Death on the Nile (Hercule Poirot 17)

Race pored thoughtfully over a plan of the promenade deck of the Karnak.

“Fanthorp, young Allerton, Mrs. Allerton. Then an empty cabin—Simon Doyle’s. Now who’s on the other side of Mrs. Doyle’s? The old American dame. If anyone heard anything she would have done. If she’s up we’d better have her along.”

Miss Van Schuyler entered the room. She looked even older and yellower than usual this morning. Her small dark eyes had an air of venomous displeasure in them.

Race rose and bowed.

“We’re very sorry to trouble you, Miss Van Schuyler. It’s very good of you. Please sit down.”

Miss Van Schuyler said sharply: “I dislike being mixed up in this. I resent it very much. I do not wish to be associated in any way with this—er—very unpleasant affair.”

“Quite—quite. I was just saying to Monsieur Poirot that the sooner we took your statement the better, as then you need have no further trouble.”

Miss Van Schuyler looked at Poirot with something approaching favour.

“I’m glad you both realize my feelings. I am not accustomed to anything of this kind.”

Poirot said soothingly: “Precisely, Mademoiselle. That is why we wish to free you from unpleasantness as quickly as possible. Now you went to bed last night—at what time?”

“Ten o’clock is my usual time. Last night I was rather later, as Cornelia Robson, very inconsiderately, kept me waiting.”

“Très bien, Mademoiselle. Now what did you hear after you had retired?”

Miss Van Schuyler said: “I sleep very lightly.”

“A merveille! That is very fortunate for us.”

“I was awakened by that rather flashy young woman, Mrs.

Doyle’s maid, who said, ‘Bonne nuit, Madame’ in what I cannot but think an unnecessarily loud voice.”

“And after that?”

“I went to sleep again. I woke up thinking someone was in my cabin, but I realized that it was someone in the cabin next door.”

“In Madame Doyle’s cabin?”

“Yes. Then I heard someone outside on the deck and then a splash.”

“You have no idea what time this was?”

“I can tell you the time exactly. It was ten minutes past one.”

“You are sure of that?”

“Yes. I looked at my little clock that stands by my bed.”

“You did not hear a shot?”

“No, nothing of the kind.”

“But it might possibly have been a shot that awakened you?”

Miss Van Schuyler considered the question, her toadlike head on one side.

“It might,” she admitted rather grudgingly.

“And you have no idea what might have caused the splash you heard?”