Evil Under the Sun (Hercule Poirot 24)

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

“I suppose—because she was 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:

“I—I didn’t mean to overhear. It was an accident. It was two—no, three nights ago. We were playing bridge.” She turned towards Poirot. “You remember? My husband and I, M. Poirot and Miss Darnley. I was dummy. It was very stuffy in the card room, and I slipped out of the window for a breath of fresh air. I went down towards the beach and I suddenly heard voices. One—it was Arlena Marshall’s—I knew it at once—said: ‘It’s no good pressing me. I can’t get any more money now. My husband will suspect something.” And then a man’s voice said: ‘I’m not taking any excuses. You’ve got to cough up.’ And then Arlena Marshall said: ‘You blackmailing brute!’ And the man said: ‘Brute or not, you’ll pay up, my lady.’”

Christine paused.

“I’d turned back and a minute after Arlena Marshall rushed past me. She looked—well, frightfully upset.”

Weston said:

“And the man? Do you know who he was?”

Christine Redfern shook her head.

She said:

“He was keeping his voice low. I barely heard what he said.”

“It didn’t suggest the voice to you of anyone you knew?”

She thought again, but once more shook her head. She said:

“No, I don’t know. It was gruff and low. It—oh, it might have been anybody’s.”

Colonel Weston said:

“Thank you, Mrs. Redfern.”

II

When the door had closed behind Christine Redfern Inspector Colgate said:

“Now we are getting somewhere!”

Weston said:

“You think so, eh?”

“Well, it’s suggestive, sir, you can’t get away from it. Somebody in this hotel was blackmailing the lady.”

Poirot murmured:

“But it is not the wicked blackmailer who lies dead. It is the victim.”

“That’s a bit of a setback, I agree,” said the Inspector. “Blackmailers aren’t in the habit of bumping off their victims. But what it does give us is this, it suggests a reason for Mrs. Marshall’s curious behaviour this morning. She’d got a rendezvous with this fellow who was blackmailing her, and she didn’t want either her husband or Redfern to know about it.”