Evil Under the Sun (Hercule Poirot 24)

“I shall be glad to get Mrs. Gardener away. She’s a very, very sensitive woman, and this affair has got on her nerves. She’s very highly strung.”

Hercule Poirot said:

“Will you permit me, Mr. Gardener, to ask you one question?”

“Why, certainly, M. Poirot. Delighted to assist in any way I can.”

Hercule Poirot said:

“You are a man of the world—a man, I think, of considerable acumen. What, frankly, was your opinion of the late Mrs. Marshall?”

Mr. Gardener’s eyebrows rose in surprise. He glanced cautiously round and lowered his voice.

“Well, M. Poirot, I’ve heard a few things that have been kind of goin

g around, if you get me, especially among the women.” Poirot nodded. “But if you ask me I’ll tell you my candid opinion and that is that that woman was pretty much of a darned fool!”

Hercule Poirot said thoughtfully:

“Now that is very interesting.”

VII

Rosamund Darnley said: “So it’s my turn, is it?”

“Pardon?”

She laughed.

“The other day the Chief Constable held this inquisition. You sat by. Today, I think, you are conducting your own unofficial inquiry. I’ve been watching you. First Mrs. Redfern, then I caught a glimpse of you through the lounge window where Mrs. Gardener is doing her hateful jig-saw puzzle. Now it’s my turn.”

Hercule Poirot sat down beside her. They were on Sunny Ledge. Below them the sea showed a deep-glowing green. Farther out it was a pale dazzling blue.

Poirot said:

“You are very intelligent, Mademoiselle. I have thought so ever since I arrived here. It would be a pleasure to discuss this business with you.”

Rosamund Darnley said softly:

“You want to know what I think about the whole thing?”

“It would be most interesting.”

Rosamund said:

“I think it’s really very simple. The clue is in the woman’s past.”

“The past? Not the present?”

“Oh! not necessarily the very remote past. I look at it like this. Arlena Marshall was attractive, fatally attractive, to men. It’s possible, I think, that she also tired of them rather quickly. Amongst her—followers, shall we say—was one who resented that. Oh, don’t misunderstand me, it won’t be someone who sticks out a mile. Probably some tepid little man, vain and sensitive—the kind of man who broods. I think he followed her down here, waited his opportunity and killed her.”

“You mean that he was an outsider, that he came from the mainland?”

“Yes. He probably hid in that cave until he got his chance.”

Poirot shook his head. He said:

“Would she go there to meet such a man as you describe? No, she would laugh and not go.”