"Awfully good of you to come along, Monsieur Poirot. Look here, there's something I want to ask you."
"Yes?"
Simon got still redder in the face.
"It's - it's about Jackie. I want to see her. Do you think - would you mind - would she mind, d'you think, if you asked her to come along here? You know I've been lying here thinking... That wretched kid - she is only a kid after all - and I treated her damn badly - and -"
He stammered to silence.
Poirot looked at him with interest.
"You desire to see Mademoiselle Jacqueline? I will fetch her."
"Thanks. Awfully good of you."
Poirot went on his quest. He found Jacqueline de Bellefort sitting huddled up in a corner of the observation saloon. There was an open book on her lap but she was not reading.
Poirot said gently: "Will you come with me, Mademoiselle? Monsieur Doyle wants to see you."
She started up. Her face flushed - then paled. She looked bewildered.
"Simon? He wants to see me - to see me?"
He found her incredulity moving.
"Will you come, Mademoiselle?"
She went with him in a docile fashion, like a child, but like a puzzled child.
"I - yes, of course I will."
Poirot passed into the cabin.
"Here is Mademoiselle."
She stepped in after him, wavered, stood still... standing there mute and dumb, her eyes fixed on Simon's face.
"Hullo, Jackie." He, too, was embarrassed. He went on: "Awfully good of you to come. I wanted to say - I mean - what I mean is -"
She interrupted him then. Her words came out in a rush.
"Simon - I didn't kill Linnet. You know I didn't do that. I was mad last night. Oh, can you ever forgive me?"
Words came more easily to him now.
"Of course. That's all right! Absolutely all right! That's what I wanted to say. Thought you might be worrying a bit, you know..."
"Worrying? A bit? Oh! Simon!"
"That's what I wanted to see you about. It's quite all right, see, old girl? You just got a bit rattled last night - a shade tight. All perfectly natural."
"Oh, Simon! I might have killed you!"
"Not you. Not with a rotten little peashooter like that."
"And your leg! Perhaps you'll never walk again. Her mouth went sulky at once.
"Now, look here, Jackie, don't be maudlin. As soon as we get to Assuan they're going to put the X-rays to work, and dig out that tin pot bullet, and everything will be as right as rain."
Jacqueline gulped twice; then she rushed forward and knelt down by Simon's bed, burying her face and sobbing. Simon patted her awkwardly on the head. His eyes met Poirot's and, with a reluctant sigh, the latter left the cabin. He heard broken murmurs as he went:
"How could I be such a devil? Oh, Simon! I'm so dreadfully sorry..."
Outside Cornelia Robson was leaning over the rail. She turned her head.
"Oh, it's you, Monsieur Poirot. It seems so awful somehow that it should be such a lovely day."
Poirot looked up at the sky.
"When the sun shines you cannot see the moon," he said. "But when the sun is gone - ah, when the sun is gone."
Cornelia's mouth fell open.
"I beg your pardon?"
"I was saying, Mademoiselle, that when the sun has gone down, we shall see the moon. That is so, is it not?"
"Why - why, yes - certainly."
She looked at him doubtfully.
Poirot laughed gently.
"I utter the imbecilities," he said. "Take no notice."
He strolled gently toward the stern of the boat. As he passed the next cabin he paused for a minute. He caught fragments of speech from within:
"Utterly ungrateful - after all I've done for you - no consideration for your wretched mother - no idea of what I suffer."
Poirot's lips stiffened as he pressed them together. He raised a hand and knocked.
There was a startled silence and Mrs Otterbourne's voice called: "Who's that?"
"Is Mademoiselle Rosalie there?"
Rosalie appeared in the doorway. Poirot was shocked at her appearance. There were dark circles under her eyes and drawn lines round her mouth.
"What's the matter?" she said ungraciously. "What do you want?"
"The pleasure of a few minutes' conversation with you, Mademoiselle. Will you come?"
She shot him a suspicious look.
"Why should I?"
"I entreat you, Mademoiselle."
"Oh, I suppose -"
She stepped out on the deck, closing the door behind her.
"Well?"
Poirot took her gently by the arm and drew her along the deck, still in the direction of the stern. They had the stern part of the deck to themselves. The Nile flowed away behind them.
Poirot rested his elbows on the rail. Rosalie stood up straight and stiff.
"Well?" she asked again, and her voice held the same ungracious tone.
"I could ask you certain questions, Mademoiselle, but I do not think for one moment that you would consent to answer them."
"Seems rather a waste to bring me along here then."
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