دانلود رمان انگلیسی “قتل در قطار سریع السیر شرق”

The wonderful views of snow-topped mountains passed unnoticed as the train sped away from Syria towards Istanbul. As the Belgian detective M. Hercule Poirot drank his coffee, he watched the only other person in the restaurant carriage – a tall, thin young lady, perhaps twenty-eight years old. From the way that she ate her breakfast, she seemed to be an experienced and confident traveller. He admired her pale face, tidy dark hair and cool grey eyes. A good-looking woman, he thought, but perhaps a little too cold and efficient to be described as pretty. Soon a tall, thin man entered the restaurant carriage. He was between forty and fifty, with greying hair and skin darkened by the sun. He spoke to the woman. His accent was English. ‘Morning, Miss Debenham.’ ‘Good morning, Colonel Arbuthnot,’ she replied. ‘Do you mind if I sit with you?’ ‘Of course not. Please, sit.’ She smiled politely. He sat down and ordered his breakfast. He looked quickly towards M. Poirot – at his enormous, curled moustache and strange, egg-shaped head – then looked away. ‘Just a silly looking foreigner,’ he thought to himself.