Evil Under the Sun - Agatha Christie [66]
Weston said:
“Yes, it all sounds practicable enough. Now these dope organizations are pretty ruthless. If any one blundered in and got wise to things they wouldn’t make any bones about silencing that person. It seems to me that that is the right explanation of Arlena Marshall’s death. It’s possible that on that morning Blatt was actually at the cove stowing the stuff away. His accomplices were to come for it that very day. Arlena arrives on her float and sees him going into the cave with the box. She asks him about it and he kills her then and there and sheers off in his boat as quick as possible.”
Poirot said:
“You think definitely that Blatt is the murderer?”
“It seems the most probable solution. Of course it’s possible that Arlena might have got on to the truth earlier, said something to Blatt about it, and some other member of the gang fixed a fake appointment with her and did her in. As I say, I think the best course is to hand the case over to Scotland Yard. They’ve a far better chance than we have of proving Blatt’s connection with the gang.”
Hercule Poirot nodded thoughtfully.
Weston said:
“You think that’s the wise thing to do—eh?”
Poirot was thoughtful. He said at last: “It may be.”
“Dash it all, Poirot, have you got something up your sleeve, or haven’t you?”
Poirot said gravely:
“If I have, I am not sure that I can prove it.”
Weston said:
“Of course, I know that you and Colgate have other ideas. Seems a bit fantastic to me, but I’m bound to admit there may be something in it. But even if you’re right. I still think it’s a case for the Yard. We’ll give them the facts and they can work in with the Surrey police. What I feel is that it isn’t really a case for us. It’s not sufficiently localized.”
He paused.
“What do you think, Poirot? What do you feel ought to be done about it?”
Poirot seemed lost in thought. At last he said:
“I know what I should like to do.”
“Yes, man.”
Poirot murmured:
“I should like to go for a picnic.”
Colonel Weston stared at him.
Twelve
“A picnic, M. Poirot?”
Emily Brewster stared at him as though he were out of his senses.
Poirot said engagingly:
“It sounds to you, does it not, very outrageous? But indeed it seems to me a most admirable idea. We need something of the every day, the usual, to restore life to the normal. I am most anxious to see something of Dartmoor, the weather is good. It will—how shall I say, it will cheer everybody up! So aid me in this matter. Persuade everyone.”
The idea met with unexpected success. Everyone was at first dubious and then grudgingly admitted it might not be such a bad idea after all.
It was not suggested that Captain Marshall should be asked. He had himself announced that he had to go to Plymouth that day. Mr. Blatt was of the party, enthusiastically so. He was determined to be the life and soul of it. Besides him there was Emily Brewster, the Redferns, Stephen Lane, the Gardeners, who were persuaded to delay their departure by one day, Rosamund Darnley and Linda.
Poirot had been eloquent to Rosamund and had dwelt on the advantage it would be to Linda to have something to take her out of herself. To this Rosamund agreed. She said:
“You’re quite right. The shock has been very bad for a child of that age. It has made her terribly jumpy.”
“That is only natural, Mademoiselle. But at any age one soon forgets. Persuade her to come. You can, I know.”
Major Barry had refused firmly. He said he didn’t like picnics. “Lots of baskets to carry,” he said. “And darned uncomfortable. Eating my food at a table’s good enough for me.”
The party assembled at ten o’clock. Three cars had been ordered. Mr. Blatt was loud and cheerful, imitating a tourist guide.
“This way, ladies and gentlemen—this way for Dartmoor. Heather and bilberries, Devonshire cream and convicts. Bring your wives, gentlemen, or bring the other thing! Everyone welcome!