"It is too soon to think of such a thing!
That is the proper hypocritical thing to say, is it not?
But you are partly a Latin, Mademoiselle Jacqueline.
You should be able to admit facts even if they do not sound very decorous.
Le roi est mort - vive le roi!
The sun has gone and the moon rises.
That is so, is it not?"
"You don't understand.
He's just sorry for me - awfully sorry for me, because he knows how terrible it is for me to know I've hurt him so badly." "Ah, well," said Poirot. "The pure pity, it is a very lofty sentiment."
He looked at her half mockingly, half with some other emotion.
He murmured softly under his breath words in French:
"La vie est vaine.
Un peu damour, Un peu de haine, Et puis bonjour La vie est breve Un peu d'espoir, Un peu de rкve, Et puis bonsoir."
He went out again onto the deck.
Colonel Race was striding along the deck and hailed him at once.
"Poirot.
Good man!
I want you.
I've got an idea."
Thrusting his arm through Poirot's he walked him up the deck.
"Just a chance remark of Doyle's. I hardly noticed it at the time. Something about a telegram."
"Tiens - c'est vrai."
"Nothing in it, perhaps, but one can't leave any avenue unexplored.
Damn it all, man, two murders, and we're still in the dark."
Poirot shook his head.
"No, not in the dark.
In the light."
Race looked at him curiously.
"You have an idea?"
"It is more than an idea now. I am sure."
"Since - when?"
"Since the death of the maid, Louise Bourget."
"Damned if I see it!"
"My friend, it is so clear - so clear.
Only there are difficulties - embarrassments - impediments!
See you, around a person like Linnet Doyle there is so much - so many conflicting hates and jealousies and envies and meannesses.
It is like a cloud of flies, buzzing, buzzing..."
"But you think you know?" The other looked at him curiously. "You wouldn't say so unless you were sure.
Can't say I've any real light, myself.
I've suspicions, of course..."
Poirot stopped. He laid an impressive hand on Race's arm.
"You are a great man, mon Colonel... You do not say
'Tell me. What is it that you think?'
You know that if I could speak now I would.
But there is much to be cleared away first.
But think, think for a moment along the lines that I shall indicate.
There are certain points... There is the statement of Mademoiselle de Bellefort that someone overheard our conversation that night in the garden at Assuan.
There is the statement of Monsieur Tim Allerton as to what he heard and did on the night of the crime.
There are Louise Bourget's significant answers to our questions this morning.
There is the fact that Madame Allerton drinks water, that her son drinks whisky and soda and that I drink wine.