Death on the Nile. Агата Кристи

Чтение книги онлайн.

СКАЧАТЬ style="font-size:15px;">      ‘No, of course not. As a matter of fact I’d rather have gone anywhere else, but Linnet was absolutely set upon it. And so–and so–’

      He stopped rather lamely.

      ‘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?’

       Chapter 7

      Simon and Linnet Doyle set off on their expedition to Philae about eleven o’clock the following morning. Jacqueline de Bellefort, sitting on the hotel balcony, watched them set off in the picturesque 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 in the direction of Shellal.

      Hercule Poirot decided to pass the remaining two hours before lunch on the island of Elephantine, immediately opposite the hotel.

      He went down to the landing-stage. There were two men just stepping into one of the hotel boats, and Poirot joined them. The men were obviously strangers to each other. The younger of them had arrived by train the day before. He was a tall, dark-haired young man, with a thin face and a pugnacious chin. He was wearing an extremely dirty pair of grey flannel trousers and a high-necked polo jumper singularly unsuited to the climate. The other was a slightly podgy middle-aged man who lost no time in entering into conversation with Poirot in idiomatic but slightly broken English. Far from taking part in the conversation, the younger man merely scowled at them both and then deliberately turned his back on them and proceeded to admire the agility with which the Nubian boatman steered 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 gliding by and the soft breeze fanning their faces. Elephantine was reached very quickly and on going ashore Poirot and his loquacious acquaintance made straight for the museum. By this time the latter had produced a card which he handed to Poirot with a little bow. It bore the inscription: ‘Signor Guido Richetti, Archeologo.’

      Not to be outdone, Poirot returned the bow and extracted his own card. These formalities completed, the two men stepped into the Museum together, the Italian pouring forth a stream of erudite information. They were by now conversing in French.

      The young man in the flannel trousers strolled listlessly round the Museum, yawning from time to 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, espying a green-lined sunshade which he recognized on the rocks down by the 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 these awful children.’

      A group of small black figures surrounded her, all grinning and posturing and holding out imploring hands as they lisped ‘Bakshish’ at intervals, hopefully.

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

      She laughed ruefully.

      Poirot gallantly attempted to disperse the mob for her, but without avail. They scattered and then reappeared, closing in once more.

      ‘If there were only any peace in Egypt, I should like it better,’ said Mrs Allerton. ‘But you can never be alone anywhere. Someone is always pestering you for money, or offering you donkeys, or beads, 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 Second Cataract, 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 Leech there, and she was telling us the most wonderful things about you. She’d lost a ruby ring bathing, and she was just lamenting 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 tell me 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 supposed to be going to marry Lord Windlesham and then suddenly she gets engaged to this man no one had ever 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, ‘She is 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 penitent. ‘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 chestnut hair and the appalling mother in the turban is almost the only young creature in the place. You have talked to her 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 is suffering.’

      ‘Yes, she is not happy, poor little one.’

СКАЧАТЬ