“You saw them when she came to bed?”
“Yes, Monsieur.”
“Where did she put them?”
“On the table by the side as always.”
“That is where you last saw them?”
“Yes, Monsieur.”
“Did you see them there this morning?”
A startled look came into the girl’s face.
“Mon Dieu! I did not even look. I come up to the bed, I see—I see Madame; and then I cry out and rush out of the door, and I faint.”
Hercule Poirot nodded his head.
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“You did not look. But I, I have the eyes which notice, and there were no pearls on the table beside the bed this morning.”
Fifteen
Hercule Poirot’s observation had not been at fault. There were no pearls on the table by Linnet Doyle’s bed.
Louise Bourget was bidden to make a search among Linnet’s belongings. According to her, all was in order. Only the pearls had disappeared.
As they emerged from the cabin a steward was waiting to tell them that breakfast had been served in the smoking room. As they passed along the deck, Race paused to look over the rail.
“Aha! I see you have had an idea, my friend.”
“Yes. It suddenly came to me, when Fanthorp mentioned thinking he had heard a splash. It’s perfectly possible that after the murder, the murderer threw the pistol overboard.”
Poirot said slowly: “You really think that is possible, my friend?” Race shrugged his shoulders.
“It’s a suggestion. After all, the pistol wasn’t anywhere in the cabin. First thing I looked for.”
“All the same,” said Poirot, “it is incredible that it should have been thrown overboard.”
Race asked: “Where is it then?”
Poirot replied thoughtfully, “If it is not in Madame Doyle’s cabin, there is, logically, only one other place where it could be.”
“Where’s that?”
“In Mademoiselle de Bellefort’s cabin.”
Race said thoughtfully: “Yes. I see—”
He stopped suddenly.
“She’s out of her cabin. Shall we go and have a look now?”
Poirot shook his head. “No, my friend, that would be precipitate. It may not yet have been put there.”
“What about an immediate search of the whole boat.”