Then Miss Robson and last of all Miss Van Schuyler.
The last's easy.
The very ugly old American lady who obviously feels herself the queen of the boat and who is clearly going to be very exclusive and speak to nobody who doesn't come up to the most exacting standards!
She's rather marvellous, isn't she, really?
A kind of period piece.
The two women with her must be Miss Bowers and Miss Robson - perhaps a secretary, the thin one with pince-nez, and a poor relation, the rather pathetic young woman who is obviously enjoying herself in spite of being treated like a black slave.
I think Robson's the secretary woman and Bowers is the poor relation."
"Wrong, Mother," said Tim, grinning.
He had suddenly recovered his good humour.
"How do you know?"
"Because I was in the lounge before dinner and the old bean said to the companion woman:
'Where's Miss Bowers?
Fetch her at once, Cornelia.'
And away trotted Cornelia like an obedient dog."
"I shall have to talk to Miss Van Schuyler," mused Mrs Allerton.
Tim grinned again.
"She'll snub you, Mother."
"Not at all.
I shall pave the way by sitting near her and conversing, in low (but penetrating), well-bred tones, about any titled relations and friends I can remember.
I think a casual mention of your second cousin, once removed, the Duke of Glasgow, would probably do the trick."
"How unscrupulous you are, Mother!"
Events after dinner were not without their amusing side to a student of human nature.
The socialistic young man (who turned out to be Mr Ferguson as deduced) retired to the smoking-room, scorning the assemblage of passengers in the observation saloon on the top deck.
Miss Van Schuyler duly secured the best and most undraughty position there by advancing firmly on a table at which Mrs Otterbourne was sitting and saying,
"You'll excuse me, I am sure, but I think my knitting was left here!"
Fixed by a hypnotic eye, the turban rose and gave ground.
Miss Van Schuyler established herself and her suite.
Mrs Otterbourne sat down near by and hazarded various remarks, which were met with such chilling politeness that she soon gave up.
Miss Van Schuyler then sat in glorious isolation.
The Doyles sat with the Allertons.
Dr Bessner retained the quiet Mr Fanthorp as a companion.
Jacqueline de Bellefort sat by herself with a book.
Rosalie Otterbourne was restless.
Mrs Allerton spoke to her once or twice and tried to draw her into their group, but the girl responded ungraciously.
M. Hercule Poirot spent his evening listening to an account of Mrs Otterbourne's mission as a writer.
On his way to his cabin that night he encountered Jacqueline de Bellefort.
She was leaning over the rail and, as she turned her head, he was struck by the look of acute misery on her face.
There was now no insouciance, no malicious defiance, no dark flaming triumph.
"Good-night, Mademoiselle."
"Good-night, Monsieur Poirot." She hesitated, then said, "You were surprised to find me here?"
"I was not so much surprised as sorry - very sorry." He spoke gravely.
"You mean sorry - for me?"
"That is what I meant.
You have chosen, Mademoiselle, the dangerous course... As we here in this boat have embarked on a journey, so you too have embarked on your own private journey - a journey on a swift-moving river, between dangerous rocks, and heading for who knows what currents of disaster."
"Why do you say all this?"
"Because it is true...
You have cut the bonds that moored you to safety.
I doubt now if you could turn back if you would."
She said very slowly, "That is true.
Then she flung her head back.