“Rosalie Otterbourne. She came round from the other side of the boat and saw you leave Linnet Doyle’s cabin and go to your own.”
“So it was she who told you.”
Poirot said gently, “Excuse me; she did not tell me.”
“But then, how do you know?”
“Because I am Hercule Poirot I do not need to be told. When I taxed her with it, do you know what she said? She said: ‘I saw nobody.’ And she lied.”
“But why?”
Poirot said in a detached voice: “Perhaps because she thought the man she saw was the murderer. It looked like that, you know.”
“That seems to me all the more reason for telling you.”
Poirot shrugged his shoulders. “She did not think so, it seems.”
Tim said, a queer note in his voice: “She’s an extraordinary sort of a girl. She must have been through a pretty rough time with that mother of hers.”
“Yes, life has not been easy for her.”
“Poor kid,” Tim muttered. Then he looked towards Race.
“Well, sir, where do we go from here? I admit taking the pearls from Linnet’s cabin and you’ll find them just where you say they are. I’m guilty all right. But as far as Miss Southwood is concerned, I’m not admitting anything. You’ve no evidence whatever against her. How I got hold of the fake necklace is my own business.”
Poirot murmured: “A very correct attitude.”
Tim said with a flash of humour: “Always the gentleman!” He added: “Perhaps you can imagine how annoying it was to me to find my mother cottoning on to you! I’m not a sufficiently hardened criminal to enjoy sitting cheek by jowl with a successful detective just before bringing off a rather risky coup! Some people might get a kick out of it. I didn’t. Frankly, it gave me cold feet.”
“But it did not deter you from making your attempt?”
Tim shrugged his shoulders.
“I couldn’t funk it to that extent. The exchange had to be made sometime and I’d got a unique opportunity on this boat—a cabin only two doors off, and Linnet herself so preoccupied with her own troubles that she wasn’t likely to detect the change.”
“I wonder if that was so—”
Tim looked up sharply. “What do you mean?”
Poirot pressed the bell. “I am going to ask Miss Otterbourne if she will come here for a minute.”
Tim frowned but said nothing. A steward came, received the order and went away with the message.
Rosalie came after a few minutes. Her eyes, reddened with recent weeping, widened a little at seeing Tim, but her old attitude of suspicion and defiance seemed entirely absent. She sat down and with a new docility looked from Race to Poirot.
“We’re very sorry to bother you, Miss Otterbourne,” said Race gently. He was slightly annoyed with Poirot.
“It doesn’t matter,” the girl said in a low voice.
Poirot said: “It is necessary to clear up one or two points. When I asked you whether you saw anyone on the starboard deck at one-ten this morning, your answer was that you saw nobody. Fortunately I have been able
to arrive at the truth without your help. Monsieur Allerton has admitted that he was in Linnet Doyle’s cabin last night.”
She flashed a swift glance at Tim. Tim, his face grim and set, gave a curt nod.
“The time is correct, Monsieur Allerton?”
Allerton replied, “Quite correct.”