Agatha Christie - Death On The Nile

"That, I think, is equally obvious to Cornelia," said Miss Van Schuyler.

"Is it?" Mr. Ferguson looked at her searchingly. "Is that why you won't marry me?"

"No, it isn't." Cornelia flushed. "If-if I liked you, I'd marry you no matter who you were."

"But you don't like me?"

"I-I think you're just outrageous. The way you say things… The things you say… I-I've never met any one the least like you. I-"

Tears threatened to overcome her. She rushed from the room.

"On the whole," said Mr. Ferguson, "that's not too bad for a start." He leaned back in his chair, gazed at the ceiling, whistled, crossed his disreputable knees and remarked, "I'll be calling you Auntie yet."

Miss Van Schuyler trembled with rage.

"Leave this room at once, sir, or I'll ring for the steward."

"I've paid for my ticket," said Mr. Ferguson. "They can't possibly turn me out of the public lounge. But I'll humour you." He sang softly, "Yo ho ho, and a bottle of rum." Rising, he sauntered nonchalantly to the door and passed out.

Choking with anger Miss Van Schuyler struggled to her feet. Poirot, discreetly emerging from retirement behind his magazine, sprang up and retrieved the ball of wool.

"Thank you, M. Poirot. If you would send Miss Bowers to meI feel quite upset-that insolent young man."

"Rather eccentric, I'm afraid," said Poirot. "Most of that family are. Spoilt, of course. Always inclined to tilt at windmills." He added carelessly: "You recognised him, I suppose?"

"Recognised him?"

"Calls himself Ferguson and won't use his title because of his advanced ideas." "His title?" Miss Van Schuyler's tone was sharp.

"Yes, that's young Lord Dawlish. Rolling in money, of course. But he became a communist when he was at Oxford."

Miss Van Schuyler, her face a battleground of contradictory emotions, said: "How long have you known this, M. Poirot?" Poirot shrugged his shoulders.

"There was a picture in one of these papers-I noticed the resemblance. Then I found a signet ring with a coat of arms on it. Oh, there's no doubt about it, I assure you.

He quite enjoyed reading the conflicting expressions that succeeded each other on Miss Van Schuyler's face. Finally, with a gracious inelincation of the head, she said:

"I am very much obliged to you, M. Poirot."

Poirot looked after her as she went out of the saloon and smiled.

Then he sat down and his face grew grave once more. He was following out a train of thought in hi mind. From time to time he nodded his head.

"Mais oui," he said at last. "It all fits in."

Race found him still sitting there.

"Well, Poirot, what about it? Pennington's due in ten minutes. I'm leaving this in your hands."

Poirot rose quickly to his feet.

"First, get hold of young Fanthorp." "Fanthorp?" Race looked surprised.

"Yes. Bring him to my cabin."

Race nodded and went off. Poirot went along to his cabin. Race arrived with young Fanthorp a minute or two afterwards.

Poirot indicated chairs and offered cigarettes.

"Now, M. Fanthorp," he said. "To our business! I perceive that you wear the same tie that my friend Hastings wears."

Jim Fanthorp looked down at his neckwear with some bewilderment.

"It's an O.E. tie," he said.

"Exactly. You must understand that though I am a foreigner, I know something of the English point of view. I know, for instance, that there are 'things which are done' and things which are 'not done.'"

Jim Fanthorp grinned.

"We don't say that sort of thing much nowadays, sir."

"Perhaps not, but the custom, it still remains. The Old School Tie is the

Old School Tie and there are certain things (I know this from experience) that the

Old School Tie does not do! One of those things, M. Fanthorp, is to butt into a private conversation unasked when one does not know the people who are conducting it." Fanthorp stared.

Poirot went on:

"But the other day, M. Fanthorp, that is exactly what you did do. Certain persons were quietly transacting some private business in the observation saloon.

You strolled near them, obviously in order to overhear what it was that was in progress, and presently you actually turned round and congratulated a lady-Mrs.

Simon Doyleon the soundness of her business methods."

Jim Fanthorp's face got very red. Poirot swept on, not waiting for a comment.

"Now that, M. Fanthorp, was not at all the behaviour of one who wears a tie similar to that worn by my friend Hastings! Hastings is all delicacy, would die of shame before he did such a thing! Therefore, taking that action of yours in conjunction with the fact that you are a very young man to be able to afford an expensive holiday, that you are a member of a country solicitor's firm and therefore probably not extravagantly well off, and that you shdw no sign of recent illness such as might necessitate a prolonged visit abroad, I ask myself-and am now asking you

—-what is the reason for your presence on this boat?"

Jim Fanthorp jerked his head back.

"I decline to give you any information whatever, M. Poirot. I really think you must be mad."

"I am not mad. I am very very sane. Where is your firm? In Northampton-that is not very far from Wode Hall. What conversation did you try to overhear?

One concerning legal documents. What was the object of your remark-a remark which you uttered with obvious embarrassment and malaise? Your object was to prevent Mrs. Doyle from signing any documents unread."

He paused.

"On this boat we have had a murder, and following that murder two other murders in rapid succession. If I further give you the information that the weapon which killed Mrs. Otterbourne was a revolver owned by Mr. Andrew Penningt,,on, then perhaps you will realise that it is actually your duty to tell us all you can.

Jim Fanthorp was silent for some minutes. At last he said:

"You have rather an odd way of going about things, M. Poirot, but I appreciate the points you have made. The trouble is that I have no exact information to lay before you."

"You mean that it is a case, merely, of suspicion."

"Yes."

"And therefore you think it injudicious to speak? That may be true, legally speaking. But this is not a court of law. Colonel Race and myself are endeavouring to track down a murderer. Anything that can help us to do so may be valuable." Again Jim Fanthorp reflected. Then he said: "Very well. What is it you want you know?" "Why did you come on this trip?"

"My uncle, Mr. Carmichael, Mrs. Doyle's English solicitor, sent me. He handled a good many of her affairs. In this way, he was often in correspondence with Mr. Andrew Pennington who was Mrs. Doyle's American trustee. Several small incidents (I cannot enumerate them all) made my uncle suspicious that all was not quite as it should be."

"In plain language," said Race, "your uncle suspected that Pennington was a crook?"

Jim Fanthorp nodded, a faint smile on his face.

"You put it rather more bluntly than I should, but the main idea is correct.

Various excuses made by Pennington, certain plausible explanations of the disposal of funds, aroused my uncle's distrust.

"While these suspicions of his were still nebulous Miss Ridgeway married unexpectedly and went off on her honeymoon to Egypt. Her marriage relieved my uncle's mind, as he knew that on her return to England the estate would have to be formally settled and handed over.

"However, in a letter she wrote him from Cairo, she mentioned casually that she had unexpectedly run across Andrew Pennington. My uncle's suspicions became acute. He felt sure that Pennington, perhaps by now in a desperate position, was going to try and obtain signatures from her which would cover his own defalcations. Since my uncle had no definite evidence to lay before her, he was in a most difficult position. The only thing he could think of was to send me out there, travelling by air, with instructions to discover what was in the wind. I was to keep my eyes open and act summarily if necessary-a most unpleasant mission, I can assure you. As a matter of fact, on the occasion you mention I had to behave more or less as a cad! It was awkward, but on the whole I was satisfied with the result."