Bang!
The noise of the explosion filled the cabin. There was an acrid sour smell of smoke. Mrs. Otterbourne turned slowly sideways, as though in supreme inquiry, then her body slumped forward and she fell to the ground with a crash. From just behind her ear the blood flowed from a round neat hole.
There was a moment’s stupefied silence. Then both the able-bodied men jumped to their feet. The woman’s body hindered their movements a little. Race bent over her while Poirot made a catlike jump for the door and the deck.
The deck was empty. On the ground just in front of the sill lay a big Colt revolver.
Poirot glanced in both directions. The deck was empty. He then sprinted towards the stern. As he rounded the corner he ran into Tim Allerton, who was coming full tilt from the opposite direction.
“What the devil was that?” cried Tim breathlessly.
Poirot said sharply: “Did you meet anyone on your way here?”
“Meet anyone? No.”
“Then come with me.” He took the young man by the arm and retraced his steps. A little crowd had assembled by now. Rosalie, Jacqueline, and Cornelia had rushed out of their cabins. More people were coming along the deck from the saloon—Ferguson, Jim Fanthorp, and Mrs. Allerton.
Race stood by the revolver. Poirot turned his head and said sharply to Tim Allerton: “Got any gloves in your pocket?”
Tim fumbled.
“Yes, I have.”
Poirot seized them from him, put them on, and bent to examine the revolver. Race did the same. The others watched breathlessly.
Race said: “He didn’t go the other way. Fanthorp and Ferguson were sitting on this deck lounge; they’d have seen him.”
Poirot responded, “And Mr. Allerton would have met him if he’d gone aft.”
Race said, pointing to the revolver: “Rather fancy we’ve seen this not so very long ago. Must make sure, though.”
He knocked on the door of Pennington’s cabin. There was no answer. The cabin was empty. Race strode to the right-hand drawer of the chest and jerked it open. The revolver was gone.
“Settles that,” said Race. “Now then, where’s Pennington himself?”
They went out again on deck. Mrs. Allerton had joined the group. Poirot moved swiftly over to her.
“Madame, take Miss Otterbourne with you and look after her. Her mother has been”—he consulted Race with an eye and Race nodded—“killed.”
Dr. Bessner came bustling along.
“Gott im Himmel! What is there now?”
They made way for him. Race indicated the cabin. Ressner went inside.
“Find Pennington,” said Race. “Any fingerprints on that revolver?”
“None,” said Poirot.
They found Pennington on the deck below. He was sitting in the little drawing room writing letters. He lifted a handsome, clean-shaven face.
“Anything new?” he asked.
“Didn’t you hear a shot?”
“Why—now you mention it—I believe I did hear a kind of a bang. But I never dreamed—Who’s been shot?”
“Mrs. Otterbourne.”