hercule poirot's observation had not been at fault. there were no pearls on the table by linnet

doyle's bed.

louise bourget was bidden to make a search among linnet's belongings.

according to her, all was in order. only the pearls had disappeared. as they emerged from the

cabin a steward was waiting to tell them that breakfast had been served in the smoking-room.

as they passed along the deck, race paused to look over the rail.

"ah! i see you have had an idea, my friend."

"yes. it suddenly came to me, when fanthorp mentioned thinking he had heard a splash, that i too

had been awakened sometime last night by a splash. it's perfectly possible that, after the murder,

the murderer threw the pistol overboard."

poirot said slowly, "you really think that is possible, my friend?" race shrugged his shoulders.

"it's a suggestion. after all, the pistol wasn't anywhere in the cabin. first thing i looked for."

"all the same," said poirot, "it is incredible that it should have been thrown overboard."

race asked, "where is it then?"

poirot replied thoughtfully, "if it is not in madame doyle's cabin, there is, logically, only one other

place where it could be."

"where's that?"

"in mademoiselle de bellefort's cabin."

race said thoughtfully: "yes. i see -"

he stopped suddenly.

"she's out of her cabin. shall we go and have a look now?"

poirot shook his head.

"no, my friend, that would be precipitate. it may not yet have been put there."

"what about an immediate search of the whole boat?"

"that way we should show our hand. we must work with great care. it is very delicate, our

position, at the moment. let us discuss the situation as we eat."

race agreed. they went into the smoking-room.

"well," said race as he poured himself out a cup of coffee, "we've got two definite leads. there's

the disappearance of the pearls. and there's the man fleetwood. as regards the pearls, robbery

seems indicated, but - i don't know whether you'll agree with me -"

poirot said quickly, "but it was an odd moment to choose?"

"exactly. to steal the pearls at such a moment invites a close search of everybody on board. how

then could the thief hope to get away with his booty?"

"he might have gone ashore and dumped it."

"the company always has a watchman on the bank."

"then that is not feasible. was the murder committed to divert attention from the robbery? no, that

does not make sense; it is profoundly unsatisfactory. but supposing that madame doyle woke up

and caught the thief in the act?"

"and therefore the thief shot her? but she was shot whilst she slept."

"so that too does not make sense... you know, i have a little idea about those pearls - and yet - no -

it is impossible. because if my idea was right the pearls would not have disappeared. tell me, what

did you think of the maid?"

"i wondered," said race slowly, "if she knew more than she said."

"ah, you too had that impression."

"definitely not a nice girl," said race.

hercule poirot nodded. "yes, i would not trust her, that one."

"you think she had something to do with the murder?"

"no, i would not say that."

"with the theft of the pearls, then?"

"that is more probable. she had only been with madame doyle a very short time. she may be a

member of a gang that specializes in jewel robberies. in such a case there is often a maid with

excellent references. unfortunately we are not in a position to seek information on these points.

and yet that explanation does not quite satisfy me... those pearls - ah, sacré, my little idea ought

to be right. and yet nobody would be so imbecile -" he broke off.

"what about the man fleetwood?"

"we must question him. it may be that we have there the solution. if louise bourget's story is true,

he had a definite motive for revenge. he could have overheard the scene between jacqueline and

monsieur doyle, and when they have left the saloon he could have darted in and secured the gun.

yes, it is all quite possible. and that letter j scrawled in blood. that, too, would accord with a

simple, rather crude nature."

"in fact, he's just the person we are looking for?"

"yes - only -" poirot rubbed his nose. he said with a slight grimace: "see you, i recognize my own

weaknesses. it has been said of me that i like to make a case difficult. this solution that you put to

me - it is too simple, too easy. i cannot feel that it really happened. and yet, that may be sheer

prejudice on my part."

"well, we'd better have the fellow here."

race rang the bell and gave the order. then he asked, "any other - possibilities?"

"plenty, my friend. there is, for example, the american trustee."

"pennington?"

"yes, pennington. there was a curious little scene in here the other day." he narrated the

happenings to race. "you see - it is significant. madame, she wanted to read all the papers before

signing. so he makes the excuse of another day. and then, the husband, he makes a very

significant remark."

"what was that?"

"he says - 'i never read anything. i sign where i am told to sign.' you perceive the significance of

that. pennington did. i saw it in his eye. he looked at doyle as though an entirely new idea had

come into his head. just imagine, my friend, that you have been left trustee to the daughter of an

intensely wealthy man. you use, perhaps, that money to speculate with. i know it is so in all

detective novels - but you read of it too in the newspapers. it happens, my friend, it happens."

"i don't dispute it," said race.

"there is, perhaps, still time to make good by speculating wildly. your ward is not yet of age. and

then - she marries! the control passes from your hands into hers at a moment's notice! a disaster!

but there is still a chance. she is on a honeymoon. she will perhaps be careless about business. a

casual paper, slipped in among others, signed without reading... but linnet doyle was not like

that. honeymoon or no honeymoon, she was a business woman. and then her husband makes a

remark, and a new idea comes to that desperate man who is seeking a way out from ruin. if linnet

doyle were to die, her fortune would pass to her husband - and he would be easy to deal with; he

would be a child in the hands of an astute man like andrew pennington. mon cher colonel, i tell

you i saw the thought pass through andrew pennington's head. 'if only it were doyle i had got to

deal with.' that is what he was thinking."

"quite possible, i daresay," said race drily, "but you've no evidence."

"alas, no."

"then there's young ferguson," said race. "he talks bitterly enough. not that i go by talk. still, he

might be the fellow whose father was ruined by old ridgeway. it's a little far-fetched - but it's

possible. people do brood over bygone wrongs sometimes."

he paused a minute and then said, "and there's my fellow."

"yes, there is 'your fellow' as you call him."

"he's a killer," said race. "we know that. on the other hand, i can't see any way in which he could

have come up against linnet doyle. their orbits don't touch." poirot said slowly, "unless,

accidentally, she had become possessed of evidence showing his identity."

"that's possible, but it seems highly unlikely." there was a knock at the door. "ah, here's our

would-be bigamist."

fleetwood was a big, truculent looking man. he looked suspiciously from one to the other of them

as he entered the room. poirot recognized him as the man he had seen talking to louise bourget.

fleetwood asked suspiciously, "you wanted to see me?"

"we did," said race. "you probably know that a murder was committed on this boat last night?"

fleetwood nodded.

"and i believe it is true that you had reason to feel anger against the woman who was killed."

a look of alarm sprang up in fleetwood's eyes.

"who told you that?"

"you considered that mrs doyle had interfered between you and a young woman."

"i know who told you that - that lying french hussy. she's a liar through and through, that girl."

"but this particular story happens to be true."

"it's a dirty lie!"

"you say that, although you don't know what it is yet."

the shot told. the man flushed and gulped.

"it is true, is it not, that you were going to marry the girl marie, and that she broke it off when she

discovered that you were a married man already?"

"what business was it of hers?"

"you mean, what business was it of mrs doyle's? well, you know, bigamy is bigamy."

"it wasn't like that. i married one of the locals out here. it didn't answer. she went back to her

people. i've not seen her for half a dozen years."

"still you were married to her."

the man was silent. race went on:

"mrs doyle, or miss ridgeway as she then was, found out all this?"

"yes, she did, curse her! nosing about where no one ever asked her to. i'd have treated marie right.

i'd have done anything for her. and she'd never have known about the other, if it hadn't been for

that meddlesome young lady of hers. yes, i'll say it, i did have a grudge against the lady, and i felt

bitter about it when i saw her on this boat, all dressed up in pearls and diamonds and lording it all

over the place, with never a thought that she'd broken up a man's life for him! i felt bitter all right,

but if you think i'm a dirty murderer - if you think i went and shot her with a gun, well, that's a

damned lie! i never touched her. and that's god's truth." he stopped. the sweat was rolling down

his face.

"where were you last night between the hours of twelve and two?"

"in my bunk asleep - and my mate will tell you so."

"we shall see," said race. he dismissed him with a curt nod. "that'll do."

"eh bien?" inquired poirot as the door closed behind fleetwood.

race shrugged his shoulders. "he tells quite a straight story. he's nervous, of course, but not

unduly so. we'll have to investigate his alibi - though i don't suppose it will be decisive. his mate

was probably asleep, and this fellow could have slipped in and out if he wanted to. it depends

whether anyone else saw him."

"yes, one must inquire as to that."

"the next thing, i think," said race, "is whether anyone heard anything which might give us a clue

to the time of the crime. bessner places it as having occurred between twelve and two. it seems

reasonable to hope that someone among the passengers may have heard the shot - even if they did

not recognize it for what it was. i didn't hear anything of the kind myself. what about you?"

poirot shook his head.

"me, i slept absolutely like the log. i heard nothing - but nothing at all. i might have been drugged,

i slept so soundly."

"a pity," said race. "well, let's hope we have a bit of luck with the people who have cabins on the

starboard side. fanthorp we've done. the allertons come next. i'll send the steward to fetch them."

mrs allerton came in briskly. she was wearing a soft grey striped silk dress. her face looked

distressed.

"it's too horrible," she said as she accepted the chair that poirot placed for her. "i can hardly

believe it. that lovely creature, with everything to live for - dead. i almost feel i can't believe it."

"i know how you feel, madame," said poirot sympathetically.

"i'm glad you are on board," said mrs allerton simply. "you'll be able to find out who did it. i'm so

glad it isn't that poor tragic girl."

"you mean mademoiselle de bellefort. who told you she did not do it?"

"cornelia robson," replied mrs allerton, with a faint smile. "you know, she's simply thrilled by it

all. it's probably the only exciting thing that has ever happened to her, and probably the only

exciting thing that ever will happen to her. but she's so nice that she's terribly ashamed of enjoying

it. she thinks it's awful of her."

mrs allerton gave a look at poirot and then added: "but i mustn't chatter. you want to ask me

questions."

"if you please. you went to bed at what time, madame?"

"just after half past ten."

"and you went to sleep at once?"

"yes. i was sleepy."

"and did you hear anything - anything at all - during the night?"

mrs allerton wrinkled her brows.

"yes, i think i heard a splash and someone running - or was it the other way about? i'm rather

hazy. i just had a vague idea that someone had fallen overboard at sea - a dream, you know - and

then i woke up and listened, but it was all quite quiet."

"do you know what time that was?"

"no, i'm afraid i don't. but i don't think it was very long after i went to sleep. i mean it was within

the first hour or so."

"alas, madame, that is not very definite."

"no, i know it isn't. but it's no good my trying to guess, is it, when i haven't really the vaguest

idea?"

"and that is all you can tell us, madame?"

"i'm afraid so."

"had you ever actually met madame doyle before?"

"no, tim had met her. and i'd heard a good deal about her through a cousin of ours, joanna

southwood, but i'd never spoken to her till we met at assuan."

"i have one other question, madame, if you will pardon me for asking."

mrs allerton murmured with a faint smile, "i should love to be asked an indiscreet question."

"it is this. did you, or your family, ever suffer any financial loss through the operations of

madame doyle's father, melhuish ridgeway?"

mrs allerton looked thoroughly astonished.

"oh, no! the family finances have never suffered except by dwindling... you know, everything

paying less interest than it used to. there's never been anything melodramatic about our poverty.

my husband left very little money, but what he left i still have, though it doesn't yield as much as it

used to yield."

"i thank you, madame. perhaps you will ask your son to come to us."

tim said lightly, when his mother came to him:

"ordeal over? my turn now! what sort of things did they ask you?"

"only whether i heard anything last night," said mrs allerton. "and unluckily i didn't hear

anything at all. i can't think why not. after all, linnet's cabin is only one away from mine. i should

think i'd have been bound to hear the shot. go along, tim; they're waiting for you."

to tim allerton poirot repeated his previous question.

tim answered: "i went to bed early, half past ten or so. i read for a bit. put out my light just after

eleven."

"did you hear anything after that?"

"heard a man's voice saying good-night, i think, not far away."

"that was i saying good-night to mrs doyle," said race.

"yes. after that i went to sleep. then, later, i heard a kind of hullabaloo going on, somebody

calling fanthorp, i remember."

"mademoiselle robson when she ran out from the observation saloon."

"yes, i suppose that was it. and then a lot of different voices. and then somebody running along

the deck. and then a splash. and then i heard old bessner booming out something about 'careful

now' and 'not too quick.'"

"you heard a splash?"

"well, something of that kind."

"you are sure it was not a shot you heard?"

"yes, i suppose it might have been... i did hear a cork pop. perhaps that was the shot. i may have

imagined the splash from connecting the idea of the cork with liquid pouring into a glass... i know

my foggy idea was that there was some kind of party on, and i wished they'd all go to bed and shut

up."

"anything more after that?"

tim thought.

"only fanthorp barging round in his cabin next door. i thought he'd never get to bed."

"and after that?"

tim shrugged his shoulders.

"after that - oblivion."

"you heard nothing more?"

"nothing whatever."

"thank you, monsieur allerton."

tim got up and left the cabin.