Triangle at Rhodes by Agatha Christie

Author:Agatha Christie [Christie, Agatha]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Fiction, Mystery & Detective, Traditional British
ISBN: 9780062129543
Google: ki-eTfSqavwC
Barnesnoble:
Publisher: HarperCollins
Published: 2011-09-27T04:00:00+00:00

It was three days later that Hercule Poirot went to the Mount of the Prophet. It was a cool, agreeable drive through the golden green fir trees, winding higher and higher, far above the petty wrangling and squabbling of human beings. The car stopped at the restaurant. Poirot got out and wandered into the woods. He came out at last on a spot that seemed truly on top of the world. Far below, deeply and dazzlingly blue, was the sea.

Here at last he was at peace – removed from cares – above the world. Carefully placing his folded overcoat on a tree stump, Hercule Poirot sat down.

‘Doubtless le bon Dieu knows what he does. But it is odd that he should have permitted himself to fashion certain human beings. Eh bien, here for a while at least I am away from these vexing problems.’ Thus he mused.

He looked up with a start. A little woman in a brown coat and skirt was hurrying towards him. It was Marjorie Gold and this time she had abandoned all pretence. Her face was wet with tears.

Poirot could not escape. She was upon him.

‘M. Poirot. You’ve got to help me. I’m so miserable I don’t know what to do! Oh, what shall I do? What shall I do?’

She looked up at him with a distracted face. Her fingers fastened on his coat sleeve. Then, as something she saw in his face alarmed her, she drew back a little.

‘What – what is it?’ she faltered.

‘You want my advice, madame? It is that you ask?’

She stammered, ‘Yes … Yes …’

‘Eh bien – here it is.’ He spoke curtly – trenchantly. ‘Leave this place at once – before it is too late.’

‘What?’ She stared at him.

‘You heard me. Leave this island.’

‘Leave the island?’

She stared at him stupefied.

‘That is what I say.’

‘But why – why?’

‘It is my advice to you – if you value your life.’

She gave a gasp.

‘Oh! what do you mean? You’re frightening me – you’re frightening me.’

‘Yes,’ said Poirot gravely, ‘that is my intention.’

She sank down, her face in her hands.

‘But I can’t! He wouldn’t come! Douglas wouldn’t, I mean. She wouldn’t let him. She’s got hold of him – body and soul. He won’t listen to anything against her … He’s crazy about her … He believes everything she tells him – that her husband ill-treats her – that she’s an injured innocent – that nobody has ever understood her … He doesn’t even think about me any more – I don’t count – I’m not real to him. He wants me to give him his freedom – to divorce him. He believes that she’ll divorce her husband and marry him. But I’m afraid … Chantry won’t give her up. He’s not that kind of man. Last night she showed Douglas bruises on her arm – said her husband had done it. It made Douglas wild. He’s so chivalrous … Oh! I’m afraid! What will come of it all? Tell me what to do!’

Hercule Poirot stood looking straight across the water to the blue line of hills on the mainland of Asia.

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