Evil Under the Sun

Chapter 5
Inspector Colgate stood back by the cliff waiting for the police-surgeon to finish with Arlena's body. Patrick Redfern and Emily Brewster stood a little to one side.

Dr Neasden rose from his knees with a quick deft movement.

He said:

'Strangled - and by a pretty powerful pair of hands. She doesn't seem to have put up much of a struggle. Taken by surprise. H'm - well - nasty business.'

Emily Brewster had taken one look and then quickly averted her eyes from the dead woman's face. That horrible purple convulsed countenance.

Inspector Colgate asked:

'What about time of death?'

Neasden said irritably:

'Can't say definitely without knowing more about her. Lots of factors to take into account. Let's see, it's quarter to one now. What time was it when you found her?'

Patrick Redfern, to whom the question was addressed, said vaguely:

'Some time before twelve. I don't know exactly.'

Emily Brewster said:

'It was exactly a quarter to twelve when we found she was dead.'

'Ah, and you came here in the boat. What time was it when you caught sight of her lying here?'

Emily Brewster considered.

'I should say we rounded the point about five or six minutes earlier.' She turned to Redfern. 'Do you agree?'

He said vaguely:

'Yes - yes - about that, I should think.'

Neasden asked the Inspector in a low voice:

'This the husband? Oh! I see, my mistake. Thought it might be. He seems rather done in over it.'

He raised his voice officially.

'Let's put it at twenty minutes to twelve. She cannot have been killed very long before that. Say between then and eleven - quarter to eleven at the earliest outside limit.'

The Inspector shut his notebook with a snap.

'Thanks,' he said. 'That ought to help us considerably. Puts it within very narrow limits - less than an hour all told.'

He turned to Miss Brewster.

'Now then, I think it's all clear so far. You're Miss Emily Brewster and this is Mr Patrick Redfern, both staying at the Jolly Roger Hotel. You identify this lady as a fellow guest of yours at the hotel - the wife of a Captain Marshall?'

Emily Brewster nodded.

'Then, I think,' said Inspector Colgate, 'that we'll adjourn to the hotel.'

He beckoned to a constable.

'Hawkes, you stay here and don't allow anyone on to this cove. I'll be sending Phillips along later.'

II

'Upon my soul!' said Colonel Weston. 'This is a surprise finding you here!'

Hercule Poirot replied to the Chief Constable's greeting in a suitable manner. He murmured:

'Ah, yes, many years have passed since that affair at St Loo.'

'I haven't forgotten it, though,' said Weston. 'Biggest surprise of my life. The thing I've never got over, though, is the way you got round me about that funeral business. Absolutely unorthodox, the whole thing. Fantastic!'

'Tout de meme, mon Colonel,' said Poirot. 'It produced the goods, did it not?'

'Er - well, possibly. I dare say we should have got there by more orthodox methods.'

'It is possible,' agreed Poirot diplomatically.

'And here you are in the thick of another murder,' said the Chief Constable. 'Any ideas about this one?'

Poirot said slowly:

'Nothing definite - but it is interesting.'

'Going to give us a hand?'

'You would permit it, yes?'

'My dear fellow, delighted to have you. Don't know enough yet to decide whether it's a case for Scotland Yard or not. Off-hand it looks as though our murderer must be pretty well within a limited radius. On the other hand, all these people are strangers down here. To find out about them and their motives you've got to go to London.'

Poirot said:

'Yes, that is true.'

'First of all,' said Weston, 'we've got to find out who last saw the dead woman alive. Chambermaid took her her breakfast at nine. Girl in the bureau downstairs saw her pass through the lounge and go out about ten.'

'My friend,' said Poirot, 'I suspect that I am the man you want.'

'You saw her this morning? What time?'

'At five minutes past ten. I assisted her to launch her float from the bathing beach.'

'And she went off on it?'

'Yes.'

'Alone?'

'Yes.'

'Did you see which direction she took?'

'She paddled round that point there to the right.'

'In the direction of Pixy's Cove, that is?'

'Yes.'

'And the time then was - ?'

'I should say she actually left the beach at a quarter past ten.'

Weston considered.

'That fits in well enough. How long should you say that it would take her to paddle round to the Cove?'

'Ah me, I am not an expert. I do not go in boats or expose myself on floats. Perhaps half an hour?'

'That's about what I think,' said the Colonel. 'She wouldn't be hurrying, I presume. Well, if she arrived there at a quarter to eleven, that fits in well enough.'

'At what time does your doctor suggest she died?'

'Oh, Neasden doesn't commit himself. He's a cautious chap. A quarter to eleven is his earliest outside limit.'

Poirot nodded. He said:

'There is one other point that I must mention. As she left, Mrs Marshall asked me not to say I had seen her.'

Weston stared.

He said:

'H'm, that's rather suggestive, isn't it?'

Poirot murmured.

'Yes. I thought so myself.'

Weston tugged at his moustache. He said:

'Look here, Poirot. You're a man of the world. What sort of a woman was Mrs Marshall?'

A faint smile came to Poirot's lips.

He asked:

'Have you not already heard?'

The Chief Constable said dryly:

'I know what the women say of her. They would. How much truth is there in it? Was she having an affair with this fellow Redfern?'

'I should say undoubtedly yes.'

'He followed her down here, eh?'

'There is reason to suppose so.'

'And the husband? Did he know about it? What did he feel?'

Poirot said slowly:

'It is not easy to know what Captain Marshall feels or thinks. He is a man who does not display his emotions.'

Weston said sharply:

'But he might have 'em, all the same.'

Poirot nodded. He said:

'Oh yes, he might have them.'

III

The Chief Constable was being as tactful as it was in his nature to be with Mrs Castle.

Mrs Castle was the owner and proprietress of the Jolly Roger Hotel. She was a woman of forty odd with a large bust, rather violent henna red hair, and an almost offensively refined manner of speech.

She was saying:

'That such a thing should happen in my hotel! Ay am sure it has always been the quayettest place imaginable! The people who come here are such naice people. No rowdiness - if you know what ay mean. Not like the big hotels in St Loo.'

'Quite so, Mrs Castle,' said Colonel Weston. 'But accidents happen in the best regulated - er households.'

'Ay'm sure Inspector Colgate will bear me out,' said Mrs Castle, sending an appealing glance towards the Inspector who was sitting looking very official. 'As to the laycensing laws, ay am most particular. There has never been any irregularity!'

'Quite, quite,' said Weston. 'We're not blaming you in any way, Mrs Castle.'

'But it does so reflect upon an establishment,' said Mrs Castle, her large bust heaving. 'When ay think of the noisy gaping crowds. Of course no one but hotel guests are allowed upon the island - but all the same they will no doubt come and point from the shore.'

She shuddered.

Inspector Colgate saw his chance to turn the conversation to good account.

He said:

'In regard to that point you've just raised. Access to the island. How do you keep people off?'

'Ay am most particular about it.'

'Yes, but what measures do you take? What keeps 'em off? Holiday crowds in summer time swarm everywhere like flies.'

Mrs Castle shrugged slightly again.

She said:

'That is the fault of the charabancs. Ay have seen eighteen at one time parked by the quay at Leathercombe Bay. Eighteen!'

'Just so. How do you stop them coming here?'

'There are notices. And then, of course, at high tide, we are cut off.'

'Yes, but at low tide?'

Mrs Castle explained. At the island end of the causeway there was a gate. This said 'Jolly Roger Hotel. Private. No entry except to Hotel.' The rocks rose sheer out of the sea on either side there and could not be climbed.

'Anyone could take a boat, though, I suppose, and row round and land on one of the coves? You couldn't stop them doing that. There's a right of access to the foreshore. You can't stop people being on the beach between low and high watermark.'

But this, it seemed, very seldom happened. Boats could be obtained at Leathercombe Bay harbour, but from there it was a long row to the island, and there was also a strong current just outside Leathercombe Bay harbour.

There were notices, too, on both Gull Cove and Pixy Cove by the ladder. She added that George or William were always on the look out at the bathing beach proper which was the nearest to the mainland.

'Who are George and William?'

'George attends to the bathing beach. He sees to the costumes and the floats. William is the gardener. He keeps the paths and marks the tennis courts and all that.'

Colonel Weston said impatiently:

'Well, that seems clear enough. That's not to say that nobody could have come from outside, but anyone who did so took a risk - the risk of being noticed. We'll have a word with George and William presently.'

Mrs Castle said:

'Ay do not care for trippers - a very noisy crowd, and they frequently leave orange peel and cigarette boxes on the causeway and down by the rocks, but all the same ay never thought one of them would turn out to be a murderer. Oh dear! it really is too terrible for words. A lady like Mrs Marshall murdered and what's so horrible, actually - er - strangled...'

Mrs Castle could hardly bring herself to say the word. She brought it out with the utmost reluctance.

Inspector Colgate said soothingly:

'Yes, it's a nasty business.'

'And the newspapers. My hotel in the newspapers!'

Colgate said, with a faint grin.

'Oh well, it's advertisement, in a way.'

Mrs Castle drew herself up. Her bust heaved and whalebone creaked. She said icily:

'That is not the kind of advertisement ay care about, Mr Colgate.'

Colonel Weston broke in. He said:

'Now then, Mrs Castle, you've got a list of the guests staying here, as I asked you?'

'Yes, sir.'

Colonel Weston pored over the hotel register. He looked over to Poirot who made the fourth member of the group assembled in the manageress's office.

'This is where you'll probably be able to help us presently.'

He read down the names.

'What about servants?'

Mrs Castle produced a second list.

'There are four chambermaids, the head waiter and three under him and Henry in the bar. William does the boots and shoes. Then there's the cook and two under her.'

'What about the waiters?'

'Well, sir, Albert, the Mater Dotel, came to me from the Vincent at Plymouth. He was there for some years. The three under him have been here for three years - one of them four. They are very naise lads and most respectable. Henry has been here since the hotel opened. He is quite an institution.'

Weston nodded. He said to Colgate:

'Seems all right. You'll check up on them, of course. Thank you, Mrs Castle.'

'That will be all you require?'

'For the moment, yes.'

Mrs Castle creaked out of the room.

Weston said:

'First thing to do is to talk with Captain Marshall.

IV

Kenneth Marshall sat quietly answering the questions put to him. Apart from a slight hardening of his features he was quite calm. Seen here, with the sunlight falling on him from the window, you realized that he was a handsome man. Those straight features, the steady blue eyes, the firm mouth. His voice was low and pleasant.

Colonel Weston was saying:

'I quite understand, Captain Marshall, what a terrible shock this must be to you. But you realize that I am anxious to get the fullest information as soon as possible.'

Marshall nodded.

He said:

'I quite understand. Carry on.'

'Mrs Marshall was your second wife?'

'Yes.'

'And you have been married how long?'

'Just over four years.'

'And her name before she was married?'

'Helen Stuart. Her acting name was Arlena Stuart.'

'She was an actress?'

'She appeared in Revue and musical shows.'

'Did she give up the stage on her marriage?'

'No. She continued to appear. She actually retired only about a year and a half ago.'

'Was there any special reason for her retirement?'

Kenneth Marshall appeared to consider.

'No,' he said. 'She simply said that she was tired of it all.'

'It was not - er - in obedience to your special wish?'

Marshall raised his eyebrows.

'Oh, no.'

'You were quite content for her to continue acting after your marriage?'

Marshall smiled very faintly.

'I should have preferred her to give it up - that, yes. But I made no fuss about it.'

'It caused no point of dissension between you?'

'Certainly not. My wife was free to please herself.'

'And - the marriage was a happy one?'

Kenneth Marshall said coldly:

'Certainly.'

Colonel Weston paused a minute. Then he said:

'Captain Marshall, have you any idea who could possibly have killed your wife?'

The answer came without the least hesitation.

'None whatever.'

'Had she any enemies?'

'Possibly.'

'Ah?'

The other went on quickly. He said:

'Don't misunderstand me, sir. My wife was an actress. She was also a very good-looking woman. In both capacities she aroused a certain amount of jealousy and envy. There were fusses over parts - there was rivalry from other women - there was a good deal, shall we say, of general envy, hatred, malice, and all uncharitableness! But that is not to say that there was anyone who was capable of deliberately murdering her.'

Hercule Poirot spoke for the first time. He said:

'What you really mean, Monsieur, is that her enemies were mostly or entirely, women?'

Kenneth Marshall looked across at him.

'Yes,' he said. 'That is so.'

The Chief Constable said:

'You know of no man who had a grudge against her?'

'No.'

'Was she previously acquainted with anyone in this hotel?'

'I believe she had met Mr Redfern before - at some cocktail party. Nobody else to my knowledge.'

Weston paused. He seemed to deliberate as to whether to pursue the subject. Then he decided against that course. He said:

'We now come to this morning. When was the last time you saw your wife?'

Marshall paused a minute, then he said:

'I looked in on my way down to breakfast - '

'Excuse me, you occupied separate rooms?'

'Yes.'

'And what time was that?'

'It must have been about nine o'clock.'

'What was she doing?'

'She was opening her letters.'

'Did she say anything?'

'Nothing of any particular interest. Just goodmorning - and that it was a nice day - that sort of thing.'

'What was her manner? Unusual at all?'

'No, perfectly normal.'

'She did not seem excited, or depressed, or upset in any way?'

'I certainly didn't notice it.'

Hercule Poirot said:

'Did she mention at all what were the contents of her letters?'

Again a faint smile appeared on Marshall's lips. He said:

'As far as I can remember, she said they were all bills.'

'Your wife breakfasted in bed?'

'Yes.'

'Did she always do that?'

'Invariably.'

Hercule Poirot said:

'What time did she usually come downstairs?'

'Oh! between ten and eleven - usually nearer eleven.'

Poirot went on:

'If she was to descend at ten o'clock exactly, that would be rather surprising?'

'Yes. She wasn't often down as early as that.'

'But she was this morning. Why do you think that was, Captain Marshall?'

Marshall said unemotionally:

'Haven't the least idea. Might have been the weather - extra fine day and all that.'

'You missed her?'

Kenneth Marshall shifted a little in his chair. He said:

'Looked in on her again after breakfast. Room was empty. I was a bit surprised.'

'And then you came down on the beach and asked me if I had seen her?'

'Er - yes.' He added with a faint emphasis in his voice. 'And you said you hadn't...'

The innocent eyes of Hercule Poirot did not falter. Gently he caressed his large and flamboyant moustache.

Weston asked:

'Had you any special reason for wanting to find your wife this morning?'

Marshall shifted his glance amiably to the Chief Constable.

He said:

'No, just wondered where she was, that's all.'

Weston paused. He moved his chair slightly. His voice fell into a different key. He said:

'Just now, Captain Marshall, you mentioned that your wife had a previous acquaintance with Mr Patrick Redfern. How well did your wife know Mr Redfern?'

Kenneth Marshall said:

'Mind if I smoke?' He felt through his pockets. 'Dash! I've mislaid my pipe somewhere.'

Poirot offered him a cigarette which he accepted. Lighting it, he said:

'You were asking about Redfern. My wife told me she had come across him at some cocktail party or other.'

'He was, then, just a casual acquaintance?'

'I believe so.'

'Since then - ' the Chief Constable paused. 'I understand that that acquaintanceship has ripened into something rather closer.'

Marshall said sharply:

'You understand that, do you? Who told you so?'

'It is the common gossip of the hotel.'

For a moment Marshall's eyes went to Hercule Poirot. They dwelt on him with a kind of cold anger. He said:

'Hotel gossip is usually a tissue of lies!'

'Possibly. But I gather that Mr Redfern and your wife gave some grounds for the gossip.'

'What grounds?'

'They were constantly in each other's company.'

'Is that all?'

'You do not deny that that was so?'

'May have been. I really didn't notice.'

'You did not - excuse me, Captain Marshall - object to your wife's friendship with Mr Redfern?'

'I wasn't in the habit of criticizing my wife's conduct.'

'You did not protest or object in any way?'

'Certainly not.'

'Not even though it was becoming a subject of scandal and an estrangement was growing up between Mr Redfern and his wife?'

Kenneth Marshall said coldly:

'I mind my own business and I expect other people to mind theirs. I don't listen to gossip and tittle tattle.'

'You won't deny that Mr Redfern admired your wife?'

'He probably did. Most men did. She was a very beautiful woman.'

'But you yourself were persuaded that there was nothing serious in the affair?'

'I never thought about it, I tell you.'

'And suppose we have a witness who can testify that they were on terms of the greatest intimacy?'

Again those blue eyes went to Hercule Poirot. Again an expression of dislike showed on that usually impassive face.

Marshall said:

'If you want to listen to these tales, listen to 'em. My wife's dead and can't defend herself.'

'You mean that you, personally, don't believe them?'

For the first time a faint dew of sweat was observable on Marshall's brow. He said:

'I don't propose to believe anything of the kind.'

He went on:

'Aren't you getting a good way from the essentials of this business? What I believe or don't believe is surely not relevant to the plain fact of murder?'

Hercule Poirot answered before either of the others could speak. He said:

'You do not comprehend, Captain Marshall. There is no such thing as a plain fact of murder. Murder springs, nine times out of ten, out of the character and circumstances of the murdered person. Because the victim was the kind of person he or she was, therefore was he or she murdered! Until we can understand fully and completely exactly what kind of a person Arlena Marshall was, we shall not be able to see clearly exactly the kind of person who murdered her. From that springs the necessity of our questions.'

Marshall turned to the Chief Constable. He said:

'That your view, too?'

Weston boggled a little. He said:

'Well, up to a point - that is to say - '

Marshall gave a short laugh. He said:

'Thought you wouldn't agree. This character stuff is M. Poirot's speciality, I believe.'

Poirot said, smiling:

'You can at least congratulate yourself on having done nothing to assist me!'

'What do you mean?'

'What have you told us about your wife? Exactly nothing at all. You have told us only what everyone could see for themselves. That she was beautiful and admired. Nothing more.'

Kenneth Marshall shrugged his shoulders. He said simply:

'You're crazy.'

He looked towards the Chief Constable and said with emphasis:

'Anything else, sir, that you'd like me to tell you?'

'Yes, Captain Marshall, your own movements this morning, please.'

Kenneth Marshall nodded. He had clearly expected this.

He said:

'I breakfasted downstairs about nine o'clock as usual and read the paper. As I told you I went up to my wife's room afterwards and found she had gone out. I came down to the beach, saw M. Poirot and asked if he had seen her. Then I had a quick bathe and went up to the hotel again. It was then, let me see, about twenty to eleven - yes, just about that. I saw the clock in the lounge. It was just after twenty minutes to. I went up to my room, but the chambermaid hadn't quite finished it. I asked her to finish as quickly as she could. I had some letters to type which I wanted to get off by the post. I went downstairs again and had a word or two with Henry in the bar. I went up again to my room at ten minutes to eleven. There I typed my letters. I typed until ten minutes to twelve. I then changed into tennis kit as I had a date to play tennis at twelve. We'd booked the court the day before.'

'Who was we?'

'Mrs Redfern, Miss Darnley, Mr Gardener and myself. I came down at twelve o'clock and went up to the court. Miss Darnley was there and Mr Gardener. Mrs Redfern arrived a few minutes later. We played tennis for an hour. Just as we came into the hotel afterwards I - I - got the news.'

'Thank you, Captain Marshall. Just as a matter of form, is there anyone who can corroborate the fact that you were typing in your room between - er - ten minutes to eleven and ten minutes to twelve?'

Kenneth Marshall said with a faint smile:

'Have you got some idea that I killed my own wife? Let me see now. The chambermaid was about doing the rooms. She must have heard the typewriter going. And then there are the letters themselves. With all this upset I haven't posted them. I should imagine they are as good evidence as anything.'

He took three letters from his pocket. They were addressed, but not stamped. He said:

'Their contents, by the way, are strictly confidential. But when it's a case of murder, one is forced to trust in the discretion of the police. They contain lists of figures and various financial statements. I think you will find that if you put one of your men on to type them out, he won't do it in much under an hour.'

He paused.

'Satisfied, I hope?'

Weston said smoothly.

'It is no question of suspicion. Everyone on the island will be asked to account for his or her movements between a quarter to eleven and twenty minutes to twelve this morning.'

Kenneth Marshall said:

'Quite.'

Weston said:

'One more thing, Captain Marshall. Do you know anything about the way your wife was likely to have disposed of any property she had?'

'You mean a will? I don't think she ever made a will.'

'But you are not sure?'

'Her solicitors are Barkett, Markett & Applegood, Bedford Square. They saw to all her contracts, etc. But I'm fairly certain she never made a will. She said once that doing a thing like that would give her the shivers.'

'In that case, if she has died intestate, you, as her husband, succeed to her property.'

'Yes, I suppose I do.'

'Had she any near relatives?'

'I don't think so. If she had, she never mentioned them. I know that her father and mother died when she was a child and she had no brothers or sisters.'

'In any case, I suppose, she had nothing very much to leave?'

Kenneth Marshall said coldly:

'On the contrary. Only two years ago, Sir Robert Erskine, who was an old friend of hers, died and left her most of his fortune. It amounted, I think, to about fifty thousand pounds.'

Inspector Colgate looked up. An alertness came into his glance. Up to now he had been silent. Now he asked:

'Then actually, Captain Marshall, your wife was a rich woman?'

Kenneth Marshall shrugged his shoulders.

'I suppose she was really.'

'And you still say she did not make a will?'

'You can ask the solicitors. But I'm pretty certain she didn't. As I tell you, she thought it unlucky.'

There was a pause then Marshall added:

'Is there anything further?'

Weston shook his head.

'Don't think so - eh Colgate? No. Once more, Captain Marshall, let me offer you all my sympathy in your loss.'

Marshall blinked. He said jerkily:

'Oh - thanks.'

He went out.

V

The three men looked at each other.

Weston said:

'Cool customer. Not giving anything away, is he? What do you make of him, Colgate?'

The Inspector shook his head.

'It's difficult to tell. He's not the kind that shows anything. That sort makes a bad impression in the witness-box, and yet it's a bit unfair on them really. Sometimes they're as cut up as anything and yet can't show it. That kind of manner made the jury bring in a verdict of Guilty against Wallace. It wasn't the evidence. They just couldn't believe that a man could lose his wife and talk and act so coolly about it.'

Weston turned to Poirot.

'What do you think, Poirot?'

Hercule Poirot raised his hands.

He said:

'What can one say? He is the closed box - the fastened oyster. He has chosen his rôle. He has heard nothing, he has seen nothing, he knows nothing!'

'We've got a choice of motives,' said Colgate. 'There's jealousy and there's the money motive. Of course, in a way, a husband's the obvious suspect. One naturally thinks of him first. If he knew his missus was carrying on with the other chap - '

Poirot interrupted.

He said:

'I think he knew that.'

'Why do you say so?'

'Listen, my friend. Last night I had been talking with Mrs Redfern on Sunny Ledge. I came down from there to the hotel and on my way I saw those two together - Mrs Marshall and Patrick Redfern. And a moment or two after I met Captain Marshall. His face was very stiff. It says nothing - but nothing at all! It is almost too blank, if you understand me. Oh! he knew all right.'

Colgate grunted doubtfully.

He said:

'Oh well, if you think so - '

'I am sure of it! But even then, what does that tell us? What did Kenneth Marshall feel about his wife?'

Colonel Weston said:

'Takes her death coolly enough.'

Poirot shook his head in a dissatisfied manner.

Inspector Colgate said:

'Sometimes these quiet ones are the most violent underneath, so to speak. It's all bottled up. He may have been madly fond of her - and madly jealous. But he's not the kind to show it.'

Poirot said slowly:

'That is possible - yes. He is a very interesting character this Captain Marshall. I interest myself in him greatly. And in his alibi.'

'Alibi by typewriter,' said Weston with a short bark of a laugh. 'What have you got to say about that, Colgate?'

Inspector Colgate screwed up his eyes. He said:

'Well, you know, sir, I rather fancy that alibi. It's not too good, if you know what I mean. It's - well, it's natural. And if we find the chambermaid was about, and did hear the typewriter going, well then, it seems to me that it's all right and that we'll have to look elsewhere.'

'H'm,' said Colonel Weston. 'Where are you going to look?'

VI

For a minute or two the three men pondered the question.

Inspector Colgate spoke first. He said:

'It boils down to this - was it an outsider, or a guest at the hotel? I'm not eliminating the servants entirely, mind, but I don't expect for a minute that we'll find any of them had a hand in it. No, it's a hotel guest, or it's someone from right outside. We've got to look at it this way. First of all - motive. There's gain. The only person to gain by her death was the lady's husband, it seems. What other motives are there? First and foremost - jealousy. It seems to me - just looking at it - that if ever you've got a crime passionnel - (he bowed to Poirot) this is one.'

Poirot murmured as he looked up at the ceiling:

'There are so many passions.'

Inspector Colgate went on:

'Her husband wouldn't allow that she had any enemies - real enemies, that is, but I don't believe for a minute that that's so! I should say that a lady like her would - well, would make some pretty bad enemies - eh, sir, what do you say?'

Poirot responded. He said:

'Mais oui, that is so. Arlena Marshall would make enemies. But in my opinion, the enemy theory is not tenable, for you see, Inspector, Arlena Marshall's enemies would, I think, as I said just now, always be women.'

Colonel Weston grunted and said:

'Something in that. It's the women who've got their knife into her here all right.'

Poirot went on.

'It seems to be hardly possible that this crime was committed by a woman. What does the medical evidence say?'

Weston grunted again. He said:

'Neasden's pretty confident that she was strangled by a man. Big hands - powerful grip. It's just possible, of course, that an unusually athletic woman might have done it - but it's damned unlikely.'

Poirot nodded.

'Exactly. Arsenic in a cup of tea - a box of poisoned chocolates - a knife - even a pistol - but strangulation - no! It is a man we have to look for.'

'And immediately,' he went on, 'it becomes more difficult. There are two people here in this hotel who have a motive for wishing Arlena Marshall out of the way - but both of them are women.'

Colonel Weston asked:

'Redfern's wife is one of them, I suppose?'

'Yes. Mrs Redfern might have made up her mind to kill Arlena Stuart. She had, let us say, ample cause. I think, too, that it would be possible for Mrs Redfern to commit a murder. But not this kind of murder. For all her unhappiness and jealousy, she is not, I should say, a woman of strong passions. In love, she would be devoted and loyal - not passionate. As I said just now - arsenic in the teacup, possibly - strangulation, no. I am sure, also, that she is physically incapable of committing this crime, her hands and feet are small, below the average.'

Weston nodded. He said:

'This isn't a woman's crime. No, a man did this.'

Inspector Colgate coughed.

'Let me put forward a solution, sir. Say that prior to meeting this Mr Redfern the lady had had another affair with someone - call him X. She turns X down for Mr Redfern. X is mad with rage and jealousy. He follows her down here, stays somewhere in the neighbourhood, comes over to the island, does her in. It's a possibility!'

Weston said:

'It's possible, all right. And if it's true, it ought to be easy to prove. Did he come on foot or in a boat? The latter seems more likely. If so, he must have hired a boat somewhere. You'd better make inquiries.'

He looked across at Poirot.

'What do you think of Colgate's suggestion?'

Poirot said slowly:

'It leaves, somehow, too much to chance. And besides - somewhere the picture is not true. I cannot, you see, imagine this man...the man who is mad with rage and jealousy.'

Colgate said:

'People did go potty about her, though, sir. Look at Redfern.'

'Yes, yes...But all the same - '

Colgate looked at him questioningly.

Poirot shook his head.

He said, frowning:

'Somewhere, there is something that we have missed...'