Ellie objected: ‘She might not have known who it was. He may have knocked—she got up and opened the door—and he forced his way in and killed her.’
Poirot shook his head. ‘Au contraire. She was lying peacefully in bed when she was stabbed.’
Miss Henderson stared at him. ‘What’s your idea?’ she asked abruptly.
Poirot smiled. ‘Well, it looks, does it not, as though she knew the person she admitted…’
‘You mean,’ said Miss Henderson and her voice sounded a little harsh, ‘that the murderer is a passenger on the ship?’
Poirot nodded. ‘It seems indicated.’
‘And the string of beads left on the floor was a blind?’
‘Precisely.’
‘The theft of the money also?’
‘Exactly.’
There was a pause, then Miss Henderson said slowly: ‘I thought Mrs Clapperton a very unpleasant woman and I don’t think anyone on board really liked her—but there wasn’t anyone who had any reason to kill her.’
‘Except her husband, perhaps,’ said Poirot.
‘You don’t really think—’ She stopped.
‘It is the opinion of every person on this ship that Colonel Clapperton would have been quite justified in “taking a hatchet to her”. That was, I think, the expression used.’
Ellie Henderson looked at him—waiting.
‘But I am bound to say,’ went on Poirot, ‘that I myself have not noted any signs of exasperation on the good Colonel’s part. Also what is more important, he had an alibi. He was with those two girls all day and did not return to the ship till four o’clock. By then, Mrs Clapperton had been dead many hours.’
There was another minute of silence. Ellie Henderson said softly: ‘But you still think—a passenger on the ship?’
Poirot bowed his head.
Ellie Henderson laughed suddenly—a reckless defiant laugh. ‘Your theory may be difficult to prove, M. Poirot. There are a good many passengers on this ship.’
Poirot bowed to her. ‘I will use a phrase from one of your detective stories. “I have my methods, Watson.”’
V
The following evening, at dinner, every passenger found a typewritten slip by his plate requesting him to be in the main lounge at 8.30. When the company were assembled, the Captain stepped on to the raised platform where the orchestra usually played and addressed them.
‘Ladies and gentlemen, you all know of the tragedy which took place yesterday. I am sure you all wish to co-operate in bringing the perpetrator of that foul crime to justice.’ He paused and cleared his throat. ‘We have on board with us M. Hercule Poirot who is probably known to you all as a man who has had wide experience in—er—such matters. I hope you will listen carefully to what he has to say.’
It was at this moment that Colonel Clapperton, who had not been at dinner, came in and sat down next to General Forbes. He looked like a man bewildered by sorrow—not at all like a man conscious of great relief. Either he was a very good actor or else he had been genuinely fond of his disagreeable wife.
‘M. Hercule Poirot,’ said the Captain and stepped down. Poirot took his place. He looked comically self-important as he beamed on his audience.
‘Messieurs, mesdames,’ he began. ‘It is most kind of you to be so indulgent as to listen to me. M. le Capitaine has told you that I have had a certain experience in these matters. I have, it is true, a little idea of my own about how to get to the bottom of this particular case.’ He made a sign and a steward pushed forward and passed on to him a bulky, shapeless object wrapped in a sheet.
‘What I am about to do may surprise you a little,’ Poirot warned them. ‘It may occur to you that I am eccentric, perhaps mad. Nevertheless I assure you that behind my madness there is—as you English say—a method.’
His eyes met those of Miss Henderson for just a minute. He began unwrapping the bulky object.
‘I have here, messieurs and mesdames, an important witness to the truth of who killed Mrs Clapperton.’ With a deft hand he whisked away the last enveloping cloth, and the object it concealed was revealed—an almost life-sized wooden doll, dressed in a velvet suit and lace collar.