“You have the clear brain. Yes, one cannot go back over the past. One must accept things as they are. And sometimes, Madame, that is all one can do—accept the consequences of one’s past deeds.”
“You mean,” asked Linnet incredulously, “that I can do nothing—nothing?”
“You must have courage, Madame; that is what it seems like to me.”
Linnet said slowly:
“Couldn’t you—talk to Jackie—to Miss de Bellefort? Reason with her?”
“Yes, I could do that. I will do that if you would like me to do so. But do not expect much result. I fancy that Mademoiselle de Bellefort is so much in the grip of a fixed idea that nothing will turn her from it.”
“But surely we can do something to extricate ourselves?”
“You could, of course, return to England and establish yourselves in your own house.”
“Even then, I suppose, Jacqueline is capable of planting herself in the village, so that I should see her everytime I went out of the grounds.”
“True.”
“Besides,” said Linnet slowly, “I don’t think that Simon would agree to run away.”
“What is his attitude in this?”
“He’s furious—simply furious.”
Poirot nodded thoughtfully.
Linnet said appealingly, “You will—talk to her?”
“Yes, I will do that. But it is my opinion that I shall not be able to accomplish anything.”
Linnet said violently: “Jackie is extraordinary! One can’t tell what she will do!”
“You spoke just now of certain threats she had made. Would you tell me what those threats were?”
Linnet shrugged her shoulders.
“She threatened to—well—kill us both. Jackie can be rather—Latin sometimes.”
“I see.” Poirot’s tone was grave.
Linnet turned to him appealingly.
“You will act for me?”
“No, Madame.” His tone was firm. “I will not accept a commission from you. I will do what I can in the interests of humanity. That, yes. There is here a situation that is full of difficulty and danger. I will do what I can to clear it up—but I am not very sanguine as to my chance of success.”
Linnet Doyle said slowly: “But you will not act for me?”
“No, Madame,” said Hercule Poirot.
Five
Hercule Poirot found Jacqueline de Bellefort sitting on the rocks directly overlooking the Nile. He had felt fairly certain that she had not retired for the night and that he would find her somewhere about the grounds of the hotel.
She was sitting with her chin cupped in the palms of her hands, and she did not turn her head or look around at the sound of his approach.
“Mademoiselle de Bellefort?” asked Poirot. “You permit that I speak to you for a little moment?”