"Will ou be so kind as to leave me now my cabin? I have to do the dressing of my patient's leg."

Miss Bowers had entered with him and stood, brisk and professional, waiting for the others to go.

Race and Poirot crept out meekly. Race muttered something and went off.

Poirot turned to his left.

He heard scraps of girlish conversation, a little laugh. JacqUeline and Rosalie were together in the latter's cabin.

The door was open and the two girls were standing near it. As his shadow fell on them they looked up. He saw Rosalie Otterbourne smile at him for the first time-a shy welcoming smilea little uncertain in its lines as of one who doe a new and unfamiliar thing.

"You talk the scandal, Mademoiselles?" he accused them.

"No, indeed," said Rosalie. "As a matter of fact we were just comparing lipsticks."

Poirot smiled.

"Les chiffons d'aujourd'hui," he murmured.

But there was something a little mechanical about his smile and Jacqueline de Bellefort, quicker and more observant than Rosalie, saw it. She dropped the lipstick she was holding and came out upon the deck.

"Has something-what has happenel now?"

"It is as you guess Mademoiselle, something has happened." "What?" Rosalie came out too.

"Another death," said Poirot.

Rosalie caught her breath sharply. Poirot was watching her narrowly. He saw alarm and something more consternation-show for a minute or two in her eyes.

"Mrs. Doyle's maid has been killed," he said bluntly.

"Killed?" cried Jacqueline. "Killed, do you say?"

"Yes, that is what I said." Though his answer was nominally to her it was Rosalie whom he watched. It was to Rosalie to whom he spoke as he went on. "You see, this maid she saw something she was not intended to see. And so-she was silenced in case she should not hold her tongue."

"What was it she saw?"

Again it was Jacqueline who asked, and again Poirot's answer was to Rosalie. It was an odd little three-cornered scene.

"There is, I think, very little doubt what it was she saw," said Poirot. "She saw some one enter and leave Linnet Doyle's cabin on that fatal night."

His ears were quick. He heard the sharp intake of breath and saw the eyelids flicker. Rosalie Otterbourne had reacted just as he had intended she should.

"Did she say who it was she saw?" Rosalie asked.

Gently-regreffully-Poirot shook his head.

Footsteps pattered up the deck. It was Cornelia Robson, her eyes wide and startled.

"Oh, Jacqueline," she cried. "Something awful has happened. Another dreadful thing."

Jacqueline turned to her. The two' moved a few steps forward. Almost unconsciously Poirot and Rosalie Otterbourne moved in the other direction.

Rosalie said sharply:

"Why do you look at me? What have you got in your mind?" "That is two questions you ask me. I will ask you only one in return. Why do you not tell me all the truth, Mademoiselle?" "I don't know what you mean. I told you-everything-this morning." "No, there were things you did not tell me. You did not tell me that you carry about in your handbag a small calibre pistol with a pearl handle. You did not tell me all that you saw last night." She flushed. Then she said sharply: "It's quite untrue. I haven't got a revolver." "I did not say a revolver. I said a small pistol that you carry about in your handbag." She wheeled round, darted into her cabin and out again and thrust her grey leather handbag into his hands.

"You're talking nonsense. Look for yourself if you like." Poirot opened the bag. There wis no pistol inside.

He handed the bag back to her, meeting her scornful triumphant glance.

"No," he said pleasantly. "It is not there." "You see. You're not always right, M. Poirot. And you're wrong about that other ridiculous thing you said." "No, I do not think so." "You're infuriating." She stamped an angry foot. "You get an idea into your head and you go on and on and on about it." "Because I want you to tell me the truth." "What is the truth? You seem to-know it better than I do." Poirot said: "You want me to tell you what it was you saw? If I am right, will you admit that I am right? I will tell you my little idea. I think that when you came round the stern of the boat you stopped involuntarily because you saw a man come out of a cabin about half-way down the deck--Linnet Doyle's cabin as you realised next day-you saw him come out, close the door behind him and walk away from you down the deck and-perhaps--enter one of the two end cabins. Now then, am I right, Mademoiselle?" She did not answer.

Poirot said: "Perhaps you think it wiser not to speak. Perhaps you are afraid that if you do--you too will be killed." For a moment he thought she had risen to the easy bait-that the accusation against her courage would succeed where more subtle arguments would have failed.

Her lips opened trembled then: "I saw no one," said Rosalie Otterbourue.

Miss Bowers came out of Dr. Bessner's cabin, smoothing her cuffs over her wrists.

Jacqueline left Cornelia abruptly and accosted the hospital nurse.

"How is he?" she demanded.

Poirot came up in time to hear the answer.

Miss Bowers was looking rather worried.

"Things aren't going too badly," she said.

Jacqueline cried: "You mean, he's worse?" "Well, I must say I shall be relieved when we get in and can get a proper X-ray done and the whole thing cleaned up under an anaesthetic. When do you think we shall get to Shellal, M. Poirot?" "To-morrow morning." Miss Bowers pursed her lips and shook her head.

"It's very unfortunate. We are doing all we can, but there's always such a danger of septicameia." Jacqueline caught Miss Bowers's arm and shook it.

"Is he going to die? Is he going to die?" "Dear me, no, Miss de Bellefort. That is, I hope not, I'm sure. The wound in itself isn't dangerous. But there's no doubt it ought to be X-rayed as soon as possible. And then, of course, poor Mr. Doyle ought to have been kept absolutely quiet to-day. He's had far too much worry and excitement. No. wonder his temperature is rising. What with the shock of his wife's death, and one thing and another-" Jacqueline relinquished her grasp of the nurse's arm and turned away. She stood leaning over the side, her back to the other two.

"What I say is, we've got to hope for the best always," said Miss Bowers. "Of course Mr. Doyle has a very strong constitutionne can see that-probably never had a day's illness in his life-so that's in his favour. But there's no denying that this rise in temperature is a nasty sign and--" She shook her head, adjusted her cuffs once more, and moved briskly away.

Jacqueline turned and walked gropingly, blinded by tears towards her cabin.

A hand below her elbow steadied and guided her. She looked up through the tears to find Poirot by her side. She leaned on him a little and he guided her through the cabin door.

She sank down on the bed and the tears came more'freely punctuated by great shuddering sobs.

"He'll die. He'll die. I know he'll die… And I shall have killed him. Yes, I shall have killed him… " Poirot shrugged his shoulders. He shook his head a little, sadly.

"Mademoiselle, what is done, is done. One cannot take back the accomplished action. It is too late to regret." She cried out more vehemently: "I shall have killed him! And I love him so I love him so." Poirot sighed.

"Too much…' It had been his thought long ago in the restaurant of M. Blondin. It was his thought again now.

He said, hesitating a little.

"Do not, at all events, go by what Miss Bowers says. Hospital nurses, me, I find them always gloomy! The night nurse, always, she is astonished to find her patient alive in the evening-the day nurse, always, she is surprised to find him alive in the morning! They know too much, you see, of the possibilities that may arise. When one is motoring one might easily say to oneself if a car came out from that cross-roadr if that lorry backed suddenly-or if the wheel came off the car that is approaching me or if a dog jumped off the hedge on to my driving arm, eh bien-I should probably be killed! But one assumes-and usually rightly-that none of these things will happen and that one will get to one's journey's end. But fi, of course, one has been in an accident, or seen one or more accidents, then one is inclined to take the opposite point of view." ' ' Jacqueline said, half-smiling through her tears: