else deliberately to throw suspicion on her.’
The doctor said:
‘Yes, and the criminal was unlucky, because, you see, it is not only unlikely that the young Fräulein did the murder – it is also I think impossible.’
‘How’s that?’
Bessner explained Jacqueline’s hysterics and the circumstances which had led Miss Bowers to take charge of her.
‘And I think – I am sure – that Miss Bowers stayed with her all night.’
Race said: ‘If that’s so, it’s going to simplify matters very much.’
Poirot asked: ‘Who discovered the crime?’
‘Mrs Doyle’s maid, Louise Bourget. She went to call her mistress as usual, found her dead, and came out and flopped into the steward’s arms in a dead faint. He went to the manager, who came to me. I got hold of Bessner and then came for you.’
Poirot nodded.
Race said:
‘Doyle’s got to know. You say he’s asleep still?’
The doctor said:
‘Yes, he’s still asleep in my cabin. I gave him a emphasis opiate last night.’
Race turned to Poirot.
‘Well,’ he said, ‘I don’t think we need detain the doctor any longer, eh? Thank you, Doctor.’
Bessner rose.
‘I will have my breakfast, yes. And then I will go back to my cabin and see if Mr Doyle is ready to wake.’
‘Thanks.’
Bessner went out. The two men looked at each other.
‘Well, what about it, Poirot?’ Race asked. ‘You’re the man in charge. I’ll take my orders from you. You say what’s to be done.’
Poirot bowed.
‘Eh bien!’ he said, ‘we must hold the court of inquiry. First of all, I think we must verify the story of the affair last night. That is to say, we must question Fanthorp and Miss Robson, who were the actual witnesses of what occurred. The disappearance of the pistol is very significant.’
Race rang a bell and sent a message by the steward.
Poirot sighed and shook his head.
‘It is bad, this,’ he murmured. ‘It is bad.’
‘Have you any ideas?’ asked Race curiously.
‘My ideas conflict. They are not well arranged – they are not orderly. There is, you see, the big fact that this girl hated Linnet Doyle and wanted to kill her.’
‘You think she’s capable of it?’
‘I think so – yes.’ Poirot sounded doubtful.
‘But not in this way? That’s what’s worrying you, isn’t it? Not to creep into her cabin in the dark and shoot her while she was sleeping. It’s the cold-bloodedness that strikes you as not ringing true.’
‘In a sense, yes.’
‘You think that this girl, Jacqueline de Bellefort, is incapable of a premeditated cold-blooded murder.’
Poirot said slowly: ‘I am not sure, you see. She would have the brains – yes. But I doubt if, physically, she could bring herself to do the act
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