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.
Chapter 19
People crept into the dining-saloon 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 tables.
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 anyone could shoot her in cold blood.
It seems awful to me that anyone 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 off toy 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?"
"I don't see what there is to be cross about.
It's just frightfully sad."
Tim said crossly: "You're taking the romantic point of view! What you don't seem to realize is that it's no joke being mixed up in a murder case."
Mrs Allerton looked a little startled.
"But surely -"
"That's just it.
There's no 'But surely' about it.
Everyone on this damned boat is under suspicion - you and I as well as the rest of them."
Mrs Allerton demurred. "Technically we are, I suppose - but actually it's ridiculous!"
"There's nothing ridiculous where murder's concerned!
You may sit there, darling, just exuding virtue and conscious rectitude, but a lot of unpleasant policemen at Shellвl or Assuan won't take you at your face value."
"Perhaps the truth will be known before then."
"Why should it be?"
"Monsieur Poirot may find out."
"That old mountebank?
He won't find out anything.
He's all talk and moustaches."
"Well, Tim," said Mrs Allerton, "I daresay everything you say is true, but, even if it is, we've got to go through with it, so we might as well make up our minds to it and go through with it as cheerfully as we can."
But her son showed no abatement of gloom.
"There's this blasted business of the pearls being missing, too."
"Linnet's pearls?"
"Yes.