The Regatta Mystery and Other Stories (Hercule Poirot 21)

"Oh, dear--oh, dear--"

"What is it, Mademoiselle?" murmured Poirot.

She answered almost in a whisper.

"It's horrible! It's just like it was that night--"

"Sh! Sh!" said several people.

Poirot lowered his voice.

"A little word in your ear." He whispered, then

patted her shoulder. "All will be well," he as

sured

her.

"My God, listen," cried Lola.

"What is it, Sefiora?"

"It's the same tune--the same song that they

played that night in New York. Barton Russell

must have fixed it. I don't like this."

"Courage--courage--"

There was a fresh hush.

A girl walked out into the middle of the floor, a

coal black girl with rolling eyeballs and white

glistening teeth. She began to sing in a deep hoarse

voice--a voice that was curiously moving.

I've forgotten you

I never think of you

The way you walked

The way you talked

The things you used to say

I've forgotten you

118

Agatha Christie

I never think of you