"That is so."
There was a pause. Race looked round.
"What about her husband? I suppose he sleeps in the cabin next door."
"At the moment," said Dr Bessner, "he is asleep in my cabin."
Both men looked very surprised.
Bessner nodded his head several times.
"Ach, so. I see you have not been told about that. Mr Doyle was shot last night in the saloon."
"Shot? By whom?"
"By the young lady, Jacqueline de Bellefort."
Race asked sharply, "Is he badly hurt?"
"Yes, the bone was splintered. I have done all that is possible at the moment, but it is necessary, you understand, that the fracture should be X-rayed as soon as possible and proper treatment given such as is impossible on this boat."
Poirot murmured, "Jacqueline de Bellefort."
His eyes went again to the J on the wall.
Race said abruptly: "If there is nothing more we can do here for the moment, let's go below. The management has put the smoking-room at our disposal. We must get the details of what happened last night."
They left the cabin. Race locked the door and took the key with him.
"We can come back later," he said. "The first thing to do is to get all the facts clear."
They went down to the deck below, where they found the Manager of the Karnak waiting uneasily in the doorway of the smoking-room.
The poor man was terribly upset and worried over the whole business, and was eager to leave everything in Colonel Race's hands.
"I feel I can't do better than leave it to you, Sir, seeing your official position. I'd had orders to put myself at your disposal in the - er - other matter. If you will take charge, I'll see that everything is done as you wish."
"Good man! To begin with I'd like this room kept clear for me and for Monsieur Poirot during the inquiry."
"Certainly, sir."
"That's all at present. Go on with your own work. I know where to find you."
Looking slightly relieved the Manager left the room.
Race said, "Sit down, Bessner, and let's have the whole story of what happened last night."
They listened in silence to the doctor's rumbling voice.
"Clear enough," said Race, when he had finished. "The girl worked herself up, helped by a drink or two, and finally took a pot shot at the man with a twenty-two pistol. Then she went along to Linnet Doyle's cabin and shot her as well."
But Dr Bessner was shaking his head.
"No, no. I do not think so. I do not think that was possible. For one thing she would not write her own initial on the wall; it would be ridiculous, nicht wahr?"
"She might," Race declared, "if she were as blindly mad and jealous as she sounds; she might want to - well - sign her name to the crime, so to speak." Poirot shook his head.
"No, no, I do not think she would be as - as crude as that."
"Then there's only one reason for that J. It was put there by someone else deliberately to throw suspicion on her."
Bessner nodded.
"Yes, and the criminal was unlucky, because, you see, it is not only unlikely that the young Frдulein did the murder; it is also I think impossible."
"How's that?"
Bessner explained Jacqueline's hysterics and the circumstances which had led Miss Bowers to take charge of her.
"And I think - I am sure - that Miss Bowers stayed with her all night."
Race said, "If that's so, it's going to simplify matters very much."
"Who discovered the crime?" Poirot asked.
"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 Linnet Doyle and wanted to kill her."
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