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"Mrs Doyle's maid, Louise Bourget. She went to call her mistress as usual, found her dead, and came out and flopped into the steward's arms in a dead faint. He went to the Manager, who came to me. I got hold of Bessner and then came for you."
Poirot nodded.
Race said: "Doyle's got to know. You say he's asleep still?"
Bessner nodded. "Yes, he's still asleep in my cabin. I gave him a strong opiate last night."
Race turned to Poirot.
"Well," he said, "I don't think we need detain the doctor any longer, eh? Thank you, Doctor."
Bessner rose. "I will have my breakfast, yes. And then I will go back to my cabin and see if Mr Doyle is ready to wake."
"Thanks."
Bessner went out. The two men looked at each other.
"Well, what about it, Poirot?" Race asked. "You're the man in charge. I'll take my orders from you. You say what's to be done."
Poirot bowed.
"Eh bien," he said; "we must hold the court of inquiry. First of all, I think we must verify the story of the affair last night. That is to say, we must question Fanthorp and Miss Robson, who were the actual witnesses of what occurred. The disappearance of the pistol is very significant."
Race rang a bell and sent a message by the steward.
Poirot sighed and shook his head. "It is bad, this," he murmured. "It is bad."
"Have you any ideas?" asked Race curiously.
"My ideas conflict. They are not well arranged; they are not orderly. There is, you see, the big fact that this girl hated zhaiyuedu.com Doyle and wanted to kill her."
"You think she's capable of it?"
"I think so - yes." Poirot sounded doubtful.
"But not in this way? That's what's worrying you, isn't it? Not to creep into her cabin in the dark and shoot her while she was sleeping. It's the cold-bloodedness that strikes you as not ringing true?"
"In a sense, yes."
"You think that this girl, Jacqueline de Bellefort, is incapable of a premeditated cold-blooded murder?"
Poirot said slowly: "I am not sure, you see. She would have the brains - yes. But I doubt if, physically, she could bring herself to do the act..."
Race nodded. "Yes, I see... Well, according to Bessner's story, it would also have been physically impossible."
"If that is true it clears the ground considerably. Let us hope it is true."
Poirot paused and then added simply: "I shall be glad if it is so, for I have for that little one much sympathy."
The door opened and Fanthorp and Cornelia came in. Bessner followed them.
Cornelia gasped out: "Isn't this just awful? Poor, poor Mrs Doyle! And she was so lovely too. It must have been a real fiend who could hurt her! And poor Mr Doyle; he'll just go half crazy when he knows! Why, even last night he was so frightfully worried lest she should hear about his accident."
"That is just what we want you to tell us about, Miss Robson," said Race. "We want to know exactly what happened last night."
Cornelia began a little confusedly, but a question or two from Poirot helped matters.
"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," replied 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 was 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, Mademoiselle Robson, Mademoiselle de Bellefort, Monsieur Doyle and Monsieur 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 things - to 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 stay, and I was getting very, 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 off and 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."
