The Otterbournes' cabin came next. Here, again, Poirot made a very meticulous search, but with no result.
The next cabin was Bessner's. Simon Doyle lay with an untasted tray of food beside him.
"Off my feed," he said apologetically.
He was looking feverish and very much worse than earlier in the day. Poirot appreciated Bessner's anxiety to get him as swiftly as possible to hospital and skilled appliances.
The little Belgian explained what the two of them were doing, and Simon nodded approval. On learning that the pearls had been restored by Miss Bowers, but proved to be merely imitation, he expressed the most complete astonishment.
"You are quite sure, Monsieur Doyle, that your wife did not have an imitation string which she brought abroad with her instead of the real ones?"
Simon shook his head decisively.
"Oh, no. I'm quite sure of that. Linnet loved those pearls and she wore 'em everywhere. They were insured against every possible risk, so I think that made her a bit careless."
"Then we must continue our search."
He started opening drawers. Race attacked a suitcase.
Simon stared. "Look here, you surely don't suspect old Bessner pinched them?" Poirot shrugged his shoulders.
"It might be so. After all, what do we know of Dr Bessner? Only what he himself gives out."
"But he couldn't have hidden them here - I'd seen him."
"He could not have hidden anything today without your having seen him. But we do not know when the substitution took place. He may have effected the exchange some days ago."
"I never thought of that."
But the search was unavailing.
The next cabin was Pennington's. The two men spent some time in their search. In particular, Poirot and Race examined carefully a case full of legal and business documents, most of them requiring Linnet's signature.
Poirot shook his head gloomily. "These seem all square and aboveboard. You agree?"
"Absolutely. Still, the man isn't a born fool. If there had been a compromising document there - a power of attorney or something of that kind - he'd be pretty sure to have destroyed it first thing."
"That is so, yes."
Poirot lifted a heavy Colt revolver out of the top drawer of the chest of drawers, looked at it and put it back.
"So it seems there are still some people who travel with revolvers," he murmured. "Yes, a little suggestive, perhaps. Still, Linnet Doyle wasn't shot with a thing that size." Race paused and then said: "You know, I've thought of a possible answer to your point about the pistol being thrown overboard. Supposing that the actual murderer did leave it in Linnet Doyle's cabin, and that someone else - some second person - took it away and threw it into the river?"
"Yes, that is possible. I have thought of it. But it opens up a whole string of questions. Who was that second person? What interest had they in endeavouring to shield Jacqueline de Bellefort by taking away the pistol? What was that second person doing there? The only other person we know of who went into the cabin was Mademoiselle Van Schuyler. Was it conceivably Mademoiselle Van Schuyler who removed it? Why should she wish to shield Jacqueline de Bellefort? And yet - what other reason can there be for the removal of the pistol?"
Race suggested, "She may have recognized the stole as hers, got the wind up, and thrown the whole bag of tricks over on that account."
"The stole, perhaps, but would she have got rid of the pistol, too? Still, I agree that it is a possible solution. But it is clumsy - bon Dieu, it is clumsy. And you still have not appreciated one point about the stole -"
As they emerged from Pennington's cabin Poirot suggested that Race should search the remaining cabins, those occupied by Jacqueline, Cornelia and two empty ones at the end, while he himself had a few words with Simon Doyle. Accordingly he retraced his steps along the deck and re-entered Bessner's cabin. Simon said: "Look here, I've been thinking. I'm perfectly sure that those pearls were all right yesterday."
"Why is that, Monsieur Doyle?"
"Because, Linnet -" he winced as he uttered his wife's name - "was passing them through her hands just before dinner and talking about them. She knew something about pearls. I feel certain she'd have known if they were a fake."
"They were a very good imitation, though. Tell me, was Madame Doyle in the habit of letting those pearls out of her hands? Did she ever lend them to a friend, for instance?"
Simon flushed with slight embarrassment.
"You see, Monsieur Poirot, it's difficult for me to say... I - I - well, you see, I hadn't known Linnet very long."
"Ah, no, it was a quick romance - yours."
Simon went on.
"And so - really - I shouldn't know a thing like that. But Linnet was awfully generous with her things. I should think she might have done."
"She never for instance -" Poirot's voice was very smooth - "she never, for instance, lent them to Mademoiselle de Bellefort?"
"What d'you mean?" Simon flushed brick red, tried to sit up and, wincing, fell back. "What are you getting at? That Jackie stole the pearls? She didn't. I'll swear she didn't. Jackie's as straight as a die. The mere idea of her being a thief is ridiculous - absolutely ridiculous."
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