“Ah, yes, I understand. After the bridge, Madame Doyle went to her cabin. Did she really go to her cabin, I wonder?” “She did,” said Race. “I actually saw her. I said good-night to her at the door.” “And the time?” “Mercy, I couldn’t say,” said Cornelia.
“It was twenty past eleven,” said Race.
“Bien. Then at twenty past eleven, Madame Doyle was alive and well. At that moment there was in the saloon–who?” Fanthorp answered.
“Doyle was there. And Miss de Bellefort. Myself and Miss Robson.” “That’s so,” agreed Cornelia. “Mr. Pennington had a drink and then went off to bed.” “That as how much later?” “Oh, about three or four minutes.” “Before half-past eleven, then?” “Oh, yes.” “So that there were left in the saloon you, Miss Robson, Miss de Bellefort, Mr. Doyle and Mr. Fanthorp. What were you all doing?” “Mr. Fanthorp was reading a book. I’d got some embroidery. Miss de Bellefort was–she was–” Fanthorp came to the rescue.
“She was drinking pretty heavily.” “Yes,” agreed Cornelia. “She was talking to me mostly and asking me about things at home. And she kept saying thingsto me mostly, but I think they were kind of meant for Mr. Doyle. He was getting kind of mad at her but he didn’t say anything. I think he thought if he kept quiet she might simmer down.” “But she didn’t?” Cornelia shook her head.
“I tried to go once or twice, but she made me stop and I was getting very uncomfortable. And then Mr. Fanthorp got up and went out–“- “It was a LITTLE embarrassing,” said Fanthorp. “I thought I’d make an unobtrusive exit. Miss de Bellefort was clearly working up for a scene.” “And then she pulled out the pistol,” went on Cornelia. “And Mr. Doyle jumped up to try and get it away from her, and it went offand shot him through the leg, and then she began to sob and cry–and I was scared to death and ran out after Mr. Fanthorp and he came back with me, and Mr. Doyle said not to make a fuss, and one of the Nubian boys heard the noise of the shot and came along, but Mr.
Fanthorp told him it was all right and then we got Jacqueline away to her cabin and Mr.
Fanthorp stayed with her while I got Miss Bowers.” Cornelia paused breathless.
“What time was this?” asked Race.
Cornelia said again: “Mercy, I don’t know,” but Fanthorp answered promptly: “It must have been about twenty minutes past twelve. I know that it was actually half-past twelve when I finally got to my cabin.” “Now let me be quite sure on one or two points,” said Poirot. “After Mrs.
Doyle left the saloon did any of you four leave it?” “No.” “You are quite certain Miss de Bellefort did not leave the saloon at all?” Fanthorp answered promptly: “Positive. Neither Doyle, Miss de Bellefort, Miss Robson, nor myself left the saloon.” “Good. That establishes the fact that Miss de Bellefort could not possibly have shot Mrs. Doyle before–let us say–twenty past twelve. Now, Miss Robson, you went to fetch Miss Bowers. Was Miss de Bellefort alone in her cabin during that period?” “No, Mr. Fanthorp stayed with her.” “Good. So far, Miss de Bellefort has a perfect alibi. Miss Bowers is the next person to interview, but before I send for her I should like to have your opinion on one or two points. Mr. Doyle, you say, was very anxious that Miss de Bellefort should not be left alone. Was he afraid, do you think, that she was contemplating some further rash act?”
“That is my opinion,” said Fanthorp.
“He was definitely afraid she might attack Mrs. Doyle?” “No.” Fanthorp shook his head. “I don’t think that was his idea at all. I think he was afraid she might-er-do something rash to herself.” “Suicide?” “Yes. You see, she seemed completely sobered and heartroken at what she had done. She was full of self-reproach. She kept saying she would be better dead.” Cornelia said timidly: “I think he was rather upset about her. He spoke quite nicely. He said it was all his fault–that he’d treated her badly. He–he was really very nice.” Hercule Poirot nodded thoughtfully.