2 Part 2

Hercule Poirot found Jacqueline de Belleforte sitting on the rocks directly overlooking the Nile. He had felt fairly certain that she had not retired for the night and that he would find her somewhere about the grounds of the hotel.

She was sitting with her chin cupped in the palms of her hands, and she did not turn her head or look round at the sound of his approach.

"Mademoiselle de Bellefort?" said Poirot. "You permit that I speak to you for a little moment?" Jacqueline turned her head slightly. A faint smile played round her lips.

"Certainly," she said. 'You are M. 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 a bench near her.

"Your assumption is partially correct," he said, smiling. "I have just come from Mrs. Doyle. But I am not accepting any fee from her and strictly speaking 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 Mr. Simon Doyle."

A strange masklike 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."

Her voice was hard with an undertone of desperate bitterness.

"Mademoiselle, I speak as a friend. Bury your dead!"

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.

"You're not stupid," she said. She added slowly, "I believe you mean to be kind."

"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."

She was quick to perceive the inflection of his words. She repeated with emphasis:

"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. She's never denied herself anything. 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... If he'd married Linnet for her money that would be true. But he didn't marry her for her money. It's more complicated than that. There's such a thing as glamour, M. Poirot. And money helps that. Linnet had an 'atmosphere,' you see. She was the queen of a kingdom the young princess luxurious to her fingertips. It was like a stage' setting. She had the world at her feet. One of the richest and most sought after peers in England wanting to marry her. And she stoops instead to the obscure Simon Doyle .... Do you wonder it went to his head?" She made a sudden gesture. "Look at the moon up there. You see her very plainly, don't you? She's very real. But if the sun were to shine you wouldn't be able to see her at all. It was rather like that. I was the moon .... When the sun came out, Simon couldn't see me anymore.... He was dazzled. He couldn't see anything but the sun, Linnet." She paused and then went on: "So you see it was glamour. She went to his head. And then there's her complete assurance her habit of command. She's so sure of herself that she makes other people sure.

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 up in her golden chariot. And I know perfectly that he wouldn't have ever 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, then be stifled. She looked at Poirot and a

deep burning color spread over her face. She looked away, her head dropped down. She said in a low stifled voice: "Yes, I know. He hates me now. Yes, hates me He'd better be careful." With a quick gesture she fumbled in 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 a dainty toy it looked.

"Nice little thing, isn't it?" she said. "Looks too foolish to be real, but it is real! One of those bullets would kill a man or a woman. And I'm a good shot." She smiled a faraway reminiscent smile. "When I went home as a child with my mother to South Carolina, my grandfather taught me to shoot. He was the old-fashioned kind that believes in shooting espeically where honour is concerned. My father, too, he fought several duels as a young man. He was a good swordsman. He killed a man once. That was over a woman. So you see, M. Poirot" she met his eyes squarely, "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. Both of them would have been unsatisfactory. If I'd thought Linnet would have looked abradi, but she's got plenty of physical courage. She can stand up to physical action. 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 seeme! And it worked! It got Linnet baldi in a way nothing else could have done! It got right under her skin. That was when I began to enjoy myself.... And there's nothing she can do about it! I'm always perfectly pleasant and polite! There's not a word they can take hold off It's poisoning 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 said.

Her smile was definitely challenging.

"Mademoiselle, I beseech 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 you do evil will come .... Yes, very surely evil will come.

It will enter in and make its home within you and after a while, it will no longer be possible to drive it out."

Jacqueline stared at him. Her glance seemed to waver, to flicker uncertainly.

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 ought to approve of my present scheme of revenge. Because you see, as long as it works, I

shan't use that pistol .... But I'm abroad, yes, afraid sometimes, it all goes red, I want to hurt her to stick a knife into her, to put my dear little 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 goodnight."

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.

"No, for you could do it! There is always a moment! Your friend Linnet there was a moment too, in

which she could have held her hand .... She let it pass by. And if one does that, then one is committed to the enterprise and there comes no second chance." "No second chance . . .' said Jacqueline de Bellefort.

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

"Good-night, M. Poirot." He shook his head sadly and followed her up the path to the hotel.

Simon and Linnet Doyle set off on their expedition to Phila 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 a car laden with luggage and in which sat a demure-looking maid from the front door of the hotel and which 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 around the museum yawning from time to time and then escaped to the outer air.

Poirot and Signor Richetti, at last, followed 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 'Imshf 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 some one is always pestering you for money, or offering you donkeys, or beads, or expeditions to native villages, or duck shooting."

"It is a great disadvantage, that is true," agreed 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 all 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 off' "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 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." "Tim and I call her the 'sulky girl.' I've tried to talk to her once or twice, but she's snubbed me on each occasion. However, I believe she's going on this Nile trip too, and I expect we'll have to be more or less all matey together, shan't we?" "It is a possible contingency, Madame." "I'm very matey really people interest me enormously. All the different types." She paused, then said, "Tim tells me that that dark girl her name is de-Bellefort is the girl who was engaged to Simon Doyle. It's rather awkward for them meeting like this." "It is awkwardness," agreed Poirot.

Mrs. Allerton shot a quick glance at him.

"You know, it may sound foolish, but she almost frightened me. She looked so--intense." Poirot nodded his head slowly.

"You were not far wrong, Madame. A great force of emotion is always frightening." "Do people interest you too, M. Poirot? Or do you reserve your interest in potential criminals." "Madame that category would not leave many people outside it." Mrs. Allerton looked a trifle startled. "Do you really mean that?"

"Given the particular incentive that is to say," Poirot added.

"Which would differ?" "Naturally."

Mrs. Allerton hesitated little smile on her lips.

"Even I, perhaps?"

"Mothers, Madame, are particularly ruthless when their children are in danger."

She said gravely:

"I think that's true yes, you're quite right."

She was silent a minute or two, then she said smiling:

"I'm trying to imagine the motives for crime suitable for everyone in the hotel.

It's quite entertaining. Simon Doyle for instance?"

Poirot said smiling:

"A very simple crime, a direct short-cut to his objective. No subtlety about it."

"And therefore very easily detected?" "Yes, he would not be ingenious." "And Linnet?"

"That would be like the queen in your Alice in Wonderland, 'Off with her head.'"

'Of course. The divine right of monarchy! Just a little bit of the Naboth's vineyard touch. And the

dangerous girl, Jacqueline de Bellefort could she do a murder?"

Poirot hesitated for a minute or two, then he said doubtfully: "Yes, I think she could." "But you're not sure?"

"No. She puzzles me, that little one."

"I don't think Mr. Pennington could do one, do you? He looks so desiccated and dyspeptic with no red blood in him."

"But possibly a strong sense of self-preservation."

"Yes, I suppose so. And poor Mrs. Otterbourne in her turban?"

"There is always vanity."

"As a motive for murder?" Mrs. Allerton asked doubtfully.

"Motives for murder are sometimes very trivial, Madam." "What are the most usual motives, M. Poirot?"

"Most frequent money. That is to say gain in its various ramifications. Then there is revenge and love, and fear and pure hate, and beneficence "

"M. Poirot!"

"Oh, yes, Madame. I have known of shall we say A? being removed by B solely in order to benefit C. Political murders often come under that heading.

Someone is considered to be harmful to civilization and is removed on that account. Such people forget that life and death are the affairs of the good God." He spoke gravely.

Mrs. Allerton said quietly: "I am glad to hear you say that. All the same, God chooses his instruments." "There is danger in thinking like that, Madame." She adopted a lighter tone:

"After this conversation, M. Poirot, I shall wonder that there is anyone left alive!" She got up.

"We must be getting back. We have to start immediately after lunch." When they reached the landing-stage they found the young man in the polo jumper just taking his place in the boat. The Italian was already waiting. As the Nubian boatman cast the sail loose and they started Poirot addressed a polite remark to the stranger: "There are very wonderful things to be seen in Egypt, are there not?" The young man was now smoking a somewhat noisome pipe. He removed it from his mouth and remarked briefly and emphatically in astonishingly well-bred accents: "They make me sick." Mrs. Allerton put on her pince-nez and surveyed him with pleasurable interest. Poirot said: "Indeed? And why is that?" "Take the Pyramids. Great blocks of useless masonry. Put up to minister to the egoism of a despotic bloated king. Think of the sweated masses who toiled to build them and died doing it. It makes me sick to think of the suffering and torture they represent." Mrs. Allerton said cheerfully: "You'd rather have no Pyramids, no

Parthenon, no beautiful tombs or temples just the solid satisfaction of knowing that people got three meals a day and died in their beds." The young man directed his scowl in her direction.

"I think human beings matter more than stones." "But they do not endure as well," remarked Hercule Poirot.

"I'd rather see a well-fed worker than any so-called work of art. What matters is the future, not the

past." This was too much for Signor Richetti who burst into a torrent of impassioned speech not too easy to follow.

The young man retorted by telling everybody exactly what he thought of the capitalist system. He spoke with the utmost venom.

When the tirade was over they had arrived at the hotel landing stage.

Mrs. Allerton murmured cheerfully, "Well, well," and stepped ashore. The young man directed a baleful glance after her.

In the hall of the hotel, Poirot encountered Jacqueline de Bellefort. She was dressed in riding clothes. She gave him an ironical little bow.

"I'm going donkey riding. Do you recommend the native villages, M. Poirot?" "Is that your excursion to-day, Mademoiselle? Eh bien, they are picturesque, but do not spend large sums on native curios."

"Which are shipped here from Europe? No, I am not so easy to deceive as that." With a little nod she passed out into the brilliant sunshine.

Poirot completed his packing a very simple affair since his possessions were always in the most

meticulous order. Then he repaired to the dining-room and ate an early lunch.

After lunch, the hotel bus took the Passengers for the Second Cataract to the station where they were to catch the daily express from Cairo on to Shellal a ten minutes' run.

The Allertons, Poirot, the young man in the dirty flannel trousers and the Italian were the passengers. Mrs. Otterbourne and her daughter had made the expedition to the dam and to Phfia and would join the steamer at Shellal.

The train from Cairo and Luxor was about twenty minutes late. However, it arrived at last, and the usual scenes of wild activity occurred. Native porters taking suitcases out of the train collided with other porters putting them in.

Finally, somewhat breathless, Poirot found himself with an assortment of his own, the Allertons' and some totally unknown luggage in one compartment while Tim and his mother were elsewhere with the remains of the assorted baggage.

The compartment in which Poirot found himself was occupied by an elderly lady with a very wrinkled face, a stiff white stock, a good many diamonds and an expression of reptilian contempt for the majority of mankind.

She treated Poirot to an aristocratic glare and retired behind the pages of an American magazine. A big, rather clumsy young woman of under thirty was sitting opposite her. She had eager brown eyes rather like a dog's, untidy hair, and a terrific air of willingness to please. At intervals, the old lady looked over the top of her magazine and snapped an order at her.

"Cornelia, collect the rugs. When we arrive to look after my dressing-case. On no account let anyone else handle it. Don't forget my paper-cutter." The train run was brief. In ten minutes' time, they came to rest on the jetty where the S.S. Karnak was awaiting them. The Otterbournes were already on board.

The Karnak was a smaller steamer than the Papyrus and the Lotus, the First Cataract steamers which are too large to pass through the locks of the Assuan dam.

The passengers went on board and were shown their accommodation. Since the boat was not full most of the passengers had cabins on the promenade deck. The entire forward part of this deck was occupied by an observation saloon all glass-enclosed where the passengers could sit and watch the river unfold before them.

On the deck below was a smoking-room and small drawing-room and on the deck below that, the

dining-saloon.

Having seen his possessions disposed of in his cabin, Poirot came out on the deck again to watch the process of departure. He joined Rosalie Otterbourne who was leaning over the side.

"So now we journey into Nubia. You are pleased, Mademoiselle?" The girl drew a deep breath.

"Yes. I feel that one's really getting away from things at last." She made a gesture with her hand. There was a savage aspect about the sheet of water in front of them, the masses of rock without vegetation that came down to the water's edge here and there a trace of houses abandoned and ruined as a result of the damming up of the waters. The whole scene had a melancholy, almost sinister charm.

"Away from people," said Rosalie Otterbourne. "Except those of our own number, Mademoiselle?"

She shrugged her shoulders. Then she said: "There's something about this country that makes me feel wicked. It brings to the surface all the things that are boiling inside one. Everything's so unfair, so unjust." "I wonder. You cannot judge by material evidence." Rosalie muttered: "Look at some people's mothers and look at mine. There is no God but Sex and Salome Otterbourne are its Prophet."

She stopped. "I shouldn't have said that I suppose." Poirot made a gesture with his hands.

"Why not say it to The? I am one of those who hear many things. If, as you say, you boil inside like the jam! Eh bien, let the scum come to the surface and then one can take it off with a spoon, so."

He made the gesture of dropping something into the Nile.

"There, it has gone," Rosalie said:

"What an extraordinary man you are!" Her sulky mouth twisted into a smile.

Then she suddenly stiffened as she exclaimed. "Why, here are Mrs. Doyle and her husband! I had no idea they were coming on this trip!"

Linnet had just emerged from a cabin half-way along the deck. Simon was behind her. Poirot was almost startled by the look of her so radiant, so assured.

She looked positively arrogant with happiness. Simon Doyle, too, was a transformed being. He was grinning from ear to ear and looking like a happy schoolboy.

"This is grand," he said as he too leaned on the rail. "I'm really looking forward to this trip, aren't you, Linnet? It feels somehow, so much less touristy as though we were really going into the heart of Egypt."

His wife responded quickly.

"I know. It's so much wilder, somehow."

Her hand slipped through his arm. He pressed it close to his side·

"We're off, Lin," he murmured.

The steamer was drawing away from the jetty. They had started on their seven days' journey to the

Second Cataract and back.

Behind them, a light silvery laugh rang out. Linnet whipped round.

Jacqueline de Bellefort was standing there. She seemed amused.

"Hallo, Linnet! I didn't expect to find you here. I thought you said you were staying at Assuan another ten days. This is a surprise!"

"You, you didn't" Linnet's tongue stammered. She forced a ghastly conventional smile. "I didn't expect to see you either."

"No?"

Jacqueline moved away to the other side of the boat. Linnet's grasp on her husband's arm tightened.

"Simon,Simon"

All of Doyle's good-natured pleasure had gone. He looked furious. His hands clenched themselves in spite of his effort at self-control.

The two of them moved a little away. Without turning his head Poirot caught scraps of disjointed words . . turn back . . . impossible . . . we could . . ." and then slightly louder, Doyle's voice, despairing but grim: "We can't run away forever, Lin. We've got to go through with it now . ." It was some hours later.

Daylight was just fading. Poirot stood in the glass-enclosed saloon looking straight ahead. The Karnak was going through a narrow gorge. The rocks came down with a kind of sheer ferocity to the river flowing deep and swift between them. They were in Nubia now.

He heard a movement and Linnet Doyle stood by his side.

Her fingers twisted and untwisted themselves, she looked as he had never yet seen her look. There was about her the air ora bewildered child. She said:

"M. Poirot, I'm afraid of everything. I've never felt like this before. All these wild rocks and

the awful grimness and starkness. Where are we going? What's going to happen? I'm afraid, I tell you.

Everyone hates me. I've never felt like that before. I've always been nice to peopleI've done things for them and they hate me lots of people hate me except for Simon I'm surrounded by enemies It's terrible to feel that there are people who hate you . . .

"But what is all this, Madame?" She shook her head.

"I suppose it's nerves . . . I just feel that everything's unsafe all around me.

She cast a quick nervous glance over her shoulder. Then she said abruptly: "How will all this end? We're caught here. Trapped. There's no way out.

We've got to go on. I don't know where I am." She slipped down on to a seat. Poirot looked down

on her gravely; his glance was not untinged with compassion.

She said: "How did she know we were coming on this boat? How could she have known?" Poirot shook his head as he answered.

"She has brains, you know." ,

"I feel as though I shall never escape from her."

Poirot said: "There is one plan you might have adopted. In fact, I am surprised that it did not occur to you.

After all, with you, Madame, money is no object. Why did you not engage your own private dahabiyah?"

Linnet shook her head rather helplessly.

"If we'd known about all this but you see we didn't then. And it was difficult. "She flashed out with

sudden impatience. "Oh! you don't understand half my difficulties. I've got to be careful with Simon. He's absurdly sensitive about money. About my having so much! He wanted me to go to some little place in Spain with him, he wanted to pay all our honeymoon expenses himself.

As if it mattered.t Men are stupid! He's got to get used to living comfortably. The mere idea of a dahabiyah upset him the needless expense.

I've got to educate him gradually." She looked up, bit her lip vexedly, as though feeling that she had been led into discussing her difficulties rather too unguardedly.

She got up.

"I must change. I'm sorry, M. Poirot, I'm afraid I've been talking a lot of foolish nonsense."

Mrs. Allerton, looking quiet and distinguished in her simple black lace evening gown, descended two decks to the dining-room. At the door of it her son caught her up.

"Sorry, darling. I thought I was going to be late." "I wonder where we sit." The saloon was dotted with little tables. Mrs. Allerton paused till the steward, who was busy seating a party of people, could attend to them.

"By the way," she added. "I asked little Hercule Poirot to sit at our table." "Mother, you didn't!" Tim

sounded really taken aback and annoyed. His mother stared at him in surprise. Tim was usually so easy going.

"My dear, do you mind?"

"Yes, I do. He's an unmitigated little bounder!"

"Oh, no, Tim! I don't agree with you."

"Anyway, what do we want to get mixed up with an outsider for? Cooped up like this on a small boat that sort of thing is always a bore. He'll be with us morning, noon and night."

"I'm sorry, dear." Mrs. Allerton looked distressed. "I thought really it would amuse you. After all, he must have had a varied experience. And you love detective stories."

Tim grunted:

"I wish you wouldn't have these bright ideas, Mother. We can't get out of it now, I suppose?"

"Really, Tim, I don't see how we can."

"Oh, well, we hall have to put up with it, I suppose."

The steward came to them at this minute and led them to a table. Mrs.

Allerton's face wore rather a puzzled expression as she followed him. Tim was usually so easy going and good-tempered. This outburst was quite unlike him. It wasn't as though he had the ordinary Britisher's dislike, and mistrust of, foreigners.

Tim was very cosmopolitan. Oh, well, she sighed. Men were incomprehensible!

Even one's nearest and dearest had unsuspected reactions and feelings.

As they took their places, Hercule Poirot came quickly and silently into the dining-saloon. He paused with his hand on the back of the third chair.

"You really permit, Madame, that I avail myself of your kind suggestion?" "Of course Sit down, M.

Poirot." "You are most amiable."

She was uneasily conscious that as he seated himself he shot a swift glance at Tim and that Tim had not quite succeeded in masking a somewhat sullen expression.

Mrs. Allerton set herself to produce a pleasant atmosphere. As they drank their soup, she picked up the passenger list which had been placed beside her plate.

"Let's try and identify everybody," she said cheerfully. "I always think that's rather fun."

She began reading.

"Mrs. Allerton, Mr. T. Allerton. That's easy enough! Miss de Bellefort.

They've put her at the same table as the Otterbournes, I see. I wonder what she and Rosalie will make of each other. Who comes next? Dr. Bessner. Dr. Bessner? Who can identify Dr. Bessner?"

She bent her glance on a table at which four men sat together.

"I think he must be the fat one with the closely-shaved head and the mustache. A German, I should imagine. He seems to be enjoying his soup very Certain succulent noises floated across to them.

Mrs. Allerton continued:

"Miss Bowers? Can we make a guess at Miss Bowers? There are three or four women, we'll leave

her for the present. Mr. and Mrs. Doyle. Yes, indeed, the lions of this trip. She really is very beautiful and what a perfectly lovely frock she is wearing."

Tim turned round in his chair. Linnet and her husband and Andrew Pennington had been given a table in the corner. Linnet was wearing a white dress and pearls.

"It looks frightfully simple to me," said Tim. "Just a length of stuff with a kind of cord around the middle."

"Yes, darling," said his mother. "A very nice manly description of an eighty-guinea model."

Tim said: "I can't think why women pay so much for their clothes. It seems absurd to me."

Mrs. Allerton proceeded with her study of her fellow-passengers.

"Mr. Fanthorp must be the intensely quiet young man who never speaks at the same table as the German.

Rather a nice face, cautious but intelligent." Poirot agreed:

"He is intelligent, yes. He does not talk, but he listens very attentively and he also watches. Yes, he

makes good use of his eyes. Not quite the type you would expect to find traveling for pleasure in this part of the world. I wonder what he is doing here."

'Mr. Ferguson," read Mrs. Allerton. "I feel that Ferguson must be our anti-capitalist friend. Mrs.

Otterbourne, Miss Otterbourne. We know all about them. Mr.

Pennington? Alias Uncle' Andrew. He's a good-looking man, I think." "Now, Mother," said Tim.

"I think he's very good-looking in a dry sort of way," said Mrs. Allerton.

"Rather a ruthless jaw. Probably the kind of man one reads about in the paper who operates on Wall Street, or is it on Wall Street? I'm sure he must be extremely rich. Next M. Hercule Poirot whose talents are really being wasted. Can't you get up a crime for M. Poirot, Tim?"

But her well-meant banter only seemed to annoy her son anew.

He scowled and Mrs. Allerton hurried on. "Mr. Richetti. Our Italian archaeological friend. Then Miss Robson and last of all Miss Van Schuyler. The last's easy. The very ugly old American lady who obviously feels herself the queen of the boat and who is clearly going to be very exclusive and speak to nobody who doesn't come up to the most exacting standards! She's rather marvelous, isn't she, really? A kind of period piece. The two women with her must be Miss Bowers and Miss Robson, perhaps a Secretary, the thin one with pince-nez and poor relations the rather pathetic young woman who is obviously enjoying herself in spite of being treated like a black slave. I think Robson's secretary woman and Bowers is the poor relation."

"Wrong, Mother," said Tim grinning. He had suddenly recovered his good humor.

"How do you know?"

"Because I was in the lounge before dinner and the old bean said to the companion woman, 'Where's Miss Bowers? Fetch her at once, Cornelia,' and away trotted Cornelia like an obedient dog."

"I shall have to talk to Miss Van Schuyler," mused Mrs. Allerton.

Tim grinned again.

"She'll snub you, Mother."

"Not at all. I shall pave the way by sitting near her and conversing in low (but penetrating) well-bred tones about any titled relations and friends I can remember.

I think a casual mention of your second cousin once removed the Duke of Glasgow would probably do the trick."

"How unscrupulous you are, Mother."

Events after dinner were not without their amusing side to a student of human nature.

The socialist young man (who turned out to be Mr. Ferguson as deduced) retired to the smoking-room, scorning the assemblage of passengers in the observation saloon on the top deck.

Miss Van Schuyler duly secured the best and most undraughty position thereby advancing firmly on a table at which Mrs. Otterbourne was sitting and saying: "You'll excuse me, I am sure, but I think my knitting was left here!" Fixed by a hypnotic eye the turban rose and gave ground. Miss Van Schuyler established herself and her suite. Mrs. Otterbourne sat down nearby and hazarded various remarks which were met with such chilling politeness that she soon gave up. Miss Van Schuyler then sat in glorious isolation. The Doyles sat with the Allertons. Dr. Bessner retained the quiet Mr. Fanthorp as a companion.

Jacqueline de Bellefort sat by herself with a book. Rosalie Otterbourne was restless. Mrs. Allerton spoke to her once or twice and tried to draw her into their group but the girl responded ungraciously.

M. Hercule Poirot spent his evening listening to an account of Mrs. Otterbourne's mission as a writer.

On his way to his cabin that night he encountered Jacqueline de Bellefort. She was leaning over the rail and as she turned her head he was struck by the look of acute misery on her face. There was now no insouciance, no malicious defiance, no dark flaming triumph.

"Good-night, Mademoiselle." "Good-night, M. Poirot.' She hesitated, then said, "You were surprised to find me here?" "I was not so much surprised as sorry, very sorry...' He spoke gravely.

"You mean sorry for me?" "That is what I meant. You have chosen, Mademoiselle, the dangerous

course .... As we here in this boat have embarked on a journey so you too have embarked on your own private Journey, a journey on a swift-moving river, between dangerous rocks and heading for who knows what currents of disaster..." "Why do you say all this?" "Because it is true .... You have cut the bonds that moored you to safety. I doubt now if you could turn back if you would.' She said very slowly:

"That is true..." Then she flung her head back.

"Ah, well, one must follow one's star wherever it leads." "Beware, Mademoiselle, that it is not a false star...' She laughed and mimicked the parrot cry of the donkey boys: "That very bad star, sir! That star fall down..." He was just dropping off to sleep when the murmur of voices awoke him.

It was Simon Doyle's voice he heard, repeating the same words he had used when the steamer left Shellal.

"We've got to go through with it now...' "Yes," thought Hercule Poirot to himself, "we have got to go through with it now . . .

He was not happy.

The steamer arrived early next morning at Es-Sabba. Cornelia Robson, her face beaming, a large

flapping hat on her head was one of the first to hurry onshore.

Cornelia was not good at snubbing people. She was of an amiable disposition and disposed to like all her fellow-creatures. The sight of Hercule Poirot in a white suit, pink shirt, large black bow tie and a white topee did not make her as the aristocratic Miss Van Schuyler would assuredly have winced.

As they walked together up an avenue of sphinxes she responded readily to his conventional opening.

"Your companions are not coming ashore to view the temple?" "Well, you see, Cousin Marie that's

Miss Van Schuyler, never gets up very early. She has to be very, very careful of her health. And, of course, she wanted Miss Bowers, that's her hospital nurse, to do things for her. And she said too that this isn't one of the best temples but she was frightfully kind and said it would be quite all right for me to come." "That was very gracious of her," said Poirot dryly.

The ingenuous Cornelia agreed unsuspectingly.

"Oh, she's very kind. It's simply wonderful of her to bring me on this trip. I do feel I'm a lucky girl. I just could hardly believe it when she suggested to Mother that I should come too." "And you have enjoyed it yes?" "Oh, it's been wonderful. I've seen Italy, Venice and Padua and Pisa and then Cairo, only Cousin Marie wasn't very well in Cairo so I couldn't get around much, and now this wonderful trip up to Wadi Halfa and back." Poirot said, smiling: "You have the happy nature, Mademoiselle." He looked thoughtfully from her to the silent frowning Rosalie who was walking ahead by herself.

"She's very nice looking, isn't she?" said Cornelia, following his glance. "Only kind of scornful looking.

She's very English, of course. She's not as lovely as Mrs. Doyle. I think Mrs. Doyle's the loveliest, the most elegant woman I've ever seen! And her husband just worships the ground she walks on, doesn't he? I think that grey-haired lady is kind of distinguished-looking, don't you? She's cousin to a duke, I believe. She was talking about him right near us last night. But she isn't actually titled herself, is she?" She prattled on until the dragoman in charge called a halt and began to intone.

"This temple was dedicated to Egyptian God Amun and the Sun God Harakhte whose symbol was

hawk's head . . ." It droned on. Dr. Bessner, Bedeker in hand, mumbled to himself in German.

He preferred the written word.

Tim Allerton had not joined the party. His mother was breaking the ice with the reserved Mr. Fanthorp.

Andrew Pennington, his arm through Linnet Doyle's, was listening attentively, seemingly most interested in the measurements as recited by the guide.

"Sixty-five feet high, is that so? It looks a little less to me. Great fellow, this Rameses. An Egyptian live wire." "A big businessman, Uncle Andrew." Andrew Pennington looked at her appreciatively.

"You look fine this morning, Linnet. I've been a mite worried about you lately. You've looked kind of peaky., Chatting together, the party returned to the boat. Once more the Karnak glided up the river. The scenery was less stern now. There were palms, cultivation.

It was as though the change in the scenery had relieved some secret oppression that had brooded over the passengers. Tim Allerton had got over his fit of moodiness, Rosalie looked less sulky. Linnet, seemed almost lighthearted.

Pennington said to her: "It's tactless to talk business to a bride on her honeymoon, but there are just one or two things" "Why, of course, Uncle Andrew." Linnet at once became businesslike. "My marriage has made a difference of course." "That's just it. Some time or other I want your signature to several documents." "Why not now?" Andrew Pennington glanced round. Their corner of the observation saloon was quite untenanted. Most of the people were outside on the deck space between the observation saloon and the cabins. The only occupants of the saloon were Mr. Ferguson who was drinking beer at a small table in the middle, his legs encased in their dirty flannel trousers stuck out in front of him, whilst he whistled to himself in the intervals of drinking, M. Hercule Poirot who was sitting close up to the front glass intent on the panorama unfolding before him, and Miss Van Schuyler who was sitting in a corner reading a book on Egypt.

"That's fine," said Andrew Pennington.

He left the saloon.

Linnet and Simon smiled at each other a slow smile that took a few minutes to come to full fruition.

He said: "All right, sweet?" "Yes, still all right .... Funny how I'm not rattled anymore."

Simon said with a deep conviction in his tone:

"You're marvelous." Pennington came back. He brought with him a sheaf of closely-written documents.

"Mercy!" cried Linnet. "Have I got to sign all these?" Andrew Pennington was apologetic.

"It's tough on you, I know. But I'd just like to get your affairs put in proper shape. First of all, there's the lease of the Fifth Avenue property.., then there are the Western Lands Concessions.

He talked on rustling and sorting the papers. Simon yawned.

The door to the deck swung open and Mr. Fanthorp came in. He gazed aimlessly round, then strolled forward and stood by Poirot looking out at the pale blue water and the yellow enveloping sands.

"you sign just there," concluded Pennington, spreading a paper before Linnet and indicating a space.

Linnet picked up the document and glanced through it. She turned back once to the first page, then taking up the fountain-pen Pennington had laid beside her she signed her name, Linnet Doyle.

Pennington took away the paper and spread out another.

Fanthorp wandered over in their direction. He peered out through the side window at something that seemed to interest him on the bank they were passing.

"That's just the transfer," said Pennington. "You needn't read it." But Linnet took a brief glance through it.

Pennington laid down the third paper.

Again Linnet perused it carefully.

"They're all quite straightforward," said Andrew. "Nothing of interest. Only legal phraseology." Simon yawned again.

"My dear girl, you're not going to read the whole lot through, are you? you'll be at it till lunchtime and longer." "I always read everything through," said Linnet. "Father taught me to do that. He said there might be some clerical error:" Pennington laughed rather harshly.

"You're a grand woman of business, Linnet." "She's much more conscientious than I'd be," said Simon laughing. "I've never read a legal document in my life. I sign where they tell me to sign on the dotted line and that's that." "That's frightfully slipshod," said Linnet disapprovingly.

"I've no business head," said Simon cheerfully. "Never had. A fellow tells me to sign, I sign. It's much the simplest way." Andrew Pennington was looking at him thoughtfully. He said dryly, stroking his upper lip:

"A little risky sometimes, Doyle?" "Nonsense," said Simon. "I'm not one of those people who believe the whole world is out to do one down. I'm a trusting kind of fellow and it pays, you know, I've hardly ever been let down." Suddenly, to everyone's surprise, the silent Mr. Fanthorp swung round and addressed Linnet.

"I hope I'm not butting in, but you must let me say how much I admire your businesslike capacity. In my profession, I am a lawyer, I find ladies sadly unbusinesslike. Never to sign a document before you read it through is admirable altogether admirable." He gave a little bow. Then, rather red in the face, he turned once more to contemplate the banks of the Nile.

Linnet said rather uncertainly, "Thank you .... ' She bit her lip to repress a giggle. The young man had looked so preternaturally solemn.

Andrew Pennington looked seriously annoyed.

Simon Doyle looked uncertain whether to be annoyed or amused.

The backs of Mr. Fanthorp's ears were bright crimson.

"Next, please," said Linnet smiling up at Pennington.

But Pennington was looking decidedly ruffled.

"I think perhaps some other time would be better," he said stiffly. "As Doyle says if you have to read through all these we shall be here till lunchtime.We mustn't miss enjoying the scenery. Anyway, those first two papers were the only urgent ones. We'll settle down to business later." Linnet said: "It's frightfully hot in here. Let's go outside."

The three of them passed through the swing door. Hercule Poirot turned his head. His gaze rested thoughtfully on Mr. Fanthorp's back, then it shifted to the lounging figure of Mr. Ferguson who had his head thrown back and was still whistling softly to himself.

Finally, Poirot looked over at the upright figure of Miss Van Schuyler in her corner. Miss Van Schuyler was glaring at Mr. Ferguson.

The swing door on the port side opened and Cornelia Robson hurried in.

"You've been a long time," snapped the old lady. "Where've you been?"

"I'm so sorry, Cousin Marie. The wool wasn't where you said it was. It was in another case altogether."

"My dear child, you are perfectly hopeless at finding anything! You are willing, I know, my dear, but you must try to be a little cleverer and quicker. It only needs concentration."

"I'm so sorry, Cousin Marie. I'm afraid I am very stupid."

"Nobody needs to be stupid if they try, my dear. I have brought you on this trip and I expect a little attention in return."

Cornelia flushed.

"I'm very sorry, Cousin Marie."

"And where is Miss Bowers? It was time for my drops ten minutes ago. Please go and find her at once. The doctor said it was most important"

But at this stage Miss Bowers entered, carrying a small medicine glass.

"Your drops, Miss Van Schuyler."

"I should have had them at eleven," snapped the old lady. "If there's one thing I detest it's unpunctuality."

"Quite," said Miss Bowers. She glanced at her wristwatch. "It's exactly halfa minute to eleven."

"By my watch, it's ten past."

"I think you'll find my watch is right. It's a perfect timekeeper. It never loses or gains."

Miss Bowers was quite imperturbable.

Miss Van Schuyler swallowed the contents of the medicine glass.

"I feel definitely worse," she snapped.

"I'm sorry to hear that, Miss Van Schuyler."

Miss Bowers did not sound sorry. She sounded completely uninterested. She was obviously making the correct reply mechanically.

"It's too hot in here," snapped Miss Van Schuyler. "Find me a chair on the deck, Miss Bowers. Cornelia, bring my knitting. Don't be clumsy or drop it. And then I shall want you to wind some wool."

The procession passed out.

Mr. Ferguson sighed, stirred his legs and remarked to the world at large: "Gosh, I'd like to scrag that dame." Poirot asked interestedly:

"She is a type you dislike, eh?"

"Dislike? I should say so. What good has that woman ever been to anyone or anything? She's never worked or lifted a finger. She's just battened on other people. She's a parasite and a damned unpleasant parasite. There are a lot of people on this boat I'd say the world could do without."

"Really?"

"Yes. That girl in here just now, signing share transfers and throwing her weight about. Hundreds and thousands of wretched workers slaving for a mere pittance to keep her in silk stockings and useless luxuries. One of the richest women in England, so someone told me and never done a hand's turn in her life." "Who told you she was one of the richest women in England?"

Mr. Ferguson cast a belligerent eye at him.

"A man you wouldn't be seen speaking to! A man who works with his hands and isn't ashamed of it. Not one of your dressed-up foppish good for nothings."

His eyes rested unfavorably on the bow tie and pink shirt,

"Me, I work with my brains and am not ashamed of it," said Poirot, answering the glance.

Mr. Ferguson merely snorted.

"Ought to be shot up the lot of them!" he snorted.

"My dear young man," said Poirot. "What a passion you have for violence"

"Can you tell me of any good that can be done without it? You've got to break down and destroy before you can build up."

"It is certainly much easier and much noisier and much more spectacular.'

"What do you do for a living? Nothing at all, I bet. Probably call yourself a middle man."

"I am not a middle man. I am a top man," said Hercule Poirot with slight arrogance.

"What are you?"

"I am a detective," said Hercule Poirot with the modest air of one who says, "I am a King."

"Good God," the young man seemed seriously taken aback. "Do you mean that girl actually totes about a dumb dick? Is she as careful of her precious skin as that?"

"I have no connection whatever with Mr. and Mrs. Doyle," said Poirot stiffly.

"I am on holiday."

"Enjoying a vacation, eh?"

"And you? Is it not that you are on holiday also?"

"Holiday!" Mr. Ferguson snorted. Then he added cryptically, "I'm studying conditions."

"Very interesting," murmured Poirot and moved gently out on to the deck.

Miss Van Schuyler was established in the best corner. Cornelia knelt in front of her, her arms

outstretched with a skein of grey wool upon them. Miss Bowers was sitting very upright reading the Saturday Evening Post.

Poirot wandered gently onward do the starboard deck. As he passed round the stern of the boat he almost ran into a woman who turned a startled face towards him a dark piquant Latin face. She was neatly dressed in black and had been standing talking to a big burly man in uniform one of the engineers by the look of him. There was a queer expression on both their faces guilt and alarm. Poirot wondered what they had been talking about.

He rounded the stern and continued his walk along the port side. A cabin door opened and Mrs.

Otterbourne emerged and nearly fell into his arms. She was wearing a scarlet satin dressing-gown.

"So sorry," she apologized. "Dear Mr. Poirot, so very sorry. The motion, just the motion, you know.

Never did have any sea legs. If the boat would only keep still "She clutched at his arm. "It's the pitching I can't stand really happy at sea And left all alone here hour after hour. That girl of mine no sympathy no understanding of her poor old mother who's done everything for her . .

"Mrs. Otterbourne began to weep. "Slaved for her I have .worn myself to the bone to the bone. A

grande amoureuse that's what I might have been a grande amoureuse sacrificed everything and nobody cares! But I'll tell everyone I'll tell them now, how she neglects me, how hard she is making me come on this journey bored to death I'll go and tell them now"

She surged forward. Poirot gently repressed the action.

"I will send her to you, Madame. Re-enter your cabin. It is best that way"

"No. I want to tell everyone on the boat"

"It is too dangerous, Madame. The sea is too rough. You might be swept overboard."

Mrs. Otterbourne looked at him doubtfully.

"You think so. You really think so?"

"I do."

He was successful. Mrs. Otterbourne wavered, faltered and re-entered her cabin.

Poirot's nostrils twitched once or twice. Then he nodded and walked on to where Rosalie Otterbourne was sitting between Mrs. Allerton and Tim.

"Your mother wants you, Mademoiselle."

She had been laughing quite happily. Now her face clouded over. She shot a quick suspicious look at him and hurried along the deck.

"I can't make that child out," said Mrs. Allerton. "She varies so. One day she's friendly the next day

she's positively rude."

"Thoroughly spoilt and bad-tempered," said Tim.

Mrs. Allerton shook her head.

"No. I don't think it's that. I think she's unhappy."

Tim shrugged his shoulders.

"Oh, well, I suppose we've all got our private troubles."

His voice sounded hard and curt.

A booming noise was heard.

"Lunch," cried Mrs. Allerton delightedly. "I'm starving."

That evening Poirot noticed that Mrs. Allerton was sitting' talking to Miss Van Schuyler. As he passed Mrs. Allerton closed one eye and opened it again.

She was saying: "Of course at Calfries Castle the dear Duke "

Cornelia, released from attendance, was out on the deck. She was listening to Dr. Bessner who was instructing her somewhat ponderously in Egyptology as culled from the pages of Baedeker. Cornelia listened with rapt attention.

Leaning over the rail Tim Allerton was saying:

"Anyhow, it's a rotten world "

Rosalie Otterbourne answered: "It's unfair Some people have everything." Poirot sighed.

He was glad that he was no longer young.

On a Monday morning, various expressions of delight and appreciation were heard on the deck of the Karnak. The steamer was moored to the bank and a few hundred yards away, the morning sun just striking it, was a great temple carved out of the face of the rock. Four colossal figures, hewn out of the cliff, look out eternally over the Nile and face the rising sun.

Cornelia Robson said incoherently: "Oh, M. Poirot, isn't it wonderful? I mean they're so big and so peaceful and looking at them makes one feel that one's so small and rather like an insect and that nothing matters very much really, does it?" Mr. Fanthorp who was standing nearby murmured: "Very impressive." "Grand, isn't it?" said Simon Doyle, strolling up. He went on confidentially to Poirot. "You know, I'm not much of a fellow for temples and sight-seeing and all that, but a place like this sort of gets you, if you know what I mean. Those old Pharaohs must have been wonderful fellows." The others had drifted away. Simon lowered his voice.

"I'm no end glad we came on this trip. It's well, it's cleared things up.

Amazing why it should but there it is. Linnet's got her nerve back. She says it's because/she's actually faced the business at last." "I think that is very probable," said Poirot.

"She says that when she actually saw Jackie on the boat she felt terrible and then suddenly it didn't matter anymore. We're both agreed that we won't try and dodge her anymore. We'll just meet her on her own ground and show her that this ridiculous stunt of hers doesn't worry us a bit. It's just damned bad form, that's all. She thought she'd get us badly rattled, but now, well, we just aren't rattled anymore. That ought to show her.' "Yes," said Poirot thoughtfully. "So that's splendid, isn't it?" "Oh yes, yes."

Linnet came along the deck. She was dressed in a soft shade of apricot linen.

She was smiling.

She greeted Poirot with no particular enthusiasm, just gave him a cool nod and then drew her husband away.

Poirot realized with a momentary flicker of amusement that he had not made himself popular by his critical attitude. Linnet was used to unqualified admiration of all she was or did. Hercule Poirot had sinned noticeably against this creed.

Mrs. Allerton, joining him, murmured: "What a difference in that girl! She looked worried and not very happy at Assuan. To-day she looks so happy that one might almost be afraid she was fey." Before Poirot could respond as he meant the party was called to order. The official dragoman took charge and the party was led ashore to visit Abu Simbel.

Poirot himself fell into step with Andrew Pennington. "It is your first visit to Egypt, yes?" he asked.

"Why, no, I was here in 1923. That is to say, I was in Cairo. I've never been this trip up the Nile before."

"You came over on the Carmanic, I believe at least so Mrs. Doyle was telling me." Pennington shot a shrewd glance in his direction.

"Why yes, that is so," he admitted.

"I wondered if you had happened to come across some friends of mine who were aboard--the

Rushington Smiths." "I can't recall anyone of that name. The boat was full and we had bad weather. A lot of passengers hardly appeared and in any case, the voyage is so short one doesn't get to know who is on board and who isn't." "Yes, that is very true. What a pleasant surprise your running into Mrs. Doyle and her husband. You had no idea they were married?" "No. Mrs. Doyle had written to me, but the letter was forwarded on and I only received it some days after our unexpected meeting in Cairo." "You have known her for very many years, I understand?"

"Why, I should say I have, M. Poirot. I've known Linnet Ridgeway since she was just a cute little thing so high" He made an illustrating gesture. "Her father and I were lifelong friends. A very remarkable man,

Melhuish Ridgeway and a very successful one."

"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 stock, however, sound it maybe?" 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 these days." Poirot murmured.

"I should imagine, however, that Mrs. 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 negro 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 colored 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, strangely 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 follows, 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 Nubian 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 changes.

"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 wary 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 Linnet" Her eyes dosed. 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 someone running towards him waving their arms shouting.

Simon stared stupidly for a moment. Then he sprang to his feet and dragged Linnet with him. e- 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 natives 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 lighthearted raillery.

Poirot said quickly: "Come back to the boat, Madame. You must have a restorative." They walked there silently, 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 gang-plank, 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"

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 Nubian row of heads. Mrs.

Otterbourne was with her.

The others were nowhere in sight.

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