Evil Under the Sun

‘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?’

Christine said slowly:

‘I think I see what you mean. No, I was not, perhaps, surprised. Shocked, yes. But she was the kind of woman-’

Poirot finished the sentence for her.

‘She was the kind of woman to whom such a thing might happen…Yes, Madame, that is the truest and most significant thing that has been said in this room this morning. Laying all-er (he stressed it carefully)personal feeling aside, what did you really think of the late Mrs Marshall?’ 

Christine Redfern said calmly:

‘Is it really worth while going into all that now?’

‘I think it might be, yes.’

‘Well, what shall I say?’ Her fair skin was suddenly suffused with colour. The careful poise of her manner was relaxed. For a short space the natural raw woman looked out. ‘She’s the kind of woman that to my mind is absolutely worthless! She did nothing to justify her existence. She had no mind-no brains. She thought of nothing but men and clothes and admiration. Useless, a parasite! She was attractive to men, I suppose-Oh, of course, she was. And she lived for that kind of life. And so, I suppose, I wasn’t really surprised at her coming to a sticky end. She was the sort of woman who would be mixed up with everything sordid-blackmail-jealousy-violence-every kind of crude emotion. She-she appealed to the worst in people.’

She stopped, panting a little. Her rather short top lip lifted itself in a kind of fastidious disgust. It occured to Colonel Weston that you could not have found a more complete contrast to Arlena Stuart than Christine Redfern. It also occurred to him that if you were married to Christine Redfern, the atmosphere might be so rarefied that the Arlena Stuarts of this world would hold a particular attraction for you.

And then, immediately following on these thoughts, a single word out of the words she had spoken fastened on his attention with particular intensity.

He leaned forward and said:

‘Mrs Redfern, why, in speaking of her, did you mention the wordblackmail?’

Chapter 7

I

Christine stared at him, not seeming at once to take in what he meant. She answered almost mechanically.

‘I suppose-because shewas being blackmailed. She was the sort of person who would be.’

Colonel Weston said earnestly:

‘But-do you know she was being blackmailed?’

A faint colour rose in the girl’s cheeks. She said rather awkwardly:

‘As a matter of fact I do happen to know it. I-I overheard something.’

‘Will you explain, Mrs Redfern?’

Flushing still more, Christine Redfern said: