Death on the Nile / Смерть на Ниле. Агата КристиЧитать онлайн книгу.
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.
Но пусть он лучше побережётся!
пистолет, похожий на изящную игрушку
особенно, когда была задета честь
она смотрела ему прямо в глаза
Это пр осто бесит Линнет.