Jacqueline bent down and tied the lace of her shoe. Then her hand went to her stocking top and she straightened up with something in her hand. There was a sharp explosive “pop.” Simon Doyle gave one convulsed shudder and then lay still. Jacqueline de Bellefort nodded. She stood for a minute, pistol in hand. She gave a fleeting smile at Poirot. Then, as Race jumped forward, she turned the little glittering toy against her heart and pressed the trigger. She sank down in a soft huddled heap.
