‘I suppose your father was-er-very wrapped up in her?’
Linda said simply:
‘I don’t know.’
Weston went on:
‘All sorts of difficulties, as I say, arise in families. Quarrels-rows-that sort of thing. If husband and wife get ratty with each other, that’s a bit awkward for a daughter too. Anything of that sort?’
Linda said clearly:
‘Do you mean, did Father and Arlena quarrel?’
‘Well-yes.’
Weston thought to himself:
‘Rotten business-questioning a child about her father. Why is one a policeman? Damn it all, it’s got to be done, though.’
Linda said positively:
‘Oh no.’ She added: ‘Father doesn’t quarrel with people. He’s not like that at all.’
Weston said:
‘Now, Miss Linda, I want you to think very carefully. Have you any idea at all who might have killed your stepmother? Is there anything you’ve ever heard or anything you know that could help us on that point?’
III
Patrick Redfern had recovered full composure by now. He looked pale and haggard and suddenly very young, but his manner was quite composed.
‘You are Mr Patrick Redfern of Crossgates, Seldon, Princes Risborough?’
‘Yes.’
‘How long had you known Mrs Marshall?’
Patrick Redfern hesitated, then said:
‘Three months.’
Weston went on:
‘Captain Marshall has told us that you and she met casually at a cocktail party. Is that right?’
‘Yes, that’s how it came about.’
Weston said:
‘Captain Marshall has implied that until you both met down here you did not know each other well. Is that the truth, Mr Redfern?’
Again Patrick Redfern hesitated a minute. Then he said:
‘Well-not exactly. As a matter of fact I saw a fair amount of her one way and another.’
‘Without Captain Marshall’s knowledge?’
Redfern flushed slightly. He said:
Patrick Redfern shook his head decisively.
‘Oh no, there was no question of anything like that. There was Christine, you see. And Arlena, I am sure, never thought of such a thing. She was perfectly satisfied married to Marshall. He’s-well, rather a big bug in his way-’ He smiled suddenly. ‘County-all that sort of thing, and quite well off. She never thought of me as a possiblehusband. No, I was just one of a succession of poor mutts-just something to pass the time with. I knew that all along, and yet, queerly enough, it didn’t alter my feeling towards her…’
His voice trailed off. He sat there thinking.
Weston recalled him to the needs of the moment.
‘Now, Mr Redfern, had you any particular appointment with Mrs Marshall this morning?’
Patrick Redfern looked slightly puzzled.
He said:
‘Not a particular appointment, no. We usually met every morning on the beach. We used to paddle about on floats.’
‘Were you surprised not to find Mrs Marshall there this morning?’
‘Yes, I was. Very surprised. I couldn’t understand it at all.’
‘What did you think?’
‘Well, I didn’t know what to think. I mean, all the time I thought she would be coming.’
‘If she were keeping an appointment elsewhere you had no idea with whom that appointment might be?’
Patrick Redfern merely stared and shook his head.
‘When you had arendezvous with Mrs Marshall, where did you meet?’
‘Well, sometimes I’d meet her in the afternoon down at Gull Cove. You see the sun is off Gull Cove in the afternoon and so there aren’t usually many people there. We met there once or twice.’
‘Never on the other cove?’ Pixy Cove?’
‘No. You see Pixy Cove faces west and people go round there in boats or on floats in the afternoon. We never tried to meet in the morning. It would have been too noticeable. In the afternoon people go and have a sleep or mouch around and nobody knows much where any one else is.’
IV
When Redfern had left the room, the Chief Constable observed with a slight smile:
‘Didn’t think it necessary to tell the fellow his wife had got an alibi. Wanted to hear what he’d have to say to the idea. Shook him up a bit, didn’t it?’
Hercule Poirot murmured:
‘The arguments he advanced were quite as strong as any alibi.’
‘Yes. Oh! she didn’t do it! She couldn’t have done it-physically impossible as you said. Marshallcould have done it-but apparently he didn’t.’
Inspector Colgate coughed. He said:
‘Excuse me, sir, I’ve been thinking about that alibi. It’s possible, you know, if he’d thought this thing out, that those letters were got readybeforehand.’
Weston said:
‘That’s a good idea. We must look into-’
He broke off as Christine Redfern entered the room.
She was, as always, calm and a little precise in manner. She was wearing a white tennis frock and a pale blue pullover. It accentuated her fair, rather anaemic prettiness. Yet, Hercule Poirot thought to himself, it was neither a silly face nor a weak one. It had plenty of resolution, courage and good sense. He nodded appreciatively.
Colonel Weston thought:
‘Nice little woman. Bit wishy-washy, perhaps. A lot too good for that philandering young ass of a husband of hers. Oh well, the boy’s young. Women usually make a fool of you once!’
He said:
‘Sit down, Mrs Redfern. We’ve got to go through a certain amount of routine, you see. Asking everybody for an account of their movements this morning. Just for our records.’
Christine Redfern nodded.
She said in her quiet precise voice.
‘Oh yes, I quite understand. Where do you want me to begin?’
Hercule Poirot said:
‘As early as possible, Madame. What did you do when you first got up this morning?’
Christine said:
‘Let me see. On my way down to breakfast I went into Linda Marshall’s room and fixed up with her to go to Gull Cove this morning. We agreed to meet in the lounge at half-past ten.’
Poirot asked:
‘You did not bathe before breakfast, Madame?’
‘No. I very seldom do.’ She smiled. ‘I like the sea well warmed before I get into it. I’m rather a chilly person.’
‘But your husband bathes then?’
‘Oh, yes. Nearly always.’
‘And Mrs Marshall, she also?’
A change came over Christine’s voice. It became cold and almost acrid.
She said:
‘Oh no, Mrs Marshall was the sort of person who never made an appearance before the middle of the morning.’
With an air of confusion, Hercule Poirot said:
‘Pardon, Madame, I interrupted you. You were saying that you went to Miss Linda Marshall’s room. What time was that?’
‘Let me see-half-past eight-no, a little later.’
‘And was Miss Marshall up then?’
‘Oh yes, she had been out.’
‘Out?’
‘Yes, she said she’d been bathing.’
There was a faint-a very faint note of embarrassment in Christine’s voice. It puzzled Hercule Poirot.
Weston said:
‘And then?’
‘Then I went down to breakfast.’
‘And after breakfast?’
‘I went upstairs, collected my sketching box and sketching book and we started out.’
‘You and Miss Linda Marshall?’
‘Yes.’
‘What time was that?’
‘I think it was just on half-past ten.’
‘And what did you do?’
‘We went to Gull Cove. You know, the cove on the east side of the island. We settled ourselves there. I did a sketch and Linda sunbathed.’
‘What time did you leave the cove?’
‘At a quarter to twelve. I was playing tennis at twelve and had to change.’
‘You had your watch with you?’
‘No, as a matter of fact I hadn’t. I asked Linda the time.’
‘I see. And then?’
‘I packed up my sketching things and went back to the hotel.’
Poirot said:
‘And Mademoiselle Linda?’
‘Linda?’ Oh, Linda went into the sea.’
Poirot said:
‘Were you far from the sea where you were sitting?’
‘Well, we were well above high-water mark. Just under the cliff-so that I could be a little in the shade and Linda in the sun.’
Poirot said:
‘Did Linda Marshall actually enter the sea before you left the beach?’
Christine frowned a little in the effort to remember. She said:
‘Let me see. She ran down the beach-I fastened my box-Yes, I heard her splashing in the waves as I was on the path up the cliff.’
‘You are sure of that, Madame? That she really entered the sea?’
‘Oh yes.’
She stared at him in surprise.
Colonel Weston also stared at him.
Then he said:
‘Go on, Mrs Redfern.’
‘I went back to the hotel, changed, and went to the tennis courts where I met the others.’
‘Who were?’
‘Captain Marshall, Mr Gardener and Miss Darnley. We played two sets. We were just going in again when the news came about-about Mrs Marshall.’
Hercule Poirot leant forward. He said:
‘And what did you think, Madame, when you heard that news?’
‘What did I think?’
Her face showed a faint distaste for the question.
‘Yes.’
Christine Redfern said slowly:
‘It was-a horrible thing to happen.’
‘Ah, yes, your fastidiousness was revolted. I understand that. But what did it mean toyou -personally?’
She gave him a quick look-a look of appeal. He responded to it. He said in a matter-of-fact voice.
‘I am appealing to you, Madame, as a woman of intelligence with plenty of good sense and judgment. You had doubtless during your stay here formed an opinion of Mrs Marshall, of the kind of woman she was?’
Christine said cautiously:
‘I suppose one always does that more or less when one is staying in hotels.’
‘Certainly, it is the natural thing to do. So I ask you, Madame, were you really very surprised at the manner of her death?’