Death On The Nile - Christie Agatha. Страница 23

"No, that is just the point. B could have had nothing to do with it."

"Then it was an accident."

"I suppose so-but I do not like such accidents." "You're quite sure B could have had no hand in it?" "Absolutely.'

"Oh well, coincidences do happen. Who is A, by the way? A particularly disagreeable person?"

"On the contrary. A is a charming, rich and beautiful young lady.'

Race grinned.

"Sounds quite like a novelette."

"Peut-tre. But I tell you, I am not happy, my friend. If I am right, and after all I am constantly in the habit of being right-"

Race smiled into his moustache at this typical utterance.

"-then there is matter for grave inquietude. And now, tou come to add yet another complication. You tell me that there is a man on the Karnak who kills." "He doesn't usually kill charming young ladies.

Poirot shook his head in a dissatisfied manner.

"I am afraid, my friend," he said. "I am afraid… To-day, I advised this lady, Mrs. Doyle, to go with her husband to Khartoum, not to return on this boat.

But they would not agree. I pray to Heaven that we may arrive at Shellal without catastrophe."

"Aren't you taking rather a gloomy view?"

Poirot shook his head.

"I am afraid," he said simply. "Yes I, Hercule Poirot, am afraid… "

Chapter 11

Cornelia Robson stood inside the temple of Abu Simbel. It was the evening of the following day-a hot still evening. The Karnak was anchored once more at Abu Simbel to permit a second visit to be made to the temple this time by artificial light. The difference this made was considerable and Cornelia commented wonderingly on the fact to Mr. Ferguson who was standing by her side.

"Why, you see it ever so much better now!" she exclaimed. "All those enemies having their heads cut off by the king-they just stand right out. That's a cute kind of castle there that I never noticed before. I wish Dr. Bessner was here, he'd tell me what it was."

"How you can stand that old fool beats me," said Ferguson gloomily.

"Why, he's just one of the kindest men I've ever met!" "Pompous old bore."

"I don't think you ought to speak that way."

The young man gripped her suddenly by the arm. They were just emerging from the temple into the moonlight.

"Why do you stick being bored by fat old men-and bullied and snubbed by a vicious old harridan?"

"Why, Mr. Ferguson!"

"Haven't you got any spirit? Don't you know you're just as good as she is?" "But I'm not!" Cornelia spoke with honest conviction.

"You're not as rich-that's all you mean."

"No, it isn't. Cousin Marie's very very cultured, and-"

"Cultured-" the young man let go of her arm as suddenly as he had taken it.

"That word makes me sick."

Cornelia looked at him in alarm.

"She doesn't like you talking to me, does she?" said the young man.

Cornelia blushed and looked embarrassed.

"Why-? Because she thinks I'm not her social equal! Pah-doesn't that make you see red?"

Cornelia faltered out:

"I wish you wouldn't get so mad about things."

"Don't you realise-and you an American-that every one is born free and equal?"

"They're not," said Cornelia with calm certainty.

"My good girl-it's part of your constitution!"

"Cousin Marie says politicians aren't gentlemen," said Cornelia. "And of course people aren't equal. It doesn't make sense. I know I'm kind of homely looking and I used to feel mortified about it sometimes, but I've got over that. I'd like to have been born elegant and beautiful like Mrs. Doyle, but I wasn't, so I guess it's no use worrying."

"Mrs. Doyle!" said Ferguson with deep contempt. "She's the sort of woman who ought to be shot as an example."

Cornelia looked at him anxiously.

"I believe it's your digestion," she said kindly. "I've got a special kind of pepsin that Cousin Marie tried once. Would you like to try it?" Mr. Ferguson said: "You're impossible!"

He turned and strode away. Cornelia went on towards the boat. Just as she was crossing on to the gangway, he caught her up once more.

"You're the nicest person on the boat," he said. "And mind you remember it." Blushing with pleasure Cornelia repaired to the observation saloon.

Miss Van Schuyler was conversing with Dr. Bessner-an agreeable eon versation dealing with certain royal patients of his.

Cornelia said guiltily:

"I do hope I haven't been a long time, Cousin Marie." Glancing at her watch the old lady snapped:

"You haven't exactly hurried, my dear. And what have you done with my velvet stole?" Cornelia looked round.

"Shall I see if it's in the cabin, Cousin Marie?" "Of course it isn't! I had it just after dinner in here, and I haven't moved out of the place. It was on that chair." Cornelia made a desultory search.

"I can't see it anywhere, Cousin Marie." "Nonsense," said Miss Van Schuyler. "Look about." It was an order such as one might give to a dog and in her doglike fashion Cornelia obeyed. The quiet Mr.

Fanthorp who was sitting at a table near by rose and assisted her. But the stole could not be found.

The day had been such an unusually hot and sultry one that most people had retired early after going ashore to view the temple. The Doyles were playing bridge with Pennington and Race at a table in a corner. The only other occupant of the saloon was Hercule Poirot, who was yawning his head off at a small table near the door.

Miss Van Schuyler, making a Royal Progress bedwards with Cornelia and Miss Bowers in attendance, paused by his chair, and he sprang politely to his feet, stifling a yawn of gargantuan dimensions.

Miss Van Schuyler said: "I have only just realised who you are, M. Poirot. I may tell you that I have heard of you from my old friend Rufus Van Aldin. You must tell me about your cases some time." With a kindly but condescending nod she passed on.

Poirot, his eyes twinkling a little through their sleepiness, bowed in an exaggerated manner.

Then he yawned once more. He felt heavy and stupid with sleep and could hardly keep his eyes open. He glanced over at the bridge players, absorbed in their game, then at young Fanthorp who was deep in a book. Apart from them the saloon was empty.

He passed through the swinging door out on to the deck. Jacqueline de Bellefort, coming precipitately along the deck, almost collided with him.

"Pardon, Mademoiselle." She said: "You look sleepy, M. Poirot." He admitted it frankly.

"Mais oui-I am consumed with sleep. I can hardly keep my eyes open. It has been a day very close and oppressive." "Yes." She seemed to brood over it. "It's been the sort of day when things-snap!

Break! When one can't go on… " Her voice was low and charged with passion.

She looked not at him, but towards the sandy shore. Her hands were clenched, rigid.

Suddenly the tension relaxed. She said: "Good-night, M. Poirot." "Good-night, Mademoiselle." Her eyes met his, just for a swift moment. Thinking it over next day he came to the conclusion that there had been appeal in that glance. He was to remember it afterwards.

Then he passed on to his cabin and she went towards the saloon.

Cornelia, having dealt with Miss Van Schuyler's many needs and fantasies, took some needlework with her back to the saloon. She herself did not feel in the least sleepy. On the contrary she felt wide awake and slightly excited.

The bridge four were still at it. In another chair the quiet Fanthorp read a book. Cornelia sat down to her needlework.

Suddenly the door opened and Jacqueline de Bellefort came in. She stood in the doorway, her head thrown back. Then she pressed a bell and sauntered across to Cornelia and sat down.

"Been ashore?" she asked.

"Yes. I thought it was just fascinating in the moonlight."