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- Стр. 103/214
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“
It
is
ingenious
what
you
have
thought
of
there
—
decidedly
it
is
ingenious
.
It
may
even
be
true
.
But
you
leave
out
of
count
the
fatal
influence
of
the
Tomb
.
”
I
shrugged
my
shoulders
.
“
You
still
think
that
has
something
to
do
with
it
?
”
“
So
much
so
,
mon
ami
,
that
we
start
for
Egypt
to
-
morrow
.
”
“
What
?
”
I
cried
,
astonished
.
“
I
have
said
it
.
”
An
expression
of
conscious
heroism
spread
over
Poirot
’
s
face
.
Then
he
groaned
.
“
But
,
oh
,
”
he
lamented
,
“
the
sea
!
The
hateful
sea
!
”
•
•
•
•
•
•
•
It
was
a
week
later
.
Beneath
our
feet
was
the
golden
sand
of
the
desert
.
The
hot
sun
poured
down
overhead
.
Poirot
,
the
picture
of
misery
,
wilted
by
my
side
.
The
little
man
was
not
a
good
traveller
.
Our
four
days
’
voyage
from
Marseilles
had
been
one
long
agony
to
him
.
He
had
landed
at
Alexandria
the
wraith
of
his
former
self
,
even
his
usual
neatness
had
deserted
him
.
We
had
arrived
in
Cairo
and
had
driven
out
at
once
to
the
Mena
House
Hotel
,
right
in
the
shadow
of
the
Pyramids
.
The
charm
of
Egypt
had
laid
hold
of
me
.
Not
so
Poirot
.
Dressed
precisely
the
same
as
in
London
,
he
carried
a
small
clothes
-
brush
in
his
pocket
and
waged
an
unceasing
war
on
the
dust
which
accumulated
on
his
dark
apparel
.
“
And
my
boots
,
”
he
wailed
.
“
Regard
them
,
Hastings
.
My
boots
,
of
the
neat
patent
leather
,
usually
so
smart
and
shining
.
See
,
the
sand
is
inside
them
,
which
is
painful
,
and
outside
them
,
which
outrages
the
eyesight
.
