Смерть на Ниле / Death on the Nile - стр. 68
Miss Van Schuyler, making a Royal Progress bedward, with Cornelia and Miss Bowers in attendance, paused by his chair. He sprang politely to his feet, stifling a yawn of gargantuan dimensions.
Miss Van Schuyler said:
‘I have only just realized who you are, Monsieur Poirot. I may tell you that I have heard of you from my old friend Rufus Van Aldin. You must tell me about your cases sometime.’
Poirot, his eyes twinkling a little through their sleepiness, bowed in an exaggerated manner. With a kindly but condescending nod, Miss Van Schuyler passed on.
Then he yawned once more. He felt heavy and stupid with sleep and could hardly keep his eyes open. He glanced over at the bridge players, absorbed in their game, then at young Fanthorp, who was deep in a book. Apart from them the saloon was empty.
He passed through the swinging door out on to the deck. Jacqueline de Bellefort, coming precipitately along the deck, almost collided with him.
‘Pardon, Mademoiselle.’
She said: ‘You look sleepy, Monsieur Poirot.’
He admitted it frankly.
‘Mais oui – I am consumed with sleep. I can hardly keep my eyes open. It has been a day very close and oppressive.’
‘Yes.’ She seemed to brood over it. ‘It’s been the sort of day when things – snap! Break! When one can’t go on…’
Her voice was low and charged with passion. She looked not at him, but towards the sandy shore. Her hands were clenched, rigid…
Suddenly the tension relaxed. She said:
‘Good night, Monsieur Poirot.’
‘Good night, Mademoiselle.’
Her eyes met his, just for a swift moment. Thinking it over the next day, he came to the conclusion that there had been appeal in that glance. He was to remember it afterwards.
Then he passed on to his cabin and she went towards the saloon.
Cornelia, having dealt with Miss Van Schuyler’s many needs and fantasies, took some needlework with her back to the saloon. She herself did not feel in the least sleepy. On the contrary she felt wide awake and slightly excited.
The bridge four were still at it. In another chair the quiet Fanthorp read a book. Cornelia sat down to her needlework.
Suddenly the door opened and Jacqueline de Bellefort came in. She stood in the doorway, her head thrown back. Then she pressed a bell and sauntered across to Cornelia and sat down.
‘Been ashore?’ she asked.
‘Yes. I thought it was just fascinating in the moonlight.’
Jacqueline nodded.
‘Yes, lovely night… A real honeymoon night.’
Her eyes went to the bridge table – rested a moment on Linnet Doyle.
The servant came in answer to the bell. Jacqueline ordered a double gin. As she gave the order Simon Doyle shot a quick glance at her. A faint line of anxiety showed between his eyebrows.