She caught up a scrap of paper and began drawing feverishly. She inspected the result with her head poised on one side.
“A very good likeness of the Rev. Edward Chichester. Now for the etceteras.” She passed the paper over to me. “Is that your stewardess?”
“Why, yes,” I cried. “Suzanne, how clever of you!”
She disdained the compliment with a light gesture.
“I’ve always had suspicions of that Chichester creature. Do you remember how he dropped his coffee cup and turned a sickly green when we were discussing Crippen the other day?”
“And he tried to get Cabin 17!”
“Yes, it all fits in so far. But what does it all mean ? What was really meant to happen at one o’clock in Cabin 17? It can’t be the stabbing of the secretary. There would be no point in timing that for a special hour on a special day in a special place. No, it must have been some kind of appointment and he was on his way to keep it when they knifed him. But who was the appointment with? Certainly not with you. It might have been with Chichester. Or it might have been with Pagett.”
“That seems unlikely,” I objected, “they can see each other any time.”
We both sat silent for a minute or two, then Suzanne started off on another tack.
“Could there have been anything hidden in the cabin?”
“That seems more probable,” I agreed. “It would explain my things being ransacked the next morning. But there was nothing hidden there, I’m sure of it.”