"Who was we?"
"Mrs Redfern, Miss Darnley, Mr Gardener and myself. I came down at twelve o'clock and went up to the court. Miss Darnley was there and Mr Gardener. Mrs Redfern arrived a few minutes later. We played tennis for an hour. Just as we came into the hotel afterwards I - I - got the news."
"Thank you. Captain Marshall. Just as a matter of form, is there any one who can corroborate the fact that you were typing in your room between - er - ten minutes to eleven and ten minutes to twelve?"
Kenneth Marshall said with a faint smile: "Have you got some idea that I killed my own wife? Let me see now. The chambermaid was about doing the rooms. She must have heard the typewriter going. And then there are the letters themselves. With all this upset I haven't posted them. I should imagine they are as good evidence as anything."
He took three letters from his pocket. They were addressed, but not stamped. He said: "Their contents, by the way, are strictly confidential. But when it's a case of murder, one is forced to trust in the discretion of the police. They contain lists of figures and various financial statements. I think you will find that if you put one of your men on to type them out, he won't do it in much under an hour." He paused. "Satisfied, I hope?"
Weston said smoothly: "It is no question of suspicion. Every one on the island will be asked to account for his or her movements between a quarter to eleven and twenty minutes to twelve this morning."
Kenneth Marshall said: "Quite."
Weston said: "One more thing, Captain Marshall. Do you know anything about the way your wife was likely to have disposed of any property she had?"
"You mean a will? I don't think she ever made a will."
"Her solicitors are Barkett, Markett & Applegood, Bedford Square. They saw to all her contracts, etc. But I'm fairly certain she never made a will. She said once that doing a thing like that would give her the shivers."
"In that case, if she has died intestate, you, as her husband, succeed to her property."
"Yes, I suppose I do."
"Had she any near relatives?"
"I don't think so. If she had, she never mentioned them. I know that her father and mother died when she was a child and she had no brothers or sisters."
"In any case, I suppose, she had nothing very much to leave?"
Kenneth Marshall said coolly: "On the contrary. Only two years ago, Sir Robert Erskine, who was an old friend of hers, died and left her a good deal of his fortune. It amounted, I think, to about fifty thousand pounds."
Inspector Colgate looked up. An alertness came into his glance. Up to now he had been silent. Now he asked: "Then actually. Captain Marshall, your wife was a rich woman?"
Kenneth Marshall shrugged his shoulders. "I suppose she was really."
"And you still say she did not make a will?"
"You can ask the solicitors. But I'm pretty certain she didn't. As I tell you, she thought it unlucky." There was a pause, then Marshall added: "Is there anything further?"
Weston shook his head. "Don't think so - eh, Colgate? No. Once more, Captain Marshall, let me offer you all my sympathy in your loss."
Marshall blinked. He said jerkily: "Oh - thanks." He went out.
The three men looked at each other. Weston said: "Cool customer. Not giving anything away, is he? What do you make of him, Colgate?"
The Inspector shook his head. "It's difficult to tell. He's not the kind that shows anything. That sort makes a bad impression in the witness box, and yet it's a bit unfair on them really. Sometimes they're as cut up as anything and yet can't show it. That kind of manner made the jury bring in a verdict of Guilty against Wallace. It wasn't the evidence. They just couldn't believe that a man could lose his wife and talk and act so coolly about it."
Weston turned to Poirot. "What do you think, Poirot?"
Hercule Poirot raised his hands. He said: "What can one say? He is the closed box - the fastened oyster. He has chosen his role. He has heard nothing, he has seen nothing, he knows nothing!"
"We've got a choice of motives," said Colgate. "There's jealousy and there's the money motive. Of course, in a way, a husband's the obvious suspect. One naturally thinks of him first. If he knew his missus was carrying on with the other chap -"
Poirot interrupted. He said: "I think he knew that."
"Why do you say so?"
"Listen, my friend. Last night I had been talking with Mrs Redfern on Sunny Ledge. I came down from there to the hotel and on my way I saw those two together - Mrs Marshall and Patrick Redfern. And a moment or two after I met Captain Marshall. His face was very stiff. It says nothing - but nothing at all! It is almost too blank, if you understand me. Oh! He knew all right."
Colgate grunted doubtfully. He said: "Oh, well, if you think so -"
"I am sure of it! But even then, what does that tell us? What did Kenneth Marshall feel about his wife?"
Colonel Weston said: "Takes her death coolly enough."
Poirot shook his head in a dissatisfied manner. Inspector Colgate said: "Sometimes these quiet ones are the most violent underneath, so to speak. It's all bottled up. He may have been madly fond of her - and madly jealous. But he's not the kind to show it."
Poirot said slowly: "That is possible - yes. He is a very interesting character, this Captain Marshall. I interest myself in him greatly. And in his alibi."
"Alibi by typewriter," said Weston with a short bark of a laugh. "What have you got to say about that, Colgate?"
Inspector Colgate screwed up his eyes. He said: "Well, you know, sir, I rather fancy that alibi. It's not too good, if you know what I mean. It's - well, it's natural. And if we find the chambermaid was about, and did hear the typewriter going, well then, it seems to me that it's all right and that we'll have to look elsewhere."
"H'm," said Colonel Weston. "Where are you going to look?"
For a minute or two the three men pondered the question. Inspector Colgate spoke first. He said: "It boils down to this - was it an outsider, or a guest at the hotel? I'm not eliminating the servants entirely, mind, but I don't expect for a minute that we'll find any of them had a hand in it. No, it's a hotel guest, or it's some one from right outside. We've got to look at it this way. First of all - motive. There's gain. The only person to gain by her death was the lady's husband it seems. What other motives are there? First and foremost - jealousy. It seems to me - just looking at it - that if ever you've got a crime passionnel (he bowed to Poirot) this is one."
Poirot murmured as he looked up at the ceiling: "There are so many passions."
Inspector Colgate went on: "Her husband wouldn't allow that she had any enemies - real enemies, that is, but I don't believe for a minute that that's so! I should say that a lady like her would - well, would make some pretty bad enemies - eh, sir, what do you say?"
Poirot responded. He said: "Mais oui, that is so. Arlena Marshall would make enemies. But in my opinion, the enemy theory is not tenable, for you see. Inspector, Arlena Marshall's enemies would, I think, as I said just now, always be women."
Colonel Weston grunted and said: "Something in that. It's the women who've got their knife into her here all right."
Poirot went on: "It seems to be hardly possible that the crime was committed by a woman. What does the medical evidence say?"
Weston grunted again. He said: "Neasdon's pretty confident that she was strangled by a man. Big hands - powerful grip. It's just possible, of course, that an unusually athletic woman might have done it - but it's damned unlikely."
Poirot nodded. "Exactly. Arsenic in a cup of tea - a box of poisoned chocolates - a knife - even a pistol - but strangulation - no! It is a man we have to look for. And immediately," he went on, "it becomes more difficult. There are two people here in this hotel who have a motive for wishing Arlena Marshall out of the way - but both of them are women."
Colonel Weston asked: "Redfern's wife is one of them, I suppose?"
"Yes. Mrs Redfern might have made up her mind to kill Arlena Stuart. She had, let us say, ample cause. I think, too, that it would be possible for Mrs Redfern to commit a murder. But not this kind of murder. For all her unhappiness and jealousy, she is not, I should say, a woman of strong passions. In love, she would be devoted and loyal - not passionate. As I said just now - arsenic in the teacup - possibly - strangulation, no. I am sure, also, that she is physically incapable of committing this crime and her hands and feet are small below the average."
Weston nodded. He said: "This isn't a woman's crime. No, a man did this."
Inspector Colgate coughed. "Let me put forward a solution, sir. Say that prior to meeting this Mr Redfern the lady had had another affair with some one - call him X. She turns down X for Mr Redfern. X is mad with rage and jealousy. He follows her down here, stays somewhere in the neighborhood, comes over to the island and does her in. It's a possibility!"
Weston said: "It's possible, all right. And if it's true, it ought to be easy to prove. Did he come on foot or in a boat? The latter seems more likely. If so, he must have hired a boat somewhere. You'd better make inquiries."
He looked across at Poirot. "What do you think of Colgate's suggestion?"
Poirot said slowly: "It leaves, somehow, too much to chance. And besides - somewhere the picture is not true. I cannot, you see, imagine this man... the man who is mad with rage and jealousy."
Colgate said: "People did go potty about her, though, sir. Look at Redfern."
"Yes, yes... But all the same -" Colgate looked at him questioningly. Poirot shook his head. He said frowning: "Somewhere, there is something we have missed..."
Chapter 6
Colonel Weston was poring over the hotel register. He read aloud.
"Major and Mrs Cowan, Miss Pamela Cowan, Master Robert Cowan, Master Evan Cowan. Rydal's Mount, Leatherhead.
"Mr and Mrs Masterman, Mr Edward Masterman, Miss Jennifer Masterman, Mr Roy Masterman, Master Frederick Masterman. 5 Malborough Avenue, London, N.W.
"Mr and Mrs Gardener. New York.
"Mr and Mrs Redfern. Crossgates, Seldon, Princes Risborough.
"Major Barry. 18 Cardon Street, St James, London, S.W.1.
"Mr Horace Blatt. 5 Pickersgill Street, London, E.C.2.
"Mr Hercule Poirot. Whitehaven Mansions, London, W.1.
"Miss Rosamund Darnley. 8 Cardigan Court, W.1.
"Miss Emily Brewster. Southgates, Sunbury-on-Thames.
"Rev. Stephen Lane. London.
"Captain and Mrs Marshall. 73 Upscott Mansions.
"Miss Linda Marshall. London, S.W.7."
He stopped. Inspector Colgate said: "I think, sir, that we can wash out the first two entries. Mrs Castle tells me that the Mastermans and the Cowans come here regularly every summer with their children. This morning they went off on an all-day excursion sailing, taking lunch with them. They left just after nine o'clock. A man called Andrew Baston took them. We can check up for him, but I think we can put them right out of it."
Weston nodded. "I agree. Let's eliminate every one we can. Can you give us a pointer on any of the rest of them, Poirot?"
Poirot said: "Superficially, that is easy. The Gardeners are a middle-aged married couple, pleasant, travelled. All the talking is done by the lady. The husband is acquiescent. He plays tennis and golf and has a form of dry humour that is attractive when one gets him to oneself."
"Sounds quite O.K."
"Next - the Redferns. Mr Redfern is young, attractive to women, a magnificent swimmer, a good tennis player and accomplished dancer. His wife I have already spoken of to you. She is quiet, pretty in a washed-out way. She is, I think, devoted to her husband. She has something that Arlena Marshall did not have."
"What is that?"
"Brains."
Inspector Colgate sighed. He said: "Brains don't count for much when it comes to an infatuation, sir."
"Perhaps not. And yet I do truly believe that in spite of his infatuation for Mrs Marshall, Patrick Redfern really cares for his wife."
"That may be, sir. It wouldn't be the first time that's happened."
Poirot murmured: "That is the pity of it! It is always the thing women find it hardest to believe." He went on: "Major Barry, Retired Indian Army. An admirer of women. A teller of long and boring stories."
Inspector Colgate sighed. "You needn't go on. I've met a few, sir."
"Mr Horace Blatt. He is, apparently, a rich man. He talks a good deal - about Mr Blatt. He wants to be everybody's friend. It is sad. For nobody likes him very much. And there is something else. Mr Blatt last night asked me a good many questions. Mr Blatt was uneasy. Yes, there is something not quite right about Mr Blatt." He paused and went on with a change of voice: "Next comes Miss Rosamund Darnley. Her business name is Rose Mond, Ltd. She is a celebrated dressmaker. What can I say of her? She has brains and charm and chic. She is very pleasing to look at." He paused and added: "And she is a very old friend of Captain Marshall's."
Weston sat up in his chair. "Oh, she is, is she?"
"Yes. They had not met for some years."
Weston asked: "Did she know he was going to be down here?"
"She says not." Poirot paused and then went on: "Who comes next? Miss Brewster. I find her just a little alarming." He shook his head. "She has a voice like a man's. She is gruff and what you call hearty. She rows boats and has a handicap of four at golf." He paused. "I think, though, that she has a good heart."
Weston said: "That leaves only the Reverend Stephen Lane. Who's the Reverend Stephen Lane?"
