"Mais oui - mais oui!
I know you have the pearls, but I do not know when you got them.
It may have been before last night...
You said just now that Linnet Doyle would not have noticed the substitution.
I am not so sure of that.
Supposing she did notice it...
Supposing, even, she knew who did it...
Supposing that last night she threatened to expose the whole business, and that you knew she meant to do so... and supposing that you overheard the scene in the saloon between Jacqueline de Bellefort and Simon Doyle and, as soon as the saloon was empty, you slipped in and secured the pistol, and then, an hour later, when the boat had quieted down, you crept along to Linnet Doyle's cabin and made quite sure that no exposure would come..."
"My God!" said Tim.
Out of his ashen face, two tortured, agonized eyes gazed dumbly at Hercule Poirot.
The latter went on:
"But somebody else saw you - the girl Louise.
The next day she came to you and blackmailed you.
You must pay her handsomely or she would tell what she knew.
You realized that to submit to blackmail would be the beginning of the end.
You pretended to agree, made an appointment to come to her cabin just before lunch with the money.
Then, when she was counting the notes, you stabbed her.
"But again luck was against you.
Somebody saw you go to her cabin -" he half turned to Rosalie - "your mother.
Once again you had to act - dangerously, foolhardily - but it was the only chance.
You had heard Pennington talk about his revolver.
You rushed into his cabin, got hold of it, listened outside Dr Bessner's cabin door and shot Madame Otterbourne before she could reveal your name."
"No!" cried Rosalie. "He didn't! He didn't!"
"After that, you did the only thing you could do - rushed round the stern.
And when I rushed after you, you had turned and pretended to be coming in the opposite direction.
You had handled the revolver in gloves; those gloves were in your pocket when I asked for them..."
Tim said, "Before God, I swear it isn't true - not a word of it." But his voice, ill assured and trembling, failed to convince.
It was then that Rosalie Otterbourne surprised them.
"Of course it isn't true!
And Monsieur Poirot knows it isn't!
He's saying it for some reason of his own."
Poirot looked at her.
A faint smile came to his lips.
He spread out his hands in token of surrender.
"Mademoiselle is too clever...
But you agree - it was a good case?"
"What the devil -" Tim began with rising anger, but Poirot held up a hand.
"There is a very good case against you, Monsieur Allerton.
I wanted you to realize that.
Now I will tell you something more pleasant.
I have not yet examined that rosary in your cabin.
It may be that, when I do, I shall find nothing there.
And then, since Mademoiselle Otterbourne sticks to it that she saw no one on the deck last night, eh bien, there is no case against you at all.
The pearls were taken by a kleptomaniac who has since returned them. They are in a little box on the table by the door, if you would care to examine them with Mademoiselle."
Tim got up.
He stood for a moment unable to speak.
When he did, his words seemed inadequate, but it is possible that they satisfied his listeners.
"Thanks!" he said. "You won't have to give me another chance."
He held the door open for the girl; she passed out and, picking up the little cardboard box, he followed her.
Side by side they went.