Зло под солнцем / Evil Under the Sun Кристи Агата

Chapter 7

Christine stared at him, not seeming at once to take in what he meant.

She answered almost mechanically. “I suppose – because she was being blackmailed. She was the sort of person who would be.”

Colonel Weston said earnestly: “But – do you know she was being blackmailed?”

A faint colour rose in the girl’s cheeks.

She said rather awkwardly: “As a matter of fact I do happen to know it. I–I overheard something.”

“Will you explain, Mrs Redfern?”

Flushing still more, Christine Redfern said:

“I–I didn’t mean to overhear. It was an accident. It was two – no, three nights ago. We were playing bridge.” She turned towards Poirot. “You remember? My husband and I, M. Poirot and Miss Darnley. I was dummy. It was very stuffy in the card room, and I slipped out of the window for a breath of fresh air. I went down towards the beach and I suddenly heard voices. One – it was Arlena Marshall’s – I knew it at once – said: ‘It’s no good pressing me. I can’t get any more money now. My husband will suspect something.’ And then a man’s voice said: ‘I’m not taking any excuses. You’ve got to cough up.’ And then Arlena Marshall said: ‘You blackmailing brute!’ And the man said: ‘Brute or not, you’ll pay up, my lady.’” Christine paused. “I’d turned back and a minute after Arlena Marshall rushed past me. She looked – well, frightfully upset.”

Weston said: “And the man? Do you know who he was?”

Christine Redfern shook her head. She said:

“He was keeping his voice low. I barely heard what he said.”

“It didn’t suggest the voice to you of any one you knew?”

She thought again, but once more shook her head. She said:

“No, I don’t know. It was gruff and low. It – oh, it might have been anybody’s.”

Colonel Weston said: “Thank you, Mrs Redfern.”

When the door had closed behind Christine Redfern Inspector Colgate said:

“Now we are getting somewhere!”

Weston said: “You think so, eh?”

“Well, it’s suggestive, sir, you can’t get away from it. Somebody in this hotel was blackmailing the lady.”

Poirot murmured: “But it is not the wicked blackmailer who lies dead. It is the victim.”

“That’s a bit of a setback, I agree,” said the Inspector. “Blackmailers aren’t in the habit of bumping off their victims. But what it does give us is this, it suggests a reason for Mrs Marshall’s curious behaviour this morning. She’d got a rendezvous with this fellow who was blackmailing her, and she didn’t want either her husband or Redfern to know about it.”

“It certainly explains that point,” agreed Poirot.

Inspector Colgate went on: “And think of the place chosen. The very spot for the purpose. The lady goes off on her float. That’s natural enough. It’s what she does every day. She goes round to Pixy Cove where no one ever goes in the morning and which will be a nice quiet place for an interview.”

Poirot said: “But yes, I too was struck by that point. It is, as you say, an ideal spot for a rendezvous. It is deserted, it is only accessible from the land side by descending a vertical steel ladder which is not everybody’s money, bien entendu. Moreover, most of the beach is invisible from above because of the overhanging cliff. And it has another advantage. Mr Redfern told me of that one day. There is a cave on it, the entrance to which is not easy to find but where any one could wait unseen.”

Weston said: “Of course, the Pixy’s Cave – remember hearing about it.”

Inspector Colgate said: “Haven’t heard it spoken of for years, though. We’d better have a look inside it. Never know, we might find a pointer of some kind.”

Weston said: “Yes, you’re right, Colgate, we’ve got the solution to part one of the puzzle. Why did Mrs Marshall go to Pixy’s Cove? We want the other half of that solution, though. Who did she go there to meet? Presumably someone staying in this hotel. None of them fitted as a lover – but a blackmailer’s a different proposition.” He drew the register towards him. “Excluding the waiters, boots, etc., whom I don’t think likely, we’ve got the following. The American – Gardener, Major Barry, Mr Horace Blatt, and the Reverend Stephen Lane.”

Inspector Colgate said: “We can narrow it down a bit, sir. We might almost rule out the American, I think. He was on the beach all the morning. That’s so, isn’t it, M. Poirot?”

Poirot replied: “He was absent for a short time when he fetched a skein of wool for his wife.”

Colgate said: “Oh, well, we needn’t count that.”

Weston said: “And what about the other three?”

“Major Barry went out at ten o’clock this morning. He returned at one-thirty. Mr Lane was earlier still. He breakfasted at eight. Said he was going for a tramp. Mr Blatt went off for a sail at nine-thirty same as he does most days. Neither of them is back yet?”

“A sail, eh?” Colonel Weston’s voice was thoughtful.

Inspector Colgate’s voice was responsive. He said: “Might fit in rather well, sir.”

Weston said: “Well, we’ll have a word with this Major bloke – and let me see, who else is there? Rosamund Darnley. And there’s the Brewster woman who found the body with Redfern. What’s she like, Colgate?”

“Oh, a sensible party, sir. No nonsense about her.”

“She didn’t express any opinions on the death?”

The inspector shook his head.

“I don’t think she’ll have anything more to tell us, sir, but we’ll have to make sure. Then there are the Americans.”

Colonel Weston nodded. He said:

“Let’s have ‘em all in and get it over as soon as possible. Never know, might learn something. About the blackmailing stunt if about nothing else.”

Mr and Mrs Gardener came into the presence of authority together. Mrs Gardener explained immediately.

“I hope you’ll understand how it is, Colonel Weston (that is the name, I think?).” Reassured on this point she went on: “But this has been a very bad shock to me and Mr Gardener is always very, very careful of my health – ”

Mr Gardener here interpolated. “Mrs Gardener,” he said, “is very sensitive.”

“– and he said to me, ‘Why, Carrie,’ he said, ‘naturally I’m coming right along with you.’ It’s not that we haven’t the highest admiration for British police methods, because we have. I’ve been told that British police procedure is the most refined and delicate and I’ve never doubted it and certainly when I once had a bracelet missing at the Savoy Hotel nothing could have been more lovely and sympathetic than the young man who came to see me about it, and of course I hadn’t really lost the bracelet at all, but just mislaid it, that’s the worst of rushing about so much, it makes you kind of forgetful where you put things – ” Mrs Gardener paused, inhaled gently and started off again. “And what I say is, and I know Mr Gardener agrees with me, that we’re only too anxious to do anything to help the British police in every way. So go right ahead and ask me anything at all you want to know – ”

Colonel Weston opened his mouth to comply with this invitation but had momentarily to postpone speech while Mrs Gardener went on.

“That’s what I said, Odell, isn’t it? And that’s so, isn’t it?”

“Yes, darling,” said Mr Gardener.

Colonel Weston spoke hastily. “I understand, Mrs Gardener, that you and your husband were on the beach all the morning?”

For once Mr Gardener was able to get in first.

“That’s so,” he said.

“Why, certainly we were,” said Mrs Gardener. “And a lovely peaceful morning it was, just like any other morning, if you get me, perhaps even more so, and not the slightest idea in our minds of what was happening round the corner on that lonely beach.”

“Did you see Mrs Marshall at all today?”

“We did not. And I said to Odell, ‘Why, wherever can Mrs Marshall have got to this morning?’ I said. And first her husband coming looking for her and then that good-looking young man, Mr Redfern, and so impatient he was, just sitting there on the beach scowling at every one and everything. And I said to myself, ‘Why, when he has that nice pretty little wife of his own, must he go running after that dreadful woman?’ Because that’s just what I felt she was. I always felt that about her, didn’t I, Odell?”

“Yes, darling.”

“However that nice Captain Marshall came to marry such a woman I just cannot imagine – and with that nice young daughter growing up, and it’s so important for girls to have the right influence. Mrs Marshall was not at all the right person – no breeding at all – and I should say a very animal nature. Now if Captain Marshall had had any sense he’d have married Miss Darnley who’s a very, very charming woman and a very distinguished one. I must say I admire the way she’s gone straight ahead and built up a first-class business as she has. It takes brains to do a thing like that – and you’ve only to look at Rosamund Darnley to see she’s just frantic with brains. She could plan and carry out any mortal thing she liked. I just admire that woman more than I can say. And I said to Mr Gardener the other day that anyone could see she was very much in love with Captain Marshall – crazy about him was what I said, didn’t I, Odell?”

“Yes, darling.”

“It seems they knew each other as children, and, why, now, who knows, it may all come right after all with that woman out of the way. I’m not a narrow-minded woman, Colonel Weston, and it isn’t that I disapprove of the stage as such – why, quite a lot of my best friends are actresses – but I’ve said to Mr Gardener all along that there was something evil about that woman. And you see, I’ve been proved right.”

She paused triumphantly. The lips of Hercule Poirot quivered in a little smile. His eyes met for a minute the shrewd grey eyes of Mr Gardener. Colonel Weston said rather desperately:

“Well, thank you, Mrs Gardener. I suppose there’s nothing that either of you has noticed since you’ve been here that might have a bearing upon the case?”

“Why, no, I don’t think so.” Mr Gardener spoke with a slow drawl. “Mrs Marshall was around with young Redfern most of the time – but everybody can tell you that.”

“What about her husband? Did he mind, do you think?”

Mr Gardener said cautiously: “Captain Marshall is a very reserved man.”

Mrs Gardener confirmed this by saying: “Why, yes, he is a real Britisher!”

On the slightly apoplectic countenance of Major Barry various emotions seemed contending for mastery. He was endeavouring to look properly horrified but could not subdue a kind of shamefaced 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. Not acquainted with the parties. But I’ve knocked about a bit in my time. Lived a lot in the East, you know. And I can tell you that after being in an Indian hill station what you don’t know about human 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 it Falconer? 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’ on with some feller or other and he’d got wise to it. By Jove, he nearly did for her! It was touch and go. 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 anything about 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 a string all right. And there were probably others before him. But the funny thing is, you know, that husbands are a dense lot. Amazin’. I’ve been surprised by it again and again. They see a fellow sweet on their wife but they don’t see that she’s sweet on him! Remember a case like that in Poona. 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 know of 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 Gull Cove – ” Here he winked knowingly and gave a deep hoarse chuckle – “Very pretty it was, too. But it’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 where nothin’ 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 at Leathercombe 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 put somethin’ 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. Damned confusing part of the world. I only got back half an hour ago.”

Colonel Weston said: “Speak to any one or meet any one 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 people in St Loo – but that’s not to say they’ll remember seem’ 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 the papers will call it. Reminds me of the time – ”

It was Inspector Colgate who firmly nipped this latest reminiscence in the bud and manoeuvred the 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 old bores like him going about. Remember one or two of them in my Army days. Still – he’s a possibility. 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 and went 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 round about half past eleven. High tide was at seven. Low tide would be about one o’clock. People would 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 guests were on the bathing beach except for Mrs Redfern and the Marshall girl who were down in Gull Cove, and the beginning of that path would only be overlooked by a few rooms of the hotel and there are plenty of chances against any one looking out of those windows just at that moment. For the matter of that, I daresay it’s possible for a man to walk up to the hotel, through the lounge and out again without any one happening to see him. But what I say is, he couldn’t count on no one seeing 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 near by, he could have left the car, rowed or sailed to Pixy’s Cove, done the murder, rowed back, picked up the car and arrived back with this tale about having been to St Loo and lost his way – a story that he’d know would be 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.”

Emily Brewster was not able to add anything of material value to what they already knew. Weston said after she had repeated her story:

“And there’s nothing you know of that could help us in any way?”

Emily Brewster said shortly: “Afraid not. It’s a distressing business. However I expect you’ll soon get to the bottom of it.”

Weston said: “I hope so too.”

Emily Brewster said drily: “Ought not to be difficult.”

“Now what do you mean by that, Miss Brewster?”

“Sorry. Wasn’t attempting to teach you your business. All I meant was that with a woman of that kind it ought to be easy enough.”

Hercule Poirot murmured: “That is your opinion?”

Emily Brewster snapped out: “Of course. De mortuis nil nisi bonum and all that, but you can’t get away from facts. That woman was a bad lot through and through. You’ve only got to hunt round a bit in her unsavoury past.”

Hercule Poirot said gently: “You did not like her?”

“I know a bit too much about her.” In answer to the inquiring looks she went on. “My first cousin married one of the Erskines. You’ve probably heard that that woman induced old Sir Robert when he was in his dotage to leave most of his fortune to her away from his own family.”

Colonel Weston said: “And the family – er – resented that?”

“Naturally. His association with her was a scandal anyway and on top of that to leave her a sum like fifty thousand pounds shows just the kind of woman she was. I daresay I sound hard, but in my opinion the Arlena Stuarts of this world deserve very little sympathy. I know of something else too – a young fellow who lost his head about her completely – he’d always been a bit wild, naturally his association with her pushed him over the edge. He did something rather fishy with some shares – solely to get money to spend on her – and only just managed to escape prosecution. That woman contaminated every one she met. Look at the way she was ruining young Redfern. No, I’m afraid I can’t have any regret for her death – though of course it would have been better if she’d drowned herself, or fallen over a cliff. Strangling is rather unpleasant.”

“And you think the murderer was someone out of her past?”

“Yes, I do.”

“Someone who came from the mainland with no one seeing him?”

“Why should anyone see him? We were all on the beach. I gather the Marshall child and Christine Redfern were down on Gull Cove out of the way. Captain Marshall was in his room in the hotel. Then who on earth was there to see him except possibly Miss Darnley?”

“Where was Miss Darnley?”

“Sitting up on the cutting at the top of the cliff. Sunny Ledge it’s called. We saw her there, Mr Redfern and I, when we were rowing round the island.”

Colonel Weston said: “You may be right, Miss Brewster.”

Emily Brewster said positively: “I’m sure I’m right. When a woman’s neither more nor less than a nasty mess, then she herself will provide the best possible clue. Don’t you agree with me, M. Poirot?”

Hercule Poirot looked up. His eyes met her confident grey ones. He said:

“Oh, yes – I agree with that which you have just this minute said. Arlena Marshall herself is the best, the only clue, to her own death.”

Miss Brewster said sharply: “Well, then!”

She stood there, an erect sturdy figure, her cool self-confident glance going from one man to the other.

Colonel Weston said: “You may be sure, Miss Brewster, that any clue there may be in Mrs Marshall’s past life will not be overlooked.”

Emily Brewster went out.

Inspector Colgate shifted his position at the table.

He said in a thoughtful voice: “She’s a determined one, she is. And she’d got her knife in to the dead lady, proper, she had.” He stopped a minute and said reflectively: “It’s a pity in a way that she’s got a cast-iron alibi for the whole morning. Did you notice her hands, sir? As big as a man’s. And she’s a hefty woman – as strong and stronger than many a man I’d say…” He paused again. His glance at Poirot was almost pleading. “And you say she never left the beach this morning, M. Poirot?”

Slowly Poirot shook his head. He said:

“My dear Inspector, she came down to the beach before Mrs Marshall could have reached Pixy’s Cove and she was within my sight until she set off with Mr Redfern in the boat.”

Inspector Colgate said gloomily: “Then that washes her out.”

He seemed upset about it.

As always, Hercule Poirot felt a keen sense of pleasure at the sight of Rosamund Darnley. Even to a bare police inquiry into the ugly facts of murder she brought a distinction of her own.

She sat down opposite Colonel Weston and turned a grave and intelligent face to him. She said:

“You want my name and address? Rosamund Anne Darnley. I carry on a dressmaking business under the name of Rose Mond, Ltd at 622 Brook Street.”

“Thank you. Miss Darnley. Now can you tell us anything that may help us?”

“I don’t really think I can.”

“Your own movements – ”

“I had breakfast about nine-thirty. Then I went up to my room and collected some books and my sunshade and went out to Sunny Ledge. That must have been about twenty-five past ten. I came back to the hotel about ten minutes to twelve, went up and got my tennis racquet and went out to the tennis courts where I played tennis until lunchtime.”

“You were in the cliff recess, called by the hotel, Sunny Ledge, from about half past ten until ten minutes to twelve?”