Agatha Christie - Death On The Nile

"Mademoiselle is too clever… But you agreeit was a good case?" "What the devil--" Tim began with rising anger, but Poirot held up a hand.

"There is a very good case against you, Mr. Allerton. I wanted you to realise that'. Now I will tell you something more pleasant. I have not yet examined that rosartd in your cabin. It may be that, when I do, I shall find nothing there. And thean, since Mademoiselle Otterbourne sticks to it that she saw no one on the deck last night-eh bien, there is no ease against you at all. The pearls were taken by a ldel tomaniac who has since returned them. They are in a little box on the table by the ' door if you would care to examine them with Mademoiselle." Tim got up. He stood for a moment unable to speak. When he did, his words seermed inadequate but it is possible that they satisfied his listeners.

"Thanks!" he said. "You won't have to give me another chance." He held the door open for the girl, she passed out, and picking up the little cardslboard box, he followed her.

Side by side they went. Tim opened the box, took out the sham string of pearls and J hurled it far from him into the Nile.

"There!" he said. "That's gone, When I return the box to Poirot the real string will Il be in it. What a damned fool I've been." Rosalie said in a low voice: "Why did you come to do it in the first place?" "How did I come to start, do you mean? Oh, I don't know. Boredom- lazi ness-the fun of the thing. Such a much more attractive way of earning a living thaOn just pegging away at a job. Sounds pretty sordid to you, I e,,xpect but you kno-W there was an attraction about it-mainly the risk, I suppose.

"I think I understand."

"Yes, but you wouldn't ever do it.'

Rosalie considered for a moment or two, her grave young head bent.

"No," she said simply. "I wouldn't."

He said: "Oh, my dear-you're so lovely. ·· so utterly lovely. Why wouldn't you say you $'d seen me last night?"

Rosalie said: "I thought-they might suspect you."

"Did you suspect me?"

"No. I couldn't believe that you'd kill any one."

"No. I'm not the strong stuff murderers are made of. I'm only a miserable sne;,,ak thief."

She put out a timid hand and touched his arm.

"Don't say that " He caught her hand in his.

"Rosalie, would you-you know what I mean? Or would you always despise me and throw it in my teeth?" She smiled faintly.

"There are things you could throw in my teeth, too.

"Rosalie--darling.

But she held back a minute longer.

"This-Joanna-?" Tim gave a sudden shout.

"Joanna-?

You're as bad as Mother. I don't care a damn about Joanna-she's got: a face like a horse atad a predatory eye. A most unattractive female." Presently Rosalie said: "Your mother need never know about you."

Tim said thoughtfully.

"I'm not sure. I think I shall tell her. Mother's got plenty of stuffing, you know. She can stand up to things. Yes, I think I shall shatter her maternal illusions about me. She'll be so relieved to know that my relations with Joanna were purely of a business nature that she'll forgive me everything else."

Th,ey had come to Mrs. Allerton's cabin and Tim knocked firmly on the door.

It opened and Mrs. Allerton stood on the threshold.

"Rosalie and I-" said Tim.

He paused.

"Oh, my dears," said Mrs. Allerton. She folded Rosalie in her arms. "My dear, dear child… I always hoped but Tim was so tiresomand pretended he didn't like you. But of course I saw through that!"

Rosalie said in a broken voice:

"You've been so sweet to me-always. I used to wish-to wish-" She/broke off and sobbed happily on Mrs. Allerton's shoulder.

As the door closed behind Tim and Rosalie, Poirot looked somewhat apologetically at Colonel Race. The colonel was looking rather grim.

"You will consent to my little arrangement, yes?" Poirot pleaded. "It is irregular-I know it is irregular, yes but I have a high regard for human happiness."

"You've none for mine," said Race.

"That jeune fille, I have a tenderness towards her-and she loves that young man. It will be an excellent match--she has the stiffening he needs--the mother likes her-everything is thoroughly suitable."

"In fact the marriage has been arranged by heaven and Hercule Poirot. All I have to do is to compound a felony."

"But, mon ami, I told you, it was all conjecture on my part."

Race grinned suddenly.

"It's all right by me," he said. "I'm not a damned policeman, thank God! I dare say the young fool will go straight enough now. The girl's straight all right.

No, what I'm complaining of is your treatment of me! I'm a patient man-but there are limits to my patience! Do you know who committed the three murders on this boat or don't you?"

"I do."

"Then why all this beating about the bush?"

"You think that I am just amusing myself with side issues? And it annoys you?

But is is not that. Once I went professionally to an archaeological expedition-and I learnt something there. In the course of an excavation, when something comes up out of the ground, everything is cleared away very carefully all around it. You take away the loose earth, and you scrape here and there with a knife until finally your object is there, all alone, ready to be drawn and photographed with no extraneous matter confusing it. That is what I have been seeking to do-clear away the extraneous matter so that we can see the truth--the naked shining truth."

"Good," said Race. "Let's have this naked shining truth. It wasn't Pennington.

It wasn't young Allerton. I presume it wasn't Fleetwood. Let's hear who it was for a change."

"My friend, I am just about to tell you."

There was a knock on the door. Race uttered a muffled curse.

It was Dr. Bessner and Cornelia. The latter was looking upset.

"Oh, Colonel Race," she exclaimed. "Miss Bowers has just told me about Cousin Marie. It's been the most dreadful shock. She said she couldn't bear the responsibility all by herself any longer, and that I'd better know as I was one of the family. I just couldn't believe it at first, but Dr. Bessner here has been just wonderful."

"No, no," protested the doctor modestly.

"He's been so kind, explaining it all, and how people really can't help it. He's had kleptomaniacs in his clinic. And he's explained to me how it's very often due to a deep seated neurosis."

Cornelia repeated the words with awe.

"It's planted very deeply in the subconscious-sometimes it's just some little thing that happened when you were a child. And he's cured people by getting them to think back and remember what that little thing was."

Cornelia paused, drew a deep breath, and started off again.

"But it's worrying me dreadfully in case it all gets out. It would be too terrible in New York. Why, all the tabloids would have it. Cousin Marie and mother and everybody-they'd never hold up their heads again."

Race sighed.

"That's all right," he said. "This is Hush Hush House."

"I beg your pardon, Colonel Race."

"What I was endeavouring to say was that anything short of murder is being hushed up."

"Oh!" Cornelia clasped her hands. "I'm so relieved. I've just been worrying and worrying."

"You have the heart too tender," said Dr. Bessner and patted her benevolently on the shoulder. He said to the others, "She has a very sensitive and beautiful nature."

"Oh, I haven't really. You're too kind."

Poirot murmured:

"Have you seen any more of Mr. Ferguson?"

Cornelia blushed.

"No-but Cousin Marie's been talking about him."

"It seems the young man is highly born," said Dr. Bessner. "I must confess he does not look it. His clothes are terrible. Not for a moment does he appear a well-bred man."

"And what do you think, Mademoiselle?"