Смерть на Ниле / Death on the Nile - стр. 15

‘I’ve always dreamed of a trip to Europe,’ sighed Cornelia, ‘but I just didn’t feel I’d ever get there.’

‘Miss Bowers will come with me as usual, of course,’ said Miss Van Schuyler, ‘but as a social companion I find her limited – very limited. There are many little things that Cornelia can do for me.’

‘I’d just love to, Cousin Marie,’ said Cornelia eagerly.

‘Well, well, then that’s settled,’ said Miss Van Schuyler. ‘Just run and find Miss Bowers, my dear. It’s time for my eggnog.’

Cornelia departed. Her mother said:

‘My dear Marie, I’m really most grateful to you! You know I think Cornelia suffers a lot from not being a social success. It makes her feel kind of mortified. If I could afford to take her to places – but you know how it’s been since Ned died.’

‘I’m very glad to take her,’ said Miss Van Schuyler. ‘Cornelia has always been a nice handy girl, willing to run errands, and not so selfish as some of these young people nowadays.’

Mrs Robson rose and kissed her rich relative’s wrinkled and slightly yellow face.

‘I’m just ever so grateful,’ she declared.

On the stairs she met a tall capable-looking woman who was carrying a glass containing a yellow foamy liquid.

‘Well, Miss Bowers, so you’re off to Europe?’

‘Why, yes, Mrs Robson.’

‘What a lovely trip!’

‘Why, yes, I should think it would be very enjoyable.’

‘But you’ve been abroad before?’

‘Oh, yes, Mrs Robson. I went over to Paris with Miss Van Schuyler last fall. But I’ve never been to Egypt before.’

Mrs Robson hesitated.

‘I do hope – there won’t be any – trouble.’

She had lowered her voice. Miss Bowers, however, replied in her usual tone:

‘Oh, no, Mrs Robson; I shall take good care of that. I keep a very sharp look-out always.’

But there was still a faint shadow on Mrs Robson’s face as she slowly continued down the stairs.

In his office downtown Mr Andrew Pennington was opening his personal mail. Suddenly his fist clenched itself and came down on his desk with a bang; his face crimsoned and two big veins stood out on his forehead. He pressed a buzzer on his desk and a smart-looking stenographer appeared with commendable promptitude.

‘Tell Mr Rockford to step in here.’

‘Yes, Mr Pennington.’

A few minutes later, Sterndale Rockford, Pennington’s partner, entered the office. The two men were not unlike – both tall, spare, with greying hair and cleanshaven clever faces.

‘What’s up, Pennington?’

Pennington looked up from the letter he was rereading. He said:

‘Linnet’s married…’

‘What?’

‘You heard what I said! Linnet Ridgeway’s