Battle nodded.
“You’re quite right. I wonder—”
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“You wonder what, my friend?”
Battle said slowly:
“I’m wondering if Miss Meredith knows that her friend told Mrs. Oliver a certain fact.”
Poirot nodded his head in vigorous appreciation.
“Hurry, my friend,” he said.
They hastened along the riverbank. There was no craft visible on the water’s surface, but presently they rounded a bend, and Poirot suddenly stopped dead. Battle’s quick eyes saw also.
“Major Despard,” he said.
Despard was about two hundred yards ahead of them, striding along the riverbank.
A little farther on the two girls were in view in a punt on the water, Rhoda punting—Anne lying and laughing up at her. Neither of them were looking towards the bank.
And then—it happened. Anne’s hand outstretched, Rhoda’s stagger, her plunge overboard—her desperate grasp at Anne’s sleeve—the rocking boat—then an overturned punt and two girls struggling in the water.
“See it?” cried Battle as he started to run. “Little Meredith caught her round the ankle and tipped her in. My God, that’s her fourth murder!”
They were both running hard. But someone was ahead of them. It was clear that neither girl could swim, but Despard had run quickly along the path to the nearest point, and now he plunged in and swam towards them.
“Mon Dieu, this is interesting,” cried Poirot. He caught Battle’s arm. “Which of them will he go for first?”
The two girls were not together. About twelve yards separated them.
Despard swam powerfully towards them—there was no check in his stroke. He was making straight for Rhoda.
Battle, in his turn, reached the nearest bank and went in. Despard had just brought Rhoda successfully to shore. He hauled her up, flung her down and plunged in again, swimming towards the spot where Anne had just gone under.
“Be careful,” called Battle. “Weeds.”
He and Battle got to the spot at the same time, but Anne had gone under before they reached her.
They got her at last and between them towed her to the shore.
Rhoda was being ministered to by Poirot. She was sitting up now, her breath coming unevenly.
Despard and Battle laid Anne Meredith down.
“Artificial respiration,” said Battle. “Only thing to do. But I’m afraid she’s gone.”
He set to work methodically. Poirot stood by, ready to relieve him.
Despard dropped down by Rhoda.
“Are you all right?” he asked hoarsely.
She said slowly:
“You saved me. You saved me … ” She held out her hands to him, and as he took them she burst suddenly into tears.