Seven

Simon and Linnet Doyle set off on their expedition to Philae about eleven o’clock the followingmorning. Jacqueline de Bellefort, sitting on the hotel balcony, watched them set off in thepicturesque sailing-boat. What she did not see was the departure of the car—laden with luggage,and in which sat a demure-looking maid—from the front door of the hotel. It turned to the right inthe direction of Shellal.

Hercule Poirot decided¹ to pass the remaining two hours before lunch on the island ofElephantine, immediately opposite the hotel.

He went down to the landing stage. There were two men just stepping into one of the hotelboats, and Poirot joined them. The men were obviously strangers to each other. The younger ofthem had arrived by train the day before. He was a tall, dark-haired young man, with a thin faceand a pugnacious² chin. He was wearing an extremely dirty pair of grey flannel³ trousers and a high-necked polo jumper singularly unsuited to the climate. The other was a slightly podgy middle-aged⁴ man who lost no time in entering into conversation with Poirot in idiomatic⁵ but slightlybroken English. Far from taking part in the conversation, the younger man merely scowled⁷ at themboth and then deliberately⁹ turned his back on them and proceeded to admire the agility¹⁰ with whichthe Nubian boatman steered¹¹ the boat with his toes as he manipulated the sail with his hands.

It was very peaceful on the water, the great smooth slippery black rocks gliding¹² by and the softbreeze fanning their faces. Elephantine was reached very quickly and on going ashore¹³ Poirot andhis loquacious¹⁴ acquaintance made straight for the museum. By this time the latter had produced acard which he handed to Poirot with a little bow. It bore the inscription¹⁵: “Signor Guido Richetti,Archeologo.”

Not to be outdone, Poirot returned the bow and extracted his own card. These formalitiescompleted, the two men stepped into the Museum together, the Italian pouring forth¹⁶ a stream oferudite information. They were by now conversing¹⁷ in French.

The young man in the flannel trousers strolled listlessly round the Museum, yawning from timeto time, and then escaped to the outer air.

Poirot and Signor Richetti at last found him. The Italian was energetic in examining the ruins,but presently Poirot, espying¹⁸ a green-lined sunshade which he recognized on the rocks down bythe river, escaped in that direction.

Mrs. Allerton was sitting on a large rock, a sketchbook by her side and a book on her lap.

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 theseawful children.”

A group of small black figures surrounded her, all grinning and posturing¹⁹ and holding outimploring hands as they lisped “Bakshish,” at intervals²⁰, hopefully.

“I thought they’d get tired of me,” said Mrs. Allerton sadly. “They’ve been watching me forover two hours now—and they close in on me little by little; and then I yell ‘Imshi’ and brandishmy sunshade at them and they scatter²¹ for a minute or two. And then they come back and stare andstare, and their eyes are simply disgusting, and so are their noses, and I don’t believe I really likechildren—not unless they’re more or less washed and have the rudiments²² of manners.”

She laughed ruefully.

Poirot gallantly²³ attempted to disperse²⁴ the mob for her, but without avail. They scattered²⁵ andthen reappeared, closing in once more.

“If there were only any peace in Egypt, I should like it better,” said Mrs. Allerton. “But you cannever be alone anywhere. Someone is always pestering²⁶ you for money, or offering you donkeys,or beads²⁷, or expeditions to native villages, or duck shooting.”

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

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

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

“No, Tim had some letters to get off before we leave. We’re doing the trip to the SecondCataract, you know.”

“I, too.”

“I’m so glad. I want to tell you that I’m quite thrilled to meet you. When we were in Majorca,there was a Mrs. Leech²⁹ there, and she was telling us the most wonderful things about you. She’dlost a ruby³⁰ ring bathing, and she was just lamenting³¹ that you weren’t there to find it for her.

“Ah, parbleu, but I am not the diving seal!”

They both laughed.

Mrs. Allerton went on.

“I saw you from my window walking down the drive with Simon Doyle this morning. Do tellme what you make of him! We’re so excited about him.”

“Ah? Truly?”

“Yes. You know his marriage to Linnet Ridgeway was the greatest surprise. She was supposedto be going to marry Lord Windlesham and then suddenly she gets engaged to this man no one hadever 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, “Sheis 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?”

“That was a nasty remark of mine.” Mrs. Allerton looked penitent³². “You see I’m old-fashioned.

I don’t like her much. Tim and she are the greatest of friends, though.”

“I see,” said Poirot.

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

“How very few young people there are out here! That pretty girl with the chestnut³³ hair and theappalling mother in the turban is almost the only young creature in the place. You have talked toher a good deal, I notice. She interests me, that child.”

“Why is that, Madame?”

“I feel sorry for her. You can suffer so much when you are young and sensitive. I think she issuffering.”

“Yes, she is not happy, poor little one.”

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

“It is a possible contingency³⁴, Madame.”

“I’m very matey really—people interest me enormously. All the different types.” She paused,then said: “Tim tells me that that dark girl—her name is de Bellefort—is the girl who was engagedto Simon Doyle. It’s rather awkward for them—meeting like this.”

“It is awkward—yes,” agreed Poirot.

“You know, it may sound foolish, but she almost frightened me. She looked so—intense.”

Poirot nodded his head slowly.

“You were not far wrong, Madame. A great force of emotion is always frightening.”

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

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

Mrs. Allerton looked a trifle startled.

“Do you really mean that?”

“Given the particular incentive³⁵, that is to say,” Poirot added.

“Which would differ?”

“Naturally.”

Mrs. Allerton hesitated—a little smile on her lips.

“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 motives³⁷ for crimesuitable for everyone in the hotel. It’s quite entertaining. Simon Doyle, for instance?”

Poirot said, smiling: “A very simple crime—a direct shortcut³⁸ to his objective. No subtlety³⁹ aboutit.”

“And therefore very easily detected?”

“Yes; he would not be ingenious.”

“And Linnet?”

“That would be like the Queen in your Alice in Wonderland, ‘Off with her head.’”

“Of course. The divine right of monarchy⁴⁰! Just a little bit of the Naboth’s vineyard touch. Andthe 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? He looks so desiccated and dyspeptic—with no red blood in him.”

“But possibly a strong sense of self-preservation.”

“Yes, I suppose so. And poor Mrs. Otterbourne in her turban?”

“There is always vanity.”

“As a motive³⁶ 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. That is to say, gain in its various ramifications⁴¹. Then there is revenge—and love, and fear, and pure hate, and beneficence—”

“Monsieur Poirot!”

“Oh, yes, Madame. I have known of—shall we say A?—being removed by B solely⁴² in order tobenefit C. Political murders often come under the same heading. Someone is considered to beharmful to civilization and is removed on that account. Such people forget that life and death arethe affair of the good God.”

He spoke⁴³ gravely.

Mrs. Allerton said quietly: “I am glad to hear you say that. All the same, God chooses hisinstruments.”

“There is a danger in thinking like that, Madame.”

She adopted a lighter⁴⁴ 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 takinghis place in the boat. The Italian was already waiting. As the Nubian boatman cast the sail looseand they started, Poirot addressed a polite remark to the stranger.

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

The young man was now smoking a somewhat noisome⁴⁵ pipe. He removed it from his mouthand remarked briefly⁴⁶ and very emphatically, in astonishingly well-bred accents: “They make mesick.”

Mrs. Allerton put on her pince-nez and surveyed him with pleasurable interest.

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

“Take the Pyramids. Great blocks of useless masonry⁴⁷, put up to minister to the egoism of adespotic bloated king. Think of the sweated masses who toiled⁴⁸ to build them and died doing it. Itmakes me sick to think of the suffering and torture they represent.”

Mrs. Allerton said cheerfully: “You’d rather have no Pyramids, no Parthenon, no beautifultombs or temples—just the solid satisfaction of knowing that people got three meals a day anddied in their beds.”

The young man directed his scowl⁸ in her direction.

“I think human beings matter more than stones.”

“But they do not endure as well,” remarked Hercule Poirot.

“I’d rather see a well fed worker than any so-called work of art. What matters is the future—notthe past.”

This was too much for Signor Richetti, who burst into a torrent⁴⁹ of impassioned speech not tooeasy to follow.

The young man retorted by telling everybody exactly what he thought of the capitalist system.

He spoke with the utmost venom⁵⁰.

When the tirade⁵¹ was over they had arrived at the hotel landing stage.

Mrs. Allerton murmured cheerfully: “Well, well,” and stepped ashore. The young man directeda baleful glance after her.

In the hall of the hotel Poirot encountered Jacqueline de Bellefort. She was dressed in ridingclothes. She gave him an ironical⁵² little bow.

“I’m going donkey-riding. Do you recommend the native villages, Monsieur Poirot?”

“Is that your excursion today, Mademoiselle? Eh bien, they are picturesque—but do not spendlarge sums on native curios.”

“Which are shipped here from Europe? No, I am not so easy to deceive as that.”

With a little nod she passed out into the brilliant sunshine.

Poirot completed his packing—a very simple affair, since his possessions were always in themost meticulous⁵³ order. Then he repaired to the dining room and ate an early lunch.

After lunch the hotel bus took the passengers for the Second Cataract²⁸ to the station where theywere to catch the daily express from Cairo to Shellal—a ten-minute run.

The Allertons, Poirot, the young man in the dirty flannel trousers and the Italian were thepassengers. Mrs. Otterbourne and her daughter had made the expedition to the Dam and to Philaeand would join the steamer at Shellal.

The train from Cairo and Luxor was about twenty minutes late. However, it arrived at last, andthe usual scenes of wild activity occurred. Native porters taking suitcases out of the train collidedwith other porters putting them in.

Finally, somewhat breathless, Poirot found himself, with an assortment⁵⁴ of his own, theAllertons’, and some totally unknown luggage, in one compartment⁵⁵, while Tim and his motherwere elsewhere with the remains⁵⁶ of the assorted⁵⁷ baggage.

The compartment in which Poirot found himself was occupied by an elderly lady with a verywrinkled face, a stiff white stock, a good many diamonds and an expression of reptilian⁵⁸ contemptfor the majority of mankind.

She treated Poirot to an aristocratic glare and retired⁵⁹ behind the pages of an Americanmagazine. A big, rather clumsy young woman of under thirty was sitting opposite her. She hadeager brown eyes, rather like a dog’s, untidy hair, and a terrific air of willingness to please. Atintervals the old lady looked over the top of her magazine and snapped an order at her.

“Cornelia, collect the rugs.” “When we arrive look after my dressing-case. On no account letanyone else handle it.” “Don’t forget my paper-cutter.”

The train run was brief. In ten minutes’ time they came to rest on the jetty where the S.S.

Karnak was awaiting them. The Otterbournes were already on board.

The Karnak was a smaller steamer than the Papyrus⁶⁰ and the Lotus, the First Cataract steamers,which are too large to pass through the locks of the Assuan dam. The passengers went on boardand were shown their accommodation. Since the boat was not full, most of the passengers hadaccommodation on the promenade⁶¹ deck. The entire forward part of this deck was occupied by anobservation saloon, all glass-enclosed, where the passengers could sit and watch the river unfoldbefore them. On the deck below were a smoking room and a small drawing room and on the deckbelow that, the dining saloon.

Having seen his possessions disposed in his cabin, Poirot came out on the deck again to watchthe process of departure. He joined Rosalie Otterbourne, who was leaning over the side.

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

The girl drew a deep breath.

“Yes. I feel that one’s really getting away from things at last.”

She made a gesture with her hand. There was a savage⁶² aspect about the sheet of water in frontof them, the masses of rock without vegetation that came down to the water’s edge—here andthere a trace of houses, abandoned and ruined as a result of the damming up of the waters. Thewhole scene had a melancholy⁶³, almost sinister⁶⁴ charm.

“Away from people,” said Rosalie Otterbourne.

“Except those of our own number, Mademoiselle?”

She shrugged⁶⁵ her shoulders. Then she said: “There’s something about this country that makesme feel—wicked. It brings to the surface all the things that are boiling inside one. Everything’s sounfair—so unjust.”

“I wonder. You cannot judge by material evidence.”

Rosalie muttered: “Look at—at some people’s mothers—and look at mine. There is no God butSex, and Salome Otterbourne is its Prophet.” She stopped. “I shouldn’t have said that, I suppose.”

Poirot made a gesture with his hands.

“Why not say it—to me? I am one of those who hear many things. If, as you say, you boil inside—like the jam—eh bien, let the scum come to the surface, and then one can take it off with aspoon, so.”

He made a gesture of dropping something into the Nile.

“Then, it has gone.”

“What an extraordinary man you are!” Rosalie said. Her sulky mouth twisted into a smile. Thenshe suddenly stiffened⁶⁶ as she exclaimed: “Well, here are Mrs. Doyle and her husband! I’d no ideathey were coming on this trip!”

Linnet had just emerged from a cabin halfway⁶⁷ down the deck. Simon was behind her. Poirotwas almost startled by the look of her—so radiant, so assured. She looked positively⁶⁸ arrogant⁶⁹ withhappiness. Simon Doyle, too, was a transformed being. He was grinning from ear to ear andlooking like a happy schoolboy.

“This is grand,” he said as he too leaned on the rail. “I’m really looking forward to this trip,aren’t you, Linnet? It feels, somehow, so much less touristy—as though we were really going intothe heart of Egypt.”

His wife responded quickly: “I know. It’s so much—wilder, somehow.”

Her hand slipped through his arm. He pressed it close to his side.

“We’re off, Lin,” he murmured.

The steamer was drawing away from the jetty. They had started on their seven-day journey tothe Second Cataract and back.

Behind them a light silvery laugh rang out. Linnet whipped round.

Jacqueline de Bellefort was standing⁷⁰ there. She seemed amused.

“Hullo, Linnet! I didn’t expect to find you here. I thought you said you were staying in Assuananother ten days. This is a surprise!”

“You—you didn’t—” Linnet’s tongue stammered⁷¹. She forced a ghastly conventional smile. “I—I didn’t expect to see you either.”

“No?”

Jacqueline moved away to the other side of the boat. Linnet’s grasp on her husband’s armtightened.

“Simon—Simon—”

All Doyle’s good-natured pleasure had gone. He looked furious. His hands clenched⁷² themselvesin spite of his effort at self-control.

The two of them moved a little away. Without turning his head Poirot caught scraps⁷³ ofdisjointed words:

“…turn back…impossible…we could…” and then, slightly louder, Doyle’s voice, despairingbut grim: “We can’t run away forever, Lin. We’ve got to go through with it now….”

It was some hours later. Daylight was just fading. Poirot stood in the glass-enclosed saloonlooking straight ahead. The Karnak was going through a narrow gorge⁷⁴. The rocks came down witha kind of sheer ferocity to the river flowing deep and swift between them. They were in Nubianow.

He heard a movement and Linnet Doyle stood by his side. Her fingers twisted and untwistedthemselves; she looked as he had never yet seen her look. There was about her the air of abewildered child. She said:

“Monsieur Poirot, I’m afraid—I’m afraid of everything. I’ve never felt like this before. Allthese wild rocks and the awful grimness and starkness⁷⁵. Where are we going? What’s going tohappen? I’m afraid, I tell you. Everyone hates me. I’ve never felt like that before. I’ve always beennice to people—I’ve done things for them—and they hate me—lots of people hate me. Except forSimon, I’m surrounded by enemies…It’s terrible to feel—that there are people who hate you….”

“But what is all this, Madame?”

She shook her head.

“I suppose—it’s nerves…I just feel that—everything’s unsafe all round me.”

She cast a quick nervous glance over his shoulder Then she said abruptly⁷⁶: “How will all thisend? We’re caught here. Trapped! There’s no way out. We’ve got to go on. I—I don’t knowwhere I am.”

She slipped down on to a seat. Poirot looked down on her gravely; his glance was not untingedwith compassion⁷⁷.

“How did she know we were coming on this boat?” she said. “How could she have known?”

Poirot shook his head as he answered: “She has brains, you know.”

“I feel as though I shall never escape from her.”

Poirot said: “There is one plan you might have adopted. In fact I am surprised that it did notoccur to you. After all, with you, Madame, money is no object. Why did you not engage in yourown private dahabiyeh?”

“If we’d known about all this—but you see we didn’t—then. And it was difficult…” She flashedout with sudden impatience⁷⁸: “Oh! you don’t understand half my difficulties. I’ve got to be carefulwith Simon…He’s—he’s absurdly sensitive—about money. About my having so much! Hewanted me to go to some little place in Spain with him—he—he wanted to pay all our honeymoonexpenses himself. As if it mattered! Men are stupid! He’s got to get used to — to — livingcomfortably. The mere⁶ idea of a dahabiyeh upset him—the—the needless expense. I’ve got toeducate him—gradually.”

She looked up, bit her lip vexedly, as though feeling that she had been led into discussing herdifficulties rather too unguardedly.

She got up.

“I must change. I’m sorry, Monsieur Poirot. I’m afraid I’ve been talking a lot of foolishnonsense.”

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