Death on the Nile / Смерть на Ниле

It was entitled Under the Fig Tree, by Salome Otterbourne. On the inside was a publisher's blurb. It spoke enthusiastically of the superb courage and realism of this study of a modern woman's love life.

Poirot bowed and murmured, “I am honoured, Madame[81].”

As he raised his head, his eyes met those of the authoress's daughter. He was astonished at the pain in them.

It was at that moment that the drinks arrived. Poirot lifted his glass gallantly.

“A votre sante[82], Madame – Mademoiselle.”

Mrs Otterbourne, sipping her lemonade, murmured, “So refreshing – delicious!”

Silence fell on the three of them.[83] They looked down to the black rocks in the Nile. There was something fantastic about them in the moonlight. They were like prehistoric monsters lying half out of the water. There was a feeling in the air of hush – of expectancy.[84]

Hercule Poirot looked around the terrace and its occupants. Was he wrong, or was there the same hush of expectancy there? It was like a moment on the stage when one is waiting for the entrance of the leading lady. And just at that moment the swing doors began to revolve once more. Everyone had stopped talking and was looking toward them.

A dark slender girl in a wine coloured evening dress came through. She paused for a minute, then walked deliberately across the terrace and sat down at an empty table.

“Well,” said Mrs Otterbourne. She tossed her turbaned head. “She seems to think she is somebody, that girl!”

Poirot did not answer. He was watching. The girl had sat down in a place where she could look deliberately across at Linnet Doyle. Presently, Poirot noticed, Linnet Doyle leant forward and said something and a moment later got up and changed her seat. She was now sitting facing in the opposite direction.

Poirot nodded thoughtfully to himself.

It was about five minutes later that the other girl changed her seat to the opposite side of the terrace. She sat smoking and smiling quietly. But always, as though unconsciously, her meditative gaze was on Simon Doyle's wife.

After a quarter of an hour Linnet Doyle got up abruptly and went into the hotel. Her husband followed her almost immediately.

Jacqueline de Bellefort smiled and turned her chair round. She lit a cigarette and stared out over the Nile. She went on smiling to herself.

Chapter 3

“Monsieur Poirot.”

Poirot got hastily to his feet. He had remained sitting out on the terrace alone after everyone else had left. Lost in meditation, he startled when he heard his name. It was an assured, charming voice, although perhaps a little arrogant.

Hercule Poirot, rising quickly, looked into the eyes of Linnet Doyle. She wore a wrap of purple velvet over her white satin gown and she looked more lovely and more regal than Poirot had imagined possible.

“You are Monsieur Hercule Poirot?” said Linnet.

It was hardly a question.

“At your service, Madame.”

“You know who I am, perhaps?”

“Yes, Madame. I have heard your name. I know exactly who you are.” Linnet nodded. That was only what she had expected. She went on, in her charming manner: “Will you come with me into the card room, Monsieur Poirot? I am very anxious to speak to you.”

“Certainly, Madame.”

She led the way into the hotel. He followed. She led him into the card room and asked him to close the door. Then she sank down on a chair at one of the tables and he sat down opposite her. She went straight to the point.[85]

“I have heard a great deal about you[86], Monsieur Poirot, and I know that you are a very clever man. I am in need of someone to help me – and I think that you are the man who could do it.”

Poirot inclined his head.

“You are very amiable, Madame, but you see, I am on holiday, and when I am on holiday I do not take cases.”

“That could be arranged.”[87]

It was said with the quiet confidence of a young woman who had always been able to arrange matters to her satisfaction.

Linnet Doyle went on: “I am the subject, Monsieur Poirot, of an intolerable persecution. That persecution has got to stop! My own idea was to go to the police about it, but my – my husband seems to think that the police would be powerless to do anything.”

“Perhaps – if you would explain a little further?”[88] murmured Poirot politely.

“Oh, yes, I will do so. The matter is perfectly simple.”

There was still no hesitation. Linnet Doyle had a clear-cut businesslike mind. She only paused a minute to present the facts as clear as possible.

“Before I met my husband, he was engaged to a Miss de Bellefort[89]. She was also a friend of mine. My husband broke off his engagement to her – they were not suited in any way[90]. She, I am sorry to say, took it rather hard. I – am very sorry about that – but these things cannot be helped. She made certain – well, threats – to which I paid very little attention, and which, I may say, she has not attempted to carry out. But instead she has taken the extraordinary course of following us about wherever we go.” Poirot raised his eyebrows.

“Ah – rather an unusual – er – revenge.”

“Very unusual – and very ridiculous! But also – annoying.” She bit her lip.

Poirot nodded.

“Yes, I can imagine that. You are, I understand, on your honey-moon?”

“Yes. It happened – the first time – at Venice. I thought it just an embarrassing coincidence – that was all. Then we found her on board the boat at Brindisi[91]. We've understood that she was going on to Palestine. We left her, as we thought, on the boat. But when we got to the hotel she was there – waiting for us.”

Poirot nodded.

“And now?”

“We came up the Nile by boat. I was half expecting to find her on board. When she wasn't there I thought she had stopped being so childish. But when we got here she was here – waiting.”

Poirot eyed her for a moment. She was still perfectly quiet, but the knuckles of the hand that was gripping the table were white.

He said, “And you are afraid this state of things may continue?”

“Yes.” She paused. “Of course the whole thing is idiotic! Jacqueline is making herself ridiculous. I am surprised she hasn't got more pride – more dignity.”

Poirot made a slight gesture.

“There are times, Madame, when pride and dignity go by the board[92]! There are other – stronger emotions.”

Something in his tone didn't please Linnet. She flushed and said quickly: “Perhaps. But the crux of the matter is that this has got to be stopped.”

“And how do you propose that that should be done, Madame?” Poirot asked.

“Well – naturally – my husband and I cannot continue being persecuted. There must be some kind of legal way to stop such a thing.”

She spoke impatiently. Poirot looked at her thoughtfully as he asked:

“Has she threatened you in actual words in public? Used insulting language? Attempted any bodily harm?[93]”

“No.”

“Then, frankly, Madame, I do not see what you can do. If it is a young lady's pleasure to travel in certain places, and those places are the same where you and your husband find yourselves – what of it? The air is free to all! It is always in public that these encounters take place?”

“You mean there is nothing that I can do about it?”

Linnet sounded incredulous.

Poirot said quietly: “Nothing at all as far as I can see. Mademoiselle de Bellefort is within her rights[94].”

“But it is maddening! It is intolerable that I should have to put up with this!”

Poirot said drily, “I sympathize with you, Madame.”

Linnet was frowning.

“There must be some way of stopping it,” she murmured.

Poirot shrugged his shoulders.

“You can always leave – move on somewhere else,” he suggested.

“ Then she will follow!”

“Very possibly – yes.”

“It's absurd!”

“Precisely.”

“Anyway, why should I – we – run away? As though – as though – ” She stopped.

“Exactly, Madame. As though! It is all there, is it not?[95]”

Linnet lifted her head and stared at him.

“What do you mean?”

Poirot altered his tone. He leant forward; his voice was confidential, appealing. He said very gently, “Why do you mind so much, Madame?”

“Why? But it's maddening! Irritating to the last degree! I've told you why!”

Poirot shook his head.

“Not altogether.”

“What do you mean?” Linnet asked again.

Poirot leant back and folded his arms.

“Ecoutez[96], Madame. I will tell you a little history. One day, a month or two ago, I am dining in a restaurant in London. At the table next to me are two people, a man and a girl. They are very happy, very much in love. They talk with confidence of the future. The man's back is to me, but I can watch the girl's face. It is very intense. She is in love – heart, soul and body – and she is not of those who love lightly and often. With her it is clearly the life and the death. They are engaged to be married, and they talk of where they shall pass the days of their honeymoon. They plan to go to Egypt.”

He paused. Linnet said sharply “Well?”

Poirot went on: “That is a month or two ago, but the girl's face – I do not forget it. I know that I shall remember if I see it again. And I remember too the man's voice. And you can guess, Madame, when I see the one and hear the other again. It is here in Egypt. The man is on his honeymoon, yes – but he is on his honeymoon with another woman.”

Linnet said sharply: “What of it? I had already mentioned the facts.”

“The facts – yes.”

“Well then?”[97]

Poirot said slowly: “The girl in the restaurant mentioned a friend – a friend who, she was very positive, would not let her down. That friend, I think, was you, Madame.”

Linnet flushed.

“Yes. I told you we had been friends.”

“And she trusted you?”

“Yes.”

She hesitated for a moment, biting her lip impatiently; then she broke out:

“Of course the whole thing was very unfortunate. But these things happen, Monsieur Poirot.”

“Ah! Yes, they happen, Madame.” He paused. “You are of the Church of England[98] I think?”

“Yes.” Linnet looked slightly bewildered.

“Then you have heard the Bible read aloud in church. You have heard of King David and of the rich man who had many flocks and herds and the poor man who had one ewe lamb[99] – and of how the rich man took the poor man's one ewe lamb. That was something that happened, Madame.”

Linnet sat up. Her eyes flashed angrily.

“I see perfectly what you are driving at[100], Monsieur Poirot! You think that I stole my friend's young man. Looking at the matter sentimentally that is possibly true. But the real hard truth is different. I don't deny that Jackie was passionately in love with Simon, but I don't think you take into account[101] that he may not have been equally devoted to her. He was very fond of her, but I think that even before he met me he was beginning to feel that he had made a mistake. Look at it clearly, Monsieur Poirot. Simon discovers that it is I he loves, not Jackie. What should he do? Be heroically noble and marry a woman he does not care for and thereby probably ruin three lives? If he were actually married to her when he met me I agree that it might be his duty to stick to her. If one person is unhappy the other suffers too. But an engagement is not really binding. If a mistake has been made, then surely it is better to face the fact before it is too late. I admit that it was very hard on Jackie, and I'm terribly sorry about it – but there it is. It was inevitable.”

“I wonder.”[102]

She stared at him.

“What do you mean?”

“It is very sensible, very logical – all that you say! But it does not explain one thing.”

“What is that?”

“Your own attitude, Madame. You say this persecution is intolerable – and why? It can be for one reason only – that you feel a sense of guilt.”

Linnet sprang to her feet.[103]

“How dare you? Really, Monsieur Poirot, this is going too far.”[104]

“But I do dare, Madame! I am going to speak to you quite frankly. I suggest that you felt strongly attracted to him at once. But I suggest that there was a moment when you hesitated, when you realized that there was a choice – that you could stop or go on. I suggest that the initiative rested with you – not with Monsieur Doyle. You are beautiful, Madame; you are rich; you are clever, intelligent – and you have charm. You had everything, Madame, that life can offer. Your friend's life was tied to one person. You knew that, but, though you hesitated, you did not hold your hand[105]. And like the rich man in the Bible, you took the poor man's one ewe lamb.”

There was a silence. Linnet controlled herself with an effort and said in a cold voice, “All this is quite beside the point!”[106]

“No, it is not beside the point. I am explaining to you just why the unexpected appearances of Mademoiselle de Bellefort have upset you so much. It is because you feel that she has right on her side.”

“That's not true!”

Poirot shrugged his shoulders.

“You refuse to be honest with yourself.”

“Not at all.”

Poirot said gently, “I should say, Madame, that you have had a happy life, that you have been generous and kindly in your attitude toward others.”

“I have tried to be,” said Linnet. The anger left her.

“And that is why the feeling that you have deliberately injured someone upsets you so much. Pardon me if I have been impertinent, but the psychology is the most important fact in a case.”

Linnet said slowly: “Even supposing what you say were true, what can be done about it now? One can't alter the past; one must deal with things as they are.”

Poirot nodded.

“You have the clear brain. Yes, one cannot go back over the past. One must accept things as they are and accept the consequences of one's past deeds.”

“You mean,” asked Linnet incredulously, “that I can do nothing – nothing?”

“You must have courage, Madame; that is what it seems like to me.”

Linnet said slowly:

“Couldn't you – talk to Jackie – to Miss de Bellefort? Reason with her?”

“Yes, I could do that. I will do that if you would like me to do so. But do not expect much result. And by the way, what is your husband's attitude in this?”

“He's furious – simply furious.”

Poirot nodded thoughtfully.

Linnet said appealingly, “You will – talk to her?”

“Yes, I will do that. But it is my opinion that I shall not be able to achieve anything.”

Linnet said violently: “Jackie is extraordinary! One can't tell what she will do!”

“You spoke just now of certain threats she had made. Would you tell me what those threats were?”

Linnet shrugged her shoulders.

“She threatened to – well – kill us both. Jackie can be rather – dangerous sometimes.”

“I see.”

Poirot's tone was grave.

Linnet turned to him appealingly.

“You will act for me?”[107]

“No, Madame.” His tone was firm. “I will do what I can in the interests of humanity. That, yes. The situation is full of difficulty and danger. I will do what I can to clear it up – but I am not very sure as to my chance of success.”

Chapter 4

Hercule Poirot found Jacqueline de Bellefort sitting on the rocks directly overlooking the Nile. She did not turn her head or look round at the sound of his approach.

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

Jacqueline turned her head slightly. A faint smile played round her lips.[108]

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

Poirot sat down on the bench near her.

“You're partially right,” he said, smiling. “I have just come from Madame Doyle, but I am not getting any fee from her and I am not acting for her.”

“Oh!”

Jacqueline studied him attentively.

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

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 Monsieur Simon Doyle.”

A strange mask-like expression came over the girl's face. She said, “I remember that evening.”

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

“As you say, many things have occurred.”

“Mademoiselle, I speak as a friend. Bury your dead![109]”

She looked startled.

“What do you mean?”

“Give up the past! Turn to the future! What is done is done. Bitterness will not undo 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 – but what you are doing now will only prolong that 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.

“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 that we 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've talked to Linnet? And you were in the restaurant that night. Simon and I loved each other.”

“I know that you loved him.”

“We loved each other. And I loved Linnet. I trusted her. She was my best friend. All her life Linnet has been able to buy everything she wanted. When she saw 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 Simon isn't worth caring for.! But he didn't marry 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 queen of a kingdom. She had the world at her feet, the richest men in England wanting to marry her. And she stoops instead to some Simon Doyle. Of course, it went to his head.”

She paused and then went on: “Simon was weak, perhaps; but then he's a very simple person. He would have loved me and me only if Linnet hadn't come along and snatched him. And I know perfectly that he wouldn't ever have fallen in love with her if she hadn't made him.”

“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 but she looked away and her head dropped down. She said in a low voice:

“Yes, I know. He hates me now. Yes, hates me. He'd better be careful![110]”

With a quick gesture she took a little silk bag that lay on the seat. Then she held out her hand. On the palm of it was a small pearl-handled pistol looking like a dainty toy[111].

“Nice little thing, isn't it?” she said. “One of those bullets would kill a man or a woman. And I'm a good shot.” She smiled a faraway smile. “My grandfather taught me to shoot. He believed in shooting – especially where honour was concerned[112]. So you see, Monsieur Poirot – ” she met his eyes squarely[113] – “I've hot blood in me! I bought this when it first happened. I meant to kill one or other of them – the trouble was I couldn't decide which. 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 this idea came to my mind – to follow them! Whenever they arrived at some faraway spot and were together and happy, they should see me! And it worked! It got right under Linnet's skin.[114] That was when I began to enjoy myself. And there's nothing she can do about it! I'm always perfectly pleasant and polite! 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 ask 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. It will enter in and make its home within you, and after a little while it will be impossible to drive it out.”

Jacqueline stared at him. Her glance seemed to waver. She said, “I – don't know – ” Then she cried out defiantly, “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's very wrong to kill a person who has injured you – even if they've taken away everything you had in the world?”

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

Jacqueline laughed again.

“Then you should approve of my present scheme of revenge; because, you see, as long as it works, I shan't use that pistol. But sometimes I want to hurt her – to stick a knife into her, to put my pistol close against her head and then – just press with my finger – Oh!” The exclamation startled him.

“What is it, Mademoiselle?”

She had 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 deserted.

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

Jacqueline got up too. She said almost pleadingly, “You do understand – that I can't do what you ask me to do?”

Poirot shook his head.

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

“Good-night, Monsieur Poirot.”

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

Chapter 5

On the following morning Simon Doyle joined Hercule Poirot leaving the hotel to walk to the town.

The two men walked side by side, passed the gateway and turned into the cool shade 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.

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

Poirot agreed. There was a pause. Then Simon said suddenly, his face going very red as he spoke: “It's – it's infamous that she should be victimized like this! She's done nothing! If anyone likes to say I behaved like a cad, they're welcome to say so! I suppose I did. But Linnet had nothing to do with it.”

Poirot bowed his head gravely but said nothing.

“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 irritably: “Can't she see what an ass she's making of herself? Doesn't she realize that no decent woman would behave as she is doing? Hasn't she got any pride or selfrespect?”

Poirot shrugged his shoulders.

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

“Yes, but damn it all[115], decent girls don't behave like this! I admit I was entirely to blame. I treated her damned badly and all that. I should quite understand her being thoroughly fed up with me and never wishing to see me again. But this following me round – it's – it's indecent! Making a show of herself![116] What the devil does she hope to get out of it?[117]”

“Perhaps – revenge!”

“Idiotic! I'd really understand better if she'd tried to do something melodramatic – like taking a shot at me.”

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

“Frankly I do. She's hot-blooded. I shouldn't be surprised at her doing anything like that. But this spying business – ” He shook his head.