“And the husband? Did he know about it? What did he feel?”
Poirot said slowly:
“It is not easy to know what Captain Marshall feels or thinks. He is a man who does not display his emotions.”
Weston said sharply:
“But he might have ’em, all the same.”
Poirot nodded. He said:
“Oh yes, he might have them.”
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. No rowdiness—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 am most particular. There has never been any 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 and point 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 am most
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.