阳光下的罪恶34

IV

On the slightly apoplectic countenance of Major Barry various emotions seemed contending formastery. He was endeavouring to look properly horrified but could not subdue a kind ofshamefaced gusto.

He was saying in his hoarse, slightly wheezy voice:

“Glad to help you any way I can. ’Course I don’t know anythin’ about it—nothin’ at all. Notacquainted with the parties. But I’ve knocked about a bit in my time. Lived a lot in the East, youknow. And I can tell you that after being in an Indian hill station what you don’t know abouthuman nature isn’t worth knowin’.”

He paused, took a breath and was off again.

“Matter of fact this business reminds me of a case in Simla. Fellow called Robinson, or was itFalconer? Anyway he was in the East Wilts, or was it the North Surreys? Can’t remember now,and anyway it doesn’t matter. Quiet chap, you know, great reader—mild as milk you’d have said.

Went for his wife one evening in their bungalow. Got her by the throat. She’d been carryin’ onwith some feller or other and he’d got wise to it. By Jove, he nearly did for her! It was touch andgo. Surprised us all! Didn’t think he had it in him.”

Hercule Poirot murmured:

“And you see there an analogy to the death of Mrs. Marshall?”

“Well, what I mean to say—strangled, you know. Same idea. Feller suddenly sees red!”

Poirot said:

“You think that Captain Marshall felt like that?”

“Oh, look here, I never said that.” Major Barry’s face went even redder. “Never said anythingabout Marshall. Thoroughly nice chap. Wouldn’t say a word against him for the world.”

Poirot murmured:

“Ah, pardon, but you did refer to the natural reactions of a husband.”

Major Barry said:

“Well, I mean to say, I should think she’d been pretty hot stuff. Eh? Got young Redfern on astring all right. And there were probably others before him. But the funny thing is, you know, thathusbands are a dense lot. Amazin’. I’ve been surprised by it again and again. They see a fellersweet on their wife but they don’t see that she’s sweet on him! Remember a case like that inPoona. Very pretty woman, Jove, she led her husband a dance—”

Colonel Weston stirred a little restively. He said:

“Yes, yes, Major Barry. For the moment we’ve just got to establish the facts. You don’t knowof anything personally—that you’ve seen or noticed that might help us in this case?”

“Well, really, Weston, I can’t say I do. Saw her and young Redfern one afternoon on GullCove”—here he winked knowingly and gave a deep hoarse chuckle—“very pretty it was, too. Butit’s not evidence of that kind you’re wanting. Ha, ha!”

“You did not see Mrs. Marshall at all this morning?”

“Didn’t see anybody this morning. Went over to St. Loo. Just my luck. Sort of place here wherenothin’ happens for months and when it does you miss it!”

The Major’s voice held a ghoulish regret.

Colonel Weston prompted him.

“You went to St. Loo, you say?”

“Yes, wanted to do some telephonin’. No telephone here and that post office place atLeathercombe Bay isn’t very private.”

“Were your telephone calls of a very private nature?”

The Major winked again cheerfully.

“Well, they were and they weren’t. Wanted to get through to a pal of mine and get him to putsomethin’ on a horse. Couldn’t get through to him, worse luck.”

“Where did you telephone from?”

“Call box in the G.P.O. at St. Loo. Then on the way back I got lost—these confounded lanes—twistin’ and turnin’ all over the place. Must have wasted an hour over that at least. Damnedconfusing part of the world. I only got back half an hour ago.”

Colonel Weston said:

“Speak to anyone or meet anyone in St. Loo?”

Major Barry said with a chuckle:

“Wantin’ me to prove an alibi? Can’t think of anythin’ useful. Saw about fifty thousand peoplein St. Loo—but that’s not to say they’ll remember seein’ me.”

The Chief Constable said:

“We have to ask these things, you know.”

“Right you are. Call on me at any time. Glad to help you. Very fetchin’ woman, the deceased.

Like to help you catch the feller who did it. The Lonely Beach Murder—bet you that’s what thepapers will call it. Reminds me of the time—”

It was Inspector Colgate who firmly nipped this latest reminiscence in the bud and manoeuvredthe garrulous Major out of the door.

Coming back he said:

“Difficult to check up on anything in St. Loo. It’s the middle of the holiday season.”

The Chief Constable said:

“Yes, we can’t take him off the list. Not that I seriously believe he’s implicated. Dozens of oldbores like him going about. Remember one or two of them in my army days. Still — he’s apossibility. I leave all that to you, Colgate. Check what time he took the car out—petrol—all that.

It’s humanly possible that he parked the car somewhere in a lonely spot, walked back here andwent to the cove. But it doesn’t seem feasible to me. He’d have run too much risk of being seen.”

Colgate nodded.

He said:

“Of course there are a good many charabancs here today. Fine day. They start arriving roundabout half past eleven. High tide was at seven. Low tide would be about one o’clock. Peoplewould be spread out over the sands and the causeway.”

Weston said:

“Yes. But he’d have to come up from the causeway past the hotel.”

“Not right past it. He could branch off on the path that leads up over the top of the island.”

Weston said doubtfully:

“I’m not saying that he mightn’t have done it without being seen. Practically all the hotel guestswere on the bathing beach except for Mrs. Redfern and the Marshall girl who were down in GullCove, and the beginning of that path would only be overlooked by a few rooms of the hotel andthere are plenty of chances against anyone looking out of those windows just at that moment. Forthe matter of that, I dare say it’s possible for a man to walk up to the hotel, through the lounge andout again without anyone happening to see him. But what I say is, he couldn’t count on no oneseeing him.”

Colgate said:

“He could have gone round to the cove by boat.”

Weston nodded. He said:

“That’s much sounder. If he’d had a boat handy in one of the coves nearby, he could have leftthe car, rowed or sailed to Pixy Cove, done the murder, rowed back, picked up the car and arrivedback with this tale about having been to St. Loo and lost his way—a story that he’d know wouldbe pretty hard to disprove.”

“You’re right, sir.”

The Chief Constable said:

“Well, I leave it to you, Colgate. Comb the neighbourhood thoroughly. You know what to do.

We’d better see Miss Brewster now.”

 

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