阳光下的罪恶30

IV

When Redfern had left the room, the Chief Constable observed with a slight smile:

“Didn’t think it necessary to tell the fellow his wife had got an alibi. Wanted to hear what he’dhave to say to the idea. Shook him up a bit, didn’t it?”

Hercule Poirot murmured:

“The arguments he advanced were quite as strong as any alibi.”

“Yes. Oh! she didn’t do it! She couldn’t have done it—physically impossible as you said.

Marshall could have done it—but apparently he didn’t.”

Inspector Colgate coughed. He said:

“Excuse me, sir, I’ve been thinking about that alibi. It’s possible, you know, if he’d thought thisthing out, that those letters were got ready beforehand.”

Weston said:

“That’s a good idea. We must look into—”

He broke off as Christine Redfern entered the room.

She was, as always, calm and a little precise in manner. She was wearing a white tennis frockand a pale blue pullover. It accentuated her fair, rather anaemic prettiness. Yet, Hercule Poirotthought to himself, it was neither a silly face nor a weak one. It had plenty of resolution, courageand good sense. He nodded appreciatively.

Colonel Weston thought:

“Nice little woman. Bit wishy-washy, perhaps. A lot too good for that philandering young ass ofa husband of hers. Oh well, the boy’s young. Women usually make a fool of you once!”

He said:

“Sit down, Mrs. Redfern. We’ve got to go through a certain amount of routine, you see. Askingeverybody for an account of their movements this morning. Just for our records.”

Christine Redfern nodded.

She said in her quiet precise voice.

“Oh yes, I quite understand. Where do you want me to begin?”

Hercule Poirot said:

“As early as possible, Madame. What did you do when you first got up this morning?”

Christine said:

“Let me see. On my way down to breakfast I went into Linda Marshall’s room and fixed upwith her to go to Gull Cove this morning. We agreed to meet in the lounge at half past ten.”

Poirot asked:

“You did not bathe before breakfast, Madame?”

“No. I very seldom do.” She smiled. “I like the sea well warmed before I get into it. I’m rather achilly person.”

“But your husband bathes then?”

“Oh, yes. Nearly always.”

“And Mrs. Marshall, she also?”

A change came over Christine’s voice. It became cold and almost acrid.

She said:

“Oh no, Mrs. Marshall was the sort of person who never made an appearance before the middleof the morning.”

With an air of confusion, Hercule Poirot said:

“Pardon, Madame, I interrupted you. You were saying that you went to Miss Linda Marshall’sroom. What time was that?”

“Let me see—half past eight—no, a little later.”

“And was Miss Marshall up then?”

“Oh yes, she had been out.”

“Out?”

“Yes, she said she’d been bathing.”

There was a faint—a very faint note of embarrassment in Christine’s voice. It puzzled HerculePoirot.

Weston said:

“And then?”

“Then I went down to breakfast.”

“And after breakfast?”

“I went upstairs, collected my sketching box and sketching book and we started out.”

“You and Miss Linda Marshall?”

“Yes.”

“What time was that?”

“I think it was just on half past ten.”

“And what did you do?”

“We went to Gull Cove. You know, the cove on the east side of the island. We settled ourselvesthere. I did a sketch and Linda sunbathed.”

“What time did you leave the cove?”

“At a quarter to twelve. I was playing tennis at twelve and had to change.”

“You had your watch with you?”

“No, as a matter of fact I hadn’t. I asked Linda the time.”

“I see. And then?”

“I packed up my sketching things and went back to the hotel.”

Poirot said:

“And Mademoiselle Linda?”

“Linda?” Oh, Linda went into the sea.”

Poirot said:

“Were you far from the sea where you were sitting?”

“Well, we were well above high-water mark. Just under the cliff—so that I could be a little inthe shade and Linda in the sun.”

Poirot said:

“Did Linda Marshall actually enter the sea before you left the beach?”

Christine frowned a little in the effort to remember. She said:

“Let me see. She ran down the beach—I fastened my box—Yes, I heard her splashing in thewaves as I was on the path up the cliff.”

“You are sure of that, Madame? That she really entered the sea?”

“Oh yes.”

She stared at him in surprise.

Colonel Weston also stared at him.

Then he said:

“Go on, Mrs. Redfern.”

“I went back to the hotel, changed, and went to the tennis courts where I met the others.”

“Who were?”

“Captain Marshall, Mr. Gardener and Miss Darnley. We played two sets. We were just going inagain when the news came about—about Mrs. Marshall.”

Hercule Poirot leant forward. He said:

“And what did you think, Madame, when you heard that news?”

“What did I think?”

Her face showed a faint distaste for the question.

“Yes.”

Christine Redfern said slowly:

“It was—a horrible thing to happen.”

“Ah, yes, your fastidiousness was revolted. I understand that. But what did it mean to you—personally?”

She gave him a quick look—a look of appeal. He responded to it. He said in a matter-of-factvoice.

“I am appealing to you, Madame, as a woman of intelligence with plenty of good sense andjudgment. You had doubtless during your stay here formed an opinion of Mrs. Marshall, of thekind of woman she was?”

Christine said cautiously:

“I suppose one always does that more or less when one is staying in hotels.”

“Certainly, it is the natural thing to do. So I ask you, Madame, were you really very surprised atthe manner of her death?”

Christine said slowly:

“I think I see what you mean. No, I was not, perhaps, surprised. Shocked, yes. But she was thekind of woman—”

Poirot finished the sentence for her.

“She was the kind of woman to whom such a thing might happen… Yes, Madame, that is thetruest and most significant thing that has been said in this room this morning. Laying all—er (hestressed it carefully) personal feeling aside, what did you really think of the late Mrs. Marshall?”

Christine Redfern said calmly:

“Is it really worthwhile going into all that now?”

“I think it might be, yes.”

“Well, what shall I say?” Her fair skin was suddenly suffused with colour. The careful poise ofher manner was relaxed. For a short space the natural raw woman looked out. “She’s the kind ofwoman that to my mind is absolutely worthless! She did nothing to justify her existence. She hadno mind—no brains. She thought of nothing but men and clothes and admiration. Useless, aparasite! She was attractive to men, I suppose—Oh, of course, she was. And she lived for that kindof life. And so, I suppose, I wasn’t really surprised at her coming to a sticky end. She was the sortof woman who would be mixed up with everything sordid—blackmail—jealousy—violence—every kind of crude emotion. She—she appealed to the worst in people.”

She stopped, panting a little. Her rather short top lip lifted itself in a kind of fastidious disgust. Itoccurred to Colonel Weston that you could not have found a more complete contrast to ArlenaStuart than Christine Redfern. It also occurred to him that if you were married to ChristineRedfern, the atmosphere might be so rarefied that the Arlena Stuarts of this world would hold aparticular attraction for you.

And then, immediately following on these thoughts, a single word out of the words she hadspoken fastened on his attention with particular intensity.

He leaned forward and said:

“Mrs. Redfern, why, in speaking of her, did you mention the word blackmail?”

 

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