Death on the Nile - Agatha Christie [96]
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.”
Rosalie was staring at him. Her lips trembled—fell apart….
“But you didn’t—you didn’t—”
He said quickly: “No, I didn’t kill her. I’m a thief, not a murderer. It’s all going to come out, so you might as well know. I was after her pearls.”
Poirot said, “Mr. Allerton’s story is that he went to her cabin last night and exchanged a string of fake pearls for the real ones.”
“Did you?” asked Rosalie. Her eyes, grave, sad, childlike, questioned his.
“Yes,” said Tim.
There was a pause. Colonel Race shifted restlessly.
Poirot said in a curious voice: “That, as I say, is Monsieur Allerton’s story, partially confirmed by your evidence. That is to say, there is evidence that he did visit Linnet Doyle’s cabin last night, but there is no evidence to show why he did so.”
Tim stared at him. “But you know!”
“What do I know?”
“Well—you know I’ve got the pearls.”
“Mais oui—mais oui! I know you have the pearls, but I do not know when you got them. It may have been before last night…You said just now that Linnet Doyle would not have noticed the substitution. I am not so sure of that. Supposing she did notice it…Supposing, even, she knew who did it…Supposing that last night she threatened to expose the whole business, and that you knew she meant to do so…and supposing that you overheard the scene in the saloon between Jacqueline de Bellefort and Simon Doyle and, as soon as the saloon was empty, you slipped in and secured the pistol, and then, an hour later, when the