Смерть на Ниле / Death on the Nile - Кристи Агата - Страница 22

‘His daughter comes into a considerable fortune, I understand… Ah, pardon – perhaps it is not delicate what I say there.’

Andrew Pennington seemed slightly amused.

‘Oh, that’s pretty common knowledge. Yes, Linnet’s a wealthy woman.’

‘I suppose, though, that the recent slump is bound to affect any stocks, however sound they may be?’

Pennington took a moment or two to answer. He said at last:

‘That, of course, is true to a certain extent. The position is very difficult in these days.’

Poirot murmured: ‘I should imagine, however, that Madame Doyle has a keen business head.’

‘That is so. Yes, that is so. Linnet is a clever practical girl.’

They came to a halt. The guide proceeded to instruct them on the subject of the temple built by the great Rameses. The four colossi of Rameses himself, one pair on each side of the entrance, hewn out of the living rock, looked down on the straggling little party of tourists.

Signor Richetti, disdaining the remarks of the dragoman, was busy examining the reliefs of African and Syrian captives on the bases of the colossi on either side of the entrance.

When the party entered the temple, a sense of dimness and peace came over them. The still vividly coloured reliefs on some of the inner walls were pointed out, but the party tended to break up into groups.

Dr Bessner read sonorously in German from a Baedeker, pausing every now and then to translate for the benefit of Cornelia, who walked in a docile manner beside him. This was not to continue, however. Miss Van Schuyler, entering on the arm of the phlegmatic Miss Bowers, uttered a commanding, ‘Cornelia, come here,’ and the instruction had perforce to cease. Dr Bessner beamed after her vaguely through his thick lenses.

‘A very nice maiden, that,’ he announced to Poirot. ‘She does not look so starved as some of these young women – no, she has the nice curves. She listens too very intelligently; it is a pleasure to instruct her.’

It fleeted across Poirot’s mind that it seemed to be Cornelia’s fate either to be bullied or instructed. In any case she was always the listener, never the talker.

Miss Bowers, momentarily released by the peremptory summons of Cornelia, was standing in the middle of the temple, looking about her with her cool, incurious gaze. Her reaction to the wonders of the past was succinct.

‘The guide says the name of one of these gods or goddesses was Mut. Can you beat it?’

There was an inner sanctuary where sat four figures eternally presiding, stangely dignified in their dim aloofness.

Before them stood Linnet and her husband. Her arm was in his, her face lifted – a typical face of the new civilization, intelligent, curious, untouched by the past.

Simon said suddenly: ‘Let’s get out of here. I don’t like these four fellows – especially the one in the high hat.’

‘That’s Amon, I suppose. And that one is Rameses. Why don’t you like them? I think they’re very impressive.’

‘They’re a damned sight too impressive – there’s something uncanny about them. Come out into the sunlight.’

Linnet laughed, but yielded.

They came out of the temple into the sunshine with the sand yellow and warm about their feet. Linnet began to laugh. At their feet in a row, presenting a momentarily gruesome appearance as though sawn from their bodies, were the heads of half a dozen boys. The eyes rolled, the heads moved rhythmically from side to side, the lips chanted a new invocation:

‘Hip, hip hurray! Hip, hip hurray! Very good, very nice. Thank you very much.’

‘How absurd! How do they do it? Are they really buried very deep?’

Simon produced some small change.

‘Very good, very nice, very expensive,’ he mimicked.

Two small boys in charge of the ‘show’ picked up the coins neatly.

Linnet and Simon passed on. They had no wish to return to the boat, and they were weary of sightseeing. They settled themselves with their backs to the cliff and let the warm sun bake them through.

‘How lovely the sun is,’ thought Linnet. ‘How warm – how safe… How lovely it is to be happy… How lovely to be me – me – me – Linnet-’

Her eyes closed. She was half asleep, half awake, drifting in the midst of thought that was like the sand drifting and blowing.

Simon’s eyes were open. They too held contentment. What a fool he’d been to be rattled that first night… There was nothing to be rattled about… Everything was all right… After all, one could trust Jackie-

There was a shout – people running towards him waving their arms – shouting…

Simon stared stupidly for a moment. Then he sprang to his feet and dragged Linnet with him.

Not a minute too soon. A big boulder hurtling down the cliff crashed past them. If Linnet had remained where she was she would have been crushed to atoms.

White-faced they clung together. Hercule Poirot and Tim Allerton ran up to them.

‘Ma foi, Madame, that was a near thing.’

All four instinctively looked up at the cliff. There was nothing to be seen. But there was a path along the top. Poirot remembered seeing some locals walking along there when they had first come ashore.

He looked at the husband and wife. Linnet looked dazed still – bewildered. Simon, however, was inarticulate with rage.

‘God damn her!’ he ejaculated. He checked himself with a quick glance at Tim Allerton.

The latter said:

‘Phew, that was near! Did some fool bowl that thing over, or did it get detached on its own?’

Linnet was very pale. She said with difficulty:

‘I think – some fool must have done it.’

‘Might have crushed you like an eggshell. Sure you haven’t got an enemy, Linnet?’

Linnet swallowed twice and found difficulty in answering the light-hearted raillery.

Poirot said quickly: ‘Come back to the boat, Madame. You must have a restorative.’

They walked quickly, Simon still full of pent-up rage, Tim trying to talk cheerfully and distract Linnet’s mind from the danger she had run, Poirot with a grave face.

And then, just as they reached the gangplank, Simon stopped dead. A look of amazement spread over his face.

Jacqueline de Bellefort was just coming ashore. Dressed in blue gingham, she looked childish this morning.

‘Good God!’ said Simon under his breath. ‘So it was an accident, after all.’

The anger went out of his face. An overwhelming relief showed so plainly that Jacqueline noticed something amiss.

‘Good morning,’ she said. ‘I’m afraid I’m a little on the late side.’

She gave them all a nod and stepped ashore and proceeded in the direction of the temple.

Simon clutched Poirot’s arm. The other two had gone on.

‘My God, that’s a relief. I thought – I thought-’

Poirot nodded.

‘Yes, yes, I know what you thought.’ But he himself still looked grave and preoccupied. He turned his head and noted carefully what had become of the rest of the party from the ship.

Miss Van Schuyler was slowly returning on the arm of Miss Bowers.

A little farther away Mrs Allerton was standing laughing at the little row of heads. Mrs Otterbourne was with her.

The others were nowhere in sight.

Poirot shook his head as he followed Simon slowly onto the boat.

‘Will you explain to me, Madame, the meaning of the word “fey”?’

Mrs Allerton looked slightly surprised. She and Poirot were toiling slowly up to the rock overlooking the Second Cataract. Most of the others had gone up on camels, but Poirot had felt that the motion of the camel was slightly reminiscent of that of a ship. Mrs Allerton had put it on the grounds of personal indignity.