Which way?
We didn't meet her."
Mrs. Astwell, secretly studying the amazing mustache of the other gentleman and deciding that they looked an unlikely pair to be friends, volunteered further information.
"Gone out on the river," she explained.
The other gentleman broke in. "And the other lady? Miss Dawes?"
"They've both gone."
"Ah, thank you," said Battle. "Let me see, which way does one get to the river?"
"First turning to the left, down the lane," Mrs. Astwell replied promptly. "When you get to the towpath, go right.
I heard them say that's the way they were going," she added helpfully. "Not above a quarter of an hour ago.
You'll soon catch 'em up."
"And I wonder," she added to herself as she unwillingly closed the front door, having stared inquisitively at their retreating backs, "who you two may be.
Can't place you, somehow."
Mrs. Astwell returned to the kitchen sink and Battle and Poirot duly took the first turning to the left - a straggling lane which soon ended abruptly at the towpath.
Poirot was hurrying along and Battle eyed him curiously.
"Anything the matter, Monsieur Poirot?
You seem in a mighty hurry."
"It is true.
I am uneasy, my friend."
"Anything particular?"
Poirot shook his head.
"No.
But there are possibilities. You never know."
"You've something in your head," said Battle. "You were urgent that we should come down here this morning without losing a moment - and, my word, you made Constable Turner step on the gas!
What are you afraid of?
The girl's shot her bolt."
Poirot was silent.
"What are you afraid of?" Battle repeated.
"What is one always afraid of in these cases?"
Battle nodded.
"You're quite right.
I wonder -"
"You wonder what, my friend?"
Battle said slowly, "I'm wondering if Miss Meredith knows that her friend told Mrs. Oliver a certain fact."
Poirot nodded his head in vigorous appreciation.
"Hurry, my friend," he said.
They hastened along the riverbank.
There was no craft visible on the water's surface but presently they rounded a bend and Poirot suddenly stopped dead.
Battle's quick eyes saw also.
"Major Despard," he said.
Despard was about two hundred yards ahead of them, striding along the riverbank.
A little further on the two girls were in view in a punt on the water, Rhoda punting, Anne lying and laughing up at her.
Neither of them was looking toward the bank.
And then - it happened! Anne's hand outstretched, Rhoda's stagger, her plunge overboard - her desperate grasp at Anne's sleeve - the rocking boat - then an overturned punt and two girls struggling in the water.
"See it?" cried Battle as he started to run. "Little Meredith caught her round the ankle and tipped her in.
My God, that's her fourth murder!"
They were both running hard, but someone was ahead of them.
It was clear that neither girl could swim, but Despard had run quickly along the path to the nearest point and now he plunged in and swam toward them.
"Mon Dieu, this is interesting," cried Poirot. He caught at Battle's arm. "Which of them will he go for first?" The two girls were not together. About twelve yards separated them.
Despard swam powerfully toward them; there was no check in his stroke.
He was making straight for Rhoda.