Her voice was low and charged with passion. She looked not at him, but towards the sandy shore. Her hands were clenched, rigid…

Suddenly the tension relaxed. She said:

‘Good night, Monsieur Poirot.’

‘Good night, Mademoiselle.’

Her eyes met his, just for a swift moment. Thinking it over the next day, he came to the conclusion that there had been appeal in that glance. He was to remember it afterwards.

Then he passed on to his cabin and she went towards the saloon.

Cornelia, having dealt with Miss Van Schuyler’s many needs and fantasies, took some needlework with her back to the saloon. She herself did not feel in the least sleepy. On the contrary she felt wide awake and slightly excited.

The bridge four were still at it. In another chair the quiet Fanthorp read a book. Cornelia sat down to her needlework.

Suddenly the door opened and Jacqueline de Bellefort came in. She stood in the doorway, her head thrown back. Then she pressed a bell and sauntered across to Cornelia and sat down.

‘Been ashore?’ she asked.

‘Yes. I thought it was just fascinating in the moonlight.’

Jacqueline nodded.

‘Yes, lovely night… A real honeymoon night.’

Her eyes went to the bridge table – rested a moment on Linnet Doyle.

The servant came in answer to the bell. Jacqueline ordered a double gin. As she gave the order Simon Doyle shot a quick glance at her. A faint line of anxiety showed between his eyebrows.

His wife said:

‘Simon, we’re waiting for you to call.’

Jacqueline hummed a little tune to herself. When the drink came, she picked it up, said: ‘Well, here’s to crime,’ drank it off and ordered another.

Again Simon looked across from the bridge table. His calls became slightly absent-minded. His partner, Pennington, took him to task.

Jacqueline began to hum again, at first under her breath, then louder: ‘He was her man and he did her wrong …’

‘Sorry,’ said Simon to Pennington. ‘Stupid of me not to return your lead. That gives ’em rubber.’

Linnet rose to her feet.

‘I’m sleepy. I think I’ll go to bed.’

‘About time to turn in,’ said Colonel Race.

‘I’m with you,’ agreed Pennington.

‘Coming, Simon?’

Doyle said slowly:

‘Not just yet. I think I’ll have a drink first.’

Linnet nodded and went out. Race followed her. Pennington finished his drink and then followed suit.

Cornelia began to gather up her embroidery.

‘Don’t go to bed, Miss Robson,’ said Jacqueline. ‘Please don’t. I feel like making a night of it. Don’t desert me.’

Cornelia sat down again.

‘We girls must stick together,’ said Jacqueline.

She threw back her head and laughed – a shrill laugh without merriment.

The second drink came.

‘Have something,’ said Jacqueline.

‘No, thank you very much,’ replied Cornelia.

Jacqueline tilted back her chair. She hummed now loudly: ‘He was her man and he did her wrong…’

Mr Fanthorp turned a page of Europe from Within.

Simon Doyle picked up a magazine.

‘Really, I think I’ll go to bed,’ said Cornelia. ‘It’s getting very late.’

‘You can’t go to bed yet,’ Jacqueline declared. ‘I forbid you to. Tell me about yourself.’

‘Well – I don’t know – there isn’t much to tell,’ Cornelia faltered. ‘I’ve just lived at home and I haven’t been around much. This is my first trip to Europe. I’m just loving every minute of it.’

Jacqueline laughed.

‘You’re a happy sort of person, aren’t you? God, I’d like to be you.’

‘Oh, would you? But I mean – I’m sure-’

Cornelia felt flustered. Undoubtedly Miss de Bellefort was drinking too much. That wasn’t exactly a novelty to Cornelia. She had seen plenty of drunkenness during Prohibition years. But there was something else… Jacqueline de Bellefort was talking to her – was looking at her – and yet, Cornelia felt, it was as though, somehow, she was talking to someone else…

But there were only two other people in the room, Mr Fanthorp and Mr Doyle. Mr Fanthorp seemed quite absorbed in his book. Mr Doyle was looking rather odd – a queer sort of watchful look on his face.