Twenty-Seven

As the door closed behind him, Race gave a deep sigh.

“We got more than I thought we should. Admission of fraud. Admission of attempted murder.

Further than that it’s impossible to go. A man will confess, more or less, to attempted murder, butyou won’t get him to confess to the real thing.”

“Sometimes it can be done,” said Poirot. His eyes were dreamy—catlike.

Race looked at him curiously¹.

“Got a plan?”

Poirot nodded. Then he said, ticking off the items on his fingers: “The garden at Assuan. Mr.

Allerton’s statement. The two bottles of nail polish. My bottle of wine. The velvet² stole. Thestained handkerchief. The pistol that was left on the scene of the crime. The death of Louise. Thedeath of Madame Otterbourne. Yes, it’s all there. Pennington didn’t do it, Race!”

“What?” Race was startled.

“Pennington didn’t do it. He had the motive³, yes. He had the will to do it, yes. He got as far asattempting to do it. Mais c’est tout⁴. For this crime, something was wanted that Pennington hadn’tgot! This is a crime that needed audacity⁵, swift and faultless execution, courage, indifference⁶ todanger, and a resourceful, calculating brain. Pennington hasn’t got those attributes. He couldn’t doa crime unless he knew it to be safe. This crime wasn’t safe! It hung on a razor edge. It neededboldness. Pennington isn’t bold. He’s only astute⁷.”

Race looked at him with the respect one able man gives to another.

“You’ve got it all well taped,” he said.

“I think so, yes. There are one or two things—that telegram for instance, that Linnet Doyle read.

I should like to get that cleared up.”

“By Jove, we forgot to ask Doyle. He was telling us when poor old Ma Otterbourne came along.

We’ll ask him again.”

“Presently. First, I have someone else to whom I wish to speak.”

“Who’s that?”

“Tim Allerton.”

Race raised his eyebrows⁸.

“Allerton? Well, we’ll get him here.”

He pressed a bell and sent the steward¹⁰ with a message.

Tim Allerton entered with a questioning look.

“Steward said you wanted to see me?”

“That is right, Monsieur Allerton. Sit down.”

Tim sat. His face was attentive¹¹ but very slightly bored.

“Anything I can do?” His tone was polite but not enthusiastic.

Poirot said: “In a sense, perhaps. What I really require is for you to listen.”

Tim’s eyebrows rose in polite surprise.

“Certainly. I’m the world’s best listener. Can be relied on to say ‘Ooer!’ at the right moments.”

“That is very satisfactory. ‘Oo-er!’ will be very expressive¹². Eh bien, let us commence. When Imet you and your mother at Assuan, Monsieur Allerton, I was attracted to your company verystrongly. To begin with, I thought your mother was one of the most charming people I had evermet—”

The weary face flickered¹³ for a moment; a shade of expression came into it.

“She is—unique,” he said.

“But the second thing that interested me was your mention of a certain lady.”

“Really?”

“Yes, a Mademoiselle Joanna Southwood. You see, I had recently been hearing that name.”

He paused and went on: “For the last three years there have been certain jewel robberies thathave been worrying Scotland Yard a good deal. They are what may be described as Societyrobberies. The method is usually the same—the substitution of an imitation piece of jewellery foran original. My friend, Chief Inspector¹⁴ Japp, came to the conclusion that the robberies were notthe work of one person, but of two people working in with each other very cleverly. He wasconvinced, from the considerable inside knowledge displayed, that the robberies were the work ofpeople in a good social position. And finally his attention became riveted¹⁵ on Mademoiselle JoannaSouthwood.

“Every one of the victims had been either a friend or acquaintance of hers, and in each case shehad either handled or been lent the piece of jewellery in question. Also, her style of living was farin excess of her income. On the other hand it was quite clear that the actual robbery—that is to saythe substitution—had not been accomplished¹⁶ by her. In some cases she had been out of Englandduring the period when the jewellery must have been replaced.

“So gradually a little picture grew up in Chief Inspector Japp’s mind. Mademoiselle Southwoodwas at one time associated with a Guild¹⁷ of Modern Jewellery. He suspected that she handled thejewels in question, made accurate drawings of them, got them copied by some humble¹⁸ butdishonest working jeweller and that the third part of the operation was the successful substitutionby another person—somebody who could have been proved never to have handled the jewels andnever to have had anything to do with copies or imitations of precious stones. Of the identity ofthis other person Japp was ignorant.

“Certain things that fell from you in conversation interested me. A ring that disappeared whenyou were in Majorca, the fact that you had been in a house party where one of these fakesubstitutions had occurred, your close association with Mademoiselle Southwood. There was alsothe fact that you obviously resented my presence and tried to get your mother to be less friendlytowards me. That might, of course, have been just personal dislike, but I thought not. You weretoo anxious to try and hide your distaste under a genial¹⁹ manner.

“Eh bien! after the murder of Linnet Doyle, it is discovered that her pearls are missing. Youcomprehend, at once I think of you! But I am not quite satisfied. For if you are working, as Isuspect, with Mademoiselle Southwood (who was an intimate friend of Madame Doyle’s), thensubstitution would be the method employed — not barefaced²⁰ theft. But then, the pearls quiteunexpectedly are returned, and what do I discover? That they are not genuine, but imitation.

“I know then who the real thief is. It was the imitation string which was stolen and returned—animitation which you had previously²¹ substituted for the real necklace.”

He looked at the young man in front of him. Tim was white under his tan. He was not so good afighter as Pennington; his stamina²² was bad. He said, with an effort to sustain his mocking manner:

“Indeed? And if so, what did I do with them?”

“That I know also.”

The young man’s face changed—broke up.

Poirot went on slowly: “There is only one place where they can be. I have reflected, and myreason tells me that that is so. Those pearls, Monsieur Allerton, are concealed²³ in a rosary thathangs in your cabin. The beads²⁴ of it are very elaborately carved. I think you had it made specially²⁵.

Those beads unscrew, though you would never think so to look at them. Inside each is a pearl,stuck with Seccotine. Most police searchers respect religious symbols unless there is somethingobviously queer about them. You counted on that. I endeavoured to find out how MademoiselleSouthwood sent the imitation necklace out to you. She must have done so, since you came herefrom Majorca on hearing that Madame Doyle would be here for her honeymoon²⁶. My theory is thatit was sent in a book—a square hole being cut out of the pages in the middle. A book goes withthe ends open and is practically never opened in the post.”

There was a pause—a long pause. Then Tim said quietly: “You win! It’s been a good game, butit’s over at last. There’s nothing for it now, I suppose, but to take my medicine.”

Poirot nodded gently.

“Do you realize that you were seen that night?”

“Seen?” Tim started.

“Yes, on the night that Linnet Doyle died, someone saw you leave her cabin just after one in themorning.”

Tim said: “Look here—you aren’t thinking…it wasn’t I who killed her! I’ll swear that! I’vebeen in the most awful stew⁹. To have chosen that night of all others…God, it’s been awful!”

Poirot said: “Yes, you must have had uneasy moments. But, now that the truth has come out,you may be able to help us. Was Madame Doyle alive or dead when you stole the pearls?”

“I don’t know,” Tim said hoarsely²⁷. “Honest to God, Monsieur Poirot, I don’t know! I’d foundout where she put them at night—on the little table by the bed. I crept in, felt very softly on thetable and grabbed ’em, put down the others and crept out again. I assumed, of course, that she wasasleep.”

“Did you hear her breathing? Surely you would have listened for that?”

Tim thought earnestly.

“It was very still—very still indeed. No, I can’t remember actually hearing her breathe.”

“Was there any smell of smoke lingering in the air, as there would have been if a firearm hadbeen discharged recently?”

“I don’t think so. I don’t remember it.”

Poirot sighed.

“Then we are no further.”

Tim asked curiously, “Who was it saw me?”

“Rosalie Otterbourne. She came round from the other side of the boat and saw you leave LinnetDoyle’s cabin and go to your own.”

“So it was she who told you.”

Poirot said gently, “Excuse me; she did not tell me.”

“But then, how do you know?”

“Because I am Hercule Poirot I do not need to be told. When I taxed her with it, do you knowwhat she said? She said: ‘I saw nobody.’ And she lied.”

“But why?”

Poirot said in a detached voice: “Perhaps because she thought the man she saw was themurderer. It looked like that, you know.”

“That seems to me all the more reason for telling you.”

Poirot shrugged²⁸ his shoulders. “She did not think so, it seems.”

Tim said, a queer note in his voice: “She’s an extraordinary sort of a girl. She must have beenthrough a pretty rough time with that mother of hers.”

“Yes, life has not been easy for her.”

“Poor kid,” Tim muttered. Then he looked towards Race.

“Well, sir, where do we go from here? I admit taking the pearls from Linnet’s cabin and you’llfind them just where you say they are. I’m guilty all right. But as far as Miss Southwood isconcerned, I’m not admitting anything. You’ve no evidence whatever against her. How I got holdof the fake necklace is my own business.”

Poirot murmured: “A very correct attitude.”

Tim said with a flash of humour: “Always the gentleman!” He added: “Perhaps you can imaginehow annoying it was to me to find my mother cottoning on to you! I’m not a sufficiently²⁹ hardenedcriminal to enjoy sitting cheek by jowl with a successful detective just before bringing off a ratherrisky coup³⁰! Some people might get a kick out of it. I didn’t. Frankly³¹, it gave me cold feet.”

“But it did not deter³² you from making your attempt?”

Tim shrugged his shoulders.

“I couldn’t funk it to that extent. The exchange had to be made sometime and I’d got a uniqueopportunity on this boat—a cabin only two doors off, and Linnet herself so preoccupied³³ with herown troubles that she wasn’t likely to detect the change.”

“I wonder if that was so—”

Tim looked up sharply. “What do you mean?”

Poirot pressed the bell. “I am going to ask Miss Otterbourne if she will come here for a minute.”

Tim frowned but said nothing. A steward came, received the order and went away with themessage.

Rosalie came after a few minutes. Her eyes, reddened with recent weeping, widened a little atseeing Tim, but her old attitude of suspicion and defiance³⁴ seemed entirely³⁵ absent. She sat downand with a new docility³⁶ looked from Race to Poirot.

“We’re very sorry to bother you, Miss Otterbourne,” said Race gently. He was slightly annoyedwith Poirot.

“It doesn’t matter,” the girl said in a low voice.

Poirot said: “It is necessary to clear up one or two points. When I asked you whether you sawanyone on the starboard deck at one-ten this morning, your answer was that you saw nobody.

Fortunately I have been able to arrive at the truth without your help. Monsieur Allerton hasadmitted 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 curt³⁷ nod.

“The time is correct, Monsieur 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, soyou might as well know. I was after her pearls.”

Poirot said, “Mr. Allerton’s story is that he went to her cabin last night and exchanged a stringof fake pearls for the real ones.”

“Did you?” asked Rosalie. Her eyes, grave, sad, childlike, questioned his.

“Yes,” said Tim.

There was a pause. Colonel Race shifted restlessly.

Poirot said in a curious voice: “That, as I say, is Monsieur Allerton’s story, partially³⁸ confirmedby 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?”

“Well—you know I’ve got the pearls.”

“Mais oui—mais oui! I know you have the pearls, but I do not know when you got them. It mayhave been before last night…You said just now that Linnet Doyle would not have noticed thesubstitution. I am not so sure of that. Supposing she did notice it…Supposing, even, she knew whodid it…Supposing that last night she threatened to expose the whole business, and that you knewshe meant to do so…and supposing that you overheard the scene in the saloon between Jacquelinede Bellefort and Simon Doyle and, as soon as the saloon was empty, you slipped in and securedthe pistol, and then, an hour later, when the boat had quieted down, you crept along to LinnetDoyle’s cabin and made quite sure that no exposure would come….”

“My God!” said Tim. Out of his ashen³⁹ face, two tortured, agonized⁴⁰ eyes gazed dumbly atHercule Poirot.

The latter went on: “But somebody else saw you—the girl Louise. The next day she came toyou and blackmailed⁴² you. You must pay her handsomely or she would tell what she knew. Yourealized that to submit to blackmail⁴¹ 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 wascounting the notes, you stabbed her.

“But again luck was against you. Somebody saw you go to her cabin”—he half turned toRosalie—“your mother. Once again you had to act—dangerously, foolhardily—but it was the onlychance. You had heard Pennington talk about his revolver. You rushed into his cabin, got hold ofit, listened outside Dr. Bessner’s cabin door, and shot Madame Otterbourne before she couldreveal your name.”

“No-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 rushedafter you, you had turned and pretended to be coming in the opposite direction. You had handledthe 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 andtrembling, failed to convince.

It was then that Rosalie Otterbourne surprised them.

“Of course it isn’t true! And Monsieur Poirot knows it isn’t! He’s saying it for some reason ofhis own.”

Poirot looked at her. A faint smile came to his lips. He spread out his hands in token surrender.

“Mademoiselle is too clever…But you agree—it 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, Monsieur Allerton. I wanted you to realize that. Now Iwill tell you something more pleasant. I have not yet examined that rosary in your cabin. It may bethat, when I do, I shall find nothing there. And then, since Mademoiselle Otterbourne sticks to itthat she saw no one on the deck last night, eh bien! there is no case against you at all. The pearlswere taken by a kleptomaniac⁴³ who has since returned them. They are in a little box on the table bythe door, if you would like to examine them with Mademoiselle.”

Tim got up. He stood for a moment unable to speak. When he did, his words seemedinadequate, 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 cardboard box, hefollowed her.

Side by side they went. Tim opened the box, took out the sham⁴⁴ string of pearls and hurled⁴⁵ it farfrom him into the Nile.

“There!” he said. “That’s gone. When I return the box to Poirot the real string will be in it. Whata 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—laziness—the fun of thething. Such a much more attractive way of earning a living than just pegging⁴⁶ away at a job.

Sounds pretty sordid⁴⁷ to you, I expect, but you know there was an attraction about it—mainly therisk, 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 bent⁴⁸.

“No,” she said simply. “I wouldn’t.”

He said: “Oh, my dear—you’re so lovely…so utterly⁴⁹ lovely. Why wouldn’t you say you’d seenme last night?”

“I thought—they might suspect you,” Rosalie said.

“Did you suspect me?”

“No. I couldn’t believe that you’d kill anyone.”

“No. I’m not the strong stuff murderers are made of. I’m only a miserable⁵⁰ sneak-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 inmy 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 ahorse and a predatory eye. A most unattractive female.”

Presently Rosalie said: “Your mother need never know about you.”

“I’m not sure,” Tim said thoughtfully. “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 maternal⁵¹ illusions about me.

She’ll be so relieved to know that my relations with Joanna were purely⁵² of a business nature thatshe’ll forgive me everything else.”

They had come to Mrs. Allerton’s cabin and Tim knocked firmly on the door. It opened andMrs. Allerton stood on the threshold.

“Rosalie and I—” began Tim. He paused.

“Oh, my dears,” said Mrs. Allerton. She folded Rosalie in her arms. “My dear, dear child. Ialways hoped—but Tim was so tiresome—and pretended he didn’t like you. But of course I sawthrough 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 sobbed⁵³ happily on Mrs. Allerton’s shoulder.