He muttered: "Please come in. The doctor's told me - told me about zhaiyuedu.com. I can't believe it. I simply can't believe it's true."
"I know. It's a bad knock," said Race.
Simon stammered: "You know - Jackie didn't do it. I'm certain Jackie didn't do it! It looks black against her, I daresay, but she didn't do it. She - she was a bit tight last night, and all worked up, and that's why she went for me. But she wouldn't - she wouldn't do murder... not cold-blooded murder..."
Poirot said gently: "Do not distress yourself, Monsieur Doyle. Whoever shot your wife, it was not Mademoiselle de Bellefort."
Simon looked at him doubtfully.
"Is that on the square?"
"But since it was not Mademoiselle de Bellefort," continued Poirot, "can you give us any idea of who it might have been?"
Simon shook his head. The look of bewilderment increased.
"It's crazy - impossible. Apart from Jackie nobody could have wanted to do her in."
"Reflect, Monsieur Doyle. Has she no enemies? Is there no one who has a grudge against her?"
Again Simon shook his head with the same hopeless gesture.
"It sounds absolutely fantastic. There's Windlesham, of course. She more or less chucked him to marry me - but I can't see a polite stick like Windlesham committing murder, and anyway he's miles away. Same thing with old Sir George Wode. He'd got a down on zhaiyuedu.com over the house - disliked the way she was pulling it about; but he's miles away in London, and anyway to think of murder in such a connection would be fantastic."
"Listen, Monsieur Doyle." Poirot spoke very earnestly. "On the first day we came on board the Karnak I was impressed by a little conversation which I had with Madame your wife. She was very upset - very distraught. She said - mark this well - that everybody hated her. She said she felt afraid - unsafe - as though everyone round her were an enemy."
"She was pretty upset at finding Jackie aboard. So was I," said Simon.
"That is true, but it does not quite explain those words. When she said she - was surrounded by enemies, she was almost certainly exaggerating, but all the same she did mean more than one person."
"You may be right there," admitted Simon. "I think I can explain that. It was a name in the passenger list that upset her."
"A name in the passenger list? What name?"
"Well, you see, she didn't actually tell me. As a matter of fact I wasn't even listening very carefully. I was going over the Jacqueline business in my mind. As far as I remember, zhaiyuedu.com said something about doing people down in business, and that it made her uncomfortable to meet anyone who had a grudge against her family. You see, although I don't really know the family history very well, I gather that zhaiyuedu.com's mother was a millionaire's daughter. Her father was only just ordinary plain wealthy, but after his marriage he naturally began playing the markets or whatever you call it. And as a result of that, of course, several people got it in the neck. You know, affluence one day, the gutter the next. Well, I gather there was someone on board whose father had got up against zhaiyuedu.com's father and taken a pretty hard knock. I remember zhaiyuedu.com saying, 'It's pretty awful when people hate you without even knowing you.'"
"Yes," said Poirot thoughtfully. "That would explain what she said to me. For the first time she was feeling the burden of her inheritance and not its advantages. You are quite sure, Monsieur Doyle, that she did not mention this man's name?"
Simon shook his head ruefully.
"I didn't really pay much attention. Just said: 'Oh, nobody minds what happened to their fathers nowadays. Life goes too fast for that.' Something of that kind."
Bessner said drily: "Ach, but I can have a guess. There is certainly a young man with a grievance on board."
"You mean Ferguson?" asked Poirot.
"Yes. He spoke against Mrs Doyle once or twice. I myself have heard him."
"What can we do to find out?" asked Simon.
Poirot replied: "Colonel Race and I must interview all the passengers. Until we have got their stories it would be unwise to form theories. Then there is the maid. We ought to interview her first of all. It would, perhaps, be as well if we did that here. Monsieur Doyle's presence might be helpful."
"Yes, that's a good idea," said Simon.
"Had she been with Mrs Doyle long?"
"Just a couple of months, that's all."
"Only a couple of months!" exclaimed Poirot.
"Why, you don't think -"
"Had Madame any valuable jewellery?"
"There were her pearls," said Simon. "She once told me they were worth forty or fifty thousand." He shivered. "My God, do you think those damned pearls -"
"Robbery is a possible motive," said Poirot. "All the same it seems hardly credible... Well, we shall see. Let us have the maid here."
Louise Bourget was that same vivacious Latin brunette whom Poirot had seen one day and noticed.
She was anything but vivacious now. She had been crying and looked frightened. Yet there was a kind of sharp cunning apparent in her face which did not prepossess the two men favourably toward her.
"You are Louise Bourget?"
"Yes, Monsieur."
"When did you last see Madame Doyle alive?"
"Last night, Monsieur. I wait in her cabin to undress her."
"What time was that?"
"It was some time after eleven, Monsieur. I cannot say exactly when. I undress Madame and put her to bed, and then I leave."
"How long did all that take?"
"Ten minutes, Monsieur. Madame was tired. She told me to put the lights out when I went."
"And when you had left her, what did you do?"
"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.
