“I went to my own cabin, Monsieur, on the deck below.”
“And you heard or saw nothing more that can help us?”
“How could I, Monsieur?”
“That, Mademoiselle, is for you to say, not for us,” Hercule Poirot retorted.
She stole a sideways glance at him.
“But, Monsieur, I was nowhere near…What could I have seen or heard? I was on the deck below. My cabin, it was on the other side of the boat, even. It is impossible that I should have heard anything. Naturally if I had been unable to sleep, if I had mounted the stairs, then perhaps I might have seen the assassin, this monster, enter or leave Madame’s cabin, but as it is—”
She threw out her hands appealingly to Simon.
“Monsieur, I implore you—you see how it is? What can I say?”
“My good girl,” said Simon harshly, “don’t be a fool. Nobody thinks you saw or heard anything. You’ll be quite all right. I’ll look after you. Nobody’s accusing you of anything.”
Louise murmured, “Monsieur is very good,” and dropped her eyelids modestly.
“We take it, then, that you saw and heard nothing?” asked Race impatiently.
“That is what I said, Monsieur.”
“And you know of no one who had a grudge against your mistress?”
To the surprise of the listeners Louise nodded her head vigorously.
“Oh, yes. That I do know. To that question I can answer Yes most emphatically.”
Poirot said, “You mean Mademoiselle de Bellefort?”
“She, certainly. But it is not of her I speak. There was someone else on this boat who disliked Madame, who was very angry because of the way Madame had injured him.”
“Good lord!” Simon exclaimed. “What’s all this?”
Louise went on, still emphatically nodding her head with the utmost vigour.
“Yes, yes, yes, it is as I say! It concerns the former maid of Madame—my predecessor. There was a man, one of the engineers on this boat, who wanted her to marry him. And my predecessor, Marie her name was, she would have done so. But Madame Doyle, she made inquiries and she discovered that this Fleetwood already had a wife—a wife of colour you understand, a wife of this country. She had gone back to her own people, but he was still married to her, you understand. And so Madame she told all this to Marie, and Marie was very unhappy and she would not see Fleetwood anymore. And this Fleetwood, he was infuriated, and when he found out that this Madame Doyle had formerly been Mademoiselle Linnet Ridgeway he tells me that he would like to kill her! Her interference ruined his life, he said.”
Louise paused triumphantly.
“This is interesting,” said Race.
Poirot turned to Simon.
“Had you any idea of this?”
“None whatever,” Simon replied with patent sincerity. “I doubt if Linnet even knew the man was on the boat. She had probably forgotten all about the incident.”
He turned sharply to the maid.
“Did you say anything to Mrs. Doyle about this?”
“No, Monsieur, of course not.”
Poirot asked: “Do you know anything about your mistress’s pearls?”
“Her pearls? Louise’s eyes opened very wide. “She was wearing them last night.”