阳光下的罪恶54

VII

Rosamund Darnley said: “So it’s my turn, is it?”

“Pardon?”

She laughed.

“The other day the Chief Constable held this inquisition. You sat by. Today, I think, you areconducting your own unofficial inquiry. I’ve been watching you. First Mrs. Redfern, then I caughta glimpse of you through the lounge window where Mrs. Gardener is doing her hateful jig-sawpuzzle. Now it’s my turn.”

Hercule Poirot sat down beside her. They were on Sunny Ledge. Below them the sea showed adeep-glowing green. Farther out it was a pale dazzling blue.

Poirot said:

“You are very intelligent, Mademoiselle. I have thought so ever since I arrived here. It would bea pleasure to discuss this business with you.”

Rosamund Darnley said softly:

“You want to know what I think about the whole thing?”

“It would be most interesting.”

Rosamund said:

“I think it’s really very simple. The clue is in the woman’s past.”

“The past? Not the present?”

“Oh! not necessarily the very remote past. I look at it like this. Arlena Marshall was attractive,fatally attractive, to men. It’s possible, I think, that she also tired of them rather quickly. Amongsther—followers, shall we say—was one who resented that. Oh, don’t misunderstand me, it won’tbe someone who sticks out a mile. Probably some tepid little man, vain and sensitive—the kind ofman who broods. I think he followed her down here, waited his opportunity and killed her.”

“You mean that he was an outsider, that he came from the mainland?”

“Yes. He probably hid in that cave until he got his chance.”

Poirot shook his head. He said:

“Would she go there to meet such a man as you describe? No, she would laugh and not go.”

Rosamund said:

“She mayn’t have known she was going to meet him. He may have sent her a message in someother person’s name.”

Poirot murmured:

“That is possible.”

Then he said:

“But you forget one thing, Mademoiselle. A man bent on murder could not risk coming in broaddaylight across the causeway and past the hotel. Someone might have seen him.”

“They might have—but I don’t think that it’s certain. I think it’s quite possible that he couldhave come without anyone noticing him at all.”

“It would be possible, yes, that I grant you. But the point is that he could not count on thatpossibility.”

Rosamund said:

“Aren’t you forgetting something? The weather.”

“The weather?”

“Yes. The day of the murder was a glorious day, but the day before, remember, there was rainand thick mist. Anyone could come on to the island then without being seen. He had only to godown to the beach and spend the night in the cave. That mist, M. Poirot, is important.”

Poirot looked at her thoughtfully for a minute or two. He said:

“You know, there is a good deal in what you have just said.”

Rosamund flushed. She said:

“That’s my theory, for what it is worth. Now tell me yours.”

“Ah,” said Hercule Poirot. He stared down at the sea.

“Eh bien, Mademoiselle. I am a very simple person. I always incline to the belief that the mostlikely person committed the crime. At the very beginning it seemed to me that one person wasvery clearly indicated.”

Rosamund’s voice hardened a little. She said:

“Go on.”

Hercule Poirot went on.

“But you see, there is what you call a snag in the way! It seems that it was impossible for thatperson to have committed the crime.”

He heard the quick expulsion of her breath. She said rather breathlessly:

“Well?”

Hercule Poirot shrugged his shoulders.

“Well, what do we do about it? That is my problem.” He paused and then went on. “May I askyou a question?”

“Certainly.”

She faced him, alert and vigilant. But the question that came was an unexpected one.

“When you came in to change for tennis that morning, did you have a bath?”

Rosamund stared at him.

“A bath? What do you mean?”

“That is what I mean. A bath! The receptacle of porcelain, one turns the taps and fills it, onegets in, one gets out and ghoosh—ghoosh—ghoosh, the water goes down the waste pipe!”

“M. Poirot, are you quite mad?”

“No, I am extremely sane.”

“Well, anyway, I didn’t take a bath.”

“Ha!” said Poirot. “So nobody took a bath. That is extremely interesting.”

“But why should anyone take a bath?”

Hercule Poirot said: “Why, indeed?”

Rosamund said with some exasperation:

“I suppose this is the Sherlock Holmes touch!”

Hercule Poirot smiled.

Then he sniffed the air delicately.

“Will you permit me to be impertinent, Mademoiselle?”

“I’m sure you couldn’t be impertinent, M. Poirot.”

“That is very kind of you. Then may I venture to say that the scent you use is delicious—it has anuance—a delicate elusive charm.” He waved his hands, and then added in a practical voice,“Gabrielle, No. 8, I think?”

“How clever you are. Yes, I always use it.”

“So did the late Mrs. Marshall. It is chic, eh? And very expensive?”

Rosamund shrugged her shoulders with a faint smile.

Poirot said:

“You sat here where we are now, Mademoiselle, on the morning of the crime. You were seenhere, or at least your sunshade was seen by Miss Brewster and Mr. Redfern as they passed on thesea. During the morning, Mademoiselle, are you sure you did not happen to go down to Pixy Coveand enter the cave there—the famous Pixy’s Cave?”

Rosamund turned her head and stared at him.

She said in a quiet level voice:

“Are you asking me if I killed Arlena Marshall?”

“No, I am asking you if you went into the Pixy’s Cave?”

“I don’t even know where it is. Why should I go into it? For what reason?”

“On the day of the crime, Mademoiselle, somebody had been in that cave who used GabrielleNo 8.”

Rosamund said sharply:

“You’ve just said yourself, M. Poirot, that Arlena Marshall used Gabrielle No. 8. She was onthe beach there that day. Presumably she went into the cave.”

“Why should she go into the cave? It is dark there and narrow and very uncomfortable.”

Rosamund said impatiently:

“Don’t ask me for reasons. Since she was actually at the cove she was by far the most likelyperson. I’ve told you already I never left this place the whole morning.”

“Except for the time when you went into the hotel to Captain Marshall’s room.” Poirotreminded her.

“Yes, of course. I’d forgotten that.”

Poirot said:

“And you were wrong, Mademoiselle, when you thought that Captain Marshall did not seeyou.”

Rosamund said incredulously:

“Kenneth did see me? Did—did he say so?”

Poirot nodded.

“He saw you, Mademoiselle, in the mirror that hangs over the table.”

Rosamund caught her breath. She said:

“Oh! I see.”

Poirot was no longer looking out to sea. He was looking at Rosamund Darnley’s hands as theylay folded in her lap. They were well-shaped hands, beautifully moulded with very long fingers.

Rosamund, shooting a quick look at him, followed the direction of his eyes. She said sharply:

“What are you looking at my hands for? Do you think—do you think—?”

Poirot said:

“Do I think—what, Mademoiselle?”

Rosamund Darnley said:

“Nothing.”

 

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