Death on the Nile

  Agatha Christie

  Death on the Nile

  A Hercule Poirot Mystery

  To my old friend Sybil Bennett

  who also loves wandering about the world

  Author’s Foreword

  Death on the Nile was written after coming back from a winter in Egypt. When I read it now I feel myself back again on the steamer from Assuan to Wadi Halfa. There were quite a number of passengers on board, but the ones in this book travelled in my mind and became increasingly real to me—in the setting of a Nile steamer. The book has a lot of characters and a very elaborately worked out plot. I think the central situation is intriguing and has dramatic possibilities, and the three characters, Simon, Linnet, and Jacqueline, seem to me to be real and alive.

  My friend, Francis L. Sullivan, liked the book so much that he kept urging me to adapt it for the stage, which in the end I did.

  I think, myself, that the book is one of the best of my “foreign travel” ones, and if detective stories are “escape literature” (and why shouldn’t they be!) the reader can escape to sunny skies and blue water as well as to crime in the confines of an armchair.

  Contents

  Cover

  Title Page

  Dedication

  Author’s Foreword

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-one

  Chapter Twenty-two

  Chapter Twenty-three

  Chapter Twenty-four

  Chapter Twenty-five

  Chapter Twenty-six

  Chapter Twenty-seven

  Chapter Twenty-eight

  Chapter Twenty-nine

  Chapter Thirty

  Chapter Thirty-one

  About the Author

  Other Books by the Agatha Christie

  Copyright

  About the Publisher

  One

  I

  “Linnet Ridgeway!”

  “That’s her!” said Mr. Burnaby, the landlord of the Three Crowns.

  He nudged his companion.

  The two men stared with round bucolic eyes and slightly open mouths.

  A big scarlet Rolls-Royce had just stopped in front of the local post office.

  A girl jumped out, a girl without a hat and wearing a frock that looked (but only looked) simple. A girl with golden hair and straight autocratic features—a girl with a lovely shape—a girl such as was seldom seen in Malton-under-Wode.

  With a quick imperative step she passed into the post office.

  “That’s her!” said Mr. Burnaby again. And he went on in a low awed voice: “Millions she’s got…Going to spend thousands on the place. Swimming pools there’s going to be, and Italian gardens and a ballroom and half of the house pulled down and rebuilt….”

  “She’ll bring money into the town,” said his friend. He was a lean, seedy-looking man. His tone was envious and grudging.

  Mr. Burnaby agreed.

  “Yes, it’s a great thing for Malton-under-Wode. A great thing it is.”

  Mr. Burnaby was complacent about it.

  “Wake us all up proper,” he added.

  “Bit of difference from Sir George,” said the other.

  “Ah, it was the ’orses did for him,” said Mr. Burnaby indulgently. “Never ’ad no luck.”

  “What did he get for the place?”

  “A cool sixty thousand, so I’ve heard.”

  The lean man whistled.

  Mr. Burnaby went on triumphantly: “And they say she’ll have spent another sixty thousand before she’s finished!”

  “Wicked!” said the lean man. “Where’d she get all that money from?”

  “America, so I’ve heard. Her mother was the only daughter of one of those millionaire blokes. Quite like the pictures, isn’t it?”

  The girl came out of the post office and climbed into the car.

  As she drove off, the lean man followed her with his eyes. He muttered:

  “It seems all wrong to me—her looking like that. Money and looks—it’s too much! If a girl’s as rich as that she’s no right to be a good-looker as well. And she is a good-looker…Got everything, that girl has. Doesn’t seem fair….”

  II

  Extract from the Social column of the Daily Blague.

  Among those supping at Chez Ma Tante I noticed beautiful Linnet Ridgeway. She was with the Hon. Joanna Southwood, Lord Windlesham and Mr. Toby Bryce. Miss Ridgeway, as everyone knows, is the daughter of Melhuish Ridgeway, who married Anna Hartz. She inherits from her grandfather, Leopold Hartz, an immense fortune. The lovely Linnet is the sensation of the moment and it is rumoured that an engagement may be announced shortly. Certainly Lord Windlesham seemed very épris!!

  III

  The Hon. Joanna Southwood said:

  “Darling, I think it’s going to be all perfectly marvellous!”

  She was sitting in Linnet Ridgeway’s bedroom at Wode Hall.

  From the window the eye passed over the gardens to open country with blue shadows of woodlands.

  “It’s rather perfect, isn’t it?” said Linnet.

  She leaned her arms on the window sill. Her face was eager, alive, dynamic. Beside her, Joanna Southwood seemed, somehow, a little dim—a tall thin young woman of twenty-seven, with a long clever face and freakishly plucked eyebrows.

  “And you’ve done so much in the time! Did you have lots of architects and things?”

  “Three.”

  “What are architects like? I don’t think I’ve ever seen any.”

  “They were all right. I found them rather unpractical sometimes.”

  “Darling, you soon put that right! You are the most practical creature!”

  Joanna picked up a string of pearls from the dressing table.

  “I suppose these are real, aren’t they, Linnet?”

  “Of course.”

  “I know it’s ‘of course’ to you, my sweet, but it wouldn’t be to most people. Heavily cultured or even Woolworth! Darling, they really are incredible, so exquisitely matched. They must be worth the most fabulous sum!”

  “Rather vulgar, you think?”

  “No, not at all—just pure beauty. What are they worth?”

  “About fifty thousand.”

  “What a lovely lot of money! Aren’t you afraid of having them stolen?”

  “No, I always wear them—and anyway they’re insured.”

  “Let me wear them till dinnertime, will you, darling? It would give me such a thrill.”

  Linnet laughed.

  “Of course, if you like.”

  “You know, Linnet, I really do envy you. You’ve simply got everything. Here you are at twenty, your own mistress, with any amount of money, looks, superb health. You’ve even got brains! When are you twenty-one?”

  “Next June. I shall have a grand coming-of-age party in London.”

  “And then are you going to marry Charles Windlesham? All the dreadful little gossip writers are getting so excited about it. And he really is frightfully devoted.”

  Linnet shrugged her shoulders.

  “I don’t know. I don’t really want to marry anyone yet.”

  “Darling, how right you are! It’s never quite the same afterward
s, is it?”

  The telephone shrilled and Linnet went to it.

  “Yes? Yes?”

  The butler’s voice answered her:

  “Miss de Bellefort is on the line. Shall I put her through?”

  “Bellefort? Oh, of course, yes, put her through.”

  A click and a voice, an eager, soft, slightly breathless voice: “Hullo, is that Miss Ridgeway? Linnet!”

  “Jackie darling! I haven’t heard anything of you for ages and ages!”

  “I know. It’s awful. Linnet, I want to see you terribly.”

  “Darling, can’t you come down here? My new toy. I’d love to show it to you.”

  “That’s just what I want to do.”

  “Well, jump into a train or a car.”

  “Right, I will. A frightfully dilapidated two-seater. I bought it for fifteen pounds, and some days it goes beautifully. But it has moods. If I haven’t arrived by teatime you’ll know it’s had a mood. So long, my sweet.”

  Linnet replaced the receiver. She crossed back to Joanna.

  “That’s my oldest friend, Jacqueline de Bellefort. We were together at a convent in Paris. She’s had the most terrible bad luck. Her father was a French Count, her mother was American—a Southerner. The father went off with some woman, and her mother lost all her money in the Wall Street crash. Jackie was left absolutely broke. I don’t know how she’s managed to get along the last two years.”

  Joanna was polishing her deep-blood-coloured nails with her friend’s nail pad. She leant back with her head on one side scrutinizing the effect.

  “Darling,” she drawled, “won’t that be rather tiresome? If any misfortunes happen to my friends I always drop them at once! It sounds heartless, but it saves such a lot of trouble later! They always want to borrow money off you, or else they start a dressmaking business and you have to get the most terrible clothes from them. Or they paint lampshades, or do batik scarves.”

  “So, if I lost all my money, you’d drop me tomorrow?”

  “Yes, darling, I would. You can’t say I’m not honest about it! I only like successful people. And you’ll find that’s true of nearly everybody—only most people won’t admit it. They just say that really they can’t put up with Mary or Emily or Pamela anymore! ‘Her troubles have made her so bitter and peculiar, poor dear!’”

  “How beastly you are, Joanna!”

  “I’m only on the make, like everyone else.”

  “I’m not on the make!”

  “For obvious reasons! You don’t have to be sordid when good-looking, middle-aged American trustees pay you over a vast allowance every quarter.”

  “And you’re wrong about Jacqueline,” said Linnet. “She’s not a sponge. I’ve wanted to help her, but she won’t let me. She’s as proud as the devil.”

  “What’s she in such a hurry to see you for? I’ll bet she wants something! You just wait and see.”

  “She sounded excited about something,” admitted Linnet. “Jackie always did get frightfully worked up over things. She once stuck a penknife into someone!”

  “Darling, how thrilling!”

  “A boy was teasing a dog. Jackie tried to get him to stop. He wouldn’t. She pulled him and shook him, but he was much stronger than she was, and at last she whipped out a penknife and plunged it right into him. There was the most awful row!”

  “I should think so. It sounds most uncomfortable!”

  Linnet’s maid entered the room. With a murmured word of apology, she took down a dress from the wardrobe and went out of the room with it.

  “What’s the matter with Marie?” asked Joanna.

  “She’s been crying.”

  “Poor thing! You know I told you she wanted to marry a man who has a job in Egypt. She didn’t know much about him, so I thought I’d better make sure he was all right. It turned out that he had a wife already—and three children.”

  “What a lot of enemies you must make, Linnet.”

  “Enemies?” Linnet looked surprised.

  Joanna nodded and helped herself to a cigarette.

  “Enemies, my sweet. You’re so devastatingly efficient. And you’re so frightfully good at doing the right thing.”

  Linnet laughed.

  “Why, I haven’t got an enemy in the world.”

  IV

  Lord Windlesham sat under the cedar tree. His eyes rested on the graceful proportions of Wode Hall. There was nothing to mar its old-world beauty; the new buildings and additions were out of sight round the corner. It was a fair and peaceful sight bathed in the autumn sunshine. Nevertheless, as he gazed, it was no longer Wode Hall that Charles Windlesham saw. Instead, he seemed to see a more imposing Elizabethan mansion, a long sweep of park, a more bleak background…It was his own family seat, Charltonbury, and in the foreground stood a figure—a girl’s figure, with bright golden hair and an eager confident face…Linnet as mistress of Charltonbury!

  He felt very hopeful. That refusal of hers had not been at all a definite refusal. It had been little more than a plea for time. Well, he could afford to wait a little….

  How amazingly suitable the whole thing was! It was certainly advisable that he should marry money, but not such a matter of necessity that he could regard himself as forced to put his own feelings on one side. And he loved Linnet. He would have wanted to marry her even if she had been practically penniless, instead of one of the richest girls in England. Only, fortunately, she was one of the richest girls in England….

  His mind played with attractive plans for the future. The Mastership of the Roxdale perhaps, the restoration of the west wing, no need to let the Scotch shooting….

  Charles Windlesham dreamed in the sun.

  V

  It was four o’clock when the dilapidated little two-seater stopped with a sound of crunching gravel. A girl got out of it—a small slender creature with a mop of dark hair. She ran up the steps and tugged at the bell.

  A few minutes later she was being ushered into the long stately drawing room, and an ecclesiastical butler was saying with the proper mournful intonation: “Miss de Bellefort.”

  “Linnet!”

  “Jackie!”

  Windlesham stood a little aside, watching sympathetically as this fiery little creature flung herself open-armed upon Linnet.

  “Lord Windlesham—Miss de Bellefort—my best friend.”

  A pretty child, he thought—not really pretty but decidedly attractive, with her dark curly hair and her enormous eyes. He murmured a few tactful nothings and then managed unobtrusively to leave the two friends together.

  Jacqueline pounced—in a fashion that Linnet remembered as being characteristic of her.

  “Windlesham? Windlesham? That’s the man the papers always say you’re going to marry! Are you, Linnet? Are you?”

  Linnet murmured: “Perhaps.”

  “Darling—I’m so glad! He looks nice.”

  “Oh, don’t make up your mind about it—I haven’t made up my own mind yet.”

  “Of course not! Queens always proceed with due deliberation to the choosing of a consort!”

  “Don’t be ridiculous, Jackie.”

  “But you are a queen, Linnet! You always were. Sa Majesté, la reine Linette. Linette la blonde! And I—I’m the Queen’s confidante! The trusted Maid of Honour.”

  “What nonsense you talk, Jackie darling! Where have you been all this time? You just disappear. And you never write.”

  “I hate writing letters. Where have I been? Oh, about three parts submerged, darling. In JOBS, you know. Grim jobs with grim women!”

  “Darling, I wish you’d—”

  “Take the Queen’s bounty? Well, frankly, darling, that’s what I’m here for. No, not to borrow money. It’s not got to that yet! But I’ve come to ask a great big important favour!”

  “Go on.”

  “If you’re going to marry the Windlesham man, you’ll understand, perhaps.”

  Linnet looked puzzled for a minute; then her face cleared.

&nbs
p; “Jackie, do you mean—?”

  “Yes, darling, I’m engaged!”

  “So that’s it! I thought you were looking particularly alive somehow. You always do, of course, but even more than usual.”

  “That’s just what I feel like.”

  “Tell me all about him.”

  “His name’s Simon Doyle. He’s big and square and incredibly simple and boyish and utterly adorable! He’s poor—got no money. He’s what you call ‘county’ all right—but very impoverished county—a younger son and all that. His people come from Devonshire. He loves the country and country things. And for the last five years he’s been in the City in a stuffy office. And now they’re cutting down and he’s out of a job. Linnet, I shall die if I can’t marry him! I shall die! I shall die! I shall die….”

  “Don’t be ridiculous, Jackie.”

  “I shall die, I tell you! I’m crazy about him. He’s crazy about me. We can’t live without each other.”

  “Darling, you have got it badly!”

  “I know. It’s awful, isn’t it? This love business gets hold of you and you can’t do anything about it.”

  She paused for a minute. Her dark eyes dilated, looked suddenly tragic. She gave a little shiver.

  “It’s—even frightening sometimes! Simon and I were made for each other. I shall never care for anyone else. And you’ve got to help us, Linnet. I heard you’d bought this place and it put an idea into my head. Listen, you’ll have to have a land agent—perhaps two. I want you to give the job to Simon.”

  “Oh!” Linnet was startled.

  Jacqueline rushed on: “He’s got all that sort of thing at his fingertips. He knows all about estates—was brought up on one. And he’s got his business training too. Oh, Linnet, you will give him a job, won’t you, for love of me? If he doesn’t make good, sack him. But he will. And we can live in a little house, and I shall see lots of you, and everything in the garden will be too, too divine.”