Evil Under the Sun Page #6

to the lighthouse this morning.

You went alone, I believe?

Yes, I did.

And you must have passed the bay

on which Arlena was murdered?

Yes. Yes, I did.

I also saw Arlena sunning herself.

Oh, but then you must have

taken the same path home.

There is no logical alternative.

And I am suggesting to you,

you could have gone down to the beach,

murdered Arlena Marshall

and still been in time

for your staff meeting at 11:30.

What utter balderdash! You can't

possibly think I'd want to kill Arlena

just because the silly cow

succeeded on the boards and I didn't.

No, that I do not think.

But there is a certain tenderness

between you and Monsieur Marshall.

Otherwise why take that absurd risk

of trying to protect him just now?

What if there is?

What does it matter?

It matters because

Madame Arlena was in the way.

Monsieur Poirot, you have

the French obsession...

I'm sorry, Belgian obsession,

with crime passionnel.

But you're barking up the wrong tree.

You see, I know, I know who did it.

Oh! You do, madame?

Of course.

It was Sir Horace Blatt.

When I came back here

from my walk at about 11:15,

I saw him down on the beach.

He was jumping up and down

and screaming blue murder at Arlena.

I've never seen a fellow in such a fury.

Why did not you tell me this before,

madame?

He is an old chum, isn't he? I didn't

know then you were going to start

hurling accusations at me and Kenneth.

But he is the chap you want. Why

don't you run along and question him?

Yes. I already have done, madame.

And he is exonerated by his crew.

All the same,

his story does confirm yours.

Without knowing it, you have

corroborated your own alibi.

Bravo, madame.

I'm sorry, Kenneth.

I nearly put you in it.

I was only trying to help.

I know. I forgive you.

I don't want

to hear any more, Patrick.

If you hadn't been poodlefaking

with that awful woman,

you wouldn't have been there

in the first place.

Oh, madame.

May I have a quick word with you?

About how you spent this morning.

Why me?

I've got nothing to do with all this.

You had no reason to love

Arlena Marshall, madame.

Perhaps not.

But I was with Linda all morning.

I went to her room early to ask her

to come to Gull Cove to do

some sketching, she wasn't there.

I mean, she came along a few moments

later. She'd been swimming.

And then we set off

and we were there all morning.

If you don't believe me, ask Linda.

She'll tell you...

- Calmez vous, madame.

- Mr Poirot, I'm alright now

I want you to think about this

very, very carefully.

At what time precisely did you

leave the cove this morning?

I was there until 12 o'clock

and I went off for my tennis game.

- You had a watch?

- No. No, I didn't.

Then how did you know it was

precisely 12 o'clock?

Because, well, when I climbed to the top

of the cliff and was waving to Linda,

who'd gone for a swim,

that awful gun went off.

The one they fire at noon eve/y day.

What did you do then, madame?

Well, I was late, you

see, for my tennis

which was fixed for 12:30,

so I simply tore back to the hotel

as fast as I could

and changed into my tennis things.

And I went to the court

where I met the others.

Mr Marshall, Mrs Castle

and Mr Gardener.

I played with Mr Gardener:

- I'm sorry I'm late.

- Not at all, my dear.

I was sketching at Gull Cove.

Lost track of the time.

Don't worry. It's only a matter of

four minutes exactly.

I'm afraid you have to play with me.

We'd barely started

when the news about

Arlena came.

Of course,

it's a dreadful thing, Mr Poirot,

but I can't pretend

that I'm not...

A little relieved.

Well, I can understand that.

Is there anything else you want to ask?

Not for the time being.

Come in.

- Hello.

- Hello.

Excuse me, mademoiselle,

for intruding into your grief.

Grief? That's a good one.

Why should I be sorry for Arlena?

You hated her so much?

I'm glad she's dead

if that's what you mean.

She was horrid to me

and beastly to my daddy.

Would you mind if I ask you

a few questions about this morning?

Why should I?

I was with Christine Redfern.

She wanted to go to Gull Cove

to draw some stupid cliffs.

And did she?

Oh, yes. She sat under her big hat

while I sunbathed.

She gets all blistered

if she sits out in the sun.

- Yes.

- It's bad luck really.

Here it is. She gave it to me.

It's not bad really.

No, she has talent, that one.

These are undeniably, er... cliffs.

When did she leave you?

- Five to 12.

- How can you be so sure?

Because she asked me.

What time is it, dear?

Five to 12.

Lord, I must fly!

I'm playing tennis at 12:30.

She got into a fearful panic

about being late for tennis

and rushed off back to the hotel.

- Would you like this?

- Thanks. It's super.

I'll see you later after my swim.

I remember I was halfway down the beach

when Christine called after me.

Don't forget your bathing cap!

I'd forgotten my bathing cap,

so I had to come back and put it on.

What a bore!

Did you see anyone else

while you were swimming?

No, no one. Apart that is from Christine

waving from the top of the cliff.

Look! Why don't you stop asking me all

these silly questions about Christine?

She couldn't have murdered Arlena.

Neither could I.

That slimy Rex Brewster's

the one you should be talking to.

He hated Arlena. He's the one

who really wanted her dead.

How can you say that?

He admired her so much.

Don't be daft!

He'd written this filthy book about her

which she wouldn't allow him to publish.

Excuse me, mademoiselle,

but how do you know all this?

I heard them having a row about it

on the beach yesterday.

They thought I'd gone away,

but I hadn't.

Maybe he won't be able to publish it

if he's hanged for murder first.

If I can't see you faces shining

in every knife, fork and spoon,

I'll have your guts for garters!

Madame! Have you any idea

where I can find Monsieur Brewster?

Rex? I thought I saw him

go out into the garden.

Oh, but...

He's not the one you want.

You should cherchez la femme.

Really, madame?

Absolutely, I have been having

a little think, and I worked it all out.

If Horace Blatt is in the clear

and Kenneth Marshall is in the clear

and I'm... I'm in the clear,

and Patrick Redfern is in the clear and

Myra Gardener because she was with him.

Then it's all down to

little Miss Cringe, isn't it?

Miss Cringe?

Yes. The jealous wife,

Christine Redfern.

Don't believe all that

about her being too weedy.

Women fight like tigers

when losing their husbands.

Not that I've had much experience

in that.

But what is your theory?

I mean, how did Madame Christine do it?

I don't know. Probably battered

Arlena with a bit of driftwood,

then finished her off with a little

pressure on the... carotid artery?

The artery there,

yes, yes.

Everyone knows that.

It's in all the crime novels.

In fact, only the other day a child of

11 did something like that, in Hungary.

Or was it Crete? I don't know...

Anyway, she used a pair of nutcrackers.

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