Rosalie nodded.
Then she burst out again.
“I’ve tried so hard to–keep every one from knowing …. It isn’t really her fault. She got discouraged. Her books didn’t sell any more. People are tired of all that cheap sex stuff…. It hurt her–it hurt her dreadfully. And so she began to–to drink. For a long time I didn’t know why she was so queer. Then, when I found out, I tried to–to stop it. She’d be all right for a bit–and then suddenly, she’d start and there would be dreadful quarrels and rows with people. It was awful.”
She shuddered. “I had always to be on the watch–to get her away ….
“And then–she began to dislike me for it. Sheshe’s turned right against me.
I think she almost hates me sometimes ”
“Pauvre petite,” said Poirot.
She turned on him vehemently.
“Don’t be sorry for me. Don’t be kind. It’s easier ffyou’re not.” She sighed a long heartrending sigh. “I’m so tired… I’m so deadly, deadly tired.”
“I know,” said Poirot.
“People think I’m awful. Stuck up and cross and bad-tempered. I can’t help it.
I’ve forgotten how to be–to be nice.”
“That is what I said to you–you have carried your burden by yourself too long.”
Rosalie said slowly:
“It is a relief to talk about it. You–you’ve always been kind to me, M.
Poirot. I’m afraid I’ve been rude to you often.”
“La politesse, it is not necessary between friends.”
The suspicion came back to her face suddenly.
“Are you–are you going to tell every one? I suppose you must because of those damned bottles I threw overboard.”
“No, no, it is not necessary. Just tell me what I want to know. At what time was this? Ten minutes past one?”
“About that, I should think. I don’t remember exactly.”
“Now tell ne, Mademoiselle. Miss Van Schuyler saw you, did you see her?” Rosalie shook her head.
“No, I didn’t.”
“She says that she looked out of the door of her cabin.”
“I don’t think I should have seen her. I just looked along the deck and then out to the river.”
Poirot nodded.
“And did you see any one at all when you looked down the deck?”
There was a pause–quite a long pause. Rosalie was frowning. She seemed to be thinking earnestly.
At last she shook her head quite decisively.
“No,” she said. “I saw nobody.”
Hercule Poirot slowly nodded his head. But his eyes were grave.
CHAPTER 19
People crept into the dining-salon by ones and twos in a very subdued manner.
There seemed a general feeling that to sit down eagerly to food displayed an unfortunate heartlessness. It was with an almost apologetic air that one passenger after another came and sat down at their table.
Tim Allerton arrived some few minutes after his mother had taken her seat.
He was looking in a thoroughly bad temper.
“I wish we’d never come on this blasted trip,” he growled.
Mrs. Allerton shook her head sadly.
“Oh, my dear, so do I. That beautiful girl! It all seems such a waste. To think that any one could shoot her in cold blood. It seems awful to me that any one could do such a thing. And that other poor child.”
“Jacqueline?”
“Yes, my heart aches for her. She looks so dreadfully unhappy.”
“Teach her not to go round loosing offtoy firearms,” said Tim unfeelingly as he helped himself to butter.
“I expect she was badly brought up.”
“Oh, for God’s sake, Mother, don’t go all maternal about it.” “You’re in a shocking bad temper, Tim.” “Yes, I am. Who wouldn’t be?”
“I don’t see what there is to be cross about. It’s just frightfully sad.”
Tim said crossly:
“You’re taking the romantic point of view! What you don’t seem to realise is that it’s no joke being mixed up in a murder case.” Mrs. Allerton looked a little startled.
“But surely–”
“That’s just it. There’s no ‘But surely’ about it. Every one on this damned boat is under suspicion–you and I as well as the rest of them.”
Mrs. Allerton demurred.
“Technically we are, I supposebut actually it’s ridiculous!”
“There’s nothing ridiculous where murder’s concerned! You may sit there, darling, just exuding virtue and conscious rectitude, but a lot of unpleasant policemen at Shellal or Assuan won’t take you at your face value.” “Perhaps the truth will be known before then.” “Why should it be?”