Five

Hercule Poirot found Jacqueline de Bellefort sitting on the rocks directly overlooking the Nile. Hehad felt fairly certain that she had not retired¹ for the night and that he would find her somewhereabout the grounds of the hotel.

She was sitting with her chin cupped in the palms of her hands, and she did not turn her head orlook around at the sound of his approach.

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

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

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

Poirot sat down on the bench near her.

“Your assumption is partially³ correct,” he said, smiling. “I have just come from Madame Doyle,but I am not accepting any fee from her and, strictly⁴ speaking, I am not acting² for her.”

“Oh!”

Jacqueline studied him attentively⁵.

“Then why have you come?” she asked abruptly⁶.

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 MonsieurSimon Doyle.”

A strange masklike expression came over the girl’s face. She said, “I remember thatevening….”

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

“As you say, many things have occurred.”

Her voice was hard with an undertone of desperate bitterness.

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

She looked startled.

“What do you mean?”

“Give up the past! Turn to the future! What is done is done. Bitterness will not undo⁷ 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—butwhat you are doing now will only prolong the 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.

“You’re not stupid,” she said. She added slowly, “I believe you mean to be kind.”

“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 thatwe 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’vetalked to Linnet? And you were in the restaurant that night…Simon and I loved each other.”

“I know that you loved him.”

She was quick to perceive the inflection of his words. She repeated with emphasis:

“We loved each other. And I loved Linnet…I trusted her. She was my best friend. All her lifeLinnet has been able to buy everything she wanted. She’s never denied herself anything. When shesaw 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 Simonisn’t worth caring for…If he’d married Linnet for her money, that would be true. But he didn’tmarry 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 queenof a kingdom—the young princess—luxurious to her fingertips. It was like a stage setting. She hadthe world at her feet, one of the richest and most sought-after peers in England wanting to marryher. And she stoops instead to the obscure Simon Doyle…Do you wonder it went to his head?”

She made a sudden gesture. “Look at the moon up there. You see her very plainly, don’t you?

She’s very real. But if the sun were to shine you wouldn’t be able to see her at all. It was ratherlike that. I was the moon…When the sun came out, Simon couldn’t see me anymore…He wasdazzled. He couldn’t see anything but the sun—Linnet.”

She paused and then she went on: “So you see it was—glamour. She went to his head. And thenthere’s her complete assurance—her habit of command. She’s so sure of herself that she makesother people sure. Simon was weak, perhaps, but then he’s a very simple person. He would haveloved me and me only if Linnet hadn’t come along and snatched him up in her golden chariot. AndI know—I know perfectly⁸—that he wouldn’t ever have fallen in love with her if she hadn’t madehim.”

“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, then be stifled⁹. She looked at Poirot and a deepburning colour spread over her face. She looked away; her head dropped down. She said in a lowstifled voice: “Yes, I know. He hates me now. Yes, hates me…He’d better be careful!”

With a quick gesture she fumbled¹⁰ in a little silk bag that lay on the seat. Then she held out herhand. On the palm of it was a small pearl-handled pistol—a dainty toy it looked.

“Nice little thing, isn’t it? she said. “Looks too foolish to be real, but it is real! One of thosebullets would kill a man or a woman. And I’m a good shot.” She smiled a faraway, reminiscentsmile.

“When I went home as a child with my mother, to South Carolina, my grandfather taught me toshoot. He was the old- fashioned kind that believes in shooting — especially where honour isconcerned. My father, too, he fought several duels¹¹ as a young man. He was a good swordsman. Hekilled a man once. That was over a woman. So you see, Monsieur Poirot”—she met his eyessquarely—“I’ve hot blood in me! I bought this when it first happened. I meant to kill one or otherof them—the trouble was I couldn’t decide which. Both of them would have been unsatisfactory.

If I’d thought Linnet would have looked afraid—but she’s got plenty of physical courage. She canstand up to physical action. 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 thisidea came to my mind—to follow them! Whenever they arrived at some faraway spot and weretogether and happy, they should see Me! And it worked. It got Linnet badly—in a way nothingelse could have done! It got right under her skin…That was when I began to enjoy myself…Andthere’s nothing she can do about it! I’m always perfectly pleasant and polite! There’s not a wordthey can take hold of! 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 beseech¹² 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…Yes, very surely evil willcome…It will enter in and make its home within you, and after a little while it will no longer bepossible to drive it out.”

Jacqueline stared at him. Her glance seemed to waver, to flicker¹³ uncertainly.

She said: “I—don’t know—” Then she cried out definitely, “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’svery wrong to kill a person who has injured you—even if they’ve taken away everything you hadin the world?”

Poirot said steadily¹⁴: “Yes, Mademoiselle. I believe it is the unforgivable offence—to kill.”

Jacqueline laughed again.

“Then you ought to approve of my present scheme of revenge; because, you see, as long as itworks, I shan’t use that pistol…But I’m afraid—yes, afraid sometimes—it all goes red—I want tohurt her—to stick a knife into her, to put my dear little pistol close against her head and then—justpress with my finger—Oh!”

The exclamation¹⁵ startled him.

“What is it, Mademoiselle!”

She 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 deserted¹⁶.

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

Jacqueline got up too. She said almost pleadingly, “You do understand—that I can’t do whatyou ask me to do?”

Poirot shook his head.

“No — for you could do it! There is always a moment! Your friend Linnet — there was amoment, too, in which she could have held her hand…She let it pass by. And if one does that, thenone is committed to the enterprise and there comes no second chance.”

“No second chance…” said Jacqueline de Bellefort.

She stood brooding for a moment; then she lifted her head defiantly¹⁷.

“Good night, Monsieur Poirot.”

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

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