Group II: Miss Bowers
Group I: Louise Bourget (Robbery?)
Group II: Dr. Bessner
Group I: Ferguson (Political?)
Group II: Signor Richetti
Group II: Mrs. Otterbourne
Group II: James Fanthorp
Poirot pushed the paper back.
“It is very just, very exact, what you have written there.”
“You agree with it?”
“Yes.”
“And now what is your contribution?”
Poirot drew himself up in an important manner.
“Me, I pose myself one question: ‘Why was the pistol thrown overboard?’”
“That’s all?”
“At the moment, yes. Until I can arrive at a satisfactory answer to that question, there is not sense anywhere. That is—that must be the starting point. You will notice, my friend, that, in your summary of where we stand, you have not attempted to answer that point.”
Race shrugged his shoulders.
“Panic.”
Poirot shook his head perplexedly. He picked up the sodden velvet wrap and smoothed it out, wet and limp, on the table. His fingers traced the scorched marks and the burnt holes.
“Tell me, my friend,” he said suddenly. “You are more conversant with firearms than I am. Would such a thing as this, wrapped round a pistol, make much difference in muffling the sound?”
“No, it wouldn’t. Not like a silencer, for instance.”
Poirot nodded. He went on: “A man—certainly a man who had had much handling of firearms—would know that. But a woman—a woman would not know.”
Race looked at him curiously. “Probably not.”
“No. She would have read the detective stories where they are not always very exact as to details.”
Race flicked the little pearl-handled pistol with his finger.
“This little fellow wouldn’t make much noise anyway,” he said. “Just a pop, that’s all. With any other noise around, ten to one you wouldn’t notice it.”
“Yes, I have reflected as to that.”
Poirot picked up the handkerchief and examined it.
“A man’s handkerchief—but not a gentleman’s handkerchief. Ce cher Woolworth, I imagine. Threepence at most.”
“The sort of handkerchief a man like Fleetwood would own.”