Death on the Nile / Смерть на Ниле. Агата КристиЧитать онлайн книгу.

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look frightfully happy,” said Rosalie with a note of envy in her voice. She added suddenly, but so low that Tim did not catch the words, “It isn't fair.” Poirot heard, however, and he flashed a quick glance toward her[63].

      Tim said, “I must collect some stuff for my mother now.”

      He raised his hat and moved off. Poirot and Rosalie went slowly in the direction of the hotel, waving aside new offers of donkeys[64]. “So it is not fair, Mademoiselle?” asked Poirot gently.

      Rosalie Otterbourne shrugged her shoulders[65].

      “It really seems a little too much for one person. Money, good looks, marvellous figure and – ”

      She paused and Poirot said:

      “And love? Eh? And love? But you do not know – she may have been married for her money!”

      “Didn't you see the way he looked at her?”

      “Oh, yes, Mademoiselle. I saw all there was to see – indeed I saw something that you did not.”

      “What was that?”

      Poirot said slowly: “I saw, Mademoiselle, dark lines below a woman's eyes. I saw a hand that clutched a sunshade so tight that the knuckles were white.”

      Rosalie was staring at him.

      “What do you mean?”

      “I mean that all is not the gold that glitters[66]. I mean that, though this lady is rich and beautiful and beloved, there is all the same something that is not right. And I know something else.”

      “Yes?”

      “I know,” said Poirot, frowning, “that somewhere, at some time, I have heard that voice before – the voice of Monsieur Doyle – and I wish I could remember where.”

      But Rosalie was not listening. She had stopped dead.[67] Suddenly she broke out fiercely:

      “I'm awful. I'm just a beast through and through.[68] I'd like to tear the clothes off her back and stamp on her lovely, arrogant, self-confident face. I'm just a jealous cat – but that's what I feel like. She's so horribly successful and assured.”

      Hercule Poirot looked a little astonished by the outburst. He took her by the arm and gave her a friendly little shake.

      “You will feel better for having said that!”[69]

      “I just hate her! I've never hated anyone so much at first sight.”

      “Magnificent!”

      Rosalie looked at him doubtfully. Then her mouth twitched and she laughed.

      Poirot laughed too. They went amicably back to the hotel.

      “I must find Mother,” said Rosalie, as they came into the cool, dim hall.

      Some people were playing tennis in the hot sun. Poirot paused to watch them for a while, then went on down the steep path. It was there, sitting on a bench overlooking the Nile, that he came upon the girl of Chez Ma Tante. He recognized her at once. Her face, as he had seen it that night, was upon his memory. The expression on it now was very different. She was paler, thinner, and there were lines that told of a great weariness. He drew back a little. She had not seen him, and he watched her for a while without her suspecting his presence. Her small foot tapped impatiently on the ground. Her eyes had a strange kind of dark triumph in them. She was looking out across the Nile where the white sail-boats glided up and down the river.

      A face – and a voice. He remembered them both. This girl's face and the voice he had heard just now, the voice of a newly made bridegroom…

      And even as he stood there watching the girl, the next scene in the drama was played.

      Voices sounded above. The girl on the seat stood up. Linnet Doyle and her husband came down the path. Linnet's voice was happy and confident. The look of strain had quite disappeared. Linnet was happy.

      The girl who was standing there took a step or two forward. The other two stopped dead.

      “Hullo, Linnet,” said Jacqueline de Bellefort. “So here you are! We never seem to stop running into each other.[70] Hullo, Simon, how are you?”

      Linnet Doyle had shrunk back against the rock with a little cry.[71] Simon Doyle's good-looking face was suddenly convulsed with rage. He moved forward as though he would have liked to strike the slim girlish figure.

      Then Simon turned his head and noticed Poirot. He said awkwardly, “Hullo, Jacqueline; we didn't expect to see you here.”

      The girl flashed white teeth at them.[72]

      “Quite a surprise?” she asked. Then, with a little nod, she walked up the path. Poirot moved delicately in the opposite direction. As he went he heard Linnet Doyle say:

      “Simon – for God's sake! Simon – what can we do?”

      Chapter 2

      Dinner was over. The terrace outside the Cataract Hotel was softly lit. Most of the guests staying at the hotel were there sitting at little tables.

      Simon and Linnet Doyle came out, a tall, distinguished looking grey-haired man, with a keen, clean-shaven American face, beside them.

      As the little group hesitated for a moment in the doorway, Tim Allerton rose from his chair near by and came forward.

      “You don't remember me, I'm sure,” he said pleasantly to Linnet, “but I'm Joanna Southwood's cousin.”

      “Of course – how stupid of me! You're Tim Allerton. This is my husband and this is my American trustee, Mr Pennington.”

      Tim said, “You must meet my mother.”

      A few minutes later they were sitting together in a party – Linnet in the corner, Tim and Pennington each side of her, both talking to her. Mrs Allerton talked to Simon Doyle.

      The swing doors revolved. A small man came out and walked across the terrace.

      Mrs Allerton said: “You're not the only celebrity here, my dear. That funny little man is Hercule Poirot.”

      She had spoken lightly, just to bridge an awkward pause[73], but Linnet seemed struck by the information.

      “Hercule Poirot? Of course – I've heard of him.”

      Poirot had strolled across to the edge of the terrace when he heard Mrs Otterbourne say,

      “Sit down, Monsieur Poirot. What a lovely night.”

      He obeyed.

      “Mais oui,[74] Madame, it is indeed beautiful.”

      He smiled politely at her. Mrs Otterbourne went on in her high complaining voice: “Quite a lot of notabilities here now, aren't there? I expect we shall see a paragraph about it in the papers soon. Society beauties, famous novelists – ” She paused with a slight laugh.

      Poirot saw the sulky frowning girl opposite him flinch.

      “You have a novel on the way at present, Madame?” he inquired.

      Mrs Otterbourne gave her little self-conscious laugh again.

      “I'm being dreadfully lazy. I really must set to.[75] My public is getting terribly impatient – and my publisher, poor man! Appeals by every post! Even cables![76]” Again he felt the girl shift in the darkness.

      “I

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