
.
His
voice
was
slightly
husky
in
tone
.
It
had
a
queer
,
soft
,
dangerous
quality
.
When
Poirot
rejoined
his
friend
in
the
lounge
,
the
other
two
men
were
just
leaving
the
hotel
.
Their
luggage
was
being
brought
down
.
The
younger
was
supervising
the
process
.
Presently
he
opened
the
glass
door
and
said
:
"
Quite
ready
now
,
Mr.
Ratchett
.
"
The
elder
man
grunted
an
assent
and
passed
out
.
"
Eh
bien
,
"
said
Poirot
.
"
What
do
you
think
of
those
two
?
"
"
They
are
Americans
,
"
said
M.
Bouc
.
