阳光下的罪恶45

III

Hercule Poirot murmured:

“And what do we think of Mr. Blatt?”

Colonel Weston grinned and said:

“What do you think of him? You’ve seen more of him than I have.”

Poirot said softly:

“There are many of your English idioms that describe him. The rough diamond! The self-mademan! The social climber! He is, as you choose to look at it, pathetic, ludicrous, blatant! It is amatter of opinion. But I think, too, that he is something else.”

“And what is that?”

Hercule Poirot, his eyes raised to the ceiling, murmured:

“I think that he is—nervous!”

 

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