Race said: "Some one pinched the pistol. It wasn't Jacqueline de Bellefort. Some one knew enough to feel certain that his crime would be attributed to her. But that some one did not know that a hospital nurse was going to give her morphia and sit up with her all night. Add one thing more. Some one had already attempted to kill

Linnet Doyle by rolling a boulder over the el--that sme one was not Jacqueline de Bellefort. Who was it!"

Poirot said: "It will be simpler to say who it could not have been. Neither Mr. Doyle,

Mrs. Allerton, Mr. Tim A]lerton, Miss Van Schuyler nor Miss Bowers could have had anything to do with it. They were all within my sight."

"H'm," said Race, "that leaves rather a large field. What about motive?"

"That is where I hope Mr. Doyle may be able to help us. There have been several incidents-"

The door opened and Jacqueline de Bellefort entered.

She was very pale and she stumbled a little as she walked.

"I didn't do it," she said. Her voice was that of a frightened child. "I didn't do it. Oh, please believe me. Every one will think I did it-but I didn'tmI didn't.

It's-it's awful. I wish it hadn't happened. I might have killed Simon last night-I was mad, I think. But I didn't do the other…'

She sat down and burst into tears.

Poirot patted her on the shoulder.

"There, there. We know that you did not kill Mrs. Doyle. It is proved-yes, proved, mon enfant. It was not you."

Jackie sat up suddenly, her wet handkerchief clasped in her hand.

"But who did?"

"That," said Poirot, "is just the question we are asking ourselves. You cannot help us there, my child?"

Jacqueline shook her head.

"I don't know… I can't imagine… no, I haven't the faintest idea." She frowned deeply.

"No," she said at last. "I can't think of any one who wanted her dead"-her voice faltered a little"except me." Race said: "Excuse me a minute-just thought of something." He hurried out of the room.

Jacqueline de Bellefort sat with her head downcast nervously twisting her fingers.

She broke out suddenly: "Death's horrible-horrible. I-I hate the thought of it." Poirot said: "Yes. It is not pleasant to think, is it, that now, at this very moment, some one is rejoicing at the successful carrying out of his or her plan." "Don't--don't!" cried Jackie. "It sounds horrible, the way you put it." Poirot shrugged his shoulders.

"It is true."

Jackie said in a low voice:

"I-I wanted her dead-and she is dead And what is worse--she died- just like I said." "Yes, Mademoiselle. She was shot through the head." She cried out: "Then I was right, that night-at the Cataract Hotel. There was some one listening!"

"Ah!" Poirot nodded his head. "I wondered ffyou would remember that. Yes, it is altogether too much of a coincidencethat Madame Doyle should be killed in just the way you described." Jackie shuddered.

"That man that night who can he have been?" Poirot was sfient fdr a minute or two, then he said in quite a different tone of voice: "You are sure it was a man, Mademoiselle?" Jackie looked at him in surprise.

"Yes, of course. At least-" "Well, Mademoiselle?" She frowned, half closing her eyes in an effort to remember. She said slowly: "I thought it was a man…" "But now you are not so sure?" Jackie said slowly: "No, I can't be certain. I just assumed it was a man but it was really just a-a figure-a shadow.

" She paused and then, as Poirot did not speak, she asked: "You think it must have been a woman? But surely none of the women on this boat can have wanted to kill Linnet?" Poirot merely moved his head from side to side.

The door opened and Bessner appeared.

"Will you come and speak with Mr. Doyle, please, M. Poirot. He would like to see yon." Jackie sprang up. She caught Bessner by the arm.

"How is he? Is he all right?" "Naturally he is not all right," said Dr. Bessner reproachfully.

"The bone is fractured, you understand." "But he's not going to die?" cried}ackie.

"Ach, who said anything about dying? We will get him to civilisation and there we will have an X-ray and proper treatment.' "Oh." The girl's hands came together in a convulsive pressure.

She sank down again on a chair.

Poirot stepped out on to the deck with the doctor and at that moment Race joined them. They went up to the promenade deck and along to Bessner's cabin.

Simon Doyle was lying propped with cushions and pillows an improvised cage over his leg. His face was ghastly in colour, the ravages of pain with shock on top of it. But the predominant expression on his face was bewilderment-the sick bewilderment of a child.

He muttered: "Please come in. The doctor's told me-told me-about Linnet 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-Jaekie didn't do it. I'm certain Jackie didn't do it! It looks black against her, I dare say, 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, Mr. Doyle. Whoever shot your wife, it was not Miss de Bellefort." Simon looked at him doubtfully.

"Is that on the level?" "But since it was not Miss 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, Mr. 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 Linnet over the housedisliked 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, Mr. 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 afraidunsafeas though every one 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 Linnet said something about doing people down in business and that it made her uncomfortable to meet any one who had a grudge against her family. You see, although I don't really know the family history very well, I gather that Linnet'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 some one on board whose father had got up against Linnet's father and taken a pretty hard knock. I remember Linnet saying: 'It's pretty awful when people hate you without even knowing yotl. '" "Yes," said Poirot thoughtfully. "That would explain what she said to me.