"Yes; my heart aches for her. She looks so dreadfully unhappy."
"Teach her not to go round loosing off toy firearms," said Tim unfeelingly as he helped himself to butter.
"I expect she was badly brought up -"
"Oh, for God's sake, Mother, don't go all maternal about it."
"You're in a shocking bad temper, Tim."
"Yes, I am. Who wouldn't be?"
"I don't see what there is to be cross about. It's just frightfully sad."
Tim said crossly: "You're taking the romantic point of view! What you don't seem to realize is that it's no joke being mixed up in a murder case."
Mrs Allerton looked a little startled.
"But surely -"
"That's just it. There's no 'But surely' about it. Everyone on this damned boat is under suspicion - you and I as well as the rest of them."
Mrs Allerton demurred. "Technically we are, I suppose - but actually it's ridiculous!"
"There's nothing ridiculous where murder's concerned! You may sit there, darling, just exuding virtue and conscious rectitude, but a lot of unpleasant policemen at Shellвl or Assuan won't take you at your face value."
"Perhaps the truth will be known before then."
"Why should it be?"
"Monsieur Poirot may find out."
"That old mountebank? He won't find out anything. He's all talk and moustaches."
"Well, Tim," said Mrs Allerton, "I daresay everything you say is true, but, even if it is, we've got to go through with it, so we might as well make up our minds to it and go through with it as cheerfully as we can."
But her son showed no abatement of gloom.
"There's this blasted business of the pearls being missing, too."
"Linnet's pearls?"
"Yes. It seems somebody must have pinched 'em."
"I suppose that was the motive for the crime," said Mrs Allerton.
"Why should it be? You're mixing up two perfectly different things."
"Who told you that they were missing?"
"Ferguson. He got it from his tough friend in the engine room, who got it from the maid."
"They were lovely pearls," declared Mrs Allerton.
Poirot sat down at the table, bowing to Mrs Allerton.
"I am a little late," he said.
"I expect you have been busy," Mrs Allerton replied.
"Yes, I have been much occupied."
He ordered a fresh bottle of wine from the waiter.
"We're very catholic in our tastes," said Mrs Allerton. "You drink wine always; Tim drinks whisky and soda, and I try all the different brands of mineral water in turn."
"Tiens!" said Poirot. He stared at her for a moment. He murmured to himself, "It is an idea, that..."
Then, with an impatient shrug of his shoulders, he dismissed the sudden preoccupation that had distracted him and began to chat lightly of other matters. "Is Mr Doyle badly hurt?" asked Mrs Allerton.
"Yes, it is a fairly serious injury. Dr Bessner is anxious to reach Assuan so that his leg can be X-rayed and the bullet removed. But he hopes that there will be no permanent lameness."
"Poor Simon," said Mrs Allerton. "Only yesterday he looked such a happy boy, with everything in the world he wanted. And now his beautiful wife killed and he himself laid up and helpless. I do hope -"
"What do you hope, Madame?" asked Poirot as Mrs Allerton paused.
"I hope he's not too angry with that poor child."
"With Mademoiselle Jacqueline? Quite the contrary. He was full of anxiety on her behalf."
He turned to Tim.
"You know, it is a pretty little problem of psychology, that. All the time that Mademoiselle Jacqueline was following them from place to place, he was absolutely furious; but now, when she has actually shot him, and wounded him dangerously - perhaps made him lame for life - all his anger seems to have evaporated. Can you understand that?"
"Yes," said Tim thoughtfully, "I think I can. The first thing made him feel a fool -"
Poirot nodded. "You are right. It offended his male dignity."
"But now - if you look at it a certain way, it's she who's made a fool of herself. Everyone's down on her, and so -"
"He can be generously forgiving," finished Mrs Allerton. "What children men are!"
"A profoundly untrue statement that women always make," murmured Tim.
Poirot smiled. Then he said to Tim, "Tell me, Madame Doyle's cousin, Miss Joanna Southwood, did she resemble Madame Doyle?"
"You've got it a little wrong, Monsieur Poirot. She was our cousin and Linnet's friend."
"Ah, pardon - I was confused. She is a young lady much in the news, that. I have been interested in her for some time."
"Why?" asked Tim sharply.
Poirot half rose to bow to Jacqueline de Bellefort, who had just come in and passed their table on the way to her own. Her cheeks were flushed and her eyes bright, and her breath came a little unevenly. As he resumed his seat Poirot seemed to have forgotten Tim's question. He murmured vaguely, "I wonder if all young ladies with valuable jewels were as careless as Madame Doyle was?"
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