As the young man was about to turn the page, Mr Carmichael took the letter from him.
"That's all," he said. "The rest doesn't matter. Well, what do you think?"
His nephew considered for a moment - then he said: "Well - I think - not a coincidence."
The other nodded approval.
"Like a trip to Egypt?" he barked out.
"You think that's advisable?"
"I think there's no time to lose."
"But why me?"
"Use your brains, boy; use your brains. Linnet Ridgeway has never met you; no more has Pennington. If you go by air you may get there in time."
"I - I don't like it, sir. What am I to do?"
"Use your eyes. Use your ears. Use your brains - if you've got any. And, if necessary - act."
"I - I don't like it."
"Perhaps not - but you've got to do it."
"It's - necessary?"
"In my opinion," said Mr Carmichael, "it's absolutely vital."
Chapter 12
Mrs Otterbourne, readjusting the turban of native material that she wore draped round her head, said fretfully:
"I really don't see why we shouldn't go on to Egypt. I'm sick and tired of Jerusalem."
As her daughter made no reply, she said, "You might at least answer when you're spoken to."
Rosalie Otterbourne was looking at a newspaper reproduction of a face. Below it was printed:
Mrs Simon Doyle, who before her marriage was the well-known society beauty, Miss Linnet Ridgeway. Mr and Mrs Doyle are spending their holiday in Egypt.
Rosalie said, "You'd like to move on to Egypt, Mother?"
"Yes, I would," Mrs Otterbourne snapped. "I consider they've treated us in a most peculiar fashion here. My being here is an advertisement - I ought to get a special reduction in terms. When I hinted as much, I consider they were most impertinent - most impertinent. I told them exactly what I thought of them."
The girl sighed. She said: "One place is very like another. I wish we could go right away."
"And this morning," went on Mrs Otterbourne, "the manager actually had the impertinence to tell me that all the rooms had been booked in advance and that he would require ours in two days' time."
"So we've got to go somewhere."
"Not at all. I'm quite prepared to fight for my rights."
Rosalie murmured: "I suppose we might as well go on to Egypt. It doesn't make any difference."
"It's certainly not a matter of life or death," agreed Mrs Otterbourne.
But there she was quite wrong - for a matter of life and death was exactly what it was.
Part II - EGYPT
Chapter 1
"That's Hercule Poirot, the detective," said Mrs Allerton.
She and her son were sitting in brightly painted scarlet basket chairs outside the Cataract Hotel at Assuan. They were watching the retreating figures of two people - a short man dressed in a white silk suit and a tall slim girl. Tim Allerton sat up in an unusually alert fashion.
"That funny little man?" he asked incredulously.
"That funny little man!"
"What on earth's he doing out here?" Tim asked.
His mother laughed. "Darling, you sound quite excited. Why do men enjoy crime so much? I hate detective stories and never read them. But I don't think Monsieur Poirot is here with any ulterior motive. He's made a good deal of money and he's seeing life, I fancy."
"Seems to have an eye for the best looking girl in the place."
Mrs Allerton tilted her head a little on one side as she considered the retreating backs of M. Poirot and his companion.
The girl by his side over-topped him by some three inches. She walked well, neither stiffly nor slouchingly.
"I suppose she is quite good-looking," said Mrs Allerton.
She shot a little glance sideways at Tim. Somewhat to her amusement the fish rose at once.
"She's more than quite. Pity she looks so bad-tempered and sulky."
"Perhaps that's just expression, dear."
"Unpleasant young devil, I think. But she's pretty enough."
The subject of these remarks was walking slowly by Poirot's side. Rosalie Otterbourne was twirling an unopened parasol, and her expression certainly bore out what Tim had just said. She looked both sulky and bad-tempered. Her eyebrows were drawn together in a frown and the scarlet line of her mouth was drawn downward.
They turned to the left out of the hotel gate and entered the cool shade of the public gardens.
Hercule Poirot was prattling gently, his expression that of beatific good humour. He wore a white silk suit, carefully pressed, and a panama hat and carried a highly ornamental fly whisk with a sham amber handle.
"- it enchants me," he was saying. "The black rocks of Elephantine, and the sun, and the little boats on the river. Yes, it is good to be alive." He paused and then added, "You do not find it so, Mademoiselle?"
Rosalie Otterbourne said shortly: "It's all right, I suppose. I think Assuan's a gloomy sort of place. The hotel's half empty, and everyone's about a hundred -"
She stopped - biting her lip.
52书库推荐浏览： [英]阿加莎·克里斯蒂