Two

M. Hercule Poirot was disappointed with Rhodes. He had come to Rhodes for a rest and for aholiday. A holiday, especially, from crime. In late October, so he had been told, Rhodes would benearly empty. A peaceful, secluded¹ spot.

That, in itself, was true enough. The Chantrys, the Golds, Pamela and Sarah, the General andhimself and two Italian couples were the only guests. But within that restricted circle theintelligent brain of M. Poirot perceived the inevitable² shaping of events to come.

“It is that I am criminal-minded,” he told himself reproachfully. “I have the indigestion! Iimagine things.”

But still he worried.

One morning he came down to find Mrs.?Gold sitting on the terrace doing needlework.

As he came up to her he had the impression that there was the flicker³ of a cambrichandkerchief swiftly whisked out of sight.

Mrs.?Gold’s eyes were dry, but they were suspiciously bright. Her manner, too, struck him asbeing a shade too cheerful. The brightness of it was a shade overdone⁴.

She said:

“Good morning, M. Poirot,” with such enthusiasm as to arouse his doubts.

He felt that she could not possibly be quite as pleased to see him as she appeared to be. Forshe did not, after all, know him very well. And though Hercule Poirot was a conceited⁵ little manwhere his profession was concerned, he was quite modest in his estimate of his personalattractions.

“Good morning, madame,” he responded. “Another beautiful?day.”

“Yes, isn’t it fortunate? But Douglas and I are always lucky in our weather.”

“Indeed?”

“Yes. We’re really very lucky altogether. You know, M. Poirot, when one sees so muchtrouble and unhappiness, and so many couples divorcing each other and all that sort of thing, well,one does feel very grateful for one’s own happiness.”

“It is pleasant to hear you say so, madame.”

“Yes. Douglas and I are so wonderfully happy together. We’ve been married five years, youknow, and after all, five years is quite a long time nowadays—”

“I have no doubt that in some cases it can seem an eternity⁶, madame,” said Poirot dryly.

“—but I really believe that we’re happier now than when we were first married. You see,we’re so absolutely suited to each other.”

“That, of course, is everything.”

“That’s why I feel so sorry for people who aren’t happy.”

“You mean—”

“Oh! I was speaking generally, M. Poirot.”

“I see. I see.”

Mrs.?Gold picked up a strand⁷ of silk, held it to the light, approved of it, and went on:

“Mrs.?Chantry, for instance—”

“Yes, Mrs.?Chantry?”

“I don’t think she’s at all a nice woman.”

“No. No, perhaps not.”

“In fact, I’m quite sure she’s not a nice woman. But in a way one feels sorry for her. Becausein spite of her money and her good looks and all that”—Mrs.?Gold’s fingers were trembling andshe was quite unable to thread her needle—“she’s not the sort of woman men really stick to. She’sthe sort of woman, I think, that men would get tired of very easily. Don’t youthink so?”

“I myself should certainly get tired of her conversation before any great space of time hadpassed,” said Poirot cautiously.

“Yes, that’s what I mean. She has, of course, a kind of appeal . . .” Mrs.?Gold hesitated, herlips trembled, she stabbed uncertainly at her work. A less acute observer than Hercule Poirot couldnot have failed to notice her distress⁸. She went on inconsequently:

“Men are just like children! They believe anything. . . .”

She bent⁹ over her work. The tiny wisp of cambric came out again unobtrusively.

Perhaps Hercule Poirot thought it well to change the subject.

He said:

“You do not bathe this morning? And monsieur your husband, is he down on the beach?”

Mrs.?Gold looked up, blinked, resumed her almost defiantly¹⁰ bright manner and replied:

“No, not this morning. We arranged to go round the walls of the old city. But somehow orother we—we missed each other. They started without me.”

The pronoun was revealing, but before Poirot could say anything, General Barnes came upfrom the beach below and dropped into a chair beside them.

“Good morning, Mrs.?Gold. Good morning, Poirot. Both deserters this morning? A lot ofabsentees. You two, and your husband, Mrs.?Gold—and Mrs.?Chantry.”

“And Commander Chantry?” inquired Poirot casually¹¹.

“Oh, no, he’s down there. Miss?Pamela’s got him in hand.” The General chuckled¹². “She’sfinding him a little bit difficult! One of the strong, silent men you hear about in books.”

Marjorie Gold said with a little shiver:

“He frightens me a little, that man. He—he looks so black sometimes. As though he might do—anything!”

She shivered.

“Just indigestion, I expect,” said the General cheerfully. “Dyspepsia is responsible for many areputation for romantic melancholy¹³ or ungovernable rages.”

Marjorie Gold smiled a polite little smile.

“And where’s your good man?” inquired the General.

Her reply came without hesitation—in a natural, cheerful voice.

“Douglas? Oh, he and Mrs.?Chantry have gone into the town. I believe they’ve gone to have alook at the walls of the old city.”

“Ha, yes—very interesting. Time of the knights¹⁴ and all that. You ought to have gone too,little lady.”

Mrs.?Gold said:

“I’m afraid I came down rather late.”

She got up suddenly with a murmured excuse and went into the hotel.

General Barnes looked after her with a concerned expression, shaking his head gently.

“Nice little woman, that. Worth a dozen painted trollops like someone whose name we won’tmention! Ha! Husband’s a fool! Doesn’t know when he’s well-off.”

He shook his head again. Then, rising, he went indoors.

Sarah Blake had just come up from the beach and had heard the General’s last speech.

Making a face at the departing warrior’s back, she remarked as she flung herself into a chair:

“Nice little woman—nice little woman! Men always approve of dowdy¹⁵ women—but when itcomes to brass¹⁶ tacks¹⁷ the dress-up trollops win hands down! Sad, but there it is.”

“Mademoiselle,” said Poirot, and his voice was abrupt¹⁸. “I do not like all this!”

“Don’t you? Nor do I. No, let’s be honest, I suppose I do like it really. There is a horrid¹⁹ sideof one that enjoys accidents and public calamities²⁰ and unpleasant things that happen to one’sfriends.”

Poirot asked:

“Where is Commander Chantry?”

“On the beach being dissected²¹ by Pamela (she’s enjoying herself if you like!) and not beingimproved in temper by the proceeding²². He was looking like a thunder cloud when I came up.

There are squalls ahead, believe me.”

Poirot murmured:

“There is something I do not understand—”

“It’s not easy to understand,” said Sarah. “But what’s going to happen that’s the question.”

Poirot shook his head and murmured:

“As you say, mademoiselle—it is the future that causes one inquietude.”

“What a nice way of putting it,” said Sarah and went into the hotel.

In the doorway²³ she almost collided with Douglas Gold. The young man came out lookingrather pleased with himself but at the same time slightly guilty. He said:

“Hallo, M. Poirot,” and added rather self-consciously, “Been showing Mrs.?Chantry theCrusaders’ walls. Marjorie didn’t feel up to going.”

Poirot’s eyebrows²⁴ rose slightly, but even had he wished he would have had no time to make acomment for Valentine Chantry came sweeping²⁵ out, crying in her high voice:

“Douglas—a pink gin—positively I must have a pink gin.”

Douglas Gold went off to order the drink. Valentine sank into a chair by Poirot. She waslooking radiant this morning.

She saw her husband and Pamela coming up towards them and waved a hand, crying out:

“Have a nice bathe, Tony darling? Isn’t it a divine morning?”

Commander Chantry did not answer. He swung up the steps, passed her without a word or alook and vanished into

the bar.

His hands were clenched²⁶ by his sides and that faint likeness²⁷ to a gorilla²⁸ was accentuated²⁹.

Valentine Chantry’s perfect but rather foolish mouth fell open.

She said, “Oh,” rather blankly.

Pamela Lyall’s face expressed keen enjoyment³⁰ of the situation. Masking it as far as waspossible to one of her ingenuous³¹ disposition³² she sat down by Valentine Chantry and inquired:

“Have you had a nice morning?”

As Valentine began, “Simply marvellous. We—” Poirot got up and in his turn strolled gentlytowards the bar. He found young Gold waiting for the pink gin with a flushed face. He lookeddisturbed and angry.

He said to Poirot, “That man’s a brute³³!” And he nodded his head in the direction of theretreating figure of Commander Chantry.

“It is possible,” said Poirot. “Yes, it is quite possible. But les femmes, they like brutes,remember that!”

Douglas muttered:

“I shouldn’t be surprised if he ill-treats her!”

“She probably likes that too.”

Douglas Gold looked at him in a puzzled way, took up the pink gin and went out with it.

Hercule Poirot sat on a stool and ordered a sirop de cassis. Whilst he was sipping³⁴ it with longsighs of enjoyment, Chantry came in and drank several pink gins in rapid succession.

He said suddenly and violently to the world at large rather than to Poirot:

“If Valentine thinks she can get rid of me like she’s got rid of a lot of other damned fools,she’s mistaken! I’ve got her and I mean to keep her. No other fellow’s going to get her except overmy dead body.”

He flung down some money, turned on his heel and went out.

 

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