Six

On the following morning Simon Doyle joined Hercule Poirot as the latter was leaving the hotel towalk down to the town.

“Good morning, Monsieur Poirot.”

“Good morning, Monsieur Doyle.”

“You going to the town? Mind if I stroll along with you?”

“But certainly. I shall be delighted.”

The two men walked side by side, passed out through the gateway² and turned into the coolshade 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. He belonged to that type of men of action who find itdifficult to put thoughts into words and who have trouble in expressing themselves clearly.

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

“There is clearly no legal redress,” agreed Poirot.

“Exactly. Linnet didn’t seem to understand that.” He gave a faint smile. “Linnet’s been broughtup to believe that every annoyance³ can automatically be referred to the police.”

“It would be pleasant if such were the case,” said Poirot.

There was a pause. Then Simon said suddenly, his face going very red as he spoke⁴:

“It’s—it’s infamous⁵ that she should be victimized like this! She’s done nothing! If anyone likesto say I behaved like a cad, they’re welcome to say so! I suppose I did. But I won’t have the wholething visited on Linnet. She had nothing whatever to do with it.”

Poirot bowed his head gravely but said nothing.

“Did you—er—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 irritably⁶: “Can’t she see what an ass¹ she’s making of herself? Doesn’t sherealize that no decent woman would behave as she is doing? Hasn’t she got any pride or self-respect?”

Poirot shrugged⁷ his shoulders.

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

“Yes, but damn it all, man, decent girls don’t behave like this! I admit I was entirely⁸ to blame. Itreated her damned badly and all that. I should quite understand her being thoroughly⁹ fed up withme and never wishing to see me again. But this following me round—it’s—it’s indecent! Makinga show of herself! What the devil does she hope to get out of it?”

“Perhaps—revenge!”

“Idiotic! I’d really understand better if she’d tried to do something melodramatic—like taking apot shot at me.”

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

“Frankly I do. She’s hot- blooded — and she’s got an ungovernable temper. I shouldn’t besurprised at her doing anything while she was in a white-hot rage. But this spying business—” Heshook 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 momentary¹⁰ surprise.

“Me? I’d like to wring¹¹ the little devil’s neck.”

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

“My dear Monsieur Poirot—how can I put it? It’s like the moon when the sun comes out. Youdon’t know it’s there anymore. When once I’d met Linnet—Jackie didn’t exist.”

“Tiens, c’est dr?le, ?a!” muttered Poirot.

“I beg your pardon?”

“Your simile¹² interested me, that is all.”

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

“Ah?”

Poirot looked up sharply.

Simon blundered on: “It—it—sounds a caddish thing to say, but Jackie was too fond of me!”

“Une qui aime et un qui se laisse aimer,” murmured Poirot.

“Eh? What’s that you say? You see, a man doesn’t want to feel that a woman cares more forhim than he does for her.” His voice grew warm as he went on. “He doesn’t want to feel owned,body and soul. It’s the damned possessive attitude! This man is mine—he belongs to me! That’sthe sort of thing I can’t stick—no man could stick! He wants to get away—to get free. He wants toown 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. Shedoesn’t realize that, of course. And it’s not the sort of thing I could ever tell her. But I was feelingrestless—and then I met Linnet, and she just swept me off my feet! I’d never seen anything solovely. It was all so amazing. Everyone kowtowing to her—and then her singling out a poorchump like me.”

His tone held boyish awe¹³ and astonishment¹⁴.

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

“Why can’t Jackie take it like a man?” demanded Simon resentfully.

A very faint smile twitched¹⁵ Poirot’s upper lip.

“Well, you see, Monsieur Doyle, to begin with she is not a man.”

“No, no—but I meant take it like a good sport! After all, you’ve got to take your medicine whenit comes to you. The fault’s mine, I admit. But there it is! If you no longer care for a girl, it’ssimply madness to marry her. And, now that I see what Jackie’s really like and the lengths she islikely to go to, I feel I’ve had rather a lucky escape.”

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

Simon looked at him rather startled.

“No—at least, what do you mean?”

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

Simon frowned, then shook his head.

“I don’t believe she’ll use that—now. She might have done so earlier. But I believe it’s got pastthat. She’s just spiteful now—trying to take it out on us both.”

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 melodramatic shooting stuff, but this spying andfollowing business has absolutely got Linnet on the raw. I’ll tell you the plan I’ve made, andperhaps you can suggest improvements on it. To begin with, I’ve announced fairly openly thatwe’re going to stay here ten days. But tomorrow the steamer Karnak starts from Shellal to WadiHalfa. I propose to book passages on that under an assumed name. Tomorrow we’ll go on anexcursion to Philae. Linnet’s maid can take the luggage. We’ll join the Karnak at Shellal. WhenJackie finds we don’t come back, it will be too late—we shall be well on our way. She’ll assumewe have given her the slip and gone back to Cairo. In fact I might even bribe¹⁶ the porter to say so.

Inquiry¹⁷ at the tourist offices won’t help her, because our names won’t appear. How does that strikeyou?”

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

“We may not return. We would go on to Khartoum and then perhaps by air to Kenya. She can’tfollow us all over the globe.”

“No; there must come a time when financial reasons forbid. She has very little money, Iunderstand.”

Simon looked at him with admiration¹⁸.

“That’s clever of you. Do you know, I hadn’t thought of that. Jackie’s as poor as they makethem.”

“And yet she has managed to follow you so far?”

Simon said doubtfully:

“She’s got a small income, of course. Something under two hundred a year, I imagine. Isuppose—yes, I suppose she must have sold out the capital to do what she’s doing.”

“So that the time will come when she has exhausted¹⁹ her resources and is quite penniless?”

“Yes….”

Simon wriggled²⁰ uneasily. The thought seemed to make him uncomfortable. Poirot watched himattentively.

“No,” he remarked. “No, it is not a pretty thought….”

Simon said rather angrily, “Well, I can’t help it!” Then he added, “What do you think of myplan?”

“I think it may work, yes. But it is, of course, a retreat.”

Simon flushed.

“You mean, we’re running away? Yes, that’s true…But Linnet—”

Poirot watched him, then gave a short nod.

“As you say, it may be the best way. But remember, Mademoiselle de Bellefort has brains.”

Simon said sombrely: “Some day, I feel, we’ve got to make a stand and fight it out. Her attitudeisn’t reasonable.”

“Reasonable, mon Dieu!” cried Poirot.

“There’s no reason why women shouldn’t behave like rational beings,” Simon asserted stolidly²¹.

Poirot said dryly: “Quite frequently they do. That is even more upsetting!” He added, “I, too,shall be on the Karnak. It is part of my itinerary²².

“Oh!” Simon hesitated, then said, choosing his words with some embarrassment²³: “That isn’t—isn’t—er—on our account in any way? I mean I wouldn’t like to think—”

Poirot disabused²⁴ him quickly:

“Not at all. It was all arranged before I left London. I always make my plans well in advance.”

“You don’t just move on from place to place as the fancy takes you? Isn’t the latter reallypleasanter?”

“Perhaps. But to succeed in life every detail should be arranged well beforehand.”

Simon laughed and said: “That is how the more skilful²⁵ murderer behaves, I suppose.”

“Yes—though I must admit that the most brilliant crime I remember and one of the mostdifficult to solve was committed on the spur of the moment.”

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

“No, no; that would be to talk—what do you call it?—the shop.”

“Yes, but your kind of shop is rather thrilling. Mrs. Allerton thinks so. She’s longing²⁶ to get achance to cross-question you.”

“Mrs. Allerton? That is the charming grey-haired woman who has such a devoted²⁷ son?”

“Yes. She’ll be on the Karnak too.”

“Does she know that you—?”

“Certainly not,” said Simon with emphasis. “Nobody knows. I’ve gone on the principle that it’sbetter not to trust anybody.”

“An admirable sentiment—and one which I always adopt. By the way, the third member of yourparty, the tall grey-haired man—”

“Pennington?”

“Yes. He is travelling with you?”

Simon said grimly: “Not very usual on a honeymoon²⁸, you were thinking? Pennington isLinnet’s American trustee. We ran across him by chance in Cairo.”

“Ah, vraiment! You permit a question? She is of age, Madame your wife?”

Simon looked amused.

“She isn’t actually twenty-one yet—but she hadn’t got to ask anyone’s consent before marryingme. It was the greatest surprise to Pennington. He left New York on the Carmanic two days beforeLinnet’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 in Cairo.”

“That was indeed the coincident!”

“Yes, and we found that he was coming on this Nile trip — so naturally we foregathered;couldn’t have done anything else decently. Besides that, it’s been—well, a relief in some ways.”

He looked embarrassed again. “You see, Linnet’s been all strung up—expecting Jackie to turn upanywhere and everywhere. While we were alone together, the subject kept coming up. AndrewPennington’s a help that way, we have to talk of outside matters.”

“Your wife has not confided²⁹ in Mr. Pennington?”

“No.” Simon’s jaw³⁰ looked aggressive. “It’s nothing to do with anyone else. Besides, when westarted on this Nile trip we thought we’d seen the end of the business.”

Poirot shook his head.

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

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

Poirot looked at him with a slight feeling of irritation³¹. He thought to himself: “The Anglo-Saxon, he takes nothing seriously but playing games! He does not grow up.”

Linnet Doyle—Jacqueline de Bellefort—both of them took the business seriously enough. Butin Simon’s attitude he could find nothing but male impatience³² and annoyance. He said: “You willpermit 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 wasabsolutely set upon it. And so—and so—”

He stopped rather lamely³³.

“Naturally,” said Poirot gravely.

He appreciated the fact that, if Linnet Doyle was set upon anything, that thing had to happen.

He 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?”

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