the girl's ear a moment before. She hadn't noticed it.
Nobody had. I picked it up and put it into my pocket,
meaning to return it to her as soon as I caught her up.
But I forgot.
"And then, halfway up that climb, I began to think.
The jewel meant nothing to that fool of a girl--her
father would buy her another without noticing the cost.
And it would mean a lot to me. The sale of that pearl
would equip an expedition." His impassive face sud-denly
twitched and came to life. "Do you know the dif-ficulty
there is nowadays in raising subscriptions for
digging? No, you don't. The sale of that pearl would
make everything easy. There's a site I want to digBup
in Baluchistan. There's a whole chapter of the past there
waiting to be discovered...
"What you said last'night came into my mind--about
a suggestible witness. I thought the girl was that type.
As we reached the summit I told her her earring was
loose. I pretended to tighten it. What I really did was to
press the point of a small pencil into her ear. A few
minutes later I dropped a little pebble. She was quite
'ready to swear then that the earring had been in her
ear and had just dropped off. In the meantime I pressed
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Agatha Christie
the pearl into a lump of plasticine in my pocket. That's
my story. Not a very edifying one. Now for your
turn."
"There isn't much of my story," said Mr. Parker
Pyne. "You were the only man who'd picked up things
from the ground--that's what made me think of you.
And finding that little pebble was significant. It suggested
the trick you'd played. And then--"
"Go on," said Carver.
"We/l, you see, you'd talked about honesty a little
too vehemently last night. Protesting overmuch--well,
you know what Shakespeare says. It looked, somehow,
as though you were trying to convice yourself. And you
were a little too scornful about money."
The face of the man in front of him looked lined and
weary. "Well, that's that," he said. "It's all up with me
now. You'll give the girl back her gewgaw, I suppose?
Odd thing, the barbaric instinct for ornamentation. You
find it going back as far as paleolithic times. One of the
first instincts of the female sex.';
"I think you misjudge Miss Carol," said Mr. Parker
Pyne. "She has brains--and what is more, a heart. I
think she will keep this business to herself."
"Father won't, though," said the archaeologist.
"I think he will. You see, 'Pop' has his own reasons
for keeping quiet. There's no forty-thousand-dollar
touch about this earring. A mere river would cover its
value."
"You mean--?"
"Yes. The girl doesn't know. She thinks they are genuine,
all right. I had my suspicions last night. Mr.
Blundell talked a little too much about all the money he
had. When things go wrong and you're caught in the
slump--well, the best thing to do is to put a good face
on it and bluff. Mr. Blundell was bluffing."
THE PEARL OF PRICE
Suddenly Doctor Carver grinned. It was an engagi
small-boy grin, strange to see on the face of an eldc
man. "Then we're all poor devils together," he said.
"Exactly," said Mr. Parker Pyne and quoted,"
fellow feeling makes us wondrous kind.'"
Death on
the N'i[e
Lady Grayle was nervous. From the moment of coming
on board the S. S. Fayoum she complained of every-thing.
She did not like her cabin. She could bear the
morning sun, but not the afternoon sun. Pamela
Grayle, her niece, obligingly gave up her cabin on the
other side. Lady Grayle accepted it grudgingly.
She snapped at Miss MacNaughton, her nurse, for
having given her the wrong scarf and for having packed
her little pillow instead of leaving it out. She snapped at
her husband, Sir George, for having just bought her the
wrong string of beads. It was lapis .she wanted, not
carnelian. George was a fool!
Sir George said anxiously, "Sorry, me dear, sorry. I'll
go back and change 'em. Plenty of time."
She did not snap at Basil West, her husband's private
secretary, because nobody ever snapped at Basil. His
smile disarmed you before you began.
But the worst of it fell assuredly to the dragoman--an
imposing and richly dressed personage whom nothing
could disturb. When Lady Grayle caught sight of a
166
DEATH ON THE NILE
167
stranger in a basket chair and realized that he was a
fellow passenger, the vials of her wrath were poured out
like water.
"They told me distinctly at the office that we were the
only passengers! It was the end of the season and there
was no one else going!"
"That right, lady," said Mohammed calmly. "Just
you and party and one gentleman, that's all."
"But I was told that there would be only ourselves."
"That quite right, lady."
"It's not all right! It was a lie! What is that man do-ing
there?"
"He come later, lady. After you take tickets. He only
decide come this morning."
"It's an absolute swindle!"
"That all right, lady; him very quiet gentleman, very
nice, very quiet."
"You're a fool! You know nothing about it. Miss
MacNaughton, where are you? Oh, there you are. I've
repeatedly asked you to stay near me. I might feel faint.
Help me to my cabin and give me an aspirin, and don't
let Mohammed come near me. He keeps on saying 'That
right, lady,' till I feel I could scream."
Miss MacNaughton proffered an arm without a
word. She was a tall woman of about thirty-five, hand-some
in a quiet, dark way. She settled Lady Grayle in
the cabin, propped her up with cushions, administered
an aspirin and listened to the thin flow of complaint.
Lady Grayle was forty-eight. She had suffered since
she was sixteen from the complaint of having too much
money. She had married that impoverished baronet, Sir
George Grayle, ten years before.
She was a big woman, not bad-looking as regarded
features, but her face was fretful and lined, and the lav-ish
make-up she applied only accentuated the blemishes
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Agatha Christie
of time and temper. Her hair had been in turn platinum-blond
and henna-red, and was looking tired in
consequence. She was overdressed and wore too much
jewelry.
"Tell Sir George," she finished, while the silent Miss
MacNaughton waited with an expressionless faceg"tell
Sir George that he must get that man off the boat! I must have privacy. All I've gone through latelyg" She
shut her eyes.
"Yes, Lady Grayle," said Miss MacNaughton, and
left the cabin.
The offending last-minute passenger was still sitting
in the deck chair. He had his back to Luxor an
d was
staring out across the Nile to where the distant hills
showed golden above a line of dark green. Miss MacNaughton
gave him a swift, appraising glance as she
passed.
She found Sir George in the lounge. He was holding a
string of beads in his hand and looking at it doubtfully.
"Tell me, Miss MacNaughton, do you think these will
be all right?"
Miss MacNaughton gave a swift glance at the lapis.
"Very nice indeed," she said.
"You think Lady Grayle will be pleasedeh?"
"Oh, no, I shouldn't say that, Sir George. You see,
nothing would please her. That's the real truth of it. By
the way, she sent me with a message to you. She wants
you to get rid of this extra passenger."
Sir George's jaw dropped. "How can I? What could I
say to the fellow?"
"Of course you can't." Elsie MacNaughton's voice
was brisk and kindly. "Just say there was nothing to be
done." She added encouragingly, "It will be all right."
"You think it will, eh?" His face was ludicrously
pathetic.
DEATH ON THE NILE 169
Elsie MacNaughton's voice was still kinder as she
said: "You really must not take these things to heart, Sir
George. It's just health, you know. Don't take it seriously.''
"You think she's really bad, nurse?"
A shade crossed the nurse's face. There was something
odd in her voice as she answered: "Yes, I--I don't
quite like her condition. But please don't worry, Sir
George. You mustn't. You really mustn't." She gave
him a friendly smile and went out.
Pamela came in, very languid and cool in her white.
"Hullo, Nunks."
"Hullo, Pam, me dear."
"What have you got there? Oh, nice!"
"Well, I'm glad you think so. Do you think your aunt
will think so, too?"
"She's incapable of liking anything. I can't think why
you married the woman, Nunks."
Sir George was silent. A confused panorama of unsuccessful
racing, pressing creditors and a handsome, if
domineering woman rose before his mental vision.
"Poor old dear," said Pamela. "I suppose you had to
do it. But she does give us both rather hell, doesn't
she?"
"Since she's been ill--" began Sir George.
Pamela interrupted him. "She's not ill! Not really.
She can always do anything she wants to. Why, while
you were up at Assouan she was as merry as a--a
cricket. I bet you Miss MacNaughton knows she's a
fraud."
"I don't know what we'd do without Miss MacNaughton,"
said Sir George, with a sigh.
"She's an efficient creature," admitted Pamela. "I
don't exactly dote on her as you do, though, Nunks.
Oh, you do! Don't contradict. You think she's wonder
170
Agatha Christie
ful. So she is, in a way. But she's a dark horse. I never
know what she's thinking. Still, she manages the old cat
quite well."
"Look here, Pam, you mustn't speak of your aunt
like that. Dash it all, she's very good to you."
"Yes, she pays all our bills, doesn't she? It's the hell
of a life, though."
Sir George passed on to a less painful subject. "What
are we to do about this fellow who's coming on the trip?
Your aunt wants the boat to herself."
"Well, she can't have it," said Pamela coolly. "The
man's quite presentable. His name's Parker Pyne. I
should think he was a civil servant out of the Records
Department--if there is such a thing. Funny thing is, I
seem to have heard the name somewhere. Basil!" The
secretary had just entered. "Where have I seen the name
Parker Pyne?"
"Front page of the 'Times.' Agony Column," replied
the young man promptly. "'Are you happy.9 If not,
consult Mr. Parker Pyne.'"
"Never! How frightfully amusing! Let's tell him all
our troubles all the way to Cairo."
"I haven't any," said Basil West simply. "We're go-ing
to glide down the golden Nile, and see temples"--he
looked quickly at Sir George, who had picked up a
paper--" together."
The last word was only just breathed, but Pamela
caught it. Her eyes met his.
"You're right, Basil," she said lightly. "It's good to
be alive."
Sir George got up and went out. Pamela's face
clouded over.
"What's the matter, my sweet?"
"My detested aunt-by-marriage--"
"Don't worry," said Basil quickly. "What does it
171
matter what she gets in her head? Don't contradict her.
You see," he laughed, "it's good camouflage."
The benevolent figure of Mr. Parker Pyne entered the
lounge. Behind him came the picturesque figure of Mo-hammed,
prepared to say his piece.
"Lady, gentlemans, we start now. In a few minutes
we pass temples of Karnak right-hand side. I tell you
story now about little boy who went to buy a roasted
lamb for his father..."
Mr. Parker Pyne mopped his forehead. He had just
returned from a visit to the Temple of Dendera. Riding
on a donkey was, he felt, an exercise ill suited to his
figure. He was proceeding to remove his collar when a
note propped up on the dressing table caught his atten-tion.
He opened it. It ran as follows:
Dear Sir,
I should be obliged if you would not visit the
Temple of Abydos but would remain on the boat,
as I wish to consult you.
Yours truly,
Ariadne Grayle
A smile creased Mr. Parker Pyne's large, bland face.
He reached for a sheet of paper and unscrewed his foun-tain
pen
Dear Lady Grayle (he wrote),
I am sorry to disappoint you, but I am at present
on holiday and am not doing any professional
business.
He signed his name and dispatched the letter by a
steward. As he completed his change of toilet, another
note was brought to him.
172
Agatha Christie
Dear Mr. Parker Pyne,
I appreciate the fact that you are on holiday, but
I am prepared to pay a fee of a hundred pounds for
a consultation.
Yours truly,
Ariadne Grayle
Mr. Parker Pyne's eyebrows rose. He tapped his teeth
thoughtfully with his fountain pen. He wanted to see
Abydos, but a hundred pounds was a hundred pounds.
And Egypt had been even more wickedly expensive than
he had imagined.
Dear Lady Grayle (he wrote),
I shall not visit the Temple of Abydos.
Yours faithfully,
J. Parker Pyne
Mr. Parker Pyne's refusal to leave the boat was a
source of great grief to Mohammed.
"Very nice temple. All my gentlemans like see that
temple. I get you carriage. I get you chair, and sailors
carry you. ' '
Mr. Parker Pyne refused all these tempting offers.
The others set off.
Mr. Parker Pyne waited on deck. Presently the door<
br />
of Lady Grayle's cabin opened and the lady herself
trailed out on deck.
"Such a hot afternoon," she observed graciously. "I
see you have stayed behind, Mr. Pyne. Very wise of
you. Shall we have some tea together in the lounge?"
Mr. Parker Pyne rose promptly and followed her. It
cannot be denied that he was curious.
It seemed as though Lady Grayle felt some difficulty
DEATH ON THE NILE
173
in coming to the point. She fluttered from this subject to
that. But finally she spoke in an altered voice.
"Mr. Pyne, what I am about to tell you is in the
strictest confidence! You do understand that, don't
you?"
"Naturally."
She paused, took a deep breath. Mr. Parker Pyne
waited.
"I want to know whether or not my husband is poi-soning
me."
Whatever Mr. Parker Pyne had expected, it was not
this. He showed his astonishment plainly. "That is a
very serious accusation to make, Lady Grayle."
"Well, I'm not a fool and I wasn't born yesterday.
I've had my suspicions for some time. Whenever George
goes away I get better. My food doesn't disagree with
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