Poirot looked after her and smiled as she went out of the saloon. Then he sat down and his face grew grave once more. He was following out a train of thought in his mind. From time to time he nodded his head.
“Mais oui,” he said at last. “It all fits in.”
Twenty-Six
Race found him still sitting there.
“Well, Poirot, what about it? Pennington’s due in ten minutes. I’m leaving this in your hands.”
Poirot rose quickly to his feet. “First, get hold of young Fanthorp.”
“Fanthorp?” Race looked surprised.
“Yes. Bring him to my cabin.”
Race nodded and went off. Poirot went along to his cabin. Race arrived with young Fanthorp a minute or two afterward.
Poirot indicated chairs and offered cigarettes.
“Now, Monsieur Fanthorp,” he said, “to our business! I perceive that you wear the same tie that my friend Hastings wears.”
Jim Fanthorp looked down at his neckwear with some bewilderment.
“It’s an O.E. tie,” he said.
“Exactly. You must understand that, though I am a foreigner, I know something of the English point of view. I know, for instance, that there are ‘things which are done’ and ‘things which are not done.’”
Jim Fanthorp grinned.
“We don’t say that sort of thing much nowadays, sir.”
“Perhaps not, but the custom, it still remains. The Old School Tie is the Old School Tie, and there are certain things (I know this from experience) that the Old School Tie does not do! One of those things, Monsieur Fanthorp, is to butt into a private conversation unasked when one does not know the people who are conducting it.”
Fanthorp stared.
Poirot went on: “But the other day, Monsieur Fanthorp, that is exactly what you did do. Certain persons were quietly transacting some private business in the observation saloon. You strolled near them, obviously in order to overhear what it was that was in progress, and presently you actually turned round and congratulated a lady—Madame Simon Doyle—on the soundness of her business methods.”
Jim Fanthorp’s face got very red. Poirot swept on, not waiting for a comment.
“Now that, Monsieur Fanthorp, was not at all the behaviour of one who wears a tie similar to that worn by my friend Hastings! Hastings is all delicacy, would die of shame before
he did such a thing! Therefore, taking that action of yours in conjunction with the fact that you are a very young man to be able to afford an expensive holiday, that you are a member of a country solicitor’s firm, and therefore probably not extravagantly well off, and that you show no signs of recent illness such as might necessitate a prolonged visit abroad, I ask myself—and am now asking you—what is the reason for your presence on this boat?”
Jim Fanthorp jerked his head back.
“I decline to give you any information whatever, Monsieur Poirot. I really think you must be mad.”
“I am not mad. I am very, very sane. Where is your firm? In Northampton; that is not very far from Wode Hall. What conversation did you try to overhear? One concerning legal documents. What was the object of your remark—a remark which you uttered with obvious embarrassment and malaise? Your object was to prevent Madame Doyle from signing any document unread.”
He paused.
“On this boat we have had a murder, and following that murder two other murders in rapid succession. If I further give you the information that the weapon which killed Madame Otterbourne was a revolver owned by Monsieur Andrew Pennington, then perhaps you will realize that it is actually your duty to tell us all you can.”
Jim Fanthorp was silent for some minutes. At last he said: “You have rather an odd way of going about things, Monsieur Poirot, but I appreciate the points you have made. The trouble is that I have no exact information to lay before you.”
“You mean that it is a case, merely, of suspicion.”
“Yes.”