"You heard a kind of splash? Near at hand?"
Fanthorp shook his head.
"Really, I couldn't say. I was half asleep."
"And what time would that be?"
"It might have been about one o'clock. I can't really say."
"Thank you, Monsieur Fanthorp. That is all."
Poirot turned his attention to Cornelia.
"And now, Mademoiselle Robson? Your full name?"
"Cornelia Ruth. And my address is The Red House, Bellfield, Connecticut."
"What brought you to Egypt?"
"Cousin Marie, Miss Van Schuyler, brought me along on a trip."
"Had you ever met Madame Doyle previous to this journey?"
"No, never."
"And what did you do last night?"
"I went right to bed after helping Dr Bessner with Mr Doyle's leg."
"Your cabin is -?"
"Forty-three on the port side - right next door to Miss de Bellefort."
"And did you hear anything?"
Cornelia shook her head.
"I didn't hear a thing."
"No splash?"
"No, but then I wouldn't, because the boat's against the bank on my side."
Poirot nodded.
"Thank you, Mademoiselle Robson. Now perhaps you will be so kind as to ask Mademoiselle Bowers to come here."
Fanthorp and Cornelia went out.
"That seems clear enough," said Race. "Unless three independent witnesses are lying, Jacqueline de Bellefort couldn't have got hold of the pistol. But somebody did. And somebody overheard the scene. And somebody was bold enough to write a big J on the wall."
There was a tap on the door and Miss Bowers entered. The hospital nurse sat down in her usual composed, efficient manner. In answer to Poirot she gave her name, address, and qualifications, adding, "I've been looking after Miss Van Schuyler for over two years now."
"Is Mademoiselle Van Schuyler's health very bad?"
"Why, no, I wouldn't say that," replied Miss Bowers. "She's not very young, and she's nervous about herself, and she likes to have a nurse around handy. There's nothing serious the matter with her. She just likes plenty of attention, and she's willing to pay for it."
Poirot nodded comprehendingly. Then he said, "I understand that Mademoiselle Robson fetched you last night?"
"Why, yes, that's so."
"Will you tell me exactly what happened?"
"Well, Miss Robson just gave me a brief outline of what had occurred, and I came along with her. I found Miss de Bellefort in a very excited, hysterical condition."
"Did she utter any threats against Madame Doyle?"
"No, nothing of that kind. She was in a condition of morbid self-reproach. She'd taken a good deal of alcohol, I should say, and she was suffering from reaction. I didn't think she ought to be left. I gave her a shot of morphia and sat up with her."
"Now, Mademoiselle Bowers, I want you to answer this. Did Mademoiselle de Bellefort leave her cabin at all?"
"No, she did not."
"And you yourself?"
"I stayed with her until early this morning."
"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 Linnet 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 Linnet 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?"
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