“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.
CHAPTER 8
The steamer arrived early next morning at Es-Sab6a. Cornelia Robson, her face beaming, a large flapping hat on her head, was one of the first to hurry on shore.
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 ince 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 cotsin 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 RHarakhtewhose 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.