"We're very sorry to bother you, Miss Otterbourne," said Race gently. He was slightly annoyed with Poirot.
The girl said in a low voice:
"It doesn't matter."
Poirot said: "It is necessary to clear up one or two points. When I asked you whether you saw any one on the starboard deck at 1.10 this morning, your answer was that you saw nobody. Fortunately I have been able to arrive at the truth without your help.
Mr. Allerton has admitted that he was in Linnet Doyle's cabin last night." She flashed a swift glance at Tim. Tim, his face grim and set, gave a curt nod.
"The time is correct, Mr. Allerton?"
Allerton replied:
"Quite correct." Rosalie was staring at him. Her lips trembled fell apart .
"But you didn't--you didn't--"
He said quickly: "No, I didn't kill her I'm a thief, not a murderer. It's all going to come out so might as well know. I was after her pearls." Poirot said: you "Mr. Allerton's story is that he went to her cabin last night and exchanged a string of fake pearls for the real ones."
"Did you?" said Rosalie.
Her eyes, grave, sad, childlike, questioned his.
"Yes," said Tim.
There was a pause. Colonel Race shifted resfiessly.
Poirot said in a curious voice:
"That, as I say, is Mr. Allerton's story, partially confirmed by your evidence.
That is to say, there is evidence that he did visit Linnet Doyle's cabin last night, but there is no evidence to show why he did so." Tim stared at him.
"But you know!" "What do I know?"
"Wellpyou know I'vd'got the pearls."
"Mais oui--mais oui--I know you have the pearls--but I do not know when you got them. It may have been before last night .... You said just now that Linnet Doyle would not have noticed the substitution. I am not so sure of that.
Supposing she did notice it .... Supposing, even, she knew who did it. '... Supposing that last night she threatened to expose the whole business and that you knew she meant to do so .... And supposing that you overheard the scene in the saloon between Jacqueline de Bellefort and Simon Doyle and as soon as the saloon was empty you slipped in and secured the pistol, and then an hour later, when the boat had quieted down, you crept along to Linnet Doyle's cabin and made quite sure that no exposure would come ....
"My God," said Tim. Out of his ashen face, two tortured agonised eyes gazed dumbly at Hercule Poirot.
The latter went on:
"But somebody else saw youpthe girl Louise. The next day she came to you and blackmailed you. You must pay her handsomely or she would tell what she knew. You realised that to submit to blackmail would be the beginning of the end.
You pretended to agree, made an appointment to come to her cabin just before lunch with the money. Then, when she was counting the notes, you stabbed her.
"But again luck was against you. Somebody saw you go to her cabin--" he half turned to Rosalie. "Your mother. Once again you had to actangerously--foolhardily--but it was the only chance. You had heard Pennington talk about his revolver. Yon rushed into his cabin, got hold of it, listened outside Dr. Bessner's cabin door and shot Mrs. Otterbourne before she could reveal your name--" "N-o!" cried Rosalie. "He didn't! He didn't!"
"After that, you did the only thing you could do--rushed round the stern, and when I rushed after you, you had turned and pretended to be coming in the opposite direction. You had handled the revolver in gloves-those gloves were in your pocket when I asked for them "
Tim said.
"Before God, I swear it isn't true--not a word of it." But his voice, ill assured and trembling, failed to convince.
It was then that Rosalie Otterbourne surprised them.
"Of course it isn't true! And M. Poirot knows it isn't! He's saying it for some reason of his own." Poirot looked at her. A faint smile came to his lips. He spread his hands in token of surrender.
"Mademoiselle is too clever .... But you agreeit was a good case?" "What the devil---" Tim began with rising anger, but Poirot held up a hand.
"There is a very good case against you, Mr. Allerton. I wanted you to realise that'. Now I will tell you something more pleasant. I have not yet examined that rosartd in your cabin. It may be that, when I do, I shall find nothing there. And thean, since Mademoiselle Otterbourne sticks to it that she saw no one on the deck last night--eh bien, there is no ease against you at all. The pearls were taken by a ldel tomaniac who has since returned them. They are in a little box on the table by the ' door if you would care to examine them with Mademoiselle." Tim got up. He stood for a moment unable to speak. When he did, his words seermed inadequate but it is possible that they satisfied his listeners.
"Thanks!" he said. "You won't have to give me another chance." He held the door open for the girl, she passed out, and picking up the little cardslboard box, he followed her.
Side by side they went. Tim opened the box, took out the sham string of pearls and J hurled it far from him into the Nile.
"There!" he said. "That's gone, When I return the box to Poirot the real string will Il be in it. What a damned fool I've been." Rosalie said in a low voice: "Why did you come to do it in the first place?" "How did I come to start, do you mean? Oh, I don't know. Boredom-- lazi ness--the fun of the thing. Such a much more attractive way of earning a living thaOn just pegging away at a job. Sounds pretty sordid to you, I e,,xpect but you kno-W there was an attraction about it--mainly the risk, I suppose.
"I think I understand."
"Yes, but you wouldn't ever do it.'
Rosalie considered for a moment or two, her grave young head bent.
"No," she said simply. "I wouldn't."
He said: "Oh, my dear--you're so lovely . ·· so utterly lovely. Why wouldn't you say you $'d seen me last night?"
Rosalie said: "I thought--they might suspect you."
"Did you suspect me?"
"No. I couldn't believe that you'd kill any one."
"No. I'm not the strong stuff murderers are made of. I'm only a miserable sne;,,ak thief."
She put out a timid hand and touched his arm.
"Don't say that " He caught her hand in his.
"Rosalie, would you--you know what I mean? Or would you always despise me and throw it in my teeth?" She smiled faintly.
"There are things you could throw in my teeth, too .
"Rosalie---darling .
But she held back a minute longer.
"This--Joanna--?" Tim gave a sudden shout.
"Joanna--?
You're as bad as Mother. I don't care a damn about Joanna--she's got: a face like a horse atad a predatory eye. A most unattractive female." Presently Rosalie said: "Your mother need never know about you."
Tim said thoughtfully.
"I'm not sure. I think I shall tell her. Mother's got plenty of stuffing, you know. She can stand up to things. Yes, I think I shall shatter her maternal illusions about me. She'll be so relieved to know that my relations with Joanna were purely of a business nature that she'll forgive me everything else."
Th,ey had come to Mrs. Allerton's cabin and Tim knocked firmly on the door.
It opened and Mrs. Allerton stood on the threshold.
"Rosalie and I--" said Tim.
He paused.
"Oh, my dears," said Mrs. Allerton. She folded Rosalie in her arms. "My dear, dear child... I always hoped but Tim was so tiresomand pretended he didn't like you. But of course I saw through that!"
Rosalie said in a broken voice:
"You've been so sweet to me--always. I used to wish--to wish--" She/broke off and sobbed happily on Mrs. Allerton's shoulder.
CHAPTER 27
As the door closed behind Tim and Rosalie, Poirot looked somewhat apologetically at Colonel Race. The colonel was looking rather grim.
"You will consent to my little arrangement, yes?" Poirot pleaded. "It is irregular--I know it is irregular, yes but I have a high regard for human happiness."
"You've none for m
ine," said Race.
"That jeune fille, I have a tenderness towards her--and she loves that young man. It will be an excellent match---she has the stiffening he needs---the mother likes her--everything is thoroughly suitable."
"In fact the marriage has been arranged by heaven and Hercule Poirot. All I have to do is to compound a felony."
"But, mon ami, I told you, it was all conjecture on my part."
Race grinned suddenly.
"It's all right by me," he said. "I'm not a damned policeman, thank God! I dare say the young fool will go straight enough now. The girl's straight all right.
No, what I'm complaining of is your treatment of me! I'm a patient man--but there are limits to my patience! Do you know who committed the three murders on this boat or don't you?"
"I do."
"Then why all this beating about the bush?"
"You think that I am just amusing myself with side issues? And it annoys you?
But is is not that. Once I went professionally to an archaeological expedition--and I learnt something there. In the course of an excavation, when something comes up out of the ground, everything is cleared away very carefully all around it. You take away the loose earth, and you scrape here and there with a knife until finally your object is there, all alone, ready to be drawn and photographed with no extraneous matter confusing it. That is what I have been seeking to do--clear away the extraneous matter so that we can see the truth---the naked shining truth."
"Good," said Race. "Let's have this naked shining truth. It wasn't Pennington.
It wasn't young Allerton. I presume it wasn't Fleetwood. Let's hear who it was for a change."
"My friend, I am just about to tell you."
There was a knock on the door. Race uttered a muffled curse.
It was Dr. Bessner and Cornelia. The latter was looking upset.
"Oh, Colonel Race," she exclaimed. "Miss Bowers has just told me about Cousin Marie. It's been the most dreadful shock. She said she couldn't bear the responsibility all by herself any longer, and that I'd better know as I was one of the family. I just couldn't believe it at first, but Dr. Bessner here has been just wonderful."
"No, no," protested the doctor modestly.
"He's been so kind, explaining it all, and how people really can't help it. He's had kleptomaniacs in his clinic. And he's explained to me how it's very often due to a deep seated neurosis."
Cornelia repeated the words with awe.
"It's planted very deeply in the subconscious--sometimes it's just some little thing that happened when you were a child. And he's cured people by getting them to think back and remember what that little thing was."
Cornelia paused, drew a deep breath, and started off again.
"But it's worrying me dreadfully in case it all gets out. It would be too terrible in New York. Why, all the tabloids would have it. Cousin Marie and mother and everybody--they'd never hold up their heads again."
Race sighed.
"That's all right," he said. "This is Hush Hush House."
"I beg your pardon, Colonel Race."
"What I was endeavouring to say was that anything short of murder is being hushed up."
"Oh!" Cornelia clasped her hands. "I'm so relieved. I've just been worrying and worrying."
"You have the heart too tender," said Dr. Bessner and patted her benevolently on the shoulder. He said to the others, "She has a very sensitive and beautiful nature."
"Oh, I haven't really. You're too kind."
Poirot murmured:
"Have you seen any more of Mr. Ferguson?"
Cornelia blushed.
"No--but Cousin Marie's been talking about him."
"It seems the young man is highly born," said Dr. Bessner. "I must confess he does not look it. His clothes are terrible. Not for a moment does he appear a well-bred man."
"And what do you think, Mademoiselle?"
"I think he must be just plain crazy," said Cornelia.
Poirot turned to the doctor.
"How is your patient?"
"Ach, he is going on splendidly. I have just reassured the little Fr/iulein de Bellefort. Would you believe it, I found her in despair. Just because the fellow had a bit of a temperature this afternoon! But what could be more natural? It is amazing that he is not in a high fever now. But now, he is like some of our peasants, he has a magnificent constitution the constitution of an ox. I have seen them with deep wounds that they hardly notice. It is the same with Mr. Doyle. His pulse is steady, his temperature only slightly above normal. I was able to pooh-pooh the little lady's fears. All the same, it is ridiculous, Night wahr? One minute you shoot a man, the next you are in hysterics in case he may not be doing well." Cornelia said: "She loves him terribly, you see." "Ach! but it is not sensible, that. If you loved a man, would you try and shoot him? No, you are sensible." "I don't like things that go off with bangs anyway," said Cornelia.
"Naturally you do not. You are very feminine." Race interrupted this scene of heavy approval.
"Since Doyle is all right, there's no reason I shouldn't come along and resume our talk of this afternoon. He was just telling me about a telegram." Dr. Bessner's bulk moved up and down appreciatively.
"Ho, ho, ho, it was very funny that! Doyle, he tells me about it. It was a telegram all about vegetables--potatoes--artichokes leeks--Ach! pardon?" With a stifled exclamation, Race had sat up in his chair. "My God," he said. "So that's it. Richetti!" He looked round on three uncomprehending faces.
"A new code--it was used in the South ffrican rebellion. Potatoes mean machine guns, artichokes are high explosives--and so on. Richetti is no more an archaeologist than I am! He's a very dangerous agitator, a man who's killed more than once. And I'll swear that he's killed once again. Mrs. Doyle opened that telegram by mistake, you see. If she were ever to repeat what was in it before me, he knew his goose would be cooked!" He turned to Poirot.
"Am I right?" he said. "Is Richetti the man?" "He is your man," said Poirot. "I always thought there was something wrong about him! He was almost too word-perfect in his rlehe was all archaeologist, not enough human being." He paused and then said: "But it was not Richetti who killed Linnet Doyle. For some time now I have known what I may express as the 'first half of the murder. Now I know the 'second half also. The picture is complete. But you understand that although I know what must have happened. I have no proof that it happened. Intellectually the case is satisfying. Actually it is profoundly unsatisfactory. There is only one hopea confession from the murderer." Dr. Bessner raised his shoulders sceptically.
"Ach! but that--it would be a miracle." "I think not. Not under the circumstances." Cornelia cried out: "But who is it? Aren't you going to tell us?" Poirot's eyes ranged quietly over the three of them. Race smiling sardonically, Bessner, still looking sceptical, Cornelia, her mouth hanging a little open, gazing at him with eager eyes.
"Mais oui," he said. "I like an audience, I must confess. I am vain, you see. I am puffed up with conceit. I like to say, 'See how clever is Hercule Poirot!'" Race shifted a little in his chair.
"Well," he said gently, "just how clever/s Hercule Poirot?" Shaking his head sadly from side to side Poirot said: "To begin with I was stupid incredibly stupid. To me the stumbling-block was the pistol--Jacqueline de Bellefort's pistol. Why had that pistol not been left on the scene of the crime? The idea of the murderer was quite plainly to incriminate her. Why then did the murderer take it away? I was so stupid that I thought of all sorts of fantastic reasons. The real one was very simple. The murderer took it away because he had to take it away--because he had no choice in the matter."
CHAPTER 28
"You and I, my friend," Poirot leaned towards Race, "started our investigation with a preconceived idea. That idea was that the crime was committed on the spur of the moment without any preliminary planning. Somebody wished to remove Linnet Doyle and had seized their opportunity to do so at a moment when the crime would almost certainly be attributed to Jacqueline de Bellefort. It th
erefore followed that the person in question had overheard the scene between Jacqueline and Simon Doyle and had obtained possession of the pistol after the others had left the saloon.
"But, my friends, if that preconceived idea was wrong, the whole aspect of the case altered. And it was wrong! This was no spontaneous crime committed on the spur of the moment. It was, on the contrary, very carefully planned and accurately timed, with all the details meticulously worked out beforehand, even to the drugging of Hercule Poirot's bottle of wine on the night in question!
Agatha Christie - Death On The Nile Page 25
