“Yes, Monsieur.”
“是的，先生。”
He spoke French well and fluently, with only a slight accent.
他法语说得很好，只带一点儿口音。
“And now,” said Poirot with a twinkle in his eye, “we will delight the heart of M. Bouc and see the Italian.”
“现在，”波洛眨眨眼睛，“我们让布克先生高兴一下，见见意大利人。”
A voluble exposition followed. At the end of it, anything that the three men did not know about Foscarelli’s business methods, his journeys, his income, and his opinion of the United States and most European countries seemed a negligible factor. This was not a man who had to have information dragged from him. It gushed out.
然后就是一通口若悬河的自我介绍：业务途径、旅程、收入，以及他对美国及欧洲各国的看法等等。可是到了最后，三个人仍然没听出个所以然来。跟这个人不需要问什么信息，他自己就会滔滔不绝地讲出来。
“Yes, you see –“
“是的，你听我说——”
The American grinned. “Yes, Monsieur. It is better for my business.”
这个美国人咧嘴笑了。“是的，先生，这对我的生意有好处。”
“You are an agent for Ford motor cars?”
“你是福特汽车公司的代理人？”
His good-natured childish face beamed with satisfaction as with a last eloquent gesture, he paused and wiped his forehead with a handkerchief.
做完最后一个富有表现力的手势，他和善、孩子般的脸上露出满意的笑容，然后他停了下来，用手帕擦擦额头上的汗水。
“You are, I see, a naturalized American subject?”
“你已经加入美国国籍了？”
Antonio Foscarelli came into the dining car with a swift, catlike tread. His face beamed. It was a typical Italian face, sunny looking and swarthy.
安东尼奥·福斯卡雷利像只猫一样快步走进餐厅，笑容满面。这是一张典型的意大利人脸，黝黑而阳光。
“Your name is Antonio Foscarelli?”
“你的名字是安东尼奥·福斯卡雷利？”
“Yes, Monsieur. Ah! well do I remember the day I first took the boat — to go to America, so far away! My mother, my little sister –“
“是的，先生。啊！我忘不了第一次坐船去美国的情景，真远啊！我老妈，我小妹——”
Poirot cut short the flood of reminiscence.
波洛截断了这洪水般的回忆。
“You have been in the United States, then, for the last ten years on and off?”
“那么，这十年来你肯定经常去美国吧？”
“During your sojourn in the United States did you ever come across the deceased?”
“你在美国逗留的这段时间，有没有见过死者？”
“Your opinion is quite right,” said Poirot dryly. “Ratchett was Cassetti, the kidnapper.”
“你的看法完全正确，”波洛一本正经地说，“雷切特就是卡塞蒂，那个绑匪头子。”
“Never. But I know the type. Oh, yes.” He snapped his fingers expressively. “It is very respectable, very well dressed, but underneath it is all wrong. Out of my experience, I should say he was the big crook. I give you my opinion for what it is worth.”
“从没见过，可我了解这类人。是的，是的。”他表情丰富地打了个响指，“他很体面，很时髦，可背地里很坏。以我的经验看，他一定是个大骗子。绝对错不了。”
“So you see,” he said, “I do big business. I am up to date. I understand salesmanship!”
“你瞧，”他说，“我是做大生意的，走在时代前沿，深谙推销之道！”
“What did I tell you? I have learned to be very acute — to read the face. It is necessary. Only in America do they teach you the proper way to sell.”
“我跟你说什么来着？我看人很准，看脸就行。这很有必要。只有在美国他们才会教你如何卖东西。我——”
“I do not quite remember. The name, yes? It was a little girl — a baby — was it not?”
“不太记得了。叫什么名字来着，嗯？是个小女孩，对吗？”
“You remember the Armstrong case?
“你记得阿姆斯特朗这个案子吗？”
“Ah, well, these things they happen,” he said philosophically, “in a great civilization such as America –“
“啊！嗯，这种事情发生在，”他富有哲理地说道，“像美国这么一个非常文明的国家里——”
Poirot cut him short. “Did you ever come across any members of the Armstrong family?”
波洛打断了他。“你有没有见过阿姆斯特朗家里的什么人？”
The Italian seemed the first person to demur to this view.
意大利人似乎是第一个对此持有异议的人。
“Yes, a very tragic affair.”
“是的，一个很悲惨的案子。”
“Monsieur, pray confine yourself to the point.”
“先生，请别跑题。”
The Italian’s hands flung themselves out in a gesture of apology. “A thousand pardons.”
意大利人表示歉意地摊了摊手。“万分抱歉。”
“With pleasure. I stay here as long as I can. It is more amusing. I talk to the American gentleman at my table. He sells typewriter ribbons. Then I go back to my compartment. It is empty. The miserable John Bull who shares it with me is away attending to his master. At last he comes back — very long face as usual. He will not talk — says yes and no. A miserable race, the English — not sympathetic. He sits in the corner, very stiff, reading a book. Then the conductor comes and makes our beds.”
“没问题，在这儿待多久都行，这里更好玩。吃饭的时候我跟一位美国先生聊天，他卖打字机带。然后我就回自己的房间了。里面没人。那个可怜的约翰牛[1]照料他主人去了。后来他回来了——和平时一样拉着脸。他基本不说话，只说‘是’或‘不是’。英国人是个可怜的民族——不值得同情。他坐在角落里，绷得直直的，看一本书。后来列车员进来给我们铺床。”【注：[1]John Bull，英国人的绰号。】
“No, I do not think so. It is difficult to say. I will give you some figures. Last year alone I sold –“
“不，没见过。很难说，我给你几个数字。单是去年，我就卖了——”
“Tell me, if you please, your exact movements last night from dinner onwards.”
“可否请你告诉我昨天吃过晚饭之后你的具体活动？”
“You smoke, you say — a pipe, cigarettes, cigars?”
“你说你吸烟，那你是抽烟斗还是香烟或者雪茄？”
“Have you ever been in Chicago?” inquired M. Bouc.
“你去过芝加哥吗？”布克先生问道。
“Cigarettes only.”
“只抽香烟。”
“Exactly — the end compartment. Mine is the upper berth. I get up there. I smoke and read. The little Englishman has, I think, the toothache. He gets out a little bottle of stuff that smells very strong. He lies in bed and groans. Presently I sleep. Whenever I wake I hear him groaning.”
“正是——最后一个房间，我在上铺。我坐起来，抽抽烟，看看书。我觉得那个小英国佬得了牙疼病，他掏出一小瓶味道很浓的东西，躺在床上直哼哼。没多久我就睡着了。我每次醒过来都能听见他的哼哼声。”
“Did he ever speak of his master? Ever express any animus against him?”
“他说没说过他的主人？有没有表现出敌意？”
“Nos. 4 and 5,” murmured Poirot.
“四号铺和五号铺。”波洛咕哝着。
“I do not think so. That, I should hear. The light from the corridor — one wakes up automatically thinking it is the Customs examination at some frontier.”
“我认为没有。不然，我应该能听见。那过道里的灯光——要是你醒了，准会以为是国境线上的海关检查呢。”
“I tell you he did not speak. He was not sympathetic. A fish.”
“我跟你说过他不说话。他没有感情。一条死鱼。”
Poirot proffered him one which he accepted.
波洛递过去一支，他接了过去。
“Do you know if he left the carriage at all during the night?”
“你知不知道，他晚上是否离开过房间？”
“Oh, yes — a fine city — but I know best New York, Washington, Detroit. You have been to the States? No? You should go, it –“
“哦，去过，一个很好的城市——但是我更了解纽约、克利夫兰、底特律。你去过这些地方吗？没有？你真应该去。它——”
Poirot pushed a sheet of paper across to him.
波洛向他面前推过一张纸去。
“If you will sign this, and put your permanent address, please.”
“请在这里签个名，还有你的永久地址。”
“That is all? You do not require me further? Good day to you, Messieurs. I wish we could get out of the snow. I have an appointment in Milan –” He shook his head sadly. “I shall lose the business.” He departed.
“这就行了？不再问我什么了吗？再见，先生们。希望我们能走出这大风雪。在米兰我还有个预约呢。”他可惜地摇摇头，“不然这桩买卖就要丢了。”他离开了。
The Italian wrote with a flourish. Then he rose — his smile was as engaging as ever.
意大利人龙飞凤舞地写了下来。之后他站起身，笑容依然可爱。
“He has been a long time in America,” said M. Bouc, “and he is an Italian, and Italians use the knife! And they are great liars! I do not like Italians.”
“他在美国待了很长时间，”布克先生说，“还是个意大利人，而且意大利人是用刀子的！而且他们都善于说谎！我不喜欢意大利人。”
Poirot looked at his friend.
波洛看看他的朋友。
“And what about the psychology? Do not Italians stab?”
“可是心理因素怎么说？意大利人不是喜欢杀人吗？”
“Ça se voit,” said Poirot with a smile. “Well, it may be that you are right, but I will point out to you, my friend, that there is absolutely no evidence against the man.”
“看起来，”波洛笑着说，“好吧，也许你说得对，但是我得说，我的朋友，我们没有任何对他不利的证据。”
“Assuredly,” said Poirot. “Especially in the heat of a quarrel. But this — this is a different kind of crime. I have the little idea, my friend, that this is a crime very carefully planned and staged. It is a far-sighted, long-headed crime. It is not — how shall I express it?– a Latin crime. It is a crime that shows traces of a cool, resourceful, deliberate brain — I think an Anglo-Saxon brain.”
“毫无疑问，”波洛说，“尤其是在争吵最激烈的时候。但这个——这是完全不同的一个谋杀案。我有个小想法，我的朋友，这起谋杀计划和实施得都很周密，想得长远，非常聪明。它不是——我该怎么表达？——不是拉丁式的犯罪。这个案子显示的是冷静、机敏而深思熟虑的头脑。我认为是盎格鲁－撒克逊人的头脑——”
“Let us now,” he said, “see Miss Mary Debenham.”
“现在，”他说，“我们见见玛丽·德贝纳姆小姐吧。”
He picked up the last two passports.
他拿起了最后两本护照。
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