Cornelia said timidly: “I think he was rather upset about her. He spoke—quite nicely. He said it was all his fault—that he’d treated her badly. He—he was really very nice.”
Hercule Poirot nodded thoughtfully. “Now about that pistol,” he went on. “What happened to that?”
“She dropped it,” said Cornelia.
“And afterwards?”
Fanthorp explained how he had gone back to search for it, but had not been able to find it.
“Aha!” said Poirot. “Now we begin to arrive. Let us, I pray you, be very precise. Describe to me exactly what happened.”
“Miss de Bellefort let it fall. Then she kicked it away from her with her foot.”
“She sort of hated it,” explained Cornelia. “I know just what she felt.”
“And it went under a settee, you say. Now be very careful. Mademoiselle de Bellefort did not recover that pistol before she left the saloon?”
Both Fanthorp and Cornelia were positive on that point.
“Précisément. I seek only to be very exact, you comprehend. Then we arrive at this point. When Mademoiselle de Bellefort leaves the saloon the pistol is under the settee, and, since Mademoiselle de Bellefort is not left alone—Monsieur Fanthorp, Mademoiselle Robson or Mademoiselle Bowers being with her—she has no opportunity to get back the pistol after she left the saloon. What time was it, Monsieur Fanthorp, when you went back to look for it?”
“It must have been just before half-past twelve.”
“And how long would have elapsed between the time you and Dr. Bessner carried Monsieur Doyle out of the saloon until you returned to look for the pistol?”
“Perhaps five minutes—perhaps a little more.”
“Then in that five minutes someone removes that pistol from where it lay out of sight under the settee. That someone was not Mademoiselle de Bellefort. Who was it? It seems highly probable that the person who removed it was the murderer of Madame Doyle. We may assume, too, that the person had overheard or seen something of the events immediately preceding.”
“I don’t see how you make that out,” objected Fanthorp.
“Because,” said Hercule Poirot, “you have just told us that the pistol was out of sight under the settee. Therefore it is hardly credible that it was discovered by accident. It was taken by someone who knew it was there. Therefore that someone must have assisted at the scene.”
Fanthorp shook his head. “I saw no one when I went out on the deck just before the shot was fired.”
“Ah, but you went out by the door on the starboard side.”
“Yes. The same side as my cabin.”
“Then if there had been anybody at the port door looking through the glass you would not have seen him?”
“No,” admitted Fanthorp.
“Did anyone hear the shot except the Nubian boy?”
“Not as far as I know.”
Fanthorp went on: “You see, the windows in here were all closed. Miss Van Schuyler felt a draught earlier in the evening. The swing doors were shut. I doubt if the shot would be clearly heard. It would only sound like the pop of a cork.”
Race said: “As far as I know, no one seems to have heard the other shot—the shot that killed Mrs. Doyle.”
“That we will inquire into presently,” said Poirot.
“For the moment we still concern ourselves with Mademoiselle de Bellefort. We must speak to Mademoiselle Bowers. But first, before you go”—he arrested Fanthorp and Cornelia with a gesture—“you will give me a little information about yourselves. Then it will not be necessary to call you again later. You first, Monsieur—your full name.”
“James Lechdale Fanthorp.”
“Address?”