Агата Кристи
Death on the Nile / Смерть на Ниле

© Шитова Л. Ф., адаптация, сокращение, словарь, 2019

© ООО «Издательство «Антология», 2022

Part I
England

Chapter 1

Extract from the Social column of the local newspaper.

Among those having supper at Chez Ma Tante[1] I noticed beautiful Linnet Ridgeway. She was with Joanna Southwood, and Lord Windlesham. Miss Ridgeway, as everyone knows, is the daughter of Mr Ridgeway who married Anna Hartz. She inherits from her grandfather, Leopold Hartz, an American millionaire, an immense fortune. The lovely Linnet is the sensation of the moment and they say that an engagement may be announced shortly. Certainly Lord Windlesham seemed very happy!

Chapter 2

Joanna Southwood said: “Darling, I think it's going to be all perfectly marvellous!” She was sitting in Linnet Ridgeway's bedroom at Wode Hall.

From the window of the mansion the eye went to open country with blue shadows of woodlands.

“It's rather perfect, isn't it?” said Linnet.

She leaned her arms on the window sill. Beside her, Joanna Southwood seemed, somehow, a little dim – a tall thin young woman of twenty-seven, with a long clever face.

“And you've done so much in the time! Did you have lots of architects and things?”

“Three.”

Joanna picked up a string of pearls from the dressing-table.

“I suppose these are real, aren't they, Linnet?”

“Of course.”

“Darling, they really are incredible. They must be worth the most fabulous sums!”

“Rather vulgar, you think?”

“No, not at all – just pure beauty. What are they worth?”

“About fifty thousand.”

“What a lovely lot of money! Aren't you afraid of having them stolen?”

“No, I always wear them – and anyway they're insured.”

“Let me wear them till dinner time, will you, darling? It would give me such a thrill.”

Linnet laughed.

“Of course, if you like.”

“You know, Linnet, I really envy you. You've simply got everything. Here you are at twenty, with any amount of money, looks, superb health. You've even got brains! When are you twenty-one?”

“Next June. I shall have a grand coming-of-age[2] party in London.”

“And then are you going to marry Charles Windlesham? All the gossip writers are getting so excited about it. And he really is very devoted.” Linnet shrugged her shoulders.[3]

“I don't know. I don't really want to marry anyone yet.”

“Darling, how right you are! It's never quite the same afterward, is it?”

The telephone called and Linnet went to it.

“Yes? Yes?”

The butler's voice answered her.

“Miss de Bellefort is on the line. Shall I put her through?” “Bellefort? Oh, of course, yes, put her through.”

“Hullo, is that Miss Ridgeway? Linnet!”

“Jackie darling! I haven't heard anything of you for ages and ages![4]”

“I know. It's awful. Linnet, I want to see you terribly.”

“Darling, can't you come down here? My new toy. I'd love to show it to you.”

“That's just what I want to do.”

“Well, jump into a train or a car.”

“Right, I will. A frightfully old two-seater. I bought it for fifteen pounds, and some days it goes beautifully. So long, my sweet.[5]”

Linnet replaced the receiver.[6] She crossed back to Joanna.

“That's my oldest friend, Jacqueline de Bellefort. We were together at a convent in Paris. She's had the most terribly bad luck. Her father was a French Count, her mother was American – a Southerner. The father went off with some woman, and her mother lost all her money in the Wall Street crash. Jackie was left absolutely broke. I don't know how she's managed to get along the last two years.”

Joanna was polishing her nails.

“Darling,” she drawled, “won't that be rather tiresome? If any misfortunes happen to my friends I always drop them at once! It sounds heartless, but it saves such a lot of trouble later! They always want to borrow money off you, or else they start a dressmaking business and you have to get the most terrible clothes from them.”

“So if I lost all my money, you'd drop me tomorrow?”

“Yes, darling, I would. You can't say I'm not honest about it! I only like successful people. And you'll find that's true of nearly everybody – only most people won't admit it. They just say that really they can't put up with Mary or Emily or Pamela any more! 'Her troubles have made her so bitter, poor dear!'[7]”

“How awful you are, Joanna!”

“I'm only on the make,[8] like everyone else.”

“I'm not on the make!”

“For obvious reasons! You don't have to be careful when American trustees pay you a vast allowance every quarter.”

“And you're wrong about Jacqueline,” said Linnet. “She's not a sponge.[9] I've wanted to help her, but she won't let me. She's as proud as the devil.[10]”

“Why's she in such a hurry to see you? I'll bet she wants something! You just wait and see.”

“She sounded excited about something,” admitted Linnet. “Jackie always did get frightfully worked up over things.[11] She once stuck a penknife into someone![12]”

“Darling, how thrilling!”

“A boy who was teasing a dog. Jackie tried to get him to stop. He wouldn't. She pulled him and shook him but he was much stronger than she was, and at last she took out a penknife and put it right into him. There was the most awful row!”

“I should think so. It sounds awful!”

Linnet's maid entered the room. With a word of apology, she took down a dress from the wardrobe and went out of the room with it.

“What's the matter with Marie?” asked Joanna. “She's been crying.”

“Poor thing.[13] You know I told you she wanted to marry a man who has a job in Egypt. She didn't know much about him, so I thought I'd better make sure he was all right. It happened that he had a wife already – and three children.”

“What a lot of enemies you must make, Linnet.”

“Enemies?” Linnet looked surprised.

Joanna nodded and helped herself to a cigarette.[14]

“Enemies, my sweet. And you're so frightfully good at doing the right thing.[15]”

Linnet laughed.

“Why, I haven't got an enemy in the world!”

Chapter 3

Lord Windlesham sat under the cedar tree. His eyes rested on the graceful proportions of Wode Hall. But he wanted to see Linnet as mistress of Charltonbury, his own family seat – the girl with bright golden hair and a confident face…

He felt very hopeful. That refusal of hers had not been at all a definite refusal. It was like a plea for time. Well, he could afford to wait a little.

How amazingly suitable the whole thing was. It was certainly advisable that he should marry money, but he loved Linnet. He would have wanted to marry her even if she had been practically penniless. Only, fortunately, she was one of the richest girls in England.

His mind played with attractive plans for the future. Charles Windlesham dreamed in the sun.

Chapter 4

It was four o'clock when the old little two-seater stopped in front of the mansion. A girl got out of it – a small slender creature with a mop of dark hair. She ran up the steps and rang the bell. A few minutes later she was brought into the drawing-room, and a butler said with the proper intonation, “Miss de Bellefort.”

“Linnet!”

“Jackie!”

Windlesham stood a little aside, watching as this fiery little creature flung herself open-armed upon Linnet.

“Lord Windlesham – Miss de Bellefort – my best friend.”

A pretty child, he thought – not really pretty but decidedly attractive, with her dark curly hair and her enormous eyes. He murmured a few tactful nothings[16] and then left the two friends together.

“Windlesham? Windlesham? That's the man the papers always say you're going to marry! Are you, Linnet? Are you?”

Linnet murmured, “Perhaps.”

“Darling – I'm so glad! He looks nice.”

“Oh, don't make up your mind about it – I haven't made up my own mind yet[17].”

“Of course not! Queens are always very careful about the choosing of a consort!”

“Don't be ridiculous, Jackie.”

“But you are a queen, Linnet! You always were.”

“What nonsense you talk, Jackie darling! Where have you been all this time? You just disappear. And you never write.”

“I hate writing letters. Where have I been? In jobs, you know. Grim jobs with grim women!”

“Darling, I wish you'd – ”

“Take the Queen's bounty?[18] Well, frankly, darling, that's what I'm here for. No, not to borrow money. But I've come to ask a great big important favour!”

“Go on.”

“If you're going to marry the Windlesham man, you'll understand, perhaps.”

Linnet looked puzzled for a minute; then her face cleared.

“Jackie, do you mean – ”

“Yes, darling, I'm engaged!”

“So that's it! I thought you were looking particularly alive somehow. You always do, of course, but even more than usual.”

“That's just what I feel like.”

“Tell me all about him.”

“His name's Simon Doyle. He's big and square and incredibly simple and boyish and utterly adorable! He's poor – got no money. He's what you call 'county' all right[19] – but very impoverished county – a younger son and all that. His people come from Devonshire. He loves country and country things. And for the last five years he's been in the city in a stuffy office. And now they're cutting down and he's out of a job. Linnet, I shall die if I can't marry him! I shall die! I shall die! I shall die.”

“Don't be ridiculous, Jackie.”

“I shall die, I tell you! I'm crazy about him. He's crazy about me. We can't live without each other.”

“Darling, you have got it badly[20]!”

“I know. It's awful, isn't it? But you can't do anything about it.”

She paused for a minute. “It's – even frightening sometimes! Simon and I were made for each other. I shall never care for anyone else. And you've got to help us, Linnet. I heard you'd bought this place and it put an idea into my head. Listen, you'll have to have a land agent[21] – perhaps two. I want you to give the job to Simon.”

“Oh!” Linnet was startled.

Jacqueline went on: “He knows all about estates – was brought up on one. And he's got his business training too. Oh, Linnet, you will give him a job, won't you, for love of me? If he doesn't make good, sack him. But he will. And we can live in a little house, and I shall see lots of you, and everything will be divine.” She got up.

“Say you will, Linnet. Say you will. Beautiful Linnet! Tall golden Linnet! My own very special Linnet! Say you will!”

“Jackie – ”

“You will?”

Linnet burst out laughing.[22]

“Ridiculous Jackie! Bring along your young man and let me have a look at him and we'll talk it over.”

“Darling Linnet – you're a real friend! I knew you were. You wouldn't let me down – ever. You're just the loveliest thing in the world. Good-bye.”

“But, Jackie, you're staying.”[23]

“Me? No, I'm not. I'm going back to London, and tomorrow I'll come back and bring Simon and we'll settle it all up. You'll adore him. He really is a pet.”

“But can't you wait and just have tea?”

“No, I can't wait, Linnet. I'm too excited. I must get back and tell Simon. I know I'm mad, darling, but I can't help it. Marriage will cure me, I expect. It always seems to have a very sobering effect on people.[24]”

She turned at the door, stood a moment, then rushed back for a last quick embrace.

“Dear Linnet – there's no one like you.”

Chapter 5

M. Gaston Blondin, the proprietor of that little restaurant Chez Ma Tante, was not a man who honoured many of his clientele. Only in the rarest cases did M. Blondin greet a guest, accompany him to a privileged table, and exchange with him suitable remarks.

On this night, M. Blondin had greeted a little man of comical appearance with immense black moustaches. He conducted the client to the table in a most favourable position.

“But naturally, for you there is always a table, Monsieur Poirot! How I wish that you would honour us oftener.”

Hercule Poirot smiled,

“You are too amiable, Monsieur Blondin,” he said.

“And you are alone, Monsieur Poirot?”

“Yes, I am alone.”

“Oh, well, our chef here will compose for you a little meal that will be a poem – positively a poem! Women, however charming, have this disadvantage: they distract the mind from food! You will enjoy your dinner, Monsieur Poirot; I promise you that.”

Before departing, M. Blondin lingered a moment, lowering his voice confidentially.

“You have grave affairs on hand?”[25]

Poirot shook his head.

“I am a man of leisure,” he said sadly. “I have made the economies in my time and I have now the means to enjoy a life of idleness.[26]”

“I envy you.”

“No, no, you would be unwise to do so. I can assure you, it is not so gay as it sounds.” He sighed. “How true is the saying that man was forced to invent work in order to escape the need to think.”

M. Blondin threw up his hands.[27]

“But there is so much! There is travel!”

“Yes, there is travel. Already I have done not so badly. This winter I shall visit Egypt, I think. The climate, they say, is superb! One will escape from the fogs, the greyness, the monotony of the constantly falling rain.”

“Ah! Egypt,” sighed M. Blondin.

“One can even voyage there now, I believe, by train, escaping all sea travel except the Channel[28].”

Smooth-footed, deft-handed waiters served the table.[29]

The Negro orchestra broke into an ecstasy of strange noises. London danced.

Hercule Poirot looked on, registering impressions in his mind.

How bored and weary most of the faces were! Some of those stout men, however, were enjoying themselves. The fat woman in purple was looking radiant…

A good number of young people – some bored, some definitely unhappy. How absurd to call youth the time of happiness – youth, the time of greatest vulnerability!

His glance softened as it rested on one particular couple. A well-matched pair – tall broad-shouldered man, slender delicate girl. Two bodies that moved in a perfect rhythm of happiness.

The dance stopped abruptly. Hands clapped and it started again. After a second encore the couple returned to their table close by Poirot. The girl was flushed, laughing. As she sat, he could study her face, laughing to her companion. There was something else beside laughter in her eyes.

Hercule Poirot shook his head doubtfully.

“She cares too much, that little one,” he said to himself.

“It is not safe. No, it is not safe.”

And then a word caught his ear, “Egypt.”

Their voices came to him clearly – the girl's young, fresh, arrogant, with just a trace of foreign R's[30], and the man's pleasant, low-toned, well-bred English.

“I'm not counting my chickens before they're hatched[31], Simon. I tell you Linnet won't let us down!”

“I might let her down.”

“Nonsense – it's just the right job for you.”

“As a matter of fact I think it is… I haven't really any doubts as to my capability. And I want to make good – for your sake!”

The girl laughed softly, a laugh of pure happiness.

“We'll wait three months – to make sure you don't get the sack – and then we'll go to Egypt for our honeymoon. I've always wanted to go to Egypt all my life. The Nile and the pyramids and the sand.”

He said, his voice slightly indistinct: “We'll see it together, Jackie… together. Won't it be marvellous?”

“I wonder.[32] Will it be as marvellous to you as it is to me? Do you really care – as much as I do?”

Her voice was suddenly sharp – almost with fear.

The man's answer came quickly, “Don't be absurd, Jackie.”

Then she shrugged her shoulders.

“Let's dance.”

Hercule Poirot murmured to himself:

“Un qui aime et un qui se laisse aimer.[33] Yes, I wonder too.”

Chapter 6

Joanna Southwood said, “And suppose he's a terrible tough?”[34]

Linnet shook her head. “Oh, he won't be. I can trust Jacqueline's taste.”

Then she changed the subject. “I must go and see Mr Pierce about those plans!”

“Plans?”

“Yes, some dreadful insanitary old cottages. I'm having them pulled down and the people moved.[35]”

“Do the people who lived in them like going?”

“Most of them are delighted. One or two are being rather stupid about it. They don't seem to realize how vastly improved their living conditions will be!”

Joanna laughed.

“You are a tyrant, admit it. A beneficent tyrant if you like!”

“I'm not the least bit a tyrant.”

“But you like your own way!”

Linnet said sharply, “You think I'm selfish?”

“No – just irresistible. The combined effect of money and charm. Everything goes down before you. What you can't buy with cash you buy with a smile. Result: Linnet Ridgeway, the Girl Who Has Everything.”

“Don't be ridiculous, Joanna!”

As Lord Windlesham joined them, Linnet said, turning to him, “Joanna is saying the nastiest things to me.”

Joanna got up from her seat. She made no apology for leaving them.

He was silent for a minute or two. Then he went straight to the point.[36]

“Have you come to a decision, Linnet?”

Linnet said slowly: “Am I being a brute? I suppose, if I'm not sure, I ought to say 'No' – ”

He interrupted her.

“Don't say it. You shall have time – as much time as you want. But I think, you know, we should be happy together.”

“You see,” Linnet's tone was apologetic, almost childish, “I'm enjoying myself so much – especially with all this.” She waved a hand. “I wanted to make Wode Hall into my real ideal of a country house, and I do think I've got it nice, don't you?”

“It's beautiful. Beautifully planned. Everything perfect. You're very clever, Linnet.”

He paused a minute and went on: “And you like Charltonbury, don't you? Of course it wants modernizing and all that – but you're so clever at that sort of thing. You'd enjoy it.”

“Why, of course, Charltonbury's divine.”

She spoke with enthusiasm, but inwardly she felt a sudden chill. But why? Charltonbury was modestly famous. Windlesham's ancestors had held it since the time of Elizabeth[37]. To be mistress of Charltonbury was a position in society. Windlesham was one of the most desirable parties in England.

Naturally he couldn't take Wode seriously… It was not in any way to be compared with Charltonbury.

Ah, but Wode was hers! She had seen it, acquired it, rebuilt and re-dressed it, lavished money on it. It was her own possession – her kingdom.

If she married Windlesham, Wode Hall would be given up.

She, Linnet Ridgeway, wouldn't exist any longer. She would be Countess of Windlesham, not queen any longer.

“I'm being ridiculous,” said Linnet to herself.

But it was curious how she did hate the idea of abandoning Wode.

And wasn't there something else nagging at her?

Jackie's voice with that note in it saying: “I shall die if I can't marry him! I shall die. I shall die.”

So positive, so earnest. Did she, Linnet, feel like that about Windlesham?

Assuredly she didn't. Perhaps she could never feel like that about anyone. It must be – rather wonderful – to feel like that.

The sound of a car came through the open window.

That must be Jackie and her young man. She'd go out and meet them.

She was standing in the open doorway as Jacqueline and Simon Doyle got out of the car.

“Linnet!” Jackie ran to her. “This is Simon. Simon, here's Linnet. She's just the most wonderful person in the world.”

Linnet saw a tall, broad-shouldered young man, with very dark blue eyes, curling brown hair, a square chin and a boyish, simple smile.

She stretched out a hand. The hand that clasped hers was firm and warm. She liked the way he looked at her, the genuine admiration.

Jackie had told him she was wonderful, and he clearly thought that she was wonderful.

A warm sweet feeling of intoxication ran through her veins.

“Isn't this all lovely?” she said. “Come in, Simon, and let me welcome my new land agent properly.”

And as she turned to lead the way she thought: “I'm frightfully – frightfully happy. I like Jackie's young man. I like him enormously. ”

And then with a sudden pang, “Lucky Jackie.”

Chapter 7

Tim Allerton leant back in his wicker chair and yawned as he looked out over the sea. He shot a quick glance at his mother.

Mrs Allerton was a good-looking, white-haired woman of fifty, and she adored her son.

He said, “Do you really like Majorca[38], Mother?”

“Well,” Mrs Allerton considered, “it's cheap.”

“And cold,” said Tim with a slight shiver.

He was a tall, thin young man, with dark hair and a rather narrow chest. His eyes were sad and his chin was indecisive. He had long delicate hands.

He was supposed “to write,” but it was understood among his friends that he was not a success.

“What are you thinking of, Tim?”

Mrs Allerton was alert. Her bright, dark-brown eyes looked suspicious. Tim Allerton grinned at her.

“I was thinking of Egypt.”

“Egypt?”

Mrs Allerton sounded doubtful.

“Real warmth, darling. Lazy golden sands. The Nile. I'd like to go up the Nile, wouldn't you?”

“Oh, I'd like it.” Her tone was dry. “But Egypt's expensive, my dear. Not for those who have to count the pennies.”

Tim laughed. He rose, stretched himself. Suddenly he looked alive and eager. There was an excited note in his voice.

“The expense will be my affair.[39] Yes, darling. A little flutter on the Stock Exchange.[40] With satisfactory results. I heard this morning.”

“This morning?” said Mrs Allerton sharply. “You only had one letter and that – ” She stopped and bit her lip.

“And that was from Joanna,” he finished coolly. “Quite right, Mother. What a Queen of detectives you'd make! The famous Hercule Poirot would have to be careful if you were about.”

Mrs Allerton looked rather cross.[41]

“I just happened to see the handwriting – ”

“And knew it wasn't that of a stockbroker? Quite right. As a matter of fact it was yesterday I heard from them. Poor Joanna's handwriting is rather noticeable.”

“What does Joanna say? Any news?”

Mrs Allerton tried to make her voice sound casual and ordinary. The friendship between her son and his second cousin, Joanna Southwood, always irritated her. Not that there was “anything in it.” She was quite sure there wasn't. Tim had never manifested a sentimental interest in Joanna, nor she in him. They both liked people and discussing people. Joanna had an amusing though caustic tongue.

It was some feeling hard to define – perhaps jealousy in the pleasure Tim which always seemed to take in Joanna's society. He and his mother were such perfect companions that the sight of him interested in another woman always worried Mrs Allerton. She fancied, too, that her presence on these occasions set some barrier between the two members of the younger generation, when at sight of her, their talk had changed. Quite definitely, Mrs Allerton did not like Joanna Southwood. She thought her insincere, affected and superficial.

In answer to her question, Tim pulled the letter out of his pocket and glanced through it. It was quite a long letter, his mother noted.

“Nothing much,” he said. “The Devenishes are getting a divorce. Windlesham's gone to Canada. Seems he was pretty badly hit when Linnet Ridgeway turned him down[42]. She's definitely going to marry this land agent person.”

“How extraordinary! Is he very dreadful?”

“No, no, not at all. He's one of the Devonshire Doyles. No money, of course – and he was actually engaged to one of Linnet's best friends. Pretty thick, that.[43]”

“I don't think it's at all nice,” said Mrs Allerton.

Tim gave her a quick affectionate glance.

“I know, darling. You don't approve of snapping other people's husbands and all that sort of thing.”

“In my day we had our standards,” said Mrs Allerton. “Nowadays young people seem to think they can just go about doing anything they choose.”

Tim smiled.

“They don't only think it. They do it. Look at Linnet Ridgeway!”

“Well, I think it's horrid!”

Tim twinkled at her.

“Cheer up, you old die-hard[44]! Perhaps I agree with you. Anyway, I haven't helped myself to anyone's wife or fiancee yet.[45]”

“I'm sure you'd never do such a thing,” said Mrs Allerton. She added, “I've brought you up properly.”

He smiled teasingly at her as he folded the letter and put it away again.

Mrs Allerton let the thought just flash across her mind: “Most letters he shows to me. He only reads me snippets from Joanna's.”

But she put the thought away from her, and decided, as ever, to behave like a gentlewoman.

“Is Joanna enjoying life?” she asked.

“So so. Says she thinks of opening a delicatessen shop in Mayfair.”

“She always talks about being hard up[46],” said Mrs Allerton, “but she goes about everywhere and her clothes must cost her a lot. She's always beautifully dressed.”

“Ah, well,” said Tim, “she probably doesn't pay for them.

I just mean quite literally that she leaves her bills unpaid.”

Mrs Allerton sighed.

“I never know how people manage to do that.”

“It's a kind of special gift,” said Tim. “If only you have sufficiently extravagant tastes, and absolutely no sense of money values, people will give you any amount of credit.”

“Yes, but you come to the Bankruptcy Court[47] in the end.”

He shrugged his shoulders. “Anyway, I'm for excitement and novelty. The joy of never knowing what may turn up from day to day. And the pleasure of making money for yourself – by your own brains and skill.”

“A successful deal on the Stock Exchange[48] in fact!”

He laughed. “Why not?”

“And what about an equal loss on the Stock Exchange?”

“That, dear, is rather tactless. And quite inappropriate today. What about this Egypt plan?”

“Well – ”

He cut in, smiling at her: “That's settled. We've both always wanted to see Egypt.”

“When do you suggest?”

“Oh, next month. January's about the best time there. We'll enjoy the delightful society in this hotel a few weeks longer.”

Mrs Allerton sighed and said, “I wish there were a few more young people for you here.”

Tim Allerton shook his head decidedly.

“I don't. You and I get along rather comfortably without outside distractions.”

“You'd like it if Joanna were here.”

“I wouldn't.” His tone was unexpectedly resolute. “You're all wrong there. Joanna amuses me, but I don't really like her, and to have her around much gets on my nerves. I'm thankful she isn't here.”

He added, almost below his breath, “There's only one woman in the world I've got a real respect and admiration for, and I think, Mrs Allerton, you know very well who that woman is.”

His mother blushed and looked quite confused.

Tim said gravely: “ There aren't very many really nice women in the world. You happen to be one of them.”

Chapter 8

In an apartment overlooking Central Park in New York, Mrs Robson exclaimed: “You really are the luckiest girl, Cornelia.”

Cornelia Robson flushed. She was a big clumsy-looking girl with brown doglike eyes.

“Oh, it will be wonderful!” she gasped.

Old Miss Van Schuyler was satisfied with this correct attitude of poor relations.

“I've always dreamed of a trip to Europe,” sighed Cornelia, “but I just didn't feel I'd ever get there.”

“Miss Bowers will come with me as usual, of course,” said Miss Van Schuyler, “but as a social companion I find her limited – very limited. There are many little things that Cornelia can do for me.”

“I'd just love to, Cousin Marie,” said Cornelia eagerly.

“Well, well, then that's settled,” said Miss Van Schuyler. “Just run and find Miss Bowers, my dear. It's time for my eggnog.”

Cornelia left. Her mother said: “My dear Marie, I'm really most grateful to you! You know I think Cornelia suffers a lot from not being a social success. If I could afford to take her to places – but you know how it's been since Ned died.”

“I'm very glad to take her,” said Miss Van Schuyler. “Cornelia has always been a nice handy girl, willing to run errands, and not so selfish as some of these young people nowadays.”

Mrs Robson rose and kissed her rich relative's wrinkled face.

“I'm just ever so grateful,” she declared.

On the stairs she met a tall capable looking woman who was carrying a glass containing a yellow foamy liquid.

“Well, Miss Bowers, so you're off to Europe?”

“Why, yes, Mrs Robson.”

“What a lovely trip!”

“Why, yes, I should think it would be very enjoyable.”

“But you've been abroad before?”

“Oh, yes, Mrs Robson. I went over to Paris with Miss Van Schuyler last fall. But I've never been to Egypt before.”

Mrs Robson hesitated.

“I do hope – there won't be any – trouble.”

She had lowered her voice. Miss Bowers, however, replied in her usual tone:

“Oh, no, Mrs Robson; I shall take good care of that. I keep a very sharp look-out always.[49]”

But there was still a faint shadow on Mrs Robson's face as she slowly continued down the stairs.

Chapter 9

In his office down town Mr Andrew Pennington was opening his personal mail. Suddenly his fist clenched itself and came down on his desk with a bang; his face crimsoned and two big veins stood out on his forehead. He pressed a buzzer on his desk and a smart looking stenographer appeared. “Tell Mr Rockford to step in here.”

“Yes, Mr Pennington.”

A few minutes later, Stemdale Rockford, Pennington's partner, entered the office.

“ What's up, Pennington?”

Pennington looked up from the letter he was re-reading.

He said, “Linnet's married.”

“What?”

“You heard what I said! Linnet Ridgeway's married!”

“How? When? Why didn't we hear about it?”

Pennington glanced at the calendar on his desk.

“She wasn't married when she wrote this letter, but she's married now. Morning of the fourth. That's today.”

Rockford dropped into a chair.

“No warning? Nothing? Who's the man?”

Pennington referred again to the letter.

“Doyle. Simon Doyle.”

“What sort of a fellow is he? Ever heard of him?”

“No. She doesn't say much…” He scanned the lines of clear, upright handwriting. “Got an idea there's something hole-and-corner about the business.[50] That doesn't matter. The whole point is, she's married.”

The eyes of the two men met. Rockford nodded.

“This needs a bit of thinking out,” he said quietly.

“What are we going to do about it?”

The two men sat silent. Then Rockford asked, “Got any plan?”

Pennington said slowly: “The Normandie[51] sails today. One of us could just make it.[52]”

“You're crazy! What's the big idea?”

Pennington began, “Those British lawyers – ” and stopped.

“What about 'em? Surely you're not going over to tackle 'em? You're mad!”

“I'm not suggesting that you – or I – should go to England.”

“What's the big idea, then?”

Pennington smoothed out the letter on the table.

“Linnet's going to Egypt for her honeymoon. Expects to be there a month or more. Yes – a chance meeting. Over on a trip. Linnet and her husband – honeymoon atmosphere. It might be done.”

Rockford said doubtfully, “She's sharp, Linnet is… but – ”

Pennington went on softly, “I think there might be ways of managing it.”

Again their eyes met. Rockford nodded.

“All right, big boy.”

Pennington looked at the clock.

“We'll have to hustle – whichever of us is going.”

“You go,” said Rockford promptly. “You always made a hit with Linnet. 'Uncle Andrew.' That's the ticket![53]”

Pennington's face had hardened. He said, “I hope I can pull it off.”

“You've got to pull it off,” his partner said. “The situation's critical.”

Chapter 10

Mrs Otterbourne, with the turban of native material draped round her head, said fretfully:

“I really don't see why we shouldn't go on to Egypt. I'm sick and tired of Jerusalem.”

As her daughter made no reply, she said, “You might at least answer when you're spoken to.”

Rosalie Otterbourne was looking at a newspaper reproduction of a face. Below it was printed:

Mrs Simon Doyle, who before her marriage was the well-known society beauty, Miss Linnet Ridgeway. Mr and Mrs Doyle are spending their holiday in Egypt.

Rosalie said, “You'd like to move on to Egypt, Mother?”

“Yes, I would,” Mrs Otterbourne snapped. “I consider they've treated us in a most peculiar fashion here.

And this morning, the manager actually had the impertinence to tell me that all the rooms had been booked in advance and that he would require ours in two days' time.”

“So we've got to go somewhere.”

“Not at all. I'm quite prepared to fight for my rights.”

Rosalie murmured: “I suppose we might as well go on to Egypt. It doesn't make any difference.”

“It's certainly not a matter of life or death,” agreed Mrs Otterbourne.

But there she was quite wrong – for a matter of life and death was exactly what it was.

Part II
Egypt

Chapter 1

“That's Hercule Poirot, the detective,” said Mrs Allerton.

She and her son were sitting outside the Cataract[54] Hotel at Assuan. They were watching the figures of two people – a short man dressed in a white silk suit and a tall slim girl. Tim Allerton sat up.

“That funny little man?” he asked incredulously.

“ That funny little man!”

“What on earth's he doing out here?” Tim asked.

His mother laughed. “Darling, you sound quite excited. Why do men enjoy crime so much? I hate detective stories and never read them. But I don't think Monsieur Poirot is here with any motive. He's made a good deal of money and he's seeing life, I fancy[55].”

“Seems to have an eye for the best-looking girl in the place.”

Mrs Allerton tilted her head a little on one side as she considered the backs of M. Poirot and his companion.

“I suppose she is quite good-looking,” said Mrs Allerton.

She shot a little glance at Tim. To her amusement, he got interested in the girl.

“She's more than 'quite'. Pity she looks so bad-tempered and sulky.”

“Perhaps that's just expression, dear.”

The subject of these remarks was walking slowly by Poirot's side. Rosalie Otterbourne was holding an unopened parasol, and she really looked both sulky and bad-tempered. Her eyebrows were drawn together in a frown and the scarlet line of her mouth was drawn downward.

They turned to the left out of the hotel gate and entered the cool shade of the public gardens.

Hercule Poirot was talking gently, his expression that of good humour. He wore a white silk suit, carefully pressed, and a panama hat.

“– it excites me,” he was saying. “The black rocks of Elephantine[56], and the sun, and the little boats on the river. Yes, it is good to be alive.” He paused and then added, “You do not find it so, Mademoiselle?”

Rosalie Otterbourne said shortly: “It's all right, I suppose. I think Assuan's a gloomy sort of place. The hotel's half empty, and everyone's about a hundred – ”

She stopped – biting her lip.

Hercule Poirot's eyes twinkled.

“It is true, yes, I have one leg in the grave.”

“I–I wasn't thinking of you,” said the girl. “I'm sorry. That sounded rude.”

“Not at all. It is natural you should wish for companions of your own age. Ah, well, there is one young man, at least.”

“ The one who sits with his mother all the time? I like her – but I think he looks dreadful – so conceited!”

Poirot sniffed.

“And I – am I conceited?”

“Oh, I don't think so.”

She was obviously uninterested – but the fact did not seem to annoy Poirot.

“Oh, well,” said Rosalie, “I suppose you have something to be conceited about. Unfortunately crime doesn't interest me in the least.”

Poirot said solemnly, “I am delighted to learn that you have no guilty secret to hide.”

She shot him a questioning glance. Poirot did not seem to notice it as he went on: “Madame, your mother, was not at lunch today. She is not unwell, I hope?”

“This place doesn't suit her,” said Rosalie briefly. “I shall be glad when we leave.”

“We are fellow passengers, are we not?[57] We both make the excursion up to Wadi Halfa[58] and the Second Cataract?”

“Yes.”

They came out from the shade of the gardens onto a dusty road by the river. Five bead sellers, two vendors of postcards, a couple of donkey boys and some riff-raff closed in upon them. “You want beads, sir? Very good, sir. Very cheap.”

“ You want ride donkey, sir? This very good donkey, sir.”

“You want postcard – very cheap – very nice.”

“Look, lady. Only ten piastres[59] – very ivory.”

“You ride back to hotel, lady? This first class donkey.”

Hercule Poirot made gestures to rid himself of the vendors. Rosalie didn't pay attention to them.

“It's best to pretend to be deaf and blind,” she remarked.

But they were the most persistent. The others fell back and launched a fresh attack on the next comer.

“You visit my shop today, sir?”

“You want that ivory crocodile, sir?”

They turned into the fifth shop and Rosalie bought several rolls of films – the object of the walk.

Then they came out again and walked toward the river.

One of the Nile steamers was just mooring. Poirot and Rosalie looked interestedly at the passengers.

“Quite a lot, aren't there?” commented Rosalie.

She turned her head as Tim Allerton came up and joined them. He was a little out of breath[60] as though he had been walking fast.

They stood there for a moment or two and then Tim spoke.

“An awful crowd as usual, I suppose,” he remarked, indicating the disembarking passengers.

“They're usually quite terrible,” agreed Rosalie.

“Hullo!” exclaimed Tim, his voice suddenly excited. “I'm damned if that isn't Linnet Ridgeway.”

If the information left Poirot unmoved, it stirred Rosalie's interest[61]. She leaned forward and her sulkiness quite dropped from her as she asked:

“Where? That one in white?”

“Yes, there with the tall man. They're coming ashore now. He's the new husband, I suppose. Can't remember her name now.”

“Doyle,” said Rosalie. “Simon Doyle. It was in all the newspapers. She's very rich, isn't she?”

“About the richest girl in England,” replied Tim cheerfully.

The three lookers-on were silent watching the passengers come ashore.

Poirot gazed with interest at the subject of the remarks of his companions. He murmured, “She is beautiful.”

“Some people have got everything,” said Rosalie bitterly.

There was a queer grudging expression on her face as she watched the other girl come up the gangplank.

Linnet Doyle was looking perfect. She had the assurance of a famous actress. She was used to being looked at, to being admired, to being the centre of the stage wherever she went.

She came ashore playing a role, even though she played it unconsciously. The rich beautiful bride on her honeymoon. She turned, with a little smile and a light remark, to the tall man by her side. He answered, and the sound of his voice seemed to interest Hercule Poirot. His eyes lit up and he drew his brows together.

The couple passed close to him. He heard Simon Doyle say:

“We'll try and make time for it, darling.[62] We can easily stay a week or two if you like it here.”

His face was turned toward her, eager, adoring, a little humble.

Poirot's eyes ran over him thoughtfully – the square shoulders, the bronzed face, the dark blue eyes, the rather childlike simplicity of the smile.

“Lucky devil,” said Tim after they had passed.

“They look frightfully happy,” said Rosalie with a note of envy in her voice. She added suddenly, but so low that Tim did not catch the words, “It isn't fair.” Poirot heard, however, and he flashed a quick glance toward her[63].

Tim said, “I must collect some stuff for my mother now.”

He raised his hat and moved off. Poirot and Rosalie went slowly in the direction of the hotel, waving aside new offers of donkeys[64]. “So it is not fair, Mademoiselle?” asked Poirot gently.

Rosalie Otterbourne shrugged her shoulders[65].

“It really seems a little too much for one person. Money, good looks, marvellous figure and – ”

She paused and Poirot said:

“And love? Eh? And love? But you do not know – she may have been married for her money!”

“Didn't you see the way he looked at her?”

“Oh, yes, Mademoiselle. I saw all there was to see – indeed I saw something that you did not.”

“What was that?”

Poirot said slowly: “I saw, Mademoiselle, dark lines below a woman's eyes. I saw a hand that clutched a sunshade so tight that the knuckles were white.”

Rosalie was staring at him.

“What do you mean?”

“I mean that all is not the gold that glitters[66]. I mean that, though this lady is rich and beautiful and beloved, there is all the same something that is not right. And I know something else.”

“Yes?”

“I know,” said Poirot, frowning, “that somewhere, at some time, I have heard that voice before – the voice of Monsieur Doyle – and I wish I could remember where.”

But Rosalie was not listening. She had stopped dead.[67] Suddenly she broke out fiercely:

“I'm awful. I'm just a beast through and through.[68] I'd like to tear the clothes off her back and stamp on her lovely, arrogant, self-confident face. I'm just a jealous cat – but that's what I feel like. She's so horribly successful and assured.”

Hercule Poirot looked a little astonished by the outburst. He took her by the arm and gave her a friendly little shake.

“You will feel better for having said that!”[69]

“I just hate her! I've never hated anyone so much at first sight.”

“Magnificent!”

Rosalie looked at him doubtfully. Then her mouth twitched and she laughed.

Poirot laughed too. They went amicably back to the hotel.

“I must find Mother,” said Rosalie, as they came into the cool, dim hall.

Some people were playing tennis in the hot sun. Poirot paused to watch them for a while, then went on down the steep path. It was there, sitting on a bench overlooking the Nile, that he came upon the girl of Chez Ma Tante. He recognized her at once. Her face, as he had seen it that night, was upon his memory. The expression on it now was very different. She was paler, thinner, and there were lines that told of a great weariness. He drew back a little. She had not seen him, and he watched her for a while without her suspecting his presence. Her small foot tapped impatiently on the ground. Her eyes had a strange kind of dark triumph in them. She was looking out across the Nile where the white sail-boats glided up and down the river.

A face – and a voice. He remembered them both. This girl's face and the voice he had heard just now, the voice of a newly made bridegroom…

And even as he stood there watching the girl, the next scene in the drama was played.

Voices sounded above. The girl on the seat stood up. Linnet Doyle and her husband came down the path. Linnet's voice was happy and confident. The look of strain had quite disappeared. Linnet was happy.

The girl who was standing there took a step or two forward. The other two stopped dead.

“Hullo, Linnet,” said Jacqueline de Bellefort. “So here you are! We never seem to stop running into each other.[70] Hullo, Simon, how are you?”

Linnet Doyle had shrunk back against the rock with a little cry.[71] Simon Doyle's good-looking face was suddenly convulsed with rage. He moved forward as though he would have liked to strike the slim girlish figure.

Then Simon turned his head and noticed Poirot. He said awkwardly, “Hullo, Jacqueline; we didn't expect to see you here.”

The girl flashed white teeth at them.[72]

“Quite a surprise?” she asked. Then, with a little nod, she walked up the path. Poirot moved delicately in the opposite direction. As he went he heard Linnet Doyle say:

“Simon – for God's sake! Simon – what can we do?”

Chapter 2

Dinner was over. The terrace outside the Cataract Hotel was softly lit. Most of the guests staying at the hotel were there sitting at little tables.

Simon and Linnet Doyle came out, a tall, distinguished looking grey-haired man, with a keen, clean-shaven American face, beside them.

As the little group hesitated for a moment in the doorway, Tim Allerton rose from his chair near by and came forward.

“You don't remember me, I'm sure,” he said pleasantly to Linnet, “but I'm Joanna Southwood's cousin.”

“Of course – how stupid of me! You're Tim Allerton. This is my husband and this is my American trustee, Mr Pennington.”

Tim said, “You must meet my mother.”

A few minutes later they were sitting together in a party – Linnet in the corner, Tim and Pennington each side of her, both talking to her. Mrs Allerton talked to Simon Doyle.

The swing doors revolved. A small man came out and walked across the terrace.

Mrs Allerton said: “You're not the only celebrity here, my dear. That funny little man is Hercule Poirot.”

She had spoken lightly, just to bridge an awkward pause[73], but Linnet seemed struck by the information.

“Hercule Poirot? Of course – I've heard of him.”

Poirot had strolled across to the edge of the terrace when he heard Mrs Otterbourne say,

“Sit down, Monsieur Poirot. What a lovely night.”

He obeyed.

“Mais oui,[74] Madame, it is indeed beautiful.”

He smiled politely at her. Mrs Otterbourne went on in her high complaining voice: “Quite a lot of notabilities here now, aren't there? I expect we shall see a paragraph about it in the papers soon. Society beauties, famous novelists – ” She paused with a slight laugh.

Poirot saw the sulky frowning girl opposite him flinch.

“You have a novel on the way at present, Madame?” he inquired.

Mrs Otterbourne gave her little self-conscious laugh again.

“I'm being dreadfully lazy. I really must set to.[75] My public is getting terribly impatient – and my publisher, poor man! Appeals by every post! Even cables![76]” Again he felt the girl shift in the darkness.

“I don't mind telling you, Monsieur Poirot[77], I am partly here for local colour. Snow on the Desert's Face – that is the title of my new book. Snow – on the desert – melted in the first flaming breath of passion.” Rosalie, her daughter, got up, muttering something, and moved away down into the dark garden.

“One must be strong,” went on Mrs Otterbourne. “I speak the truth. Sex – ah! Monsieur Poirot – why is everyone so afraid of sex? The pivot of the universe! You have read my books?”

“Alas, Madame! You see, I do not read many novels. My work – ”

Mrs Otterbourne said firmly: “I must give you a copy of Under the Fig Tree. I think you will find it significant. It is outspoken – but it is real!”

“That is most kind of you, Madame. I will read it with pleasure.”

Mrs Otterbourne was silent a minute or two. She looked swiftly from side to side. “Perhaps – I'll just slip up and get it for you now.”[78]

“Oh, Madame, pray do not trouble yourself 1. Later – ”

“No, no. It's no trouble.” She rose. “I'd like to show you – ”

“What is it, Mother?”

Rosalie was suddenly at her side.

“Nothing, dear. I was just going up to get a book for Monsieur Poirot.”

“The Fig Tree? I'll get it.”

“You don't know where it is, dear. I'll go.”

“Yes, I do.”

The girl went swiftly across the terrace and into the hotel.

“Let me congratulate you, Madame, on a very lovely daughter,” said Poirot, with a bow.

“Rosalie? Yes, yes – she is good-looking. But she's very hard, Monsieur Poirot. She always thinks she knows best. She imagines she knows more about my health than I do myself – ”

Poirot signalled to a passing waiter.

Mrs Otterbourne shook her head vigorously.

“No, no. I am practically a tee-totaller. You may have noticed I never drink anything but water – or perhaps lemonade. I cannot bear the taste of spirits.”

“Then may I order you a lemon squash, Madame?”

He gave the order – one lemon squash and one Benedictine[79][80].

The swing door revolved. Rosalie passed through and came toward them, a book in her hand.

“Here you are,” she said. Her voice was quite expressionless.

“Monsieur Poirot has just ordered me a lemon squash,” said her mother.

“And you, Mademoiselle, what will you take?”

“Nothing.” She added, suddenly conscious of the curtness, “Nothing, thank you.”

Poirot took the volume which Mrs Otterbourne held out to him. It still bore its original jacket, representing a lady with scarlet fingernails, sitting on a tiger skin, in the traditional costume of Eve. Above her was a tree with the leaves of an oak, bearing large and improbably coloured apples.

It was entitled Under the Fig Tree, by Salome Otterbourne. On the inside was a publisher's blurb. It spoke enthusiastically of the superb courage and realism of this study of a modern woman's love life.

Poirot bowed and murmured, “I am honoured, Madame[81].”

As he raised his head, his eyes met those of the authoress's daughter. He was astonished at the pain in them.

It was at that moment that the drinks arrived. Poirot lifted his glass gallantly.

“A votre sante[82], Madame – Mademoiselle.”

Mrs Otterbourne, sipping her lemonade, murmured, “So refreshing – delicious!”

Silence fell on the three of them.[83] They looked down to the black rocks in the Nile. There was something fantastic about them in the moonlight. They were like prehistoric monsters lying half out of the water. There was a feeling in the air of hush – of expectancy.[84]

Hercule Poirot looked around the terrace and its occupants. Was he wrong, or was there the same hush of expectancy there? It was like a moment on the stage when one is waiting for the entrance of the leading lady. And just at that moment the swing doors began to revolve once more. Everyone had stopped talking and was looking toward them.

A dark slender girl in a wine coloured evening dress came through. She paused for a minute, then walked deliberately across the terrace and sat down at an empty table.

“Well,” said Mrs Otterbourne. She tossed her turbaned head. “She seems to think she is somebody, that girl!”

Poirot did not answer. He was watching. The girl had sat down in a place where she could look deliberately across at Linnet Doyle. Presently, Poirot noticed, Linnet Doyle leant forward and said something and a moment later got up and changed her seat. She was now sitting facing in the opposite direction.

Poirot nodded thoughtfully to himself.

It was about five minutes later that the other girl changed her seat to the opposite side of the terrace. She sat smoking and smiling quietly. But always, as though unconsciously, her meditative gaze was on Simon Doyle's wife.

After a quarter of an hour Linnet Doyle got up abruptly and went into the hotel. Her husband followed her almost immediately.

Jacqueline de Bellefort smiled and turned her chair round. She lit a cigarette and stared out over the Nile. She went on smiling to herself.

Chapter 3

“Monsieur Poirot.”

Poirot got hastily to his feet. He had remained sitting out on the terrace alone after everyone else had left. Lost in meditation, he startled when he heard his name. It was an assured, charming voice, although perhaps a little arrogant.

Hercule Poirot, rising quickly, looked into the eyes of Linnet Doyle. She wore a wrap of purple velvet over her white satin gown and she looked more lovely and more regal than Poirot had imagined possible.

“You are Monsieur Hercule Poirot?” said Linnet.

It was hardly a question.

“At your service, Madame.”

“You know who I am, perhaps?”

“Yes, Madame. I have heard your name. I know exactly who you are.” Linnet nodded. That was only what she had expected. She went on, in her charming manner: “Will you come with me into the card room, Monsieur Poirot? I am very anxious to speak to you.”

“Certainly, Madame.”

She led the way into the hotel. He followed. She led him into the card room and asked him to close the door. Then she sank down on a chair at one of the tables and he sat down opposite her. She went straight to the point.[85]

“I have heard a great deal about you[86], Monsieur Poirot, and I know that you are a very clever man. I am in need of someone to help me – and I think that you are the man who could do it.”

Poirot inclined his head.

“You are very amiable, Madame, but you see, I am on holiday, and when I am on holiday I do not take cases.”

“That could be arranged.”[87]

It was said with the quiet confidence of a young woman who had always been able to arrange matters to her satisfaction.

Linnet Doyle went on: “I am the subject, Monsieur Poirot, of an intolerable persecution. That persecution has got to stop! My own idea was to go to the police about it, but my – my husband seems to think that the police would be powerless to do anything.”

“Perhaps – if you would explain a little further?”[88] murmured Poirot politely.

“Oh, yes, I will do so. The matter is perfectly simple.”

There was still no hesitation. Linnet Doyle had a clear-cut businesslike mind. She only paused a minute to present the facts as clear as possible.

“Before I met my husband, he was engaged to a Miss de Bellefort[89]. She was also a friend of mine. My husband broke off his engagement to her – they were not suited in any way[90]. She, I am sorry to say, took it rather hard. I – am very sorry about that – but these things cannot be helped. She made certain – well, threats – to which I paid very little attention, and which, I may say, she has not attempted to carry out. But instead she has taken the extraordinary course of following us about wherever we go.” Poirot raised his eyebrows.

“Ah – rather an unusual – er – revenge.”

“Very unusual – and very ridiculous! But also – annoying.” She bit her lip.

Poirot nodded.

“Yes, I can imagine that. You are, I understand, on your honey-moon?”

“Yes. It happened – the first time – at Venice. I thought it just an embarrassing coincidence – that was all. Then we found her on board the boat at Brindisi[91]. We've understood that she was going on to Palestine. We left her, as we thought, on the boat. But when we got to the hotel she was there – waiting for us.”

Poirot nodded.

“And now?”

“We came up the Nile by boat. I was half expecting to find her on board. When she wasn't there I thought she had stopped being so childish. But when we got here she was here – waiting.”

Poirot eyed her for a moment. She was still perfectly quiet, but the knuckles of the hand that was gripping the table were white.

He said, “And you are afraid this state of things may continue?”

“Yes.” She paused. “Of course the whole thing is idiotic! Jacqueline is making herself ridiculous. I am surprised she hasn't got more pride – more dignity.”

Poirot made a slight gesture.

“There are times, Madame, when pride and dignity go by the board[92]! There are other – stronger emotions.”

Something in his tone didn't please Linnet. She flushed and said quickly: “Perhaps. But the crux of the matter is that this has got to be stopped.”

“And how do you propose that that should be done, Madame?” Poirot asked.

“Well – naturally – my husband and I cannot continue being persecuted. There must be some kind of legal way to stop such a thing.”

She spoke impatiently. Poirot looked at her thoughtfully as he asked:

“Has she threatened you in actual words in public? Used insulting language? Attempted any bodily harm?[93]”

“No.”

“Then, frankly, Madame, I do not see what you can do. If it is a young lady's pleasure to travel in certain places, and those places are the same where you and your husband find yourselves – what of it? The air is free to all! It is always in public that these encounters take place?”

“You mean there is nothing that I can do about it?”

Linnet sounded incredulous.

Poirot said quietly: “Nothing at all as far as I can see. Mademoiselle de Bellefort is within her rights[94].”

“But it is maddening! It is intolerable that I should have to put up with this!”

Poirot said drily, “I sympathize with you, Madame.”

Linnet was frowning.

“There must be some way of stopping it,” she murmured.

Poirot shrugged his shoulders.

“You can always leave – move on somewhere else,” he suggested.

“ Then she will follow!”

“Very possibly – yes.”

“It's absurd!”

“Precisely.”

“Anyway, why should I – we – run away? As though – as though – ” She stopped.

“Exactly, Madame. As though! It is all there, is it not?[95]”

Linnet lifted her head and stared at him.

“What do you mean?”

Poirot altered his tone. He leant forward; his voice was confidential, appealing. He said very gently, “Why do you mind so much, Madame?”

“Why? But it's maddening! Irritating to the last degree! I've told you why!”

Poirot shook his head.

“Not altogether.”

“What do you mean?” Linnet asked again.

Poirot leant back and folded his arms.

“Ecoutez[96], Madame. I will tell you a little history. One day, a month or two ago, I am dining in a restaurant in London. At the table next to me are two people, a man and a girl. They are very happy, very much in love. They talk with confidence of the future. The man's back is to me, but I can watch the girl's face. It is very intense. She is in love – heart, soul and body – and she is not of those who love lightly and often. With her it is clearly the life and the death. They are engaged to be married, and they talk of where they shall pass the days of their honeymoon. They plan to go to Egypt.”

He paused. Linnet said sharply “Well?”

Poirot went on: “That is a month or two ago, but the girl's face – I do not forget it. I know that I shall remember if I see it again. And I remember too the man's voice. And you can guess, Madame, when I see the one and hear the other again. It is here in Egypt. The man is on his honeymoon, yes – but he is on his honeymoon with another woman.”

Linnet said sharply: “What of it? I had already mentioned the facts.”

“The facts – yes.”

“Well then?”[97]

Poirot said slowly: “The girl in the restaurant mentioned a friend – a friend who, she was very positive, would not let her down. That friend, I think, was you, Madame.”

Linnet flushed.

“Yes. I told you we had been friends.”

“And she trusted you?”

“Yes.”

She hesitated for a moment, biting her lip impatiently; then she broke out:

“Of course the whole thing was very unfortunate. But these things happen, Monsieur Poirot.”

“Ah! Yes, they happen, Madame.” He paused. “You are of the Church of England[98] I think?”

“Yes.” Linnet looked slightly bewildered.

“Then you have heard the Bible read aloud in church. You have heard of King David and of the rich man who had many flocks and herds and the poor man who had one ewe lamb[99] – and of how the rich man took the poor man's one ewe lamb. That was something that happened, Madame.”

Linnet sat up. Her eyes flashed angrily.

“I see perfectly what you are driving at[100], Monsieur Poirot! You think that I stole my friend's young man. Looking at the matter sentimentally that is possibly true. But the real hard truth is different. I don't deny that Jackie was passionately in love with Simon, but I don't think you take into account[101] that he may not have been equally devoted to her. He was very fond of her, but I think that even before he met me he was beginning to feel that he had made a mistake. Look at it clearly, Monsieur Poirot. Simon discovers that it is I he loves, not Jackie. What should he do? Be heroically noble and marry a woman he does not care for and thereby probably ruin three lives? If he were actually married to her when he met me I agree that it might be his duty to stick to her. If one person is unhappy the other suffers too. But an engagement is not really binding. If a mistake has been made, then surely it is better to face the fact before it is too late. I admit that it was very hard on Jackie, and I'm terribly sorry about it – but there it is. It was inevitable.”

“I wonder.”[102]

She stared at him.

“What do you mean?”

“It is very sensible, very logical – all that you say! But it does not explain one thing.”

“What is that?”

“Your own attitude, Madame. You say this persecution is intolerable – and why? It can be for one reason only – that you feel a sense of guilt.”

Linnet sprang to her feet.[103]

“How dare you? Really, Monsieur Poirot, this is going too far.”[104]

“But I do dare, Madame! I am going to speak to you quite frankly. I suggest that you felt strongly attracted to him at once. But I suggest that there was a moment when you hesitated, when you realized that there was a choice – that you could stop or go on. I suggest that the initiative rested with you – not with Monsieur Doyle. You are beautiful, Madame; you are rich; you are clever, intelligent – and you have charm. You had everything, Madame, that life can offer. Your friend's life was tied to one person. You knew that, but, though you hesitated, you did not hold your hand[105]. And like the rich man in the Bible, you took the poor man's one ewe lamb.”

There was a silence. Linnet controlled herself with an effort and said in a cold voice, “All this is quite beside the point!”[106]

“No, it is not beside the point. I am explaining to you just why the unexpected appearances of Mademoiselle de Bellefort have upset you so much. It is because you feel that she has right on her side.”

“That's not true!”

Poirot shrugged his shoulders.

“You refuse to be honest with yourself.”

“Not at all.”

Poirot said gently, “I should say, Madame, that you have had a happy life, that you have been generous and kindly in your attitude toward others.”

“I have tried to be,” said Linnet. The anger left her.

“And that is why the feeling that you have deliberately injured someone upsets you so much. Pardon me if I have been impertinent, but the psychology is the most important fact in a case.”

Linnet said slowly: “Even supposing what you say were true, what can be done about it now? One can't alter the past; one must deal with things as they are.”

Poirot nodded.

“You have the clear brain. Yes, one cannot go back over the past. One must accept things as they are and accept the consequences of one's past deeds.”

“You mean,” asked Linnet incredulously, “that I can do nothing – nothing?”

“You must have courage, Madame; that is what it seems like to me.”

Linnet said slowly:

“Couldn't you – talk to Jackie – to Miss de Bellefort? Reason with her?”

“Yes, I could do that. I will do that if you would like me to do so. But do not expect much result. And by the way, what is your husband's attitude in this?”

“He's furious – simply furious.”

Poirot nodded thoughtfully.

Linnet said appealingly, “You will – talk to her?”

“Yes, I will do that. But it is my opinion that I shall not be able to achieve anything.”

Linnet said violently: “Jackie is extraordinary! One can't tell what she will do!”

“You spoke just now of certain threats she had made. Would you tell me what those threats were?”

Linnet shrugged her shoulders.

“She threatened to – well – kill us both. Jackie can be rather – dangerous sometimes.”

“I see.”

Poirot's tone was grave.

Linnet turned to him appealingly.

“You will act for me?”[107]

“No, Madame.” His tone was firm. “I will do what I can in the interests of humanity. That, yes. The situation is full of difficulty and danger. I will do what I can to clear it up – but I am not very sure as to my chance of success.”

Chapter 4

Hercule Poirot found Jacqueline de Bellefort sitting on the rocks directly overlooking the Nile. She did not turn her head or look round at the sound of his approach.

“Mademoiselle de Bellefort?” asked Poirot. “You permit that I speak to you for a little moment?”

Jacqueline turned her head slightly. A faint smile played round her lips.[108]

“Certainly,” she said. “You are Monsieur Hercule Poirot, I think? Shall I make a guess? You are acting for Mrs Doyle, who has promised you a large fee if you succeed in your mission.”

Poirot sat down on the bench near her.

“You're partially right,” he said, smiling. “I have just come from Madame Doyle, but I am not getting any fee from her and I am not acting for her.”

“Oh!”

Jacqueline studied him attentively.

“Then why have you come?” she asked abruptly.

Hercule Poirot's reply was in the form of another question.

“Have you ever seen me before, Mademoiselle?”

She shook her head.

“No, I do not think so.”

“Yet I have seen you. I sat next to you once at Chez Ma Tante. You were there with Monsieur Simon Doyle.”

A strange mask-like expression came over the girl's face. She said, “I remember that evening.”

“Since then,” said Poirot, “many things have occurred.”

“As you say, many things have occurred.”

“Mademoiselle, I speak as a friend. Bury your dead![109]”

She looked startled.

“What do you mean?”

“Give up the past! Turn to the future! What is done is done. Bitterness will not undo it.”

“I'm sure that that would suit dear Linnet admirably.”

Poirot made a gesture.

“I am not thinking of her at this moment! I am thinking of you. You have suffered – yes – but what you are doing now will only prolong that suffering.”

She shook her head.

“You're wrong. There are times when I almost enjoy myself.”

“And that, Mademoiselle, is the worst of all.”

She looked up swiftly.

“Go home, Mademoiselle. You are young; you have brains; the world is before you.”

Jacqueline shook her head slowly.

“You don't understand – or you won't. Simon is my world.”

“Love is not everything, Mademoiselle,” Poirot said gently. “It is only when we are young that we think it is.”

But the girl still shook her head.

“You don't understand.” She shot him a quick look. “You know all about it, of course? You've talked to Linnet? And you were in the restaurant that night. Simon and I loved each other.”

“I know that you loved him.”

“We loved each other. And I loved Linnet. I trusted her. She was my best friend. All her life Linnet has been able to buy everything she wanted. When she saw Simon she wanted him – and she just took him.”

“And he allowed himself to be – bought?”

Jacqueline shook her dark head slowly.

“No, it's not quite like that. If it were, I shouldn't be here now. You're suggesting that Simon isn't worth caring for.! But he didn't marry her for her money. It's more complicated than that. There's such a thing as glamour, Monsieur Poirot. And money helps that. Linnet had an 'atmosphere,' you see. She was the queen of a kingdom. She had the world at her feet, the richest men in England wanting to marry her. And she stoops instead to some Simon Doyle. Of course, it went to his head.”

She paused and then went on: “Simon was weak, perhaps; but then he's a very simple person. He would have loved me and me only if Linnet hadn't come along and snatched him. And I know perfectly that he wouldn't ever have fallen in love with her if she hadn't made him.”

“That is what you think – yes.”

“I know it. He loved me – he will always love me.”

Poirot said, “Even now?”

A quick answer seemed to rise to her lips but she looked away and her head dropped down. She said in a low voice:

“Yes, I know. He hates me now. Yes, hates me. He'd better be careful![110]”

With a quick gesture she took a little silk bag that lay on the seat. Then she held out her hand. On the palm of it was a small pearl-handled pistol looking like a dainty toy[111].

“Nice little thing, isn't it?” she said. “One of those bullets would kill a man or a woman. And I'm a good shot.” She smiled a faraway smile. “My grandfather taught me to shoot. He believed in shooting – especially where honour was concerned[112]. So you see, Monsieur Poirot – ” she met his eyes squarely[113] – “I've hot blood in me! I bought this when it first happened. I meant to kill one or other of them – the trouble was I couldn't decide which. And then I thought I'd – wait! That appealed to me more and more. After all, I could do it any time; it would be more fun to wait and – think about it! And then this idea came to my mind – to follow them! Whenever they arrived at some faraway spot and were together and happy, they should see me! And it worked! It got right under Linnet's skin.[114] That was when I began to enjoy myself. And there's nothing she can do about it! I'm always perfectly pleasant and polite! It's poisoning everything – everything – for them.”

Her laugh rang out, clear and silvery.

Poirot grasped her arm.

“Be quiet. Quiet, I tell you.” Jacqueline looked at him.

“Well?” she asked. Her smile was definitely challenging.

“Mademoiselle, I ask you, do not do what you are doing.” “Leave dear Linnet alone, you mean?”

“It is deeper than that. Do not open your heart to evil.”

Her lips fell apart; a look of bewilderment came into her eyes.

Poirot went on gravely: “Because – if you do – evil will come. It will enter in and make its home within you, and after a little while it will be impossible to drive it out.”

Jacqueline stared at him. Her glance seemed to waver. She said, “I – don't know – ” Then she cried out defiantly, “You can't stop me.”

“No,” said Hercule Poirot. “I cannot stop you.”

His voice was sad.

“Even if I were to – kill her, you couldn't stop me.”

“No – not if you were willing to pay the price.”

Jacqueline de Bellefort laughed.

“Oh, I'm not afraid of death! What have I got to live for, after all? I suppose you believe it's very wrong to kill a person who has injured you – even if they've taken away everything you had in the world?”

Poirot said steadily: “Yes, Mademoiselle. I believe it is the unforgivable offence – to kill.”

Jacqueline laughed again.

“Then you should approve of my present scheme of revenge; because, you see, as long as it works, I shan't use that pistol. But sometimes I want to hurt her – to stick a knife into her, to put my pistol close against her head and then – just press with my finger – Oh!” The exclamation startled him.

“What is it, Mademoiselle?”

She had turned her head and was staring into the shadows.

“Someone – standing over there. He's gone now.”

Hercule Poirot looked round sharply. The place seemed quite deserted.

“There seems no one here but ourselves, Mademoiselle.” He got up. “In any case I have said all I came to say. I wish you good-night.”

Jacqueline got up too. She said almost pleadingly, “You do understand – that I can't do what you ask me to do?”

Poirot shook his head.

She stood brooding for a moment; then she lifted her head defiantly.

“Good-night, Monsieur Poirot.”

He shook his head sadly and followed her up the path to the hotel.

Chapter 5

On the following morning Simon Doyle joined Hercule Poirot leaving the hotel to walk to the town.

The two men walked side by side, passed the gateway and turned into the cool shade of the gardens. Then Simon removed his pipe from his mouth and said, “I understand, Monsieur Poirot, that my wife had a talk with you last night?”

“That is so.”

Simon Doyle was frowning a little.

“I'm glad of one thing,” he said. “You've made her realize that we're more or less powerless in the matter.”

Poirot agreed. There was a pause. Then Simon said suddenly, his face going very red as he spoke: “It's – it's infamous that she should be victimized like this! She's done nothing! If anyone likes to say I behaved like a cad, they're welcome to say so! I suppose I did. But Linnet had nothing to do with it.”

Poirot bowed his head gravely but said nothing.

“Have you – talked to Jackie – Miss de Bellefort?”

“Yes, I have spoken with her.”

“Did you get her to see sense?”

“I'm afraid not.”

Simon broke out irritably: “Can't she see what an ass she's making of herself? Doesn't she realize that no decent woman would behave as she is doing? Hasn't she got any pride or selfrespect?”

Poirot shrugged his shoulders.

“She has only a sense of – injury, shall we say?” he replied.

“Yes, but damn it all[115], decent girls don't behave like this! I admit I was entirely to blame. I treated her damned badly and all that. I should quite understand her being thoroughly fed up with me and never wishing to see me again. But this following me round – it's – it's indecent! Making a show of herself![116] What the devil does she hope to get out of it?[117]”

“Perhaps – revenge!”

“Idiotic! I'd really understand better if she'd tried to do something melodramatic – like taking a shot at me.”

“You think that would be more like her – yes?”

“Frankly I do. She's hot-blooded. I shouldn't be surprised at her doing anything like that. But this spying business – ” He shook his head.

“It is more subtle – yes! It is intelligent!”

Doyle stared at him.

“You don't understand. It's playing hell with Linnet's nerves.”

“And yours?”

Simon looked at him with surprise.

“Me? I'd like to wring the little devil's neck.[118]”

“There is nothing, then, of the old feeling left?”

“My dear Monsieur Poirot – how can I put it? When once I'd met Linnet – Jackie didn't exist.”

Again flushing, Simon said: “I suppose Jackie told you that I'd only married Linnet for her money? Well, that's a damned lie! I wouldn't marry any woman for money! What Jackie doesn't understand is that it's difficult for a fellow when – when – a woman cares for him as she cared for me.”

Poirot looked up sharply.

Simon went on, “It – it – sounds a caddish thing to say, but Jackie was too fond of me! You see, a man doesn't want to feel that a woman cares more for him than he does for her. He doesn't want to feel owned body and soul. This man is mine – he belongs to me! That's the sort of thing I can't stick[119] – no man could stick! He wants to own his woman; he doesn't want her to own him.”

He broke off, and with fingers that trembled slightly he lit a cigarette.

Poirot said, “And it is like that that you felt with Mademoiselle Jacqueline?”

“Eh?” Simon stared and then admitted: “Er – yes – well, yes, as a matter of fact I did. And it's not the sort of thing I could ever tell her. But I was feeling restless – and then I met Linnet, and she just swept me off my feet![120] I'd never seen anything so lovely. It was all so amazing. Everyone kowtowing to her – and then her singling out a poor chump like me.[121]” His tone held boyish awe and astonishment.

“I see,” said Poirot. He nodded thoughtfully. “Yes – I see.”

“The fault's all mine, I admit. But there it is! If you no longer care for a girl, it's simply madness to marry her. And, now that I see what Jackie's really like and the lengths she is likely to go to, I feel I've had rather a lucky escape.[122]”

“The lengths she is likely to go to,” Poirot repeated thoughtfully. “Have you an idea, Monsieur Doyle, what those lengths are?”

Simon frowned, then shook his head.

“What do you mean?”

“You know she carries a pistol about with her.”

Simon looked at him, rather startled.

“I don't believe she'll use that – now. She might have done so earlier. She's just spiteful now – trying to take it out of us both.[123]”

Poirot shrugged his shoulders.

“It may be so,” he said doubtfully.

“It's Linnet I'm worrying about,” declared Simon, somewhat unnecessarily.

“I quite realize that,” said Poirot.

“I'm not really afraid of Jackie doing any shooting, but this spying and following business has absolutely got Linnet on the raw[124]. I'll tell you the plan I've made. To begin with, I've announced openly that we're going to stay here ten days. But tomorrow the steamer Karnak starts from Shellal to Wadi Halfa. I propose to book passages on that under an assumed name[125]. Tomorrow we'll go on an excursion to Philae[126]. Linnet's maid can take the luggage. We'll join the Karnak at Shellal. When Jackie finds we don't come back, it will be too late – we shall be well on our way. She'll assume we have given her the slip[127] and gone back to Cairo. In fact I might even bribe the porter to say so. What do you think of my plan?”

“It is well imagined, yes. And suppose she waits here till you return?”

“We may not return. We could go on to other places. She can't follow us all over the globe. She just can't afford it.”

“I think it may work, yes. But remember, Mademoiselle de Bellefort has brains.” Then Poirot added: “I, too, shall be on the Karnak. It is part of my itinerary.”

“Oh!” Simon hesitated, then said, choosing his words with some embarrassment: “That isn't – isn't – er – on our account in any way?[128]”

Poirot convinced him quickly.

“Not at all. It was all arranged before I left London. I always make my plans well in advance[129]. To succeed in life every detail should be arranged well beforehand.”

Simon laughed and said, “That is how the more skilful murderer behaves, I suppose.”

“Yes – though I must admit that the most brilliant crime I remember and one of the most difficult to solve was committed on the spur of the moment[130].”

Simon said boyishly, “You must tell us something about your cases on board the Karnak.”

“No, no; that would be to talk the shop[131]. By the way, the third member of your party, the tall grey-haired man —”

“Pennington?”

“Yes. He is travelling with you?”

Simon said grimly: “Not very usual on a honeymoon, you were thinking? Pennington is Linnet's American trustee. We ran across him by chance in Cairo.”

“Ah vraiment[132]! You permit a question? She is of age, Madame your wife?[133]” Simon looked amused.

“She isn't actually twenty-one yet – but she hadn't got to ask anyone's consent before marrying me. It was the greatest surprise to Pennington. He left New York on the Carmanic[134] two days before Linnet's letter got there telling him of our marriage, so he knew nothing about it.”

“The Carmanic —” murmured Poirot.

“It was the greatest surprise to him when we ran into him at Shepheard's[135] in Cairo.”

“That was indeed the coincidence!”

“Yes, and we found that he was coming on this Nile trip. Besides that, it's been – well, a relief in some ways.” He looked embarrassed again. “You see, Linnet's been all strung up[136] – expecting Jackie to turn up anywhere and everywhere. Andrew Pennington's a help that way; we have to talk of outside matters.”

“Your wife has not told Mr Pennington?”

“No.” Simon looked aggressive. “It's nothing to do with anyone else. Besides, when we started on this Nile trip we thought we'd seen the end of the business.[137]”

Poirot shook his head.

“You have not seen the end of it yet. No – the end is not yet at hand.[138] I am very sure of that.”

“I say, Monsieur Poirot, you're not very encouraging.”

Poirot looked at him with a slight feeling of irritation.

Linnet Doyle – Jacqueline de Bellefort – both of them took the business seriously enough. But in Simon's attitude he could find nothing but male impatience and annoyance. He said: “You will permit me an impertinent question? Was it your idea to come to Egypt for your honeymoon?”

Simon flushed.

“No, of course not. As a matter of fact I'd rather have gone anywhere else, but Linnet was absolutely set upon it.”

Poirot thought to himself: “I have now heard three separate accounts of the affair – Linnet Doyle's, Jacqueline de Bellefort's, Simon Doyle's. Which of them is nearest to the truth?”

Chapter 6

Simon and Linnet Doyle set off on their expedition to Philae about eleven o'clock the following morning. Jacqueline de Bellefort, sitting on the hotel balcony, watched them set off in the picturesque sailing boat. What she did not see was the departure of a car with luggage, and in which sat a maid from the hotel. It turned to the right in the direction of Shellal. Hercule Poirot decided to pass the remaining two hours before lunch on the island of Elephantine, immediately opposite the hotel.

He went down to the landing stage[139]. There was a young man just stepping into one of the hotel boats, and Poirot joined him. The young man had arrived by train the day before. He was tall, dark-haired, with a thin face and a pugnacious chin. He was wearing an extremely dirty pair of grey flannel trousers and a high-necked polo jumper unsuited to the climate. The young man deliberately turned his back on Poirot[140] and proceeded to admire the Nubian boatman steering the boat with his toes[141] as he manipulated the sail with his hands.

It was very peaceful on the water, the great smooth slippery black rocks gliding by and the soft breeze fanning their faces. Elephantine was reached very quickly and on going ashore Poirot made straight for the Museum[142]. The young man in the flannel trousers strolled listlessly round the Museum, yawning from time to time, and then escaped to the outer air.

Presently Poirot, seeing a green sunshade which he recognized on the rocks down by the river, escaped in that direction.

Mrs Allerton was sitting on a large rock, a book on her lap[143].

Poirot removed his hat politely and Mrs Allerton at once entered into conversation.

“Good-morning,” she said. “I suppose it would be quite impossible to get rid of some of these awful children.”

A group of small black figures surrounded her, all grinning and holding out imploring hands[144] as they repeated “Bakshish” at intervals, hopefully.

“I thought they'd get tired of me,” said Mrs Allerton sadly. “They've been watching me for over two hours now – and they come closer to me little by little, and then I yell and brandish my sunshade at them and they scatter for a minute or two[145]. And then they come back again.”

She laughed ruefully.

“If there were only any peace in Egypt, I should like it better,” said Mrs Allerton. “But you can never be alone anywhere. Someone is always asking you for money, or offering you donkeys, or beads, or expeditions to native villages.”

“It is the great disadvantage, that is true,” agreed Poirot.

He spread his handkerchief on the rock and sat upon it.

“Your son is not with you this morning?” he went on.

“No, Tim had some letters to send before we leave. We're doing the trip to the Second Cataract, you know.”

“I, too.”

“I'm so glad. I want to tell you that I'm quite thrilled to meet you. I saw you from my window walking down the drive with Simon Doyle this morning. Do tell me what you make of him?[146] We're all so excited about him.”

“Ah? Truly?”

“Yes. You know his marriage to Linnet Ridgeway was the greatest surprise. She was supposed to be going to marry Lord Windlesham and then suddenly she gets engaged to this man no one had ever heard of!”

“You know her well, Madame?”

“No, but a cousin of mine, Joanna Southwood, is one of her best friends.”

“Ah, yes, I have read that name in the papers.” He was silent a moment and then went on, “She is a young lady very much in the news, Mademoiselle Joanna Southwood.”

“Oh, she knows how to advertise herself all right,” snapped Mrs Allerton.

“You do not like her, Madame?”

“You see I'm old-fashioned. I don't like her much. Tim and she are the greatest friends, though.”

“I see,” said Poirot.

His companion shot a quick look at him.[147] She changed the subject.

“How very few young people there are out here! That pretty girl with the chestnut hair and the appalling mother in the turban is almost the only young creature in the place. You have talked to her a good deal, I notice.

“Tim and I call her the 'sulky girl.' I've tried to talk to her once or twice, but she's snubbed me on each occasion. However I believe she's going on this Nile trip too, and I expect we'll have to be more or less all matey together, shan't we?

“Tim tells me that that dark girl – her name is de Bellefort – is the girl who was engaged to Simon Doyle. It's rather awkward for them – meeting like this.”

“It is awkward – yes,” agreed Poirot.

Mrs Allerton shot a quick glance at him.

“ You know, it may sound foolish, but she almost frightened me.”

Poirot nodded his head slowly.

“A great force of emotion is always frightening, Madame.”

“Do people interest you too, Monsieur Poirot? Or do you reserve your interest for potential criminals?”

“Madame – that category would not leave many people outside it.”

Mrs Allerton looked startled.

“Do you really mean that? Even I perhaps?”

“Mothers, Madame, are particularly ruthless when their children are in danger.”

She said gravely, “I think that's true – yes, you're quite right.”

She was silent a minute or two, then she said, smiling: “I'm trying to imagine motives for crime suitable for everyone in the hotel. It's quite entertaining. Simon Doyle for instance?”

Poirot said, smiling: “A very simple crime – a direct shortcut to his objective.”

“And Linnet?”

“That would be like the Queen in your Alice in Wonderland, 'Off with her head.'”[148]

“And the dangerous girl – Jacqueline de Bellefort – could she do a murder?”

Poirot hesitated for a minute or two, then he said doubtfully, “Yes, I think she could.”

“But you're not sure?”

“No. She puzzles me, that little one.”

“I don't think Mr Pennington could do one, do you? And poor Mrs Otterbourne in her turban?”

“There is always vanity.”

“As a motive for murder?” Mrs Allerton asked doubtfully.

“Motives for murder are sometimes very trivial, Madame.”

“What are the most usual motives, Monsieur Poirot?”

“Most frequent – money. Then there is revenge.”

“Monsieur Poirot!”

Then she took a lighter tone.

“After this conversation, Monsieur Poirot, I shall wonder that there is anyone left alive!”

She got up.

“We must be getting back. We have to start immediately after lunch.”

When they reached the landing stage they found the young man in the polo jumper just taking his place in the boat. Poirot addressed a polite remark to the stranger.[149]

“There are very wonderful things to be seen in Egypt, are there not?”

The young man was now smoking a pipe. He removed it from his mouth and remarked briefly, in astonishingly good accents, “They make me sick[150].”

Mrs Allerton put on her pincenez and looked at him with interest.

“Indeed? And why is that?” Poirot asked.

“Take the Pyramids. Great blocks of useless masonry, put up to keep a despotic king. Think of the people who worked hard to build them and died doing it. It makes me sick to think of the suffering and torture they represent.”

Mrs Allerton said cheerfully, “You'd rather have no Pyramids, no Parthenon[151], no beautiful temples – just the satisfaction of knowing that people got three meals a day and died in their beds.”

The young man directed his grin in her direction.

“I'd rather see a well fed worker than any so-called work of art. What matters is the future – not the past.[152]”

The young man told everybody exactly what he thought of the capitalist system. When the tirade was over they had arrived at the hotel landing stage.

In the hall of the hotel Poirot met Jacqueline de Bellefort. She was dressed in riding clothes[153]. She gave him an ironical little bow. “I'm going donkey riding. Do you recommend the native villages, Monsieur Poirot?”

“Is that your excursion today, Mademoiselle? Well, they are picturesque – but do not spend large sums of money.”

“No, I am not so easy to deceive as that.” With a little nod she passed out into the brilliant sunshine.

After lunch the hotel bus took the passengers for the Second Cataract to the station where they were to catch the daily express[154] from Cairo on to Shellal – a ten-minute run.

The Allertons, Poirot, and the young man in the dirty flannel trousers were the passengers. Mrs Otterbourne and her daughter would join the steamer at Shellal.

The train from Cairo to Luxor was about twenty minutes late. However, it arrived at last, and the usual scenes of wild activity occurred. Native porters taking suitcases out of the train collided with other porters putting them in. The compartment in which Poirot found himself was occupied by an elderly lady with a very wrinkled face, a good many diamonds and an expression of contempt for the majority of mankind.

She gave Poirot an aristocratic glare and retired behind the pages of an American magazine. A big rather clumsy young woman of under thirty was sitting opposite her. She had eager brown eyes, untidy hair, and an air of willingness to please[155]. At intervals the old lady looked over the top of the magazine and gave her orders. In ten minutes' time they came to rest on the jetty where the S.S. Karnak[156] was awaiting them.

The Otterbournes were already on board. The passengers were shown their accommodation. Since the boat was not full, most of the passengers had accommodation on the promenade deck. The forward part of this deck was occupied by a glass-enclosed observation saloon, where the passengers could sit and watch the river before them. On the deck below were a smoking-room and a small drawing-room and on the deck below that, the dining-saloon.

Having left his things in the cabin, Poirot came out on the deck again to watch the process of departure. He joined Rosalie Otterbourne, who was leaning over the side.

“So now we journey into Nubia[157]. You are pleased, Mademoiselle?”

The girl drew a deep breath.

“Yes. I feel that one's really getting away from things at last.[158]”

She made a gesture with her hand. Here and there were houses abandoned and ruined as a result of the damming up of the waters. The whole scene had a melancholy, almost sinister charm.

“Away from people,” said Rosalie Otterbourne.

Then she suddenly stiffened as she exclaimed: “Why, here are Mrs Doyle and her husband! I'd no idea they were coming on this trip!”

Linnet had just emerged from a cabin half way down the deck. Simon was behind her. Poirot was almost startled by the look of her – so radiant, so assured. Simon Doyle, too, was a transformed being. He was grinning from ear to ear and looking like a happy schoolboy.

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Примечания

1

«У моей тётушки», название ресторана (фр.)

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2

совершеннолетие (сейчас – в 18 лет, раньше – в 21 год)

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3

Линнет пожала плечами.

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4

Сто лет о тебе ничего не слышала!

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5

Пока, дорогуша!

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6

Линнет положила трубку.

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7

Из-за своих проблем бедняжка так ожесточилась!

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8

Я просто практически подхожу к этому

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9

Она не нахлебница.

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10

Она ужасная гордячка.

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11

Джеки всегда заводится с пол-оборота по любому поводу.

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12

Однажды она пырнула человека перочинным ножом!

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13

Бедняжка.

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14

угостилась сигареткой

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15

И ты всегда знаешь, как правильно поступить.

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16

Он невнятно произнёс несколько вежливых слов

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17

я ещё сама не решила

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18

Воспользовалась милостью королевы?

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Он благородного происхождения

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ты по уши влюблена

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управляющий

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Линнет рассмеялась.

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Джеки, но ты же побудешь у меня.

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Говорят, брак очень отрезвляет людей.

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Вы расследуете серьёзные дела?

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и теперь у меня есть средства наслаждаться праздной жизнью

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Месье Блонден взмахнул руками.

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Ла-Манш, или Английский канал, – пролив между побережьем Франции и островом Великобритания

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Столик обслуживали бесшумные, расторопные официанты.

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с едва трассированным «р» (имеется в виду французское «р-р-р»)

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Я не забегаю вперёд

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Интересно.

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Один любит, а другой позволяет себя любить (фр.)

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А что, если он неотёсанный грубиян?

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Мы их сносим, а людей переселяем.

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Затем приступил к делу, задав вопрос напрямик.

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со времён Елизаветы (королева Англии и Ирландии Елизавета I (1533–1603), последняя из династии Тюдоров)

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Майорка – испанский курорт на Балеарских островах

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Расходы беру на себя.

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Небольшой переполох на бирже.

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У миссис Аллертон был сердитый вид.

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когда Линнет Риджуэй ему отказала

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Это уж слишком.

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консерватор

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Во всяком случае, я пока не посягал ни на чью жену или невесту.

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Она всегда жалуется на безденежье

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суд по делам о банкротстве

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фондовая биржа

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Я всегда начеку.

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Мне кажется, в этом деле не всё гладко.

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Название парохода

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Один из нас может успеть на него.

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То, что надо!

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Название отеля (по названию серии порогов на реке Нил, Cataracts of the Nile – достопримечательность Египта и Судана)

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я полагаю

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Элефантина – название острова с одноимённым древним (ранее III тыс. до н. э.) городом на реке Нил

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Мы же попутчики, не так ли?

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Город в Северном Судане, на правом берегу реки Нил

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Египетская разменная монета

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Он слегка запыхался

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она пробудила интерес Розали

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Мы попытаемся найти время для этого, дорогая.

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бросил быстрый взгляд в её сторону

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отмахиваясь от новых предложений покататься на ослике

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пожала плечами

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не всё золото, что блестит

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Она застыла как вкопанная.

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Я самая настоящая тварь.

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Вы высказались, и теперь вам станет легче.

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Мы всё время сталкиваемся.

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Вскрикнув, Линнет Дойл прижалась к скале.

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Девушка сверкнула в их адрес белозубой улыбкой.

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чтобы заполнить неловкую паузу

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Вы правы (фр.)

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Я действительно должна засесть за работу.

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С каждой почтой присылает напоминания! Даже шлёт телеграммы!

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Признаюсь вам, месье Пуаро

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Пожалуй, я сейчас сбегаю и принесу её вам.

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умоляю вас, не беспокойтесь

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Название ликёра

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Вы мне оказали честь, мадам

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Ваше здоровье (фр.)

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За столом воцарилась тишина.

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В воздухе всё замерло в ожидании.

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Она сразу стала говорить по существу.

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Я много о вас слышала

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Мы сможем договориться.

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Нельзя ли поподробнее?

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он был обручён с некой мисс де Бельфор

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они совершенно не подходили друг другу

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Порт в Италии

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не играют роли

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Пыталась ли нанести увечье?

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не переступает границ

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В этом-то всё и дело, не так ли?

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Послушайте (фр.)

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Тогда что ещё?

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Англиканская церковь, государственная христианская церковь в Англии

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овечка

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Я прекрасно понимаю, на что вы намекаете

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Вы принимаете во внимание

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Не ув ерен.

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Линнет вскочила с места.

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Вы слишком далеко заходите.

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это вас не остановило

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Всё это к делу не относится!

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Вы будете действовать в моих интересах?

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Лёгкая улыбка тронула её губы.

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Не ворошите прошлое!

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Но пусть он лучше побережётся!

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пистолет, похожий на изящную игрушку

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особенно, когда была задета честь

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она смотрела ему прямо в глаза

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Это пр осто бесит Линнет.

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чёрт возьми

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Делает из себя посмешище!

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Чего она, чёрт возьми, собирается этим добиться?

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Да я бы этой чертовке шею свернул.

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для меня это невыносимо

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И я просто голову потерял!

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Все преклоняются перед ней, а она выбирает бедного болвана, вроде меня.

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И теперь, когда я вижу, какова Джеки на самом деле и на что она способна, я понимаю, что ещё легко отделался.

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Она просто вымещает злость на нас обоих.

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это преследование изводит Линнет

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под чужим именем

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Остров посреди Нила

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мы ускользнули от неё

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Но это не в связи с нашими обстоятельствами?

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заблаговременно

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внезапно, без предварительной подготовки

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говорить о делах в нерабочее время

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В самом деле? (фр.)

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Ваша жена достигла совершеннолетия?

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Название парохода

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Пятизвёздочный отель в Каире

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Линнет была взвинчена

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мы думали, что с этим покончено

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Нет, конец ещё не скоро.

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пристань, причал

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Молодой человек демонстративно отвернулся от Пуаро

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принялся восхищаться нубийским лодочником, управлявшим лодкой ногами

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и сойдя на берег, Пуаро направился прямо к музею

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с книжкой на коленях

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улыбались и просительно протягивали руки

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затем я кричу и размахиваю зонтиком, и они разбегаются на пару минут

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Скажите, что вы о нём думаете?

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Компаньонка бросила на него быстрый взгляд.

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«Отрубите ей голову!», как сказала бы Королева в «Алисе в стане чудес».

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Пуаро вежливо обратился к незнакомцу.

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Меня от них тошнит

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Парфенон, греческий храм

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Важно будущее, а не прошлое.

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костюм для верховой езды

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где они должны были сесть в ежедневный поезд

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и чувствовалось желание угодить

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пароход «Карнак» (SSS – Steam Ship)

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Историческая область в долине Нила

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Чувствую, что наконец-то можно расслабиться.

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