Redfern’s answer came mechanically.
‘No-no-of course not.’ And then in a deep agonized whisper. ‘Who?Who? Who could have done that to Arlena. She can’t have-have been murdered. It can’t be true!’
Emily Brewster shook her head, not knowing quite what to answer.
She heard him draw in his breath-heard the low controlled rage in his voice as he said:
‘My God, if I get my hands on the foul fiend who did this.’
Emily Brewster shivered. Her imagination pictured a lurking murderer behind one of the boulders. Then she heard her voice saying:
‘Whoever did it wouldn’t be hanging about. We must get the police. Perhaps-’ she hesitated-‘one of us ought to stay with-with the body.’
Patrick Redfern said:
‘I’ll stay.’
Emily Brewster drew a little sigh of relief. She was not the kind of woman who would ever admit to feeling fear, but she was secretly thankful not to have to remain on that beach alone with the faint possibility of a homicidal maniac lingering close at hand.
She said:
‘Good. I’ll be as quick as I can. I’ll go in the boat. Can’t face that ladder. There’s a constable at Leathercombe Bay.’
Patrick Redfern murmured mechanically:
‘Yes-yes, whatever you think best.’
As she rowed vigorously away from the shore, Emily Brewster saw Patrick drop down beside the dead woman and bury his head in his hands. There was something so forlorn about his attitude that she felt an unwilling sympathy. He looked like a dog watching by its dead master. Nevertheless her robust common sense was saying to her:
‘Best thing that could have happened for him and his wife-and for Marshall and the child-but I don’t supposehe can see it that way, poor devil.’
Emily Brewster was a woman who could always rise to an emergency.
Chapter 5
I
Inspector Colgate stood back by the cliff waiting for the police-surgeon to finish with Arlena’s body. Patrick Redfern and Emily Brewster stood a little to one side.
Dr Neasden rose from his knees with a quick deft movement.
He said:
‘Strangled-and by a pretty powerful pair of hands. She doesn’t seem to have put up much of a struggle. Taken by surprise. H’m-well-nasty business.’
Emily Brewster had taken one look and then quickly averted her eyes from the dead woman’s face. That horrible purple convulsed countenance.
Inspector Colgate asked:
‘What about time of death?’
II
‘Upon my soul!’ said Colonel Weston. ‘This is a surprise finding you here!’
Hercule Poirot replied to the Chief Constable’s greeting in a suitable manner. He murmured:
‘Ah, yes, many years have passed since that affair at St Loo.’
III
The Chief Constable was being as tactful as it was in his nature to be with Mrs Castle.
Mrs Castle was the owner and proprietress of the Jolly Roger Hotel. She was a woman of forty odd with a large bust, rather violent henna red hair, and an almost offensively refined manner of speech.
She was saying:
‘That such a thing should happen in my hotel! Ay am sure it has always been the quayettest place imaginable! The people who come here are such naice people. Norowdiness -if you know what ay mean. Not like the big hotels in St Loo.’
‘Quite so, Mrs Castle,’ said Colonel Weston. ‘But accidents happen in the best regulated-er households.’
‘Ay’m sure Inspector Colgate will bear me out,’ said Mrs Castle, sending an appealing glance towards the Inspector who was sitting looking very official. ‘As to the laycensing laws, ay ammost particular. There has never beenany irregularity!’
‘Quite, quite,’ said Weston. ‘We’re not blaming you in any way, Mrs Castle.’
‘But it does so reflect upon an establishment,’ said Mrs Castle, her large bust heaving. ‘When ay think of the noisy gaping crowds. Of course no one but hotel guests are allowed upon the island-but all the same they will no doubt come andpoint from the shore.’
She shuddered.
Inspector Colgate saw his chance to turn the conversation to good account.
He said:
‘In regard to that point you’ve just raised. Access to the island. How do you keep people off?’
‘Ay ammost particular about it.’
‘Yes, but what measures do you take?What keeps ’em off? Holiday crowds in summer time swarm everywhere like flies.’
Mrs Castle shrugged slightly again.
She said:
‘That is the fault of the charabancs. Ay have seen eighteen at one time parked by the quay at Leathercombe Bay. Eighteen!’
‘Just so. How do you stop them coming here?’
‘There are notices. And then, of course, at high tide, we are cut off.’
‘Yes, but at low tide?’
Mrs Castle explained. At the island end of the causeway there was a gate. This said ‘Jolly Roger Hotel. Private. No entry except to Hotel.’ The rocks rose sheer out of the sea on either side there and could not be climbed.
‘Anyone could take a boat, though, I suppose, and row round and land on one of the coves? You couldn’t stop them doing that. There’s a right of access to the foreshore. You can’t stop people being on the beach between low and high watermark.’
But this, it seemed, very seldom happened. Boats could be obtained at Leathercombe Bay harbour, but from there it was a long row to the island, and there was also a strong current just outside Leathercombe Bay harbour.
There were notices, too, on both Gull Cove and Pixy Cove by the ladder. She added that George or William were always on the look out at the bathing beach proper which was the nearest to the mainland.
‘Who are George and William?’
‘George attends to the bathing beach. He sees to the costumes and the floats. William is the gardener. He keeps the paths and marks the tennis courts and all that.’
Colonel Weston said impatiently:
‘Well, that seems clear enough. That’s not to say that nobody could have come from outside, but anyone who did so took a risk-the risk of being noticed. We’ll have a word with George and William presently.’
Mrs Castle said:
‘Ay do not care for trippers-a very noisy crowd, and they frequently leave orange peel and cigarette boxes on the causeway and down by the rocks, but all the same ay never thought one of them would turn out to be a murderer. Oh dear! it really is too terrible for words. A lady like Mrs Marshall murdered and what’s so horrible, actually-er-strangled…’