Death on the Nile (Hercule Poirot 17)

Andrew Pennington was apologetic.

“It’s tough on you, I know, but I’d just like to get your affairs put in proper shape. First of all there’s the lease of the Fifth Avenue property…then there are the Western Land Concessions…” He talked on, rustling and sorting the papers. Simon yawned.

The door to the deck swung open and Mr. Fanthorp came in. He gazed aimlessly round, then strolled forward and stood by Poirot looking out at the pale blue water and the yellow enveloping sands….

“—you sign just there,” concluded Pennington, spreading a paper before Linnet and indicating a space.

Linnet picked up the document and glanced through it. She turned back once to the first page, then, taking up the fountain pen Pennington had laid beside her, she signed her name Linnet Doyle….

Pennington took away the paper and spread out another.

Fanthorp wandered over in their direction. He peered out through the side window at something that seemed to interest him on the bank they were passing.

“That’s just the transfer,” said Pennington. “You needn’t read it.”

But Linnet took a brief glance through it. Pennington laid down a third paper. Again Linnet perused it carefu

lly.

“They’re all quite straightforward,” said Andrew. “Nothing of interest. Only legal phraseology.”

Simon yawned again.

“My dear girl, you’re not going to read the whole lot through, are you? You’ll be at it till lunchtime and longer.”

“I always read everything through,” said Linnet. “Father taught me to do that. He said there might be some clerical error.”

Pennington laughed rather harshly.

“You’re a grand woman of business, Linnet.”

“She’s much more conscientious than I’d be,” said Simon, laughing. “I’ve never read a legal document in my life. I sign where they tell me to sign on the dotted line—and that’s that.”

“That’s frightfully slipshod,” said Linnet disapprovingly.

“I’ve no business head,” declared Simon cheerfully. “Never had. A fellow tells me to sign—I sign. It’s much the simplest way.”

Andrew Pennington was looking at him thoughtfully. He said dryly, stroking his upper lip, “A little risky sometimes, Doyle?”

“Nonsense,” replied Simon. “I’m not one of those people who believe the whole world is out to do one down. I’m a trusting kind of fellow—and it pays, you know. I’ve hardly ever been let down.”

Suddenly, to everyone’s surprise, the silent Mr. Fanthorp swung around and addressed Linnet.

“I hope I’m not butting in, but you must let me say how much I admire your businesslike capacity. In my profession—er—I am a lawyer—I find ladies sadly unbusinesslike. Never to sign a document unless you read it through is admirable—altogether admirable.”

He gave a little bow. Then, rather red in the face, he turned once more to contemplate the banks of the Nile.

Linnet looked rather uncertainly: “Er—thank you…” She bit her lip to repress a giggle. The young man had looked so preternaturally solemn.

Andrew Pennington looked seriously annoyed.

Simon Doyle looked uncertain whether to be annoyed or amused.

The backs of Mr. Fanthorp’s ears were bright crimson.

“Next, please,” said Linnet, smiling up at Pennington.

But Pennington looked decidedly ruffled.