"You are quite sure of that."
"Absolutely sure."
"Thank you, Mademoiselle Bowers."
The nurse went out. The two men looked at each other.
Jacqueline de Bellefort was definitely cleared of the crime. Who then had shot zhaiyuedu.com Doyle?
Chapter 13
Race said: "Someone pinched the pistol. It wasn't Jacqueline de Bellefort. Someone knew enough to feel that his crime would be attributed to her. But that someone did not know that a hospital nurse was going to give her morphia and sit up with her all night. Add one thing more. Someone had already attempted to kill zhaiyuedu.com Doyle by rolling a boulder over the cliff; that someone was not Jacqueline de Bellefort. Who was it?"
Poirot said: "It will be simpler to say who it could not have been. Neither Monsieur Doyle, Madame Allerton, Monsieur Tim Allerton, Mademoiselle Van Schuyler nor Mademoiselle Bowers could have had anything to do with it. They were all within my sight."
"H'm," said Race; "that leaves rather a large field. What about motive?"
"That is where I hope Monsieur Doyle may be able to help us. There have been several incidents -"
The door opened and Jacqueline de Bellefort entered. She was very pale and she stumbled a little as she walked.
"I didn't do it," she said. Her voice was that of a frightened child. "I didn't do it. Oh, please believe me. Everyone will think I did it - but I didn't - I didn't. It's - it's awful. I wish it hadn't happened. I might have killed Simon last night; I was mad, I think. But I didn't do the other..."
She sat down and burst into tears.
Poirot patted her on the shoulder.
"There, there. We know that you did not kill Madame Doyle. It is proved - yes, proved, mon enfant. It was not you."
Jackie sat up suddenly, her wet handkerchief clasped in her hand.
"But who did?"
"That," said Poirot, "is just the question we are asking ourselves. You cannot help us there, my child?"
Jacqueline shook her head.
"I don't know... I can't imagine... No, I haven't the faintest idea." She frowned deeply.
"No," she said at last. "I can't think of anyone who wanted her dead," her voice faltered a little, "except me."
Race said, "Excuse me a minute - just thought of something." He hurried out of the room.
Jacqueline de Bellefort sat with her head downcast, nervously twisting her fingers. She broke out suddenly: "Death's horrible - horrible! I - I hate the thought of it."
Poirot said: "Yes. It is not pleasant to think, is it, that now, at this very moment, someone is rejoicing at the successful carrying out of his or her plan."
"Don't - don't!" cried Jackie. "It sounds horrible, the way you put it."
Poirot shrugged his shoulders. "It is true."
Jackie said in a low voice: "I - I wanted her dead - and she is dead... And, what is worse... she died - just like I said."
"Yes, Mademoiselle. She was shot through the head."
She cried out: "Then I was right, that night at the Cataract Hotel. There was someone listening!"
"Ah!" Poirot nodded his head. "I wondered if you would remember that. Yes, it is altogether too much of a coincidence - that Madame Doyle should be killed in just the way you described."
Jackie shuddered.
"That man that night - who can he have been?"
Poirot was silent for a minute or two, then he said in quite a different tone of voice, "You are sure it was a man, Mademoiselle?"
Jackie looked at him in surprise.
"Yes, of course. At least-"
"Well, Mademoiselle?"
She frowned, half closing her eyes in an effort to remember. She said slowly, "I thought it was a man."
"But now you are not so sure?"
Jackie said slowly: "No, I can't be certain. I just assumed it was a man - but it was really just a - a figure - a shadow..."
She paused and then, as Poirot did not speak, she asked: "You think it must have been a woman? But surely none of the women on this boat can have wanted to kill zhaiyuedu.com?"
Poirot merely moved his head from side to side.
The door opened and Bessner appeared.
"Will you come and speak with Mr Doyle, please, Monsieur Poirot. He would like to see you."
Jackie sprang up. She caught Bessner by the arm.
"How is he? Is he - all right?"
"Naturally he is not all right," replied Dr Bessner reproachfully. "The bone is fractured, you understand."
"But he's not going to die?" cried Jackie.
"Ach, who said anything about dying? We will get him to civilization and there we will have an X-ray and proper treatment."
"Oh!" The girl's hands came together in a convulsive pressure. She sank down again on a chair.
Poirot stepped out onto the deck with the doctor and at that moment Race joined them. They went up to the promenade deck and along to Bessner's cabin. Simon Doyle was lying propped with cushions and pillows, an improvised cage over his leg. His face was ghastly in colour, the ravages of pain with shock on top of it. But the predominant expression on his face was bewilderment - the sick bewilderment of a child.
