Thirty

It was very much later that evening that Hercule Poirot came and knocked on the door of a cabin.

A voice said “Come in” and he entered.

Jacqueline de Bellefort was sitting in a chair. In another chair, close against the wall, sat the bigstewardess.

Jacqueline’s eyes surveyed Poirot thoughtfully. She made a gesture towards the stewardess¹.

“Can she go?”

Poirot nodded to the woman and she went out. Poirot drew up her chair and sat down nearJacqueline. Neither of them spoke². Poirot’s face was unhappy.

In the end it was the girl who spoke first.

“Well,” she said, “it is all over! You were too clever for us, Monsieur Poirot.”

Poirot sighed. He spread out his hands. He seemed strangely dumb.

“All the same,” said Jacqueline reflectively, “I can’t really see that you had much proof. Youwere quite right, of course, but if we’d bluffed³ you out—”

“In no other way, Mademoiselle, could the thing have happened.”

“That’s proof enough for a logical mind, but I don’t believe it would have convinced a jury. Oh,well—it can’t be helped. You sprang it all on Simon, and he went down like a ninepin. He just losthis head utterly⁴, poor lamb, and admitted everything.” She shook her head. “He’s a bad loser.”

“But you, Mademoiselle, are a good loser.”

She laughed suddenly—a queer, gay, defiant⁵ little laugh.

“Oh, yes, I’m a good loser all right.” She looked at him.

She said suddenly and impulsively⁶: “Don’t mind so much, Monsieur Poirot! About me, I mean.

You do mind, don’t you?”

“Yes, Mademoiselle.”

“But it wouldn’t have occurred to you to let me off?”

Hercule Poirot said quietly, “No.”

She nodded her head in quiet agreement.

“No, it’s no use being sentimental⁷. I might do it again…I’m not a safe person any longer. I canfeel that myself…” She went on broodingly: “It’s so dreadfully easy—killing people. And youbegin to feel that it doesn’t matter…that it’s only you that matters! It’s dangerous—that.”

She paused, then said with a little smile: “You did your best for me, you know. That night atAssuan—you told me not to open my heart to evil…Did you realize then what was in my mind?”

He shook his head.

“I only knew that what I said was true.”

“It was true. I could have stopped, then, you know. I nearly did…I could have told Simon that Iwouldn’t go on with it…But then perhaps—”

She broke off. She said: “Would you like to hear about it? From the beginning?”

“If you care to tell me, Mademoiselle.”

“I think I want to tell you. It was all very simple really. You see, Simon and I loved eachother….”

It was a matter-of-fact statement, yet, underneath⁸ the lightness of her tone, there were echoes….

Poirot said simply: “And for you love would have been enough, but not for him.”

“You might put it that way, perhaps. But you don’t quite understand Simon. You see, he’salways wanted money so dreadfully. He liked all the things you get with money—horses andyachts and sport—nice things all of them, things a man ought to be keen about. And he’d neverbeen able to have any of them. He’s awfully⁹ simple, Simon is. He wants things just as a childwants them—you know—terribly.

“All the same he never tried to marry anybody rich and horrid¹⁰. He wasn’t that sort. And then wemet—and—and that sort of settled things. Only we didn’t see when we’d be able to marry. He’dhad rather a decent job, but he’d lost it. In a way it was his own fault. He tried to do somethingsmart over money, and got found out at once. I don’t believe he really meant to be dishonest. Hejust thought it was the sort of thing people did in the City.”

A flicker¹¹ passed over her listener’s face, but he guarded his tongue.

“There we were, up against it; and then I thought of Linnet and her new country house, and Irushed off to her. You know, Monsieur Poirot, I loved Linnet, really I did. She was my best friend,and I never dreamed that anything would ever come between us. I just thought how lucky it wasshe was rich. It might make all the difference to me and Simon if she’d give him a job. And shewas awfully sweet about it and told me to bring Simon down to see her. It was about then you sawus that night at Chez Ma Tante. We were making whoopee, although we couldn’t really afford it.”

She paused, sighed, then went on: “What I’m going to say now is quite true, Monsieur Poirot.

Even though Linnet is dead, it doesn’t alter the truth. That’s why I’m not really sorry about her,even now. She went all out to get Simon away from me. That’s the absolute truth! I don’t thinkshe even hesitated for more than about a minute. I was her friend, but she didn’t care. She justwent bald-headed for Simon….

“And Simon didn’t care a damn about her! I talked a lot to you about glamour¹², but of coursethat wasn’t true. He didn’t want Linnet. He thought her good-looking but terribly bossy¹³, and hehated bossy women! The whole thing embarrassed him frightfully. But he did like the thought ofher money.

“Of course I saw that…and at last I suggested to him that it might be a good thing if he—got ridof me and married Linnet. But he scouted¹⁴ the idea. He said, money or no money, it would be hellto be married to her. He said his idea of having money was to have it himself—not to have a richwife holding the purse strings¹⁵. ‘I’d be a kind of damned Prince Consort,’ he said to me. He said,too, that he didn’t want anyone but me….

“I think I know when the idea came into his head. He said one day: ‘If I’d any luck, I’d marryher and she’d die in about a year and leave me all the boodle.’ And then a queer startled look cameinto his eyes. That was when he first thought of it….

“He talked about it a good deal, one way and another—about how convenient it would be ifLinnet died. I said it was an awful idea, and then he shut up about it. Then, one day, I found himreading up all about arsenic¹⁶. I taxed him with it then, and he laughed and said: ‘Nothing venture,nothing have! It’s about the only time in my life I shall be near to touching¹⁷ a far lot of money.’

“After a bit I saw that he’d made up his mind. And I was terrified—simply terrified. Because,you see, I realized that he’d never pull it off. He’s so childishly simple. He’d have no kind ofsubtlety about it—and he’s got no imagination. He would probably have just bunged arsenic intoher and assumed the doctor would say she’d died of gastritis. He always thought things would goright.

“So I had to come into it, too, to look after him….”

She said it very simply but in complete good faith. Poirot had no doubt whatever that her motivehad been exactly what she said it was. She herself had not coveted¹⁸ Linnet Ridgeway’s money, butshe had loved Simon Doyle, had loved him beyond reason and beyond rectitude and beyond pity.

“I thought and I thought—trying to work out a plan. It seemed to me that the basis of the ideaought to be a kind of two-handed alibi¹⁹. You know—if Simon and I could somehow or other giveevidence against each other, but actually that evidence would clear us of every thing. It would beeasy enough for me to pretend to hate Simon. It was quite a likely thing to happen under thecircumstances. Then, if Linnet was killed, I should probably be suspected, so it would be better if Iwas suspected right away. We worked out details little by little. I wanted it to be so that, ifanything went wrong, they’d get me and not Simon. But Simon was worried about me.

“The only thing I was glad about was that I hadn’t got to do it. I simply couldn’t have! Not goalong in cold blood and kill her when she was asleep! You see, I hadn’t forgiven her—I think Icould have killed her face to face, but not the other way….

“We worked everything out carefully. Even then, Simon went and wrote a J in blood which wasa silly melodramatic thing to do. It’s just the sort of thing he would think of! But it went off allright.”

Poirot nodded.

“Yes. It was not your fault that Louise Bourget could not sleep that night…And afterwards,Mademoiselle?”

She met his eyes squarely.

“Yes,” she said “it’s rather horrible isn’t it? I can’t believe that I—did that! I know now whatyou meant by opening your heart to evil…You know pretty well how it happened. Louise made itclear to Simon that she knew. Simon got you to bring me to him. As soon as we were alonetogether he told me what had happened. He told me what I’d got to do. I wasn’t even horrified²⁰. Iwas so afraid—so deadly afraid…That’s what murder does to you. Simon and I were safe—quitesafe—except for this miserable²¹ blackmailing²² French girl. I took her all the money we could gethold of. I pretended to grovel²³. And then, when she was counting the money, I—did it! It was quiteeasy. That’s what’s so horribly, horribly frightening about it…It’s so terribly easy….

“And even then we weren’t safe. Mrs. Otterbourne had seen me. She came triumphantly²⁴ alongthe deck looking for you and Colonel Race. I’d no time to think. I just acted like a flash. It wasalmost exciting. I knew it was touch or go that time. That seemed to make it better….”

She stopped again.

“Do you remember when you came into my cabin afterwards? You said you were not sure whyyou had come. I was so miserable—so terrified. I thought Simon was going to die….”

“And I—was hoping it,” said Poirot.

Jacqueline nodded.

“Yes, it would have been better for him that way.”

“That was not my thought.”

Jacqueline looked at the sternness of his face.

She said gently: “Don’t mind so much for me, Monsieur Poirot. After all, I’ve lived hardalways, you know. If we’d won out, I’d have been very happy and enjoyed things and probablyshould never have regretted anything. As it is—well, one goes through with it.”

She added: “I suppose the stewardess is in attendance to see I don’t hang myself or swallow amiraculous capsule of prussic acid as people always do in books. You needn’t be afraid! I shan’tdo that. It will be easier for Simon if I’m standing²⁵ by.”

Poirot got up. Jacqueline rose also. She said with a sudden smile: “Do you remember when Isaid I must follow my star? You said it might be a false star. And I said: ‘That very bad star, thatstar fell down.’”

He went out to the deck with her laughter ringing in his ears.

 

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