He heard broken murmurs as he went…

"How could I be such a devil… Oh, Simon!… I'm so dreadfully sorry…

Outside Corneila Robson was leaning over the rail.

She turned her head.

"Oh, it's you, M. Poirot. It seems so awful somehow that it should be such a lovely day."

Poirot looked up at the sky.

"When the sun shines you cannot see the moon," he said. "But when the sun is gone-ah, when the sun is gone." Cornelia's mouth fell open. "I beg your pardon?"

"I was saying, Mademoiselle, that when the sun has gone down, we shall see the moon. That is so, is it not?"

"Why-why, yes-certainly.' She looked at him doubtfully.

Poirot laughed gently.

"I utter the imbecilities," he said. "Take no notice."

He strolled gently towards the stern of the boat. As he passed the next cabin he paused for a minute.

He caught fragments of speech from within.

"Utterly ungrateful-after all I've done for you-no consideration for your wretched mother…, no idea of what I suffer…"

Poirot's lips stiffened as he pressed them together. He raised a hand and knocked.

There was a startled silence and Mrs. Otterbourne's voice called out:

"Who's that?"

"Is Mademoiselle Rosalie there?"

Rosalie appeared in the doorway. Poirot was shocked at her appearance. There were dark circles under her eyes and drawn lines round her mouth.

"What's the matter?" she said ungraciously. "What do you want?"

"The pleasure of a few minutes' conversation with you, Mademoiselle. Will you come?"

Her mouth went sulky at once. She shot him a suspicious look.

"Why should I?"

"I entreat you, Mademoiselle."

"Oh, I suppose--"

She stepped out on the deck, closing the door behind her.

"Well?"

Poirot took her gently by the arm and drew her along the deck, still in the direction of the stern. They passed the bathrooms and round the corner. They had the stern part of the deck to themselves. The Nile flowed away behind them.

Poirot rested his elbows on the rail. Rosalie stood up straight and stiff.

"Well?" she said again, and her voice held the same ungracious tone.

Poirot spoke slowly, choosing his words.

"I could ask you certain questions, Mademoiselle, but I do not think for one moment that you would consent to answer them."

"Seems rather a waste to bring me along here then."

Poirot drew a finger slowly along the wooden rail.

"You are accustomed, Mademoiselle, to carrying your own burdens… But you can do that too long. The strain becomes too great. For you, Mademoiselle, the strain is becoming too great."

"I don't know what you are talking about," said Rosalie.

"I am talking about facts, Mademoiselle plain ugly facts. Let us call the spade the spade and say it in one little short sentence. Your mother drinks, Mademoiselle."

Rosalie did not answer. Her mouth opened, then she closed it again. For once she seemed at a loss.

"There is no need for you to talk, Mademoiselle. I will do all the talking. I was interested at Assuan in the relations existing between you. I saw at once that, in spite of your carefully studied unfilial remarks, you were in reality passionately protecting her from something. I very soon knew what that something was. I knew it long before I encountered your mother one morning in an unmistakable state of intoxication. Moreover, her case, I could see, was one of secret bouts of drinking-by far the most difficult kind of case with which to deal. You were coping with it manfully. Nevertheless, she had all the secret drunkard's cunning. She managed to get hold of a secret supply of spirits and to keep it successfully hidden from you. I should not be surprised if you discovered its hiding-place only yesterday.

Accordingly, last night, as soon as your mother was really soundly asleep, you stole out with the contents of the cache, went round to the other side of the boat (since your own side was up against the bank) and cast it overboard into the Nile."

He paused.

"I am right, am I not?"

"Yes-you're quite right." Rosalie spoke with sudden passion. "I was a fool not to say so, I suppose! But I didn't want every one to know. It would go all over the boat. And it seemed so-so silly-I mean-that I-"

Poirot finished the sentence for her.

"So silly that you should be suspected of committing a murder?"

Rosalie nodded.

Then she burst out again.

"I've tried so hard to-keep every one from knowing… It isn't really her fault. She got discouraged. Her books didn't sell any more. People are tired of all that cheap sex stuff… It hurt her-it hurt her dreadfully. And so she began to-to drink. For a long time I didn't know why she was so queer. Then, when I found out, I tried to-to stop it. She'd be all right for a bit-and then suddenly, she'd start and there would be dreadful quarrels and rows with people. It was awful."

She shuddered. "I had always to be on the watch-to get her away…

"And then-she began to dislike me for it. Sheshe's turned right against me.

I think she almost hates me sometimes "

"Pauvre petite," said Poirot.

She turned on him vehemently.

"Don't be sorry for me. Don't be kind. It's easier ffyou're not." She sighed a long heartrending sigh. "I'm so tired… I'm so deadly, deadly tired."

"I know," said Poirot.

"People think I'm awful. Stuck up and cross and bad-tempered. I can't help it.

I've forgotten how to be-to be nice."

"That is what I said to you-you have carried your burden by yourself too long."

Rosalie said slowly:

"It is a relief to talk about it. You-you've always been kind to me, M.

Poirot. I'm afraid I've been rude to you often."

"La politesse, it is not necessary between friends."

The suspicion came back to her face suddenly.

"Are you-are you going to tell every one? I suppose you must because of those damned bottles I threw overboard."

"No, no, it is not necessary. Just tell me what I want to know. At what time was this? Ten minutes past one?"

"About that, I should think. I don't remember exactly."

"Now tell ne, Mademoiselle. Miss Van Schuyler saw you, did you see her?" Rosalie shook her head.

"No, I didn't."

"She says that she looked out of the door of her cabin."

"I don't think I should have seen her. I just looked along the deck and then out to the river."

Poirot nodded.

"And did you see any one at all when you looked down the deck?"

There was a pause-quite a long pause. Rosalie was frowning. She seemed to be thinking earnestly.

At last she shook her head quite decisively.

"No," she said. "I saw nobody."

Hercule Poirot slowly nodded his head. But his eyes were grave.

People crept into the dining-salon by ones and twos in a very subdued manner.

There seemed a general feeling that to sit down eagerly to food displayed an unfortunate heartlessness. It was with an almost apologetic air that one passenger after another came and sat down at their table.

Tim Allerton arrived some few minutes after his mother had taken her seat.

He was looking in a thoroughly bad temper.

"I wish we'd never come on this blasted trip," he growled.

Mrs. Allerton shook her head sadly.

"Oh, my dear, so do I. That beautiful girl! It all seems such a waste. To think that any one could shoot her in cold blood. It seems awful to me that any one could do such a thing. And that other poor child."

"Jacqueline?"

"Yes, my heart aches for her. She looks so dreadfully unhappy."

"Teach her not to go round loosing offtoy firearms," said Tim unfeelingly as he helped himself to butter.

"I expect she was badly brought up."

"Oh, for God's sake, Mother, don't go all maternal about it." "You're in a shocking bad temper, Tim." "Yes, I am. Who wouldn't be?"