"You refuse to be honest with yourself." "Not at all." Poirot said gently: "I should say, Madame, that you have had a happy life, that you have been generous and kindly in your attitude towards others." "I have tried to be," said Linnet.
The impatient anger died out of her face. She spoke simply-almost forlornly.
"And that is why the feeling that you have deliberately caused injury to some one upsets you so much, and why you are so reluctant to admit the fact. Pardon me if I have been impertinent, but the psychology it is the most important factor in a
Linnet said slowly: "Even supposing what you say were true-and I don't admit it, mind what can be done about it now? One can't alter the past-one must deal with things as they are." Poirot nodded.
"You have the clear brain. Yes, one cannot go back over the past. One must accept things as they are. And sometimes, Madame, that is all one can do-accept the consequences of one's past deeds." "You mean," said Linnet incredulously, "that I can do nothing-nothing?" "You must have courage, Madame, that is what it seems like to me." Linnet said slowly: "Couldn't you-talk to Jackie-to Miss de Bellefort? Reason with her?" "Yes, I could 'do that. I will do that if you would like me to do so. But do not expect much result. I fancy that Mademoiselle de Bellefort is so much in the grip of a fixed idea that nothing will turn her from it." "But surely we can do something to extricate ourselves?"
"You could, of course, return to England and establish yourself in your own house."
"Even then, I suppose, Jacqueline is capable of planting herself in the village, so that I should see her every time I went out of the grounds.'
"True."
"Besides," said Linnet slowly, "I don't think that Simon would agree to run away.
"What is his attitude in this?" "He's furious-simply furious." Poirot nodded thoughtfully.
Linnet said appealingly: "You will-talk to her?"
"Yes, I will do that. But is is my opinion that I shall not be able to accomplish anything."
Linnet said violently:
"Jackie is extraordinary! One can't tell what she will do!"
"You spoke just now of certain threats she had made. Would you tell me what those threats were?"
Linnet shrugged her shoulders.
"She threatened to-well-kill us both. Jackie can be rather-Latin sometimes."
"I see." Poirot's tone was grave.
Linnet turned to him appealingly: "You will act for me?"
"No, Madame." His tone was firm. "I will not accept a commission from you. I will do what I can in the interests of humanity. That, yes. There is here a situation that is full of difficulty and danger. I will do what I can to clear it up-but I am not very sanguine as to my chance of success." Linnet Doyle said slowly: "But you will not act for me?" "No, Madame," said Hercule Poirot.
Chapter 4
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 any more… 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-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 colour 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.