“Fanthorp, young Allerton, Mrs. Allerton. Then an empty cabin–Simon Doyle’s. Now who’s on the other side of Mrs. Doyle’s? The old American dame.
If any one heard anything she should have done. If she’s up we’d better have her along.” Miss Van Schuyler entered the room. She looked even older and yellower than usual this morning. Her small dark eyes had an air of venomous displeasure in them.
Race rose and bowed.
“We’re very sorry to trouble you, Miss Van Schuyler. It’s very good of you.
Please sit down.”
Miss Van Schuyler said sharply:
“I dislike being mixed up in this. I resent it very much. I do not wish to be associated in any way with this-er–very unpleasant affair.”
“Quite quite. I was just saying to M. Poirot that the sooner we took your statement the better, as then you need have no further trouble.”
Miss Van Schuyler looked at Poirot with something approaching favour.
“I’m glad you both realise my feelings. I am not accustomed to anything of this kind.”
Poirot said soothingly.
“Precisely, Mademoiselle. That is why we wish to free you from the unpleasantness as quickly as possible. Now you went to bed last night–at what time?”
“Ten o’clock is my usual time. Last night I was rather later as Cornelia Robson, very inconsiderately, kept me waiting.”
“Trs bien, Mademoiselle. Now what did you hear after you had retired?” Miss Van Schuyler said: “I sleep very lightly.”
“A merveille! That is very fortunate for us.”
“I was awoken by that rather flashy young woman–Mrs. Doyle’s maid who said ‘Bonne nuit, Madame,’ in what I cannot but think an unnecessarily loud voice.”
“And after that?”
“I went to sleep again. I woke up thinking some one was in my cabin but I realised that it was some one in the cabin next door.”
“In Mrs. Doyle’s cabin?”
“Yes. Then I heard some one outside on the deck and then a splash.” “You have no idea what time this was?”
“I can tell you the time exactly. It was ten minutes past one.”
“You are sure of that?”
“Yes. I looked at my little clock that stands by my bed.” “You did not hear a shot?” “No, nothing of the kind.”
“But it might possibly have been a shot that awakened you?”
Miss Van Schuyler considered the question, her toad-like head on one side. “It might,” she admitted rather grudgingly.
“And you have no idea what caused the splash you heard?” “Not at all–I know perfectly.” Colonel Race sat up alertly.
“You know?”
“Certainly. I did not like this sound of prowling around. I got up and went to the door of my cabin. Miss Otterbourne was leaning over the side. She had just dropped something into the water.”
“Miss Otterbourne?”
Race sounded really surprised.
“Yes.”
“You are quite sure it was Miss Otterbourne?” “I saw her face distinctly.” “She did not see you?” “I do not think so.” Poirot leant forward.
“And what did her face look like, Mademoiselle?” “She was in a condition of considerable emotion.” Race and Poirot exchanged a quick glance.
“And then?” Race prompted.
“Miss Otterbourne went away round the stern of the boat and I returned to bed.” There was a knock at the door and the manager entered.
He carried in his hand a dripping bundle.
“We’ve got it, colonel.” Race took the package. He unwrapped fold after fold of sodden velvet. Out of it fell a coarse handkerchief faintly stained with pink, wrapped round a small pearl-handled pistol.
Race gave Poirot a glance of slightly malicious triumph.
“You see,” he said. “My idea was right. It was thrown overboard.” He held the pistol out on the palm of his hand.
,What do you say, M. Poirot? Is this the pistol you saw at the Cataract Hotel that night?” Poirot examined it carefully, then he said quietly.
“Yes–that is it. There is the ornamental work on it–and the initials J.B. It is an article de luxe–a very feminine production but it is none the less a lethal weapon.” “.22,” murmured Race. He took out the dip. “Two bullets fired. Yes, there doesn’t seem much doubt about it.” Miss Van Schuyler coughed significantly.