Evil Under the Sun

‘I know exactly what you mean, my child, and I agree with you. Mrs Redfern is not of those who, as your saying goes, “sees red”. She would not be’-he leaned back half closing his eyes, picking his words with care-‘shaken by a storm of feeling-seeing life narrowing in front of her-seeing a hated face-a hated white neck-feeling her hands clench-longing to feel them press into flesh-’ 

He stopped.

Linda moved jerkily back from the table. She said in a trembling voice:

‘Can I go now? Is that all?’

Colonel Weston said:

‘Yes, yes, that’s all. Thank you, Miss Linda.’

He got up to open the door for her. Then came back to the table and lit a cigarette.

‘Phew,’ he said. ‘Not a nice job, ours. I can tell you I felt a bit of a cad questioning that child about the relations between her father and her stepmother. More or less inviting a daughter to put a rope round her father’s neck. All the same, it had to be done. Murder is murder. And she’s the person most likely to know the truth of things. I’m rather thankful, though, that she’d nothing to tell us in that line.’

Poirot said:

‘Yes, I thought you were.’

Weston said with an embarrassed cough:

‘By the way, Poirot, you went a bit far, I thought at the end. All that hands sinking into flesh business! Not quite the sort of idea to put into a kid’s head.’

Hercule Poirot looked at him with thoughtful eyes. He said:

‘So you thought I put ideas into her head?’

‘Well, didn’t you? Come now.’

Poirot shook his head. 

Weston sheered away from the point. He said:

‘On the whole we got very little useful stuff out of her. Except a more or less completealibi for the Redfern woman. If they were together from half-past ten to a quarter to twelve that lets Christine Redfern out of it. Exit the jealous wife suspect.’

Poirot said:

‘There are better reasons than that for leaving Mrs Redfern out of it. It would, I am convinced, be physically impossible and mentally impossible for her to strangle anyone. She is cold rather than warm blooded, capable of deep devotion and unswerving constancy, but not of hot blooded passion or rage. Moreover, her hands are far too small and delicate.’

Colgate said:

‘I agree with M. Poirot. She’s out of it. Dr Neasden says it was a full-sized pair of hands that throttled that dame.’

Weston said:

‘Well, I suppose we’d better see the Redferns next. I expect he’s recovered a bit from the shock now.’

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:

‘I don’t know whether he knew about it or not.’ 

Hercule Poirot spoke. He murmured:

‘And was it also without your wife’s knowledge, Mr Redfern?’

‘I believe I mentioned to my wife that I had met the famous Arlena Stuart.’

Poirot persisted.

‘But she did not know how often you were seeing her?’

‘Well, perhaps not.’

Weston said:

‘Did you and Mrs Marshall arrange to meet down here?’

Redfern was silent a minute or two. Then he shrugged his shoulders.

‘Oh well,’ he said, ‘I suppose it’s bound to come out now. It’s no good my fencing with you. I was crazy about the woman-mad-infatuated-anything you like. She wanted me to come down here. I demurred a bit and then I agreed. I-I-well, I would have agreed to do any mortal thing she liked. She had that kind of effect on people.’

Hercule Poirot murmured:

‘You paint a very clear picture of her. She was the eternal Circe. Just that!’

Patrick Redfern said bitterly:

‘She turned men into swine all right!’ He went on: ‘I’m being frank with you, gentlemen. I’m not going to hide anything. What’s the use? As I say, I was infatuated with her. Whether she cared for me or not, I don’t know. She pretended to, but I think she was one of those women who lose interest in a man once they’ve got him body and soul. She knew she’d got me all right. This morning, when I found her there on the beach, dead, it was as though’-he paused-‘as though something had hit me straight between the eyes. I was dazed-knocked out!’

Poirot leaned forward. ‘And now?’

Patrick Redfern met his eyes squarely.

He said:

‘I’ve told you the truth. What I want to ask is this-how much of it has got to be made public? It’s not as though it could have any bearing on her death. And if it all comes out, it’s going to be pretty rough on my wife.’