Evil Under the Sun Page #7

I know. Perhaps I'd better go

and see if any are missing...

Madame, unfortunately, there are

no nutcracker marks on the throat.

And Madame Christine

could not possibly have done it.

Her alibi had been confirmed by

Mademoiselle Linda, and vice versa.

How very irritating!

"Under the high... lazy...

...noonday Adriatic sun...

...the body lay on its back,

arms outstretched,

parodying in death a position

she so often occupied in life. "

Oh.

That is marvellous, that's...

Oh.

So, you've come, Monsieur Poirot,

to question me about poor Arlena.

I am shattered.

I am absolutely shattered.

She was so wonderfully funny,

so very generous...

Not generous enough

to give you a release

so that you could publish

that manuscript, eh?

Who told you that?

Never mind, but it is the truth,

n'est-ce pas?

You cannot libel the dead.

Now you are free to publish

your saucy tales and reap the reward.

Well, I would admit, from that

point of view, I have benefitted.

Oh, but I assure you, monsieur,

that the loss of so radiant a performer

infinitely exceeds

any possible gain to myself.

You must believe that.

The time of death has been narrowed

to between 11:
30 and 12:00.

Where were you at this time?

I was on a pedalo.

A pedalo?

Whereabouts?

How should I know?

I wasn't carrying a chart at the time.

Oh, que c'est amusant.

How amusing that is!

Chart or no chart, it was perfectly

possible for you to have watched

Sir Horace Blattk boat leave and then

to have pedaloed into Ladder Bay,

there to find the unsuspecting

Arlena asleep,

and then you strangled her.

Monsieur Poirot, are you aware

that it would take nearly two hours

to paddle around the island

from Ladder Bay to Gull Bay?

At 12 o'clock precisely,

as that boring old gun went off

I pedalled into Gull Bay.

Linda was there, swimming.

In fact I nearly hit her, she was

splashing around like a deaf seal.

You say

that you saw Mlle Linda

swimming in Gull Bay at 12 o'clock?

Certainly, I asked her

to help me pedal back,

but the little charmer refused.

What do you want?

What did you say?

I said, Good god, darling.

Help me pedal this damned thing back.

My legs are killing me.

Pedal it back yourself.

So you see, darling,

I simply could not have killed Arlena.

Monsieur, if you are so anxious

to find a murderer,

why don't you find out

who tried to murder me?

Murder you? What do you mean?

Well, after I'd been left by that lazy

little cow Linda to rupture myself,

I pedalled off.

About ten minutes later,

a bottle came whizzing over the cliff

and smacked down in the water

fight next to me.

The damned thing missed my head

by inches.

I looked up,

there's nobody around.

I must congratulate you on that highly

interesting and imaginative story.

I refer of course to your visit, your

fictional visit, to Gull Bay at noon.

What do you mean "fictional"?

Linda!

Mademoiselle Linda denies

having seen anyone there at the time.

What?

Oh, that lousy little hoyden!

I... know she loathes me because I

adored Arlena, but this is ridiculous.

You just wait till I catch her...

You! Linda!

Linda. You... You just wait!

Stay right...

Linda! You tell Monsieur Poirot

that I was with you this morning

when you were swimming in Gull Cove.

Why should I?

You weren't.

You lying little brat!

You just tell him that you saw me

on the pedalo.

You tell him that you refused to

help me pedal back! You tell him!

- You tell him!

- Take your hands off my daughter!

Then you tell her to tell him the truth!

Well, Linda, did you see Mr Brewster

when you were bathing in Gull Cove

this morning?

- Oh, alright then, yes, I did.

- Linda, you mustn't tell lies.

You can get people into serious trouble.

Serious trouble? Hell, darling!

You can get them hanged!

That was rather the idea,

was it not, mademoiselle?

I'm sorry.

Kindly accept my apologies, monsieur.

Incidentally, I accept your alibi.

That's real white of you,

Mr P!

No, Monsieur Poirot,

I am not as lucky as my dear wife.

I have absolutely no alibi.

I was sitting over there

on a stone bench reading my book

and between the hours of

11:
00 and 12:15 I didn't move.

Now, I'm well aware, Monsieur Poirot,

that in your world,

when a murder takes place

everyone automatically

comes up with a watertight alibi.

However, I belong to that great world

of millions of innocent men and women

who, curiously enough,

don't have the foresight

to provide themselves with an alibi

when a murder is taking place

of which they know absolutely nothing.

Consequently, as I

was guilelessly reading my book,

there was no gardener to come trotting

by respectfully touching his forelock

and registering the time

on his grandfather's turnip watch.

In short, Monsieur Poirot,

I don't have the ghost of an alibi.

Of course, I could have scampered over

the top of that peak,

like a mountain goat, and...

swarmed down the famous steps

we've all heard about,

and then crept up

on Arlena

and strangled her

with these powerful hands of mine.

But, unfortunately for you,

I did no such thing.

You see, I have a big fat motive

but no alibi.

Next question?

Next question is what did you do

when you had finished

being unobserved in the garden?

I went up to my room, again unobserved,

to change for tennis.

I was rather thirsty and so I rang

the bell. Naturally, no one answered.

Where the goddamn staff

had disappeared to was a mystery,

and worthy even of your talents,

Monsieur Poirot.

I turned on the tap,

but there was no water, not a drop.

Someone was running a bath

down the hall fit to float Noah's Ark.

"Damned odd time for a bath,"

I'd have said.

Anyway, I changed

and appeared suitably attired

in my Fred Peny outfit

on the tennis court at precisely 12:30

to join Daphne and Marshall.

Mrs Redfern came a few minutes later.

And that, Monsieur Poirot...

concludes the case for the defence.

You make pleasantries, monsieur,

but no alibi is still...

...no alibi.

If you're looking for that,

I've got it in here.

I've been using it to

sort everything out for you.

I was wrong about

cherchez la femme.

But it's quite obviously

cherchez le fruit.

Rexy is the only one unaccounted for.

Look, I'll show you.

At 11:
30 Arlena Marshall was left here

alive by Horace Blatt,

who then sailed on down here. At the

same time, Myra and Patrick were here,

Linda and Christine were here,

Kenneth was here

and I was in my staff meeting.

It has just got to be

our genial columnist.

And, what's more, I know how he did it.

Oh, you do, madame?

Absolutely! Recently I was reading a

magazine story about a woman in Malaya

who was drowned by a huge moray eel

which darted out of a hole,

dragged her to the floor of the ocean,

its teeth buried in her throat.

Now that's what gave me

the clue I needed.

Rex... Rex Brewster could've been

lurking in the water off Ladder Bay,

and when Arlena appeared on her pedalo,

he could have leapt up,

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