The second part of the pouring moon --- the desert pouring snow ...

The second part of the pouring moon --- the desert pouring snow ...The second part of the pouring moon --- the desert pouring snow ...

"What about the other one?" To tell you the truth, my friend, I didn't pay any attention to him. He gave me an unpleasant impression. What about you Poirot paused for a moment before answering. "As he passed me into the dining room," he said at last, "I had a strange impression. He passed by me like a wild animal -- you know, a cruel man like a wild animal, a cruel man! "Yet he looked every inch the most respectable man." "Exactly!"! His body — the cage — everything was the most respectable — but through these bars, the beast showed his true colors. "It's a figment of your imagination, old friend." Said Mr. Bowker. Maybe so. But I can't get rid of this impression, and I always feel that evil is passing by me. "Is he a decent American gentleman?" 'Well, 'said Mr. Bowker pleasantly,' maybe so. There is a lot of evil in this world. Just then, the door opened and the doorman came towards them. He looked worried, as if he were sorry. "It is strange, sir," he said to Poirot, "that all the first-class berths on the train are sold out." "What!" Exclaimed Mr. Bowker. At a time like this? Well, no doubt there must be some tour group or some political group. "I don't know,touch screen interactive whiteboard, sir," said the porter, turning to him respectfully, "but that's the way it is." "Come, come," said Mr. Bowker to Poirot. "Don't worry, my friend. I'm sure we can arrange it. There is usually a sleeper on the bus,75 smart board, number 16, which is not booked out. That's in the hands of the conductor! He smiled and glanced at the clock. "Well," he said, "it's time to start." At the train station, Mr. Bowker was greeted respectfully and warmly by a driver in a brown uniform. Good night, sir. Your room is number one. He called the waiter. The waiter took their luggage halfway and pushed it along the carriage. The iron plate on the carriage marked the destination of the car: Istanbul-Port of Trieste-Calais "I heard that your train is full tonight?" "It's incredible, sir.". The whole world decided to take the train tonight! "Still, you must find a room for the gentleman.". He is my friend. He can live on the sixteenth. "Sold on the sixteenth, sir." "What, the sixteenth?" They looked at each other knowingly, and the conductor smiled too. He was a tall, sallow, middle-aged man. Yes, interactive panel board ,interactive digital whiteboard, sir, as I told you, our train is packed everywhere-packed. "What's going on?" Asked Mr. Bowker angrily. "Where is the meeting?"? Or a political group? No, sir. This is just an accidental coincidence. It just so happens that a lot of people have decided to take the train tonight. Mr. Bowker's tongue tutted with annoyance. To Belgrade, "he said," there will be a skid car from Athens, and a Bucharest Paris car, but we won't be in Belgrade before tomorrow evening. The problem is tonight. Are there any second-class berths available? "There is one more second-class berth, sir." "Well, then --" "But there was already a German lady, a maid, in the lady's berth." "Hey, hey, that's not convenient." Said Mr. Bowker. "Don't bother, my friend," said Poirot. "I'll take the ordinary carriage." "Never mind, never mind," he said, turning to the conductor again. "Have all the passengers arrived?" "The exact situation," said the man, "is that there is still one passenger who has not arrived." He hesitated and spoke slowly. Go on. "It's number seven -- second class.". The gentleman hasn't come yet, and it's four minutes to nine. "Who is this man?" "An Englishman," said the conductor, consulting his passenger list. "Harris." "The name is a good sign," said Poirot. "I have read my Dickens. Harris, this man is not coming. "Take this gentleman's luggage to No.7," said Mr. Bowker. If this Mr. Harris comes, we'll tell him he's too late -- we can't keep the berth so long -- and we'll try to put things in order. What else can I do for this Mr. Harris? "As you like, sir." Said the driver. He told the waiter who carried Poirot's luggage to show him where to send it. Then he stood by the step of the door and let Poirot get into the car. "Right overhead," he shouted. "The last but one." Poirot walked along the passage, but slowly, because most of the passengers were standing outside their rooms. His polite "I'm sorry" and "I'm sorry" went out regularly like a clock, and he managed to get to the designated room. In the private room, reaching for his suitcase, was the tall young American he had seen at the Tokelin Hotel. He frowned when he saw Poirot go in. "I'm sorry," he said. "I think you've made a mistake." Then he said with difficulty in French, "I think you're mistaken." M. Poirot replied in English. Are you Mr. Harris? No, my name is McQueen. I But at that moment, the conductor's voice came from behind Poirot's shoulder. An apologetic, rather breathless voice. There are no other berths on the train, sir. This gentleman will have to live here. With these words, he pulled up the window in the corridor and began to carry Poirot's luggage in. Poirot noticed that there was a hint of amusement in his apologetic voice. No doubt the man had promised to tip too much,smart interactive whiteboard, if he could keep the room to himself and not let other passengers in. However, when a company director is in the car and has given his orders, even the most generous tip is useless. hsdsmartboard.com


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