Evil Under the Sun - Agatha Christie [34]
“Never on the other cove?” Pixy Cove?”
“No. You see Pixy Cove faces west and people go round there in boats or on floats in the afternoon. We never tried to meet in the morning. It would have been too noticeable. In the afternoon people go and have a sleep or mouch around and nobody knows much where any one else is.”
Weston nodded:
Patrick Redfern went on:
“After dinner, of course, on the fine nights, we used to go off for a stroll together to different parts of the island.”
Hercule Poirot murmured:
“Ah, yes!” and Patrick Redfern shot him an inquiring glance.
Weston said:
“Then you can give us no help whatsoever as to the cause that took Mrs. Marshall to Pixy Cove this morning?”
Redfern shook his head. He said, and his voice sounded honestly bewildered:
“I haven’t the faintest idea! It wasn’t like Arlena.”
Weston said:
“Had she any friends down here staying in the neighbourhood?”
“Not that I know of. Oh, I’m sure she hadn’t.”
“Now, Mr. Redfern, I want you to think very carefully. You knew Mrs. Marshall in London. You must be acquainted with various members of her circle. Is there anyone you know of who could have had a grudge against her? Someone, for instance, whom you may have supplanted in her fancy?”
Patrick Redfern thought for some minutes. Then he shook his head.
“Honestly,” he said. “I can’t think of anyone.”
Colonel Weston drummed with his fingers on the table.
He said at last:
“Well, that’s that. We seem to be left with three possibilities. That of an unknown killer—some monomaniac—who happened to be in the neighbourhood—and that’s a pretty tall order—”
Redfern said, interrupting:
“And yet surely, it’s by far the most likely explanation.”
Weston shook his head. He said:
“This isn’t one of the ‘lonely copse’ murders. This cove place was pretty inaccessible. Either the man would have to come up from the causeway past the hotel, over the top of the island and down by that ladder contraption, or else he came there by boat. Either way is unlikely for a casual killing.”
Patrick Redfern said:
“You said there were three possibilities.”
“Um—yes,” said the Chief Constable. “That’s to say, there were two people on this island who had a motive for killing her. Her husband, for one, and your wife for another.”
Redfern stared at him. He looked dumbfounded. He said:
“My wife? Christine? D’you mean that Christine had anything to do with this?”
He got up and stood there stammering slightly in his incoherent haste to get the words out.
“You’re mad—quite mad—Christine? Why, it’s impossible. It’s laughable!”
Weston said:
“All the same, Mr. Redfern, jealousy is a very powerful motive. Women who are jealous lose control of themselves completely.”
Redfern said earnestly.
“Not Christine. She’s—oh she’s not like that. She was unhappy, yes. But she’s not the kind of person to—Oh, there’s no violence in her.”
Hercule Poirot nodded thoughtfully. Violence. The same word that Linda Marshall had used. As before, he agreed with the sentiment.
“Besides,” went on Redfern confidently. “It would be absurd. Arlena was twice as strong physically as Christine. I doubt if Christine could strangle a kitten—certainly not a strong wiry creature like Arlena. And then Christine could never have got down that ladder to the beach. She has no head for that sort of thing. And—oh, the whole thing is fantastic!”
Colonel Weston scratched his ear tentatively.
“Well,” he said. “Put like that it doesn’t seem likely. I grant you that. But motive’s the first thing we’ve got to look for.” He added: “Motive and opportunity.”
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’d have 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