N.B. Cheap handkerchief found with pistol more likely to have belonged to a man like Fleetwood than to one of the well-to-do passengers.
Rosalie Otterbourne. Are we to accept Miss Van Schuyler’s evidence or Rosalie’s denial? Something was thrown overboard at that time and that something was presumably the pistol wrapped up in the velvet stole.
Points to be noted. Had Rosalie any motive? She may have disliked Linnet Doyle and even been envious of her–but as a motive for murder that seems grossly inadequate. The evidence against her can only be convincing if we discover an adequate motive. As far as we know there is no previous knowledge or link between Rosalie Otterbourne and Linnet Doyle.
Miss Van Schuyler. The velvet stole in which pistol was wrapped belongs to Miss Van Schuyler. According to her own statement she last saw it in the observation saloon. She drew attention to its loss during the evening and a search was made for it without success.
How did the stole come into the possession of X? Did X purloin it some time early in the evening? But if so, why? Nobody could tell in advance that there was going to be a scene between Jacqueline and Simon. Did X find the stole in the saloon when he went to get the pistol from under the settee? But if so, why was it not found when the search for it was made? Did it ever leave Miss Van Schuyler’s possession?
That is to say: Did Miss Van Schuyler murder Linnet Doyle? Is her accusation of Rosalie Otterbourne a deliberate lie? If she did murder her, what was her motive? Other possibilities.
Robbery as a motive. Possiblesince the pearls have disappeared and Linnet Doyle was certainly wearing them last night.
Some one with a grudge against the Ridgeway family. Possibleagain no evidence.
We know that there is a dangerous man on board–a killer. Here we have a killer and a death. May not the two be connected? But we should have to show that Linnet Doyle possessed dangerous knowledge concerning this man.
Conclusions. We can group the persons on board into two classes–those who had a possible motive or against whom there is no definite evidence, and those who, as far as we know, are free of suspicion.
Group I.
Andrew Pennington Fleetwood.
Rosalie Otterbourne.
Miss Van Schuyler.
Louise Bourget (Robbery?) Ferguson (Political?)
Group II.
Mrs. Allerton.
Tim Allerton.
Cornelia Robson.
Miss Bowers.
Dr. Bessner.
Signor Richetti.
Mrs. Otterbourne.
James Fanthorp.
Poirot pushed the paper back.
“It is very just, very exact, what you have written there.” “You agree with it?” “Yes.” “And now what is your contribution?” Poirot drew himself up in an important manner. “Me, I pose to myself one question! “Why was the pistol thrown overboard?” “That’s all?” “At the moment, yes. Until I can arrive at a satisfactory answer to that question, there is no sense anywhere. That is–that must bthe starting point.
You will notice, my friend, that in your summary of where we stand, you have not attempted to answer that point.”
Race shrugged his shoulders.
“Panic.”
Poirot shook his head perplexedly.
He picked up the sodden velvet wrap from the table and smoothed it out, wet and limp, on the table. His finger traced the scorched marks and the burnt holes.
“Tell me, my friend,” he said suddenly. “You are more conversant with firearms than I am. Would such a thing as this, wrapped round a pistol, make much difference in muffling the sound?”
“No, it wouldn’t. Not like a silencer, for instance.”
Poirot nodded. He went on.
“A man-certainly a man who had had much handling of firearms–would know that. But a woman–a woman would not know.” Race looked at him curiously.
“Probably not.”
“No. She would have read the detective stories where they are not always very exact as to details.”
Race flicked the little pearl-handled pistol with his finger.
“This little .fellow wouldn’t make much noise anyway,” he said. “Just a pop, that’s all. With any other noise around, ten to one you wouldn’t notice it.”
“Yes, I have reflected as to that.”
He picked up the handkerchief and examined it.
“A man’s handkerchief–but not a gentleman’s handkerchief. Ce cher Woolworth, I imagine. Threepence at most.”