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Chapter 1
When Captain Roger Angmering built himself a house in the year 1782 on the island off Leathercombe Bay, it was thought the height of eccentricity on his part. A man of good family such as he was should have had a decorous mansion set in wide meadows with, perhaps, a running stream and good pasture. But Captain Roger Angmering had only one great love, the sea. So he built his house a sturdy house too, as it needed to be, on the little windswept gull-haunted promontory cut off from land at each high tide. He did not marry, the sea was his first and last spouse, and at his death the house and island went to a distant cousin. That cousin and his descendants thought little of the bequest. Their own acres dwindled, and their heirs grew steadily poorer.
In 1922 when the great cult of the Seaside for Holidays was finally established and the coast of Devon and Cornwall was no longer thought too hot in the summer, Arthur Angmering found his vast inconvenient late Georgian house unsaleable, but he got a good price for the odd bit of property acquired by the seafaring Captain Roger. The sturdy house was added to and embellished. A concrete causeway was laid down from the mainland to the island. "Walks" and "Nooks" were cut and devised all round the island. There were two tennis courts, sunterraces leading down to a little bay embellished with rafts and divingboards. The Jolly Roger Hotel, Smugglers' Island, Leathercombe Bay came triumphantly into being. And from June till September (with a short season at Easter) the Jolly Roger Hotel was usually packed to the attics. It was enlarged and improved in 1934 by the addition of a cocktail bar, a bigger dining-room and some extra bathrooms. The prices went up. People said: "Ever been to Leathercombe Bay? Awfully jolly hotel there, on a sort of island. Very comfortable and no trippers or charabancs. Good cooking and all that. You ought to go." And people did go.
There was one very important person (in his own estimation at least) staying at the Jolly Roger. Hercule Poirot, resplendent in a white duck suit, with a Panama hat tilted over his eyes, his moustaches magnificently befurled, lay back in an improved type of deck-chair and surveyed the bathing beach. A series of terraces led down to it from the hotel. On the beach itself were floats, lilos, rubber and canvas boats, balls and rubber toys. There were a long springboard and three rafts at varying distances from the shore. Of the bathers, some were in the sea, some were lying stretched out in the sun, and some were anointing themselves carefully with oil. On the terrace immediately above, the non-bathers sat and commented on the weather, the scene in front of them, the news in the morning papers and any other subject that appealed to them.
On Poirot's left a ceaseless flow of conversation poured in gentle monotone from the lips of Mrs Gardener while at the same time her needles clacked as she knitted vigorously. Beyond her, her husband, Odell C. Gardener, lay in a hammock chair, his hat tilted forward over his nose, and occasionally uttered a brief statement when called upon to do so. On Poirot's right, Miss Brewster, a tough athletic woman with grizzled hair and a pleasant weatherbeaten face, made gruff comments. The result sounded rather like a sheepdog whose short stentorian barks interrupted the ceaseless yapping of a Pomeranian. Mrs Gardener was saying: "And so I said to Mr Gardener, why, I said, sightseeing is all very well, and I do like to do a place thoroughly. But, after all, I said, we've done England pretty well and all I want now is to get some quiet spot by the seaside and just relax. That's what I said, wasn't it, Odell? Just relax. I feel I must relax, I said. That's so, isn't it, Odell?"
Mr Gardener, from behind his hat, murmured: "Yes, darling."
Mrs Gardener pursued the theme. "And so, when I mentioned it to Mr Kelso, at Cook's (He's arranged all our itinerary for us and been most helpful in every way. I don't really know what we'd have done without him!) Well, as I say, when I mentioned it to him, Mr Kelso said that we couldn't do better than come here. A most picturesque spot, he said, quite out of the world, and at the same time very comfortable and most exclusive in every way. And of course Mr Gardener, he chipped in there and said what about the sanitary arrangements? Because, if you'll believe me, Mr Poirot, a sister of Mr Gardener's went to stay at a guesthouse once, very exclusive they said it was, and in the heart of the moors, but would you believe me, nothing but an earth closet! So naturally that made Mr Gardener suspicious of those out-of-the-world places, didn't it, Odell?"
"Why, yes, darling," said Mr Gardener.
"But Mr Kelso reassured us at once. The sanitation, he said, was absolutely the latest word, and the cooking was excellent. And I'm sure that's so. And what I like about it is, it's intime if you know what I mean. Being a small place we all talk to each other and everybody knows everybody. If there is a fault about the British it is that they're inclined to be a bit stand-offish until they've known you a couple of years. After that nobody could be nicer. Mr Kelso said that interesting people came here and I see he was right. There's you, Mr Poirot and Miss Darnley. Oh! I was just tickled to death when I found out who you were, wasn't I, Odell?"
"You were, darling."
"Ha!" said Miss Brewster, breaking in explosively. "What a thrill, eh, M. Poirot?"
Hercule Poirot raised his hands in deprecation. But it was no more than a polite gesture. Mrs Gardener flowed smoothly on. "You see, M. Poirot, I'd heard a lot about you from Cornelia Robson. Mr Gardener and I were at Badenhof in May. And of course Cornelia told us all about that business in Egypt when Linnet Ridgeway was killed. She said you were wonderful and I've always been simply crazy to meet you, haven't I, Odell?"
"Yes, darling."
"And then Miss Darnley, too. I get a lot of my things at Rose Mond's and of course she is Rose Mond, isn't she? I think her clothes are ever so clever. Such a marvellous line. That dress I had on last night was one of hers. She's just a lovely woman in every way, I think."
From beyond Miss Brewster, Major Barry who had been sitting with protuberant eyes glued to the bathers granted out: "Distinguished-lookin' gal!"
Mrs Gardener clacked her needles. "I've just got to confess one thing, M. Poirot. It gave me a kind of a turn meeting you here - not that I wasn't just thrilled to meet you, because I was. Mr Gardener knows that. But it just came to me that you might be here well, professionally. You know what I mean? Well, I'm just terribly sensitive, as Mr Gardener will tell you, and I just couldn't bear it if I was to be mixed up in crime of any kind. You see -"
Mr Gardener cleared his throat. He said: "You see, M. Poirot, Mrs Gardener is very sensitive."
The hands of Hercule Poirot shot into the air. "But let me assure you, Madame, that I am here simply in the same way that you are here yourselves - to enjoy myself - to spend the holiday. I do not think of crime even."
Miss Brewster said again giving her short gruff bark: "No bodies on Smugglers' Island."
Hercule Poirot said: "Ah! but that, it is not strictly true." He pointed downward. "Regard them there, lying out in rows. What are they? They are not men and women. There is nothing personal about them. They are just - bodies!"
Major Barry said appreciatively: "Good-looking fillies, some of 'em. Bit on the thin side, perhaps."
Poirot cried: "Yes, but what appeal is there? What mystery? I, I am old, of the old school. When I was young, one saw barely the ankle. The glimpse of a foamy petticoat, how alluring! The gentle swelling of the calf - a knee - a beribboned garter -"
"Naughty, naughty!" said Major Barry hoarsely.
"Much more sensible - the things we wear nowadays," said Miss Brewster.
"Why, yes, M. Poirot," said Mrs Gardener. "I do think, you know, that our girls and boys nowadays lead a much more natural healthy life. They just romp about together and they - well, they -" Mrs Gardener blushed slightly for she had a nice mind - "they think nothing of it, if you know what I mean?"
"I do know," said Hercule Poirot. "It is deplorable!"
"Deplorable?" squeaked Mrs Gardener.
"To remove all the romance all the mystery! Today everything is standardized!" He waved a hand towards the recumbent figures. "That reminds me very much of the Morgue in Paris."
"M. Poirot!" Mrs Gardener was scandalized.
"Bodies arranged on slabs like butcher's meat!"
"But M. Poirot, isn't that too far-fetched for words?"
Hercule Poirot admitted: "It may be, yes."
"All the same," Mrs Gardener knitted with energy, "I'm inclined to agree with you on one point. These girls that lie out like that in the sun will grow hair on their legs and arms. I've said so to Irene - that's my daughter, M. Poirot. Irene, I said to her, if you lie out like that in the sun, you'll have hair all over you, hair on your arms and hair on your legs and hair on your bosom, and what will you look like then? I said to her. Didn't I, Odell?"
"Yes, darling," said Mr Gardener.
Every one was silent, perhaps making a mental picture of Irene when the worst had happened. Mrs Gardener rolled up her knitting and said: "I wonder now -"
Mr Gardener said: "Yes, darling?" He struggled out of the hammock chair and took Mrs Gardener's knitting and her book. He asked: "What about joining us for a drink, Miss Brewster?"
"Not just now, thanks."
The Gardeners went up to the hotel. Miss Brewster said: "American husbands are wonderful!"
Mrs Gardener's place was taken by the Reverend Stephen Lane. Mr Lane was a tall vigorous clergyman of fifty odd. His face was tanned and his dark grey flannel trousers were holidayfied and disreputable. He said with enthusiasm: "Marvellous country! I've been from Leathercombe Bay to Harford and back over the cliffs."
"Warm work walking today," said Major Barry who never walked.
"Good exercise," said Miss Brewster. "I haven't been for my row yet. Nothing like rowing for your stomach muscles." The eyes of Hercule Poirot dropped somewhat ruefully to a certain protuberance in his middle. Miss Brewster, noting the glance, said kindly: "You'd soon get that off, M. Poirot, if you took a rowing-boat out every day."
"Merci, Mademoiselle. I detest boats!"
"You mean small boats?"
"Boats of all sizes!" He closed his eyes and shuddered. "The movement of the sea, it is not pleasant."
"Bless the man, the sea is as calm as a mill pond today."
Poirot replied with conviction: "There is no such thing as a really calm sea. Always, always, there is motion."
"If you ask me," said Major Barry, "seasickness is nine-tenths nerves."
"There," said the clergyman, smiling a little, "speaks the good sailor - eh, Major?"
"Only been ill once - and that was crossing the channel! Don't think about it, that's my motto."
"Seasickness is really a very odd thing," mused Miss Brewster. "Why should some people be subject to it and not others? It seems so unfair. And nothing to do with one's ordinary health. Quite sickly people are good sailors. Some one told me once it was something to do with one's spine. Then there's the way some people can't stand heights. I'm not very good myself, but Mrs Redfern is far worse. The other day, on the cliff path to Harford, she turned quite giddy and simply clung to me. She told me she once got stuck halfway down that outside staircase on Milan Cathedral. She'd gone up without thinking but coming down did for her."
"She'd better not go down the ladder to Pixy Cove, then," observed Lane.
Miss Brewster made a face. "I funk that myself. It's all right for the young. The Cowan boys and the young Mastermans, they run up and down it and enjoy it."
Lane said: "Here comes Mrs Redfern now coming up from her bathe."
Miss Brewster remarked: "M. Poirot ought to approve of her. She's no sun bather."
Young Mrs Redfern had taken off her rubber cap and was shaking out her hair. She was an ash blonde and her skin was of that dead fairness that goes with that colouring. Her legs and arms were very white. With a hoarse chuckle, Major Barry said: "Looks a bit uncooked among the others, doesn't she?"
Wrapping herself in a long bathrobe Christine Redfern came up the beach and mounted the steps towards them. She had a fair serious face, pretty in a negative way, and small dainty hands and feet. She smiled at them and dropped down beside them, tucking her bath-wrap round her. Miss Brewster said: "You have earned M. Poirot's good opinion. He doesn't like the sun-tanning crowd. Says they're like joints of butcher's meat or words to that effect."
Christine Redfern smiled ruefully. She said: "I wish I could sunbathe! But I don't brown. I only blister and get the most frightful freckles all over my arms."
"Better than getting hair all over them like Mrs Gardener's Irene," said Miss Brewster. In answer to Christine's inquiring glance she went on: "Mrs Gardener's been in grand form this morning. Absolutely non stop. 'Isn't that so, Odell?' 'Yes, darling.'" She paused and then said: "I wish, though, M. Poirot, that you'd played up to her a bit. Why didn't you tell her that you were down here investigating a particularly gruesome murder, and that the murderer, an homicidal maniac, was certainly to be found among the guests of the hotel?"
Hercule Poirot sighed. He said: "I very much fear she would have believed me."
Major Barry gave a wheezy chuckle. He said: "She certainly would."
Emily Brewster said: "No, I don't believe even Mrs Gardener would have believed in a crime staged here. This isn't the sort of place you'd get a body!"
Hercule Poirot stirred a little in his chair. He protested. He said: "But why not, Mademoiselle? Why should there not be what you call a 'body' here on Smugglers' Island?"
Emily Brewster said: "I don't know. I suppose some places are more unlikely than others. This isn't the kind of spot -" She broke off, finding it difficult to explain her meaning.
"It is romantic, yes," agreed Hercule Poirot. "It is peaceful. The sun shines. The sea is blue. But you forget, Miss Brewster, there is evil everywhere under the sun."
The clergyman stirred in his chair. He leaned forward. His intensely blue eyes lighted up. Miss Brewster shrugged her shoulders. "Oh! of course I realize that, but all the same -"
"But all the same this still seems to you an unlikely setting for crime? You forget one thing, Mademoiselle."
"Human nature, I suppose?"
"That, yes. That, always. But that was not what I was going to say. I was going to point out to you that here every one is on holiday."
Emily Brewster turned a puzzled face to him. "I don't understand."
Hercule Poirot beamed kindly at her. He made dabs in the air with an emphatic forefinger. "Let us say, you have an enemy. If you seek him out in his flat, in his office, in the street - eh bien, you must have a reason - you must account for yourself. But here at the seaside it is necessary for no one to account for himself. You are at Leathercombe Bay, why? Parbleu! it is August - one goes to the seaside in August - one is on one's holiday. It is quite natural, you see, for you to be here and for Mr Lane to be here and for Major Barry to be here and for Mrs Redfern and her husband to be here. Because it is the custom in England to go to the seaside in August."
"Well," admitted Miss Brewster, "that's certainly a very ingenious idea. But what about the Gardeners? They're American." Poirot smiled. "Even Mrs Gardener, as she told us, feels the need to relax. Also, since she is 'doing' England, she must certainly spend a fortnight at the seaside - as a good tourist, if nothing else. She enjoys watching people."
Mrs Redfern murmured: "You like watching the people too, I think?"
"Madame, I will confess it. I do."
She said thoughtfully: "You see - a good deal."
There was a pause. Stephen Lane cleared his throat and said with a trace of self-consciousness: "I was interested, M. Poirot, in something you said just now. You said that there was evil done everywhere under the sun. It was almost a quotation from Ecclesiastes." He paused and then quoted himself. "Yea, also the heart of the sons of men is full of evil, and madness is in their heart while they live." His face lit up with an almost fanatical light. "I was glad to hear you say that. Nowadays, no one believes in evil. It is considered, at most, a mere negation of good. Evil, people say, is done by those who know no better - who are undeveloped - who are to be pitied rather than blamed. But, M. Poirot, evil is real! It is a fact! I believe in Evil as I believe in Good. It exists! It is powerful! It walks the earth!" He stopped. His breath was coming fast. He wiped his forehead with a handkerchief and looked suddenly apologetic. "I'm sorry. I got carried away."
Poirot said calmly: "I understand your meaning. Up to a point I agree with you. Evil does walk the earth and can be recognized as such."
Major Barry cleared his throat. "Talking of that sort of thing, some of these fakir fellers in India -"
Major Barry had been long enough at the Jolly Roger for every one to be on their guard against his fatal tendency to embark on long India stories. Both Miss Brewster and Mrs Redfern burst into speech. "That's your husband swimming in now, isn't it, Mrs Redfern? How magnificent his crawl stroke is. He's an awfully good swimmer." At the same moment Mrs Redfern said: "Oh, look! What a lovely little boat that is out there with the red sails. It's Mr Blatt's, isn't it?" The sailing boat with the red sails was just crossing the end of the bay.
Major Barry grunted: "Fanciful idea, red sails," but the menace of the story about the fakir was avoided.
Hercule Poirot looked with appreciation at the young man who had just swum to shore. Patrick Redfern was a good specimen of humanity. Lean, bronzed, with broad shoulders and narrow thighs, there was about him a kind of infectious enjoyment and gaiety - a native simplicity that endeared him to all women and most men. He stood there shaking the water from him and raising a hand in gay salutation to his wife. She waved back, calling out: "Come up here, Pat."
"I'm coming."
He went a little way along the beach to retrieve the towel he had left there. It was then that a woman came down past them from the hotel to the beach. Her arrival had all the importance of a stage entrance. Moreover, she walked as though she knew it. There was no self-consciousness apparent. It would seem that she was too used to the invariable effect her presence produced. She was tall and slender. She wore a simple backless white bathing dress and every inch of her exposed body was tanned a beautiful even shade of bronze. She was as perfect as a statue. Her hair was a rich flaming auburn curling richly and intimately into her neck. Her face had that slight hardness which is seen when thirty years have come and gone, but the whole effect of her was one of youth - of superb and triumphant vitality. There was a Chinese immobility about her face, and an upward slant of the dark blue eyes. On her head she wore a fantastic Chinese hat of jade-green cardboard. There was that about her which made very other woman on the beach seem faded and insignificant. And with equal inevitability, the eye of every male present was drawn and rivetted on her.
The eyes of Hercule Poirot opened, his moustache quivered appreciatively. Major Barry sat up and his protuberant eyes bulged even further with excitement; on Poirot's left the Reverend Stephen Lane drew in his breath with a little hiss and his figure stiffened. Major Barry said in a hoarse whisper: "Arlena Stuart (that's who she was before she married Marshall) - I saw her in Come and Go before she left the stage. Something worth looking at, eh?"
Christine Redfern said slowly and her voice was cold: "She's handsome - yes. I think - she looks rather a beast!"
Emily Brewster said abruptly: "You talked about evil just now, M. Poirot. Now to my mind that woman's a personification of evil! She's a bad lot through and through. I happen to know a good deal about her."
Major Barry said reminiscently: "I remember a gal out in Simla. She had red hair too. Wife of a subaltern. Did she set the place by the ears? I'll say she did! Men went mad about her! All the women, of course, would have liked to gouge her eyes out! She upset the apple cart in more homes than one." He chuckled reminiscently. "Husband was a nice quiet fellow. Worshipped the ground she walked on. Never saw a thing - or made out he didn't."
Stephen Lane said in a low voice full of intense feeling: "Such women are a menace - a menace to -" He stopped.
Arlena Stuart had come to the water's edge. Two young men, little more than boys, had sprung up and come eagerly toward her. She stood smiling at them. Her eyes slid past them to where Patrick Redfern was coming along the beach. It was, Hercule Poirot thought, like watching the needle of a compass. Patrick Redfern was deflected, his feet changed their direction. The needle, do what it will, must obey the law of magnetism and turn to the North. Patrick Redfern's feet brought him to Arlena Stuart. She stood smiling at him. Then she moved slowly along the beach by the side of the waves. Patrick Redfern went with her. She stretched herself out by a rock. Redfern dropped to the shingle beside her. Abruptly, Christine Redfern got up and went into the hotel.
There was an uncomfortable little silence after she had left. Then Emily Brewster said: "It's rather too bad. She's a nice little thing. They've only been married a year or two."
"Gal I was speaking of," said Major Barry, "the one in Simla. She upset a couple of really happy marriages. Seemed a pity, what?"
"There's a type of woman," said Miss Brewster, "who likes smashing up homes." She added after a minute or two, "Patrick Redfern's a fool!" Hercule Poirot said nothing. He was gazing down the beach, but he was not looking at Patrick Redfern and Arlena Stuart. Miss Brewster said: "Well, I'd better go and get hold of my boat." She left them.
Major Barry turned his boiled gooseberry eyes with mild curiosity on Poirot. "Well, Poirot," he said. "What are you thinking about? You've not opened your mouth. What do you think of the siren? Pretty hot?"
Poirot said: "C'est possible."
"Now then, you old dog. I know you Frenchmen!"
Poirot said coldly: "I am not a Frenchman!"
"Well, don't tell me you haven't got an eye for a pretty girl! What do you think of her, eh?"
Hercule Poirot said: "She is not young."
"What does that matter? A woman's as old as she looks! Her looks are all right."
Hercule Poirot nodded. He said: "Yes, she is beautiful. But it is not beauty that counts in the end. It is not beauty that makes every head (except one) turn on the beach to look at her."
"It's it, my boy," said the Major. "That's what it is - it." Then he said with sudden curiosity: "What are you looking at so steadily?"
Hercule Poirot replied: "I'm looking at the exception. At the one man who did not look up when she passed."
Major Barry followed his gaze to where it rested on a man of about forty, fair-haired and sun-tanned. He had a quiet, pleasant face and was sitting on the beach smoking a pipe and reading the Times. "Oh, that!" said Major Barry. "That's the husband, my boy. That's Marshall."
Hercule Poirot said: "Yes, I know."
Major Barry chuckled. He himself was a bachelor. He was accustomed to think of The Husband in three lights only - as "the Obstacle," "the Inconvenience" or "the Safeguard." He said: "Seems a nice fellow. Quiet. Wonder if my Times has come?" He got up and went up towards the hotel.
Poirot's glance shifted slowly to the face of Stephen Lane. Stephen Lane was watching Arlena Marshall and Patrick Redfern. He turned suddenly to Poirot. There was a stern fanatical light in his eyes. He said: "That woman is evil through and through. Do you doubt it?"
Poirot said slowly: "It is difficult to be sure."
Stephen Lane said: "But, man alive, don't you feel it in the air? All round you? The presence of Evil."
Slowly, Hercule Poirot nodded his head.
第一章
罗吉·安墨林船长于一七八二年在皮梳湾外的小岛上建造一栋大房子的时候，大家都觉得那是他怪异行径的极致。像他这样出身名门的人，应该有一幢华厦，座落在一大片草地上，附近也许有一条小溪流过，还有很好的牧场。可是安墨林船长毕生只爱一样：就是大海。所以他把他的大房子——而且由于必要，是一栋非常坚固的大房子——建在这个有风吹袭，海鸥翱翔的小岛上。每次一涨潮，这里就会和陆地隔开。他没有娶妻，大海就是他唯一的配偶。他死了之后，这栋房子和这座小岛到了他一个远房堂弟手里。这位仁兄和他的后代很少想到这个地方，他们自己的地越卖越少，他们的后人也越来越穷。
到了一九二二年，到海边度假蔚为风气，而一般人也认为从狄文到康威尔一带的海边在夏天不太热。亚瑟·安墨林发现他那栋大而无当的房子卖不出去，可是当年罗吉船长所传留下来的那点小产业却可以卖到个好价钱。那栋坚固的大房子经过添加和改建，又在岛陆之间加建了一条水泥的堤路。岛上到处都铺上小路和栈道，辟了两个网球场，还有大阳台，往下可以通到一个小湾，湾里还有小筏子和跳水台。这样，皮梳湾私贩岛的乐园旅馆就很得意地开张了。从六月到九月(再加上复活节前后的短短假期)，乐园旅馆一直都住客常满。一九三四年，又加以扩建和改进，加了一间鸡尾酒吧，一间大一点的餐厅和几间浴室，价钱也涨了，大家都说：“有没有去过皮梳湾？那里有个好棒的旅馆，造在一个小岛上，很舒服，没有只到那里玩一天的观光客和游览车来吵，那里的菜也很棒，你真该去玩玩。”大家也真的都去。
在乐园旅馆里，住了一个很重要的人物(至少他自认为如此)，赫邱里·白罗，穿着一身耀眼的白西装，一顶圆边草帽斜盖到眼睛，两撇小胡子修得很漂亮，他躺靠在一张改良过的海滩椅上，看着四下海滨浴场上的一切。从旅馆那边有阶梯直通下来，海上有浮筒，用帆布和橡皮做的小艇，球和橡皮玩具。有一条长长的跳板，还有三座和岸边距离彼此不相等的浮台。至于泳客，有些在水里，有些躺着晒太阳，也有些在仔细小心地往身上搽防晒油。临着这边的阳台上，那些不下水的客人坐在那里聊着天气、眼前的景色、今早报上的新闻和其他想到的话题。
白罗的左边是贾德纳太太，嘴里一直不停地在说着话，一面忙着织毛线，再过去是她的丈夫欧帝尔·贾德纳，躺在一张帆布摺椅上，帽子直盖到鼻尖，每次在他老婆问到他的时候，就发出一两声应答的话。白罗的右边是布雷斯特小、姐，她是个运动女将型的人，一头花白头发，一张饱经风霜但很和蔼的脸，说话却很不客气。其结果听来就像一只牧羊犬用短促的吠声打断了一只德国小狗不停的吠声。贾德纳太太正在说着：“后来我跟贾德纳先生说，哎，我说，观光是一件很好的事情，我也喜欢把一个地方看得很彻底，可是，我说，到底我们在英国各地都去过了，我现在只想去海边一个安静的地方，放松一下。我是这样说的吧？是不是？欧帝尔？只要放松一下。我说，我觉得我一定要放松放松。我是不是这样说的？欧帝尔？”
贾德纳先生在他帽子底下喃喃地道：“是啦，亲爱的。”
贾德纳太太继续说道：“所以，我在富客旅行社跟齐松先生一提(我们所有旅行的事都由他替我们安排，他在每一方面都再帮忙不过了，我真不知道要是没有他的话，我们怎么办！)——呃，我刚要说，我跟他这么一提，齐松先生就讲我们到这里来最好了。他说，这是个最漂亮的地方，像是世外桃源，而且在每一方面说来都非常舒服而独特。当然贾德纳先生这时候插嘴说，卫生设备怎么样？因为，不晓得你相不相信，白罗先生，贾德纳先生的一个姊姊有次住在一家宾馆里，他们说那是个一流的地方，在一个猎场中心，可是你信不信，那里居然只在地上搭了间小棚子当厕所！所以贾德纳先生当然会对这些与世隔绝的地方产生怀疑了，对不对？欧帝尔？”
“哎，对啦，亲爱的。”贾德纳先生说。
“可是齐松先生马上向我们保证，他说，这里的卫生设备绝对是最新的，这里菜也非常的好。我相信一定是如此，我最喜欢的一点是，这里很叫人觉得‘近乎’，你明白我的意思吧。地方小，我们都会彼此聊天，每个人都认得每个人。要是说英国人有什么缺点的话，那就是他们老是一副拒人于千里之外的样子，一定要等跟你认得一两年了。以后就再没有人比他们更好了。齐松先生说有很多很有意思的人到这里来，我也看得出他的话不错，比方说你啦，还有戴礼小、姐。哦，我知道你是谁之后，真是兴奋得要死，你说是吧？欧帝尔？”
“真的，亲爱的。”
“哈！”布雷斯特小、姐像爆炸似地插嘴说道：“真是过瘾之至吧，呃，白罗先生？”
赫邱里·白罗求饶似地举起双手。可是那只不过是表示礼貌而已。贾德纳太太丝毫不受打扰地继续说：“你知道吧，白罗先生，我从卡妮莉亚·罗勃森那里听说到很多你的事。贾德纳先生和我五月间在巴德贺夫，当然卡妮莉亚把埃及那个案子的事情全都跟我们讲了。她说你好了不起，我一直就好想能见到你，是不是，欧帝尔？”
“是的，亲爱的。”
“我也好想认得戴礼小、姐，我很多衣服都是在玫瑰屋买的，当然，她就是政瑰屋罗。是吧？我觉得她设计的衣服都好漂亮，线条太美了。我昨天晚上穿的那套衣服就是她设计的。我觉得，她在每方面说起来都是个可爱的女人哩。”
坐在布雷斯特小、姐那头的巴瑞少校两眼一直盯在那些泳装美女身上，这时哼着说：“看起来很高贵。”
贾德纳太太不停地编织。“我一定要坦白地向你说句话，白罗先生，能在这里见到你真有点叫我吃惊——不是说见到你不感到兴奋，因为我的确觉得好兴奋，贾德纳先生也知道的。可是我就是会想到你可能之所以会到这里来——呃，是有职业上的原因，你知道我是什么意思吧？哎，我这个人就是敏感得可怕，贾德纳先生也知道的，我实在受不了会牵扯到什么罪案里来。你知道——”
贾德纳先生清了下嗓子，说道：“你知道，白罗先生，贾德纳太太是个很敏感的人。”
赫邱里·白罗的两手伸进空中，“我可以向你保证，夫人，我之所以到这里来就和你们两位来的目的完全一样——来享受一下——来度假的。我甚至连犯罪的事想都不想。”
布雷斯特小、姐又用她短促的声音说道：“在私贩岛上可没有尸体。”
赫邱里·白罗说：“啊，这话并不见得完全对。”他指着下面说：“看看他们，成排地躺着，他们算什么呢？他们不是男人和女人。他们没有一点个性，只不过是一些——人体而已！”
巴瑞少校很表赞赏地说：“有些妞儿还真漂亮呢，也许嫌瘦了一点。”
白罗叫道：“不错，可是那有什么？有什么神秘可言？我，我年纪大了，是老一辈的人。我年轻的时候，最多只能看到女人的足踝，瞥到一眼有花边的衬裙，真具诱惑力！小腿柔和的曲线——膝盖——吊袜带——”
“坏孩子，坏孩子！”巴瑞少校用沙哑的声音说道。
“现在我们穿的衣服——要有道理得多了。”布雷斯特小、姐说。
“哎，不错，白罗先生，”贾德纳太太说：“我以为，你知道，现在的男孩子和女孩子过的生活要自然而健康得多。他们现在一起，他们——呃，他们——”贾德纳太太脸上微微发红，因为她的思想很正派——“他们不觉得那有什么大不了，你们懂我的意思吧？”
“我知道，”白罗说：“实在可叹。”
“可叹？”贾德纳太太诧异地问道。
“舍弃所有的浪漫情调——所有的神秘！现在一切都标准化了！”他朝底下那一排排的人体挥了一下手。“这很让我想起了巴黎的停尸间。”
“白罗先生！”贾德纳太太大不以为然地说道。
“人的身子——排得好好的——就像屠夫的砧上肉！”
“可是，白罗先生，这样说法不是太过分了吗？”
赫邱里·白罗承认道：“可能吧。”
“不管怎么说，”贾德纳太太起劲地编织着，“有一点我倒是同意你的。那些这样子躺在太阳下的女孩子，会长满手满腿的毛。我就跟伊兰妮说过——她是我女儿，白罗先生，我说，伊兰妮，要是你那样躺在太阳底下的话，你就会全身长毛，你手上、腿上、胸口都会长毛，那你会是个什么样子？我这样跟她说的。对不对，欧帝尔？”
“对啦，亲爱的。”贾德纳先生说。
所有的人都沉默了，大概都在想伊兰妮在那种情形下会是什么样子。贾德纳太太把她编织的东西卷了起来，说道：
“我想现在——”
“什么事呀？亲爱的？”贾德纳先生说。他挣扎着由躺椅上站了起来，接过贾德纳太太的编织东西和书本。他问道：
“要不要和我们一起去喝一杯？布雷斯特小、姐？”
“现在不行，谢谢。”
贾德纳夫妇向旅馆走去。布雷斯特小、姐说：“美国丈夫真是不错。”
贾德纳太太的位子由史蒂文·蓝恩牧师坐了下来，蓝恩先生是个五十多岁，高大而充满活力的牧师，脸晒得黑黑的，深灰色的法兰绒长裤正是度假的穿着式样，很遭人物议，他很热切地说：“好漂亮的地方，我从皮梳湾到哈福德走了个来回，从悬崖上走的。”
“今天散步真热。”巴瑞少校是从来不散步的。
“很好的运动，”布雷斯特小、姐说：“我今天还没划船呢。再没有比划船更能锻炼腹部肌肉的了。”赫邱里·白罗的视线不禁有点懊恼地落向他自己隆起的肚子。布雷斯特小、姐注意到了他的眼光，很慈蔼地说：“白罗先生，要是你每天划一趟船，肚子不久就会消下去的。”
“谢谢你，小、姐，我不喜欢船。”
“你是说小船？”
“各种大小的船都一样！”他闭上了眼睛，打了个寒战，“海上的摇晃，实在不舒服。”
“天可怜见，今天海上平静得像个池塘。”
白罗斩钉截铁地说：“天下就没有真正平静的海洋，总会有浪的。”
“要是你问我的话，”巴瑞少校说：“晕船的十有九个是心理作用。”
“这话，”那个牧师面带微笑地说：“是惯常跑海的人说的——是吧？少校？”
“只晕过一次船——还是在横渡英法海峡的时候，我的座右铭是，不要去想它。”
“晕船实在是一件很奇怪的事，”布雷斯特小、姐说：“为什么有些人会晕？有些人又不会呢？看起来真不公平，而且这和一个人平常的健康情形又一点关系都没有，有些病人反倒是好水手，有人告诉我说，这事跟一个人的脊椎有关。另外还有就是有些人受不了在高的地方，我自己在这方面就不大行，可是雷德方太太比我还糟得多，前几天，在到哈福德去的那条崖顶小路上，她就像垮了似地，紧紧抓着我，她告诉我说，有一回，她在米兰天主堂外面的梯子上卡住了，弄得不上不下，她当初往上爬时根本没想到这回事，下来的时候可把她搞惨了。”
“那，她最好别去爬小妖湾的直梯子。”蓝恩说。
布雷斯特小、姐做了个鬼脸。“我自己都不敢去，年轻孩子们倒没问题，柯温家那几个男孩子，还有马士特曼家的孩子，他们跑上跑下，开心得不得了。”
蓝恩说：“雷德方太太游过泳上来了。”
布雷斯特小、姐说：“白罗先生应该会欣赏她的，她也不喜欢晒太阳。”
年轻的雷德方太太脱下了她的橡皮游泳帽，把头发抖开来，她一头浅金色的头发，皮肤也是正好相配的白晰，两腿和双臂都很白。巴瑞少校轻笑了一声道：“跟其他的人比起来，她就像是没烤熟的，对不对？”
克莉丝汀·雷德方披上一件长长的浴袍，从海滩上走上台阶，直朝他们这边走来。她的面貌相当严肃、漂亮，却有点让人觉得凄美，手脚都很纤细。她向他们微微一笑，坐在他们身边，把身上的浴袍裹得更紧了些。布雷斯特小、姐说：
“你很得白罗先生的赞赏，他不喜欢那些晒日光浴的人，说他们就像是屠夫的砧上肉什么的。”
克莉丝汀·雷德方很懊恼地笑了笑说：“我倒真希望我能作日光浴，可是我皮肤不会变成棕色，只会晒得发红，然后整个手臂上都会起可怕的斑点。”
“总比贾德纳太太的伊兰妮弄得满手毛好些。”布雷斯特小、姐说，她看到克莉丝汀疑问的眼光，就继续说道：“贾德纳太太今早一直精神抖擞，简直就没停过。‘是不是呀？欧帝尔？’‘是啦，亲爱的。’”她停了一下，然后说道：“不过，白罗先生，我倒希望你跟她开个玩笑，你为什么不告诉她说，你是来调查一件可怕的谋杀案的，而那个凶手是一个疯子杀手，正在这个旅馆里住着？”
赫邱里·白罗叹了口气，他说：“我实在怕她会真相信我的话。”
巴瑞少校发出一声轻笑，“她一定会的。”
艾蜜莉·布雷斯特说：“我不知道，我觉得有些地方就是和别处不同，这里就不是那种地方说是会有——”她的话停了下来，觉得很难说明她的意思。
“这里很有浪漫情调，”赫邱里·白罗表示同意道：“这里很平静，阳光照耀，海水湛蓝，可是你忘了，布雷斯特小、姐，在太阳底下，到处都有邪恶的事。”
那位牧师在椅子上欠动了下身子，他俯过身来，一对蓝眼闪闪发光，布雷斯特小、姐耸了下肩膀，“哦！我当然知道这一点，可是——”
“可是你还是觉得这不像是个犯罪地点？你忘了一件事，小、姐。”
“我想，你说的是人性吧？”
“那是一点，总是会牵扯到的，不过我要说的还不是这个。我要向你指出的是，到这里来的每一个人都是来度假的。”
艾蜜莉·布雷斯特对他露出一脸不解的表情，“这我就不懂了。”
赫邱里·白罗很慈祥地对她笑了笑，伸出手指来在空中点了点，“这样说吧，假设你有个敌人，要是你到他住的地方，他的办公室，或是在街上找他——哎，你一定得有个理由——一定要说明自己的行为意图。可是在海边，就不必费这种事。你来到了皮梳湾，为什么呢？很简单嘛，现在是八月天——八月大家都到海边去的——去度假，所以你看，你在这里，蓝恩先生在这里，巴瑞少校在这里，雷德方太太和她先生在这里，全都是很自然的事，因为英国人在八月里到海滨来，已经是沿习成风的一件事了。”
“嗯，”布雷斯特小、姐承认道：“这的确是一个很精采的想法，可是贾德纳夫妇呢？他们可是美国人呀。”
白罗微微一笑，“就算是贾德纳太太，也像她跟我们说的那样，感觉到有放松一下的必要。而且，她既然是在‘玩’英国，她也就非要在海滨过一两夜不可——那怕只是为了表示她是个好观光客。她很喜欢看人咧。”
雷德方太太喃喃地说道：“我想，你也喜欢注意看别人吧。”
“夫人，坦白地说，我的确如此。”
她沉吟地说：“你看到——很多。”
大家沉默了一阵，史蒂文·蓝恩清了下嗓子，有点不大自在地说：“白罗先生，我对你刚才所说的话有点兴趣。你说太阳底下到处都有邪恶的事，这简直有点像是引了‘传道书’上的话。”他停顿了一下，然后引了那几句话说：“‘并且世人的心，充满了恶，活着的时候心里狂妄。’”他的脸上焕发着近乎狂热的光彩，“我很高兴能听到你说这话，现在没有一个人相信有邪恶之事，充其量也只把它当作是善的一个反意词而已，大家都说，恶事是一些不懂事的人做出来的——那些未开化的人，应该可怜他们，而不该责备他们。可是，白罗先生，邪恶是真实的！确有其事！我相信有恶，正如同我相信有善一般！那的确存在！很有势力！行走在世界上！”他停了下来，呼吸急促，他用手帕擦了下前额，突然满面歉意，“对不起，我越扯越远了！”
白罗平静地说：“我了解你的意思，有一部分我也很表同意，邪恶的确存在于世界上，也可以叫人认识。”
巴瑞少校清了清嗓子，“说到这种事，当年在印度的时候——”
巴瑞少校在这里耽搁的时间已经长久到每个人都随时在防备他长篇大论地说他那些在印度的故事。布雷斯特小、姐和雷德方太太同时开口说起话来。“那边是你先生游过来了吧？雷德方太太？他游起来真有力，实在是个游泳好手。”雷德方太太则叫道：“快看！那条小船好可爱啊，张着红帆，是卜拉特先生的船吧？对不对？”张着红帆的船正横过海湾的尽头。
巴瑞少校咕噜道：“想得滑稽，红颜色的船帆。”可是他那段想当年的故事就此被打断了。
赫邱里·白罗很表欣赏地看着刚刚上岸的年轻男人，派屈克·雷德方的确是很好的人类范本，结实的古铜色肌肤，宽肩窄腰，浑身散发着欢乐的气氛——一种与生俱来的单纯，使他能得到所有的女性和大部分男性的喜爱。他站在那里把身上的水抖掉，一面很开心地举手和他妻子招呼，她也挥了下手，叫道：“过来吧，派特。”
“来了。”
他先朝海滩那头走去，准备去拿他放在那里的毛巾，就在这时候，一个女人从旅馆那边经过他们面前向海滩走去，她的出现就如名角登台，而且她走路的姿态就好像她心里很明白这一点，她一点也没有不自在的感觉，好像她早已习惯于她的出现必然会产生的影响。她的身材高而窈窕，穿着一件式样简单的露背白色泳装，袒露出来的每一寸肌肤都是晒得十分均匀漂亮的浅古铜色，她完美得有如一座雕像，赤鸢色的头发浓密卷曲，垂落颈际，由她脸上的表情看来，是三十岁过了的女人才有的那种冷淡，但整个人给人的感觉却很年轻——充满了活力。她的脸上有种东方人八风不动的感觉，深蓝色的眼睛微向上翘，她的头上戴了一顶中国式的翠绿色硬纸帽，她有种特殊的风韵；使得海滩上所有其他的女人都黯然失色，相形见绌。而所有在场的男人都毫无例外地将视线投注在她身上。
赫邱里·白罗的眼睛张了开来，他的胡子微微颤动。巴瑞少校坐了起来，两眼兴奋地瞪得更大。在白罗左边的史蒂文·蓝恩牧师嘶嘶作响地倒吸了一口气，整个身子都僵直了。巴瑞少校用沙哑的声音低声说道：“艾莲娜·史达特(后来她才嫁给了马歇尔)——我在她退出舞台之前看过她演的《送往迎来》，真是值得一看，啊？”
克莉丝汀·雷德方用很冷的声音缓缓说道：“她很漂亮——不错，我觉得——她看起来倒像是一只野兽！”艾蜜莉·布雷斯特突然说道：“白罗先生，你刚才谈到邪恶，现在，在我看来，那个女人正是邪恶的化身！她实在是一个彻头彻尾的坏女人，我正好很清楚她的事。”
巴瑞少校回想道：“我记得在印度有个女孩子，也是一头红头发，一个尉官的老婆，她那时候可真是风靡一时，男人都为她疯狂，当然，所有的女人都恨不得把她眼珠挖出来！好多人家都为她搞得鸡犬不宁。”他轻轻笑了起来。“她老公是个很好、很安静的家伙，对她崇拜得五体投地，从来不说什么——对她百依百顺。”
史蒂文·蓝恩用充满激动情绪的语气低声说道：“这种女人就是邪恶的——邪恶得——”他停了下来。
艾莲娜·史达特已经走到了水边，两个还像男孩子似的年轻人跳了起来，向她跑过去。她停下来，对他们微微笑着，她的眼光却望向他们身后正沿海滩走来的派屈克·雷德方。赫邱里·白罗觉得那就像是望着罗盘上的指针。派屈克·雷德方受到了影响，他的脚步改了方向，那根指针不管怎么样也必须服从磁力定律转向北方。派屈克的两脚将他带到艾莲娜·史达特这边来，她站在那里对他微笑，然后她沿着水边慢慢地朝海滩那头走去。派屈克·雷德方跟着她，她躺在一块大石头边，雷德方也在她身边坐了下来。克莉丝汀·雷德方突然站起身来，走进旅馆里去。
在她离开之后，有一阵很叫人不舒服的沉默。然后艾蜜莉·布雷斯特说：“真差劲！她是个很好的小东西，她们结婚才一两年哩。”
“我刚才说起的那个女孩子。”巴瑞少校说：“就是在印度的那个，她搞砸了好几对美满的夫妻，真是可惜，你说什么？”
“有一种女人，”布雷斯特小、姐说：“就喜欢去破坏别人的家庭。”她停了一两分钟，又说道：“派屈克·雷德方是个傻瓜。”赫邱里·白罗一句话也没说。他望着海滩那边，可是并不是在看派屈克·雷德方和艾莲娜·史达特。布雷斯特小、姐说：“呃，我还是先走一步去划船吧。”她离开了这堆人。
巴瑞少校把他那双发红的眼睛转过来，好奇地望着白罗。
“哎，白罗，”他说：“你在想什么？你都没开过口，你觉得这个女妖精怎么样？很热情吧？”
白罗说：“可能。”
“哎，你这只老狗，我很清楚你们法国人。”
白罗冷冷地说：“我不是法国人。”
“好吧，可是别骗我说你从来不看漂亮女人！你觉得她怎么样？呃？”
赫邱里·白罗说：“她不年轻了。”
“这有什么关系？女人的年龄是靠外表决定的！她看起来不错！”
赫邱里·白罗点了点头，他说：“不错，她很美，可是归根结底重要的并不是美貌，让所有的人(除了一个之外)把头转过来看她的，并不是她的美貌。”
“是那种风韵，”那位少校说：“重要的是——那种风韵。”然后他突然好奇地说：“你一直两眼盯着在看什么呀？”
赫邱里·白罗回答道：“我在看那个唯一例外的人，她走过的时候，只有那一个男人没有抬起头来。”
巴瑞少校顺着他的眼光看去，看到一个年约四十上下的男人，他一头美发，皮肤微黑，有一张很静而愉悦的脸，正坐在海滩上吸着烟斗，看一本“时代”杂志。“啊，那个人呀！”巴瑞少校说：“那就是做老公的，他就是马歇尔。”
赫邱里·白罗说：“我知道。”
巴瑞少校笑了声，他本人是个单身汉，他一向对“丈夫”只有三种看法——“障碍”、“不便”和“保镖”。他说：“看起来是个好人，很安静。不知道我订的《时代》杂志来了没有。”他站起身来，向旅馆走去。
白罗的视线缓缓转到史蒂文·蓝恩的脸上。史蒂文·蓝恩正望着艾莲娜·马歇尔和派屈克·雷德方。他突然转过头来对着白罗，他的眼中闪着狂热的光芒。他说：“那个女人简直就是邪恶的化身，你还有什么怀疑吗？”
白罗缓缓地说：“这事很难说得一定。”
史蒂文·蓝恩说：“可是，难道你不能感觉得到？在你四周围？都有邪恶存在。”
赫邱里·白罗慢慢地点了点头。
Chapter 2
When Rosamund Darnley came and sat down by him, Hercule Poirot made no attempt to disguise his pleasure. As he has since admitted, he admired Rosamund Darnley as much as any woman he had ever met. He liked her distinction, the graceful lines of her figure, the alert proud carriage of her head. He liked the neat sleek waves of her dark hair and the ironic quality of her smile. She was wearing a dress of some navy blue material with touches of white. It looked very simple owing to the expensive severity of its line. Rosamund Darnley as Rose Mond Ltd was one of London's best-known dressmakers. She said: "I don't think I like this place. I'm wondering why I came here!"
"You've been here before, have you not?"
"Yes, two years ago, at Easter. There weren't so many people then."
Hercule Poirot looked at her. He said gently: "Something has occurred to worry you. That is right, is it not?"
She nodded. Her foot swung to and fro. She stared down at it. She said: "I've met a ghost. That's what it is."
"A ghost, Mademoiselle?"
"Yes."
"The ghost of what? Or of whom?"
"Oh, the ghost of myself."
Poirot asked gently: "Was it a painful ghost?"
"Unexpectedly painful. It took me back, you know." She paused, musing. Then she said: "Imagine my childhood - No, you can't. You're not English!"
Poirot asked: "Was it a very English childhood?"
"Oh, incredibly so! The country - a big shabby house - horses, dogs - walks in the rain - wood fires - apples in the orchard - lack of money - old tweeds - evening dresses that went on from year to year - a neglected garden - with Michaelmas daisies coming out like great banners in the Autumn..."
Poirot asked gently: "And you want to go back?"
Rosamund Darnley shook her head. She said: "One can't go back, can one? That - never. But I'd like to have gone on - a different way."
Poirot said: "I wonder."
Rosamund Darnley laughed. "So do I really!"
Poirot said: "When I was young (and that, Mademoiselle, is indeed a long time ago) there was a game entitled 'if not yourself, who would you be?' One wrote the answer in young ladies' albums. They had gold edges and were bound in blue leather. The answer, Mademoiselle, is not really very easy to find."
Rosamund said: "No - I suppose not. It would be a big risk. One wouldn't like to take on being Mussolini or Princess Elizabeth. As for one's friends, one knows too much about them. I remember once meeting a charming husband and wife. They were so courteous and delightful to one another and seemed on such good terms after years of marriage that I envied the woman. I'd have changed places with her willingly. Somebody told me afterwards that in private they'd never spoken to each other for eleven years!" She laughed. "That shows, doesn't it, that you never know?"
After a moment or two Poirot said: "Many people. Mademoiselle, must envy you."
Rosamund Darnley said coolly: "Oh - yes. Naturally." She thought about it, her lips curved upward in their ironic smile. "Yes, I'm really the perfect type of the successful woman! I enjoy the artistic satisfaction of the successful creative artist (I really do like designing clothes) and the financial satisfaction of the successful business woman. I'm very well off, I've a good figure, a passable face, and a not too malicious tongue." She paused. Her smile widened. "Of course - I haven't got a husband! I've failed there, haven't I, M. Poirot?"
Poirot said gallantly: "Mademoiselle, if you are not married, it is because none of my sex have been sufficiently eloquent. It is from choice, not necessity, that you remain single."
Rosamund Darnley said: "And yet, like all men, I'm sure you believe in your heart that no woman is content unless she is married and has children."
Poirot shrugged his shoulders. "To marry and have children that is the common lot of women. Only one woman in a hundred - more, in a thousand - can make for herself a name and a position as you have done."
Rosamund grinned at him. "And yet, all the same, I'm nothing but a wretched old maid! That's what I feel today, at any rate. I'd be happier with a twopence a year and a big silent brute of a husband and a brood of brats running after me. That's true, isn't it?"
Poirot shrugged his shoulders. "Since you say so, then, yes, Mademoiselle."
Rosamund laughed, her equilibrium suddenly restored. She took out a cigarette and lit it. She said: "You certainly know how to deal with women, M. Poirot. I now feel like taking the opposite point of view and arguing with you in favour of careers for women. Of course I'm damned well off as I am - and I know it!"
"Then everything in the garden - or shall we say at the seaside? - is lovely, Mademoiselle."
"Quite right."
Poirot, in his turn, extracted his cigarette case and lit one of those tiny cigarettes which it was his affectation to smoke. Regarding the ascending haze with a quizzical eye, he murmured: "So Mr - no, Captain - Marshall is an old friend of yours, Mademoiselle?"
Rosamund sat up. She said: "Now how do you know that? Oh, I suppose Ken told you."
Poirot shook his head. "Nobody has told me anything. After all, Mademoiselle, I am a detective. It was the obvious conclusion to draw."
Rosamund Darnley said: "I don't see it."
"But consider!" The little man's hands were eloquent. "You have been here a week. You are lively, gay, without a care. Today, suddenly, you speak of ghosts, of old times. What has happened? For several days there have been no new arrivals until last night when Captain Marshall and his wife and daughter arrive. Today the change! It is obvious!"
Rosamund Darnley said: "Well, it's true enough. Kenneth Marshall and I were more or less children together. The Marshalls lived next door to us. Ken was always nice to me - although condescending, of course, since he was four years older. I've not seen anything of him for a long time. It must be - fifteen years at least."
Poirot said thoughtfully: "A long time." Rosamund nodded. There was a pause and then Hercule Poirot said: "He is sympathetic, yes?"
Rosamund said warmly: "Ken's a dear. One of the best. Frightfully quiet and reserved. I'd say his only fault is a penchant for making unfortunate marriages."
Poirot said in a tone of great understanding: "Ah..."
Rosamund Darnley went on. "Kenneth's a fool - an utter fool where women are concerned! Do you remember the Martingdale case?"
Poirot frowned. "Martingdale? Martingdale? Arsenic, was it not?"
"Yes. Seventeen or eighteen years ago. The woman was tried for the murder of her husband."
"And he was proved to have been an arsenic eater and she was acquitted?"
"That's right. Well, after her acquittal, Ken married her. That's the sort of damn silly thing he does."
Hercule Poirot murmured: "But if she was innocent?"
Rosamund Darnley said impatiently: "Oh, I daresay she was innocent. Nobody really knows! But there are plenty of women to marry in the world without going out of your way to marry one who's stood trial for murder." Poirot said nothing. Perhaps he knew that if he kept silence Rosamund Darnley would go on. She did so. "He was very young, of course, only just twenty-one. He was crazy about her. She died when Linda was born - a year after their marriage. I believe Ken was terribly cut up by her death. Afterwards he racketed around a lot - trying to forget, I suppose." She paused. "And then came this business of Arlena Stuart. She was in Revue at the time. There was the Codrington divorce case. Lady Codrington divorced Codrington citing Arlena Stuart. They say Lord Codrington was absolutely infatuated with her. It was understood they were to be married as soon as the decree was made absolute. Actually, when it came to it, he didn't marry her. Turned her down flat. I believe she actually sued him for breach of promise. Anyway, the thing made a big stir at the time. The next thing that happens is that Ken goes and marries her. The fool - the complete fool!"
Hercule Poirot murmured: "A man might be excused such a folly - she is beautiful, Mademoiselle."
"Yes, there's no doubt of that. There was another scandal about three years ago. Old Sir Roger Erskine left her every penny of his money. I should have thought that would have opened Ken's eyes if anything would."
"And did it not?"
Rosamund Darnley shrugged her shoulders. "I tell you I've seen nothing of him for years. People say, though, that he took it with absolute equanimity. Why I should like to know? Has he got an absolutely blind belief in her?'"
"There might be other reasons."
"Yes. Pride! Keeping a stiff upper lip! I don't know what he really feels about her. Nobody does."
"And she? What does she feel about him?"
Rosamund stared at him. She said: "She? She's the world's first gold-digger. And a man eater as well! If anything personable in trousers comes within a hundred yards of her, it's fresh sport for Arlena! She's that kind."
Poirot nodded his head slowly in complete agreement. "Yes," he said. "That is true what you say... Her eyes look for one thing only - men."
Rosamund said: "She's got her eye on Patrick Redfern now. He's a good-looking man - and rather the simple kind - you know, fond of his wife, and not a philanderer. That's the kind that's meat and drink to Arlena. I like little Mrs Redfern - she's nice-looking in her fair washed-out way - but I don't think she'll stand a dog's chance against the man-eating tiger, Arlena."
Poirot said: "No, it is as you say." He looked distressed.
Rosamund said: "Christine Redfern was a school teacher, I believe. She's the kind that thinks that mind has a pull over matter. She's got a rude shock coming to her." Poirot shook his head vexedly. Rosamund got up. She said: "It's a shame, you know." She added vaguely: "Somebody ought to do something about it."
Linda Marshall was examining her face dispassionately in her bedroom mirror. She disliked her face very much. At this minute it seemed to her to be mostly bones and freckles. She noted with distaste her heavy bush of red-brown hair (mouse, she called it in her own mind), her greenish-grey eyes, her high cheekbones and the long aggressive line of the chin. Her mouth and teeth weren't perhaps quite so bad - but what were teeth after all? And was that a spot coming on the side of her nose? She decided with relief that it wasn't a spot. She thought to herself: "It's awful to be sixteen - simply awful."
One didn't, somehow, know where one was. Linda was as awkward as a young colt and as prickly as a hedgehog. She was conscious the whole time of her ungainliness and of the fact that she was neither one thing nor the other. It hadn't been so bad at school. But now she had left school. Nobody seemed to know quite what she was going to do next. Her father talked vaguely of sending her to Paris next winter. Linda didn't want to go to Paris - but then she didn't want to be at home either. She'd never realized properly, somehow, until now, how very much she disliked Arlena.
Linda's young face grew tense, her green eyes hardened. Arlena... She thought to herself: "She's a beast - a beast..." Stepmothers! It was rotten to have a stepmother, everybody said so. And it was true! Not that Arlena was unkind to her. Most of the time she hardly noticed the girl. But when she did, there was a contemptuous amusement in her glance, in her words. The finished grace and poise of Arlena's movements emphasized Linda's own adolescent clumsiness. With Arlena about, one felt, shamingly, just how immature and crude one was. But it wasn't that only. No, it wasn't only that. Linda groped haltingly in the recesses of her mind. She wasn't very good at sorting out her emotions and labelling them. It was something that Arlena did to people - to the house - "She's bad," thought Linda with decision. "She's quite, quite bad."
But you couldn't even leave it at that. You couldn't just elevate your nose with a sniff of moral superiority and dismiss her from your mind. It was something she did to people. Father, now. Father was quite different... She puzzled over it. Father coming down to take her out from school. Father taking her once for a cruise. And Father at home - with Arlena there. All - all sort of bottled up and not - and not there. Linda thought: "And it'll go on like this. Day after day - month after month. I can't bear it."
Life stretched before her - endless - in a series of days darkened and poisoned by Arlena's presence. She was childish enough still to have little sense of proportion. A year, to Linda, seemed like an eternity. A big dark burning wave of hatred against Arlena surged up in her mind. She thought: "I'd like to kill her. Oh! I wish she'd die..."
She looked out above the mirror onto the sea below. This place was really rather fun. Or it could be fun. All those beaches and coves and queer little paths. Lots to explore. And places where one could go off by oneself and muck about. There were caves, too, so the Cowan boys had told her. Linda thought: "If only Arlena would go away, I could enjoy myself."
Her mind went back to the evening of their arrival. It had been exciting coming coming from the mainland. The tide had been up over the causeway. They had come in a boat. The hotel had looked exciting, unusual. And then on the terrace a tall dark woman had jumped up and said: "Why, Kenneth!"
And her father, looking frightfully surprised, had exclaimed: "Rosamund!"
Linda considered Rosamund Darnley severely and critically in the manner of youth. She decided that she approved of Rosamund. Rosamund, she thought, was sensible. And her hair grew nicely - as though it fitted her - most people's hair didn't fit them. And her clothes were nice. And she had a kind of funny amused face - as though it were amused at herself not at you. Rosamund had been nice to her, Linda. She hadn't been gushing or said things. (Under the term of "saying things" Linda grouped a mass of miscellaneous dislikes.) And Rosamund hadn't looked as though she thought Linda a fool. In fact she'd treated Linda as though she were a real human being. Linda so seldom felt like a real human being that she was deeply grateful when any one appeared to consider her one.
Father, too, had seemed pleased to see Miss Darnley. Funny - he'd looked quite different, all of a sudden. He'd looked - he'd looked - Linda puzzled it out - why, young, that was it! He'd laughed - a queer boyish laugh. Now Linda came to think of it, she'd very seldom heard him laugh. She felt puzzled. It was as though she'd got a glimpse of quite a different person. She thought: "I wonder what Father was like when he was my age..." But that was too difficult. She gave it up.
An idea flashed across her mind. What fun it would have been if they'd come here and found Miss Darnley here - just she and Father. A vista opened out just for a minute. Father, boyish and laughing. Miss Darnley, herself - and all the fun one could have on the island - bathing - caves - The blackness shut down again.
Arlena. One couldn't enjoy oneself with Arlena about. Why not? Well, she, Linda, couldn't, anyway. You couldn't be happy when there was a person there you - hated. Yes, hated. She hated Arlena. Very slowly that black burning wave of hatred rose up again. Linda's face went very white. Her lips parted a little. The pupils of her eyes contracted. And her fingers stiffened and clenched themselves...
Kenneth Marshall tapped on his wife's door. When her voice answered, he opened the door and went in. Arlena was just putting the finishing touches on her toilet. She was dressed in glittering green and looked a little like a mermaid. She was standing in front of the glass applying mascara to her eyelashes. She said: "Oh, it's you. Ken."
"Yes. I wondered if you were ready."
"Just a minute."
Kenneth Marshall strolled to the window. He looked out on the sea. His face, as usual, displayed no emotion of any kind. It was pleasant and ordinary. Turning around, he said: "Arlena?"
"Yes?"
"You've met Redfern before, I gather?"
Arlena said easily: "Oh, yes, darling. At a cocktail party somewhere. I thought he was rather a pet."
"So I gather. Did you know that he and his wife were coming down here?"
Arlena opened her eyes very wide. "Oh, no, darling. It was the greatest surprise!"
Kenneth Marshall said quietly: "I thought, perhaps, that that was what put the idea of this place into your head. You were very keen we should come here."
Arlena put down the mascara. She turned towards him. She smiled - a soft seductive smile. She said: "Somebody told me about this place. I think it was the Rylands. They said it was simply too marvellous so unspoilt! Don't you like it?"
Kenneth Marshall said: "I'm not sure."
"Oh, darling, but you adore bathing and lazing about. I'm sure you'll simply adore it here."
"I can see that you mean to enjoy yourself." Her eyes widened a little. She looked at him uncertainly. Kenneth Marshall said: "I suppose the truth of it is that you told young Redfern that you were coming here?"
Arlena said: "Kenneth darling, you're not going to be horrid, are you?"
Kenneth Marshall said: "Look here, Arlena. I know what you're like. That's rather a nice young couple. That boy's fond of his wife really. Must you upset the whole blinking show?"
Arlena said: "It's so unfair blaming me. I haven't done anything anything at all. I can't help it if -"
He prompted her. "If what?"
Her eyelids fluttered. "Well, of course, I know people do go crazy about me. But it's not my doing. They just get like that."
"So you do admit that young Redfern is crazy about you?"
Arlena murmured: "It's really rather stupid of him." She moved a step towards her husband. "But you know, don't you, Ken, that I don't really care for anyone but you?"
She looked up at him through her darkened lashes. It was a marvellous look - a look that few men could have resisted. Kenneth Marshall looked down at her gravely. His face was composed. His voice quiet. He said: "I think I know you pretty well, Arlena..."
When you came out of the hotel on the south side the terraces and the bathing beach were immediately below you. There was also a path that led off round the cliff on the southwest side of the island. A little way along it, a few steps led down to a series of recesses cut into the cliff and labelled on the hotel map of the island as Sunny Ledge. Here cut out of the cliff were niches with seats in them. To one of these, immediately after dinner, came Patrick Redfern and his wife. It was a lovely clear night with a bright moon. The Redferns sat down. For a while they were silent. At last Patrick Redfern said: "It's a glorious evening, isn't it, Christine?"
"Yes." Something in her voice may have made him uneasy. He sat without looking at her. Christine Redfern asked in her quiet voice: "Did you know that woman was going to be here?"
He turned sharply. He said: "I don't know what you mean."
"I think you do."
"Look here, Christine. I don't know what has come over you -"
She interrupted. Her voice held feeling now. It trembled. "Over me? It's what has come over you!"
"Nothing's come over me."
"Oh! Patrick! It has! You insisted on coming here. You were quite vehement. I wanted to go to Tintagel again where where we had our honeymoon. You were bent on coming here."
"Well, why not? It's a fascinating spot."
"Perhaps. But you wanted to come here because she was going to be here."
"She? Who is she?"
"Mrs Marshall. You - you're infatuated with her."
"For God's sake, Christine, don't make a fool of yourself. It's not like you to be jealous." His bluster was a little uncertain. He exaggerated it.
She said: "We've been happy!"
"Happy? Of course we've been happy! We are happy. But we shan't go on being happy if I can't even speak to another woman without you kicking up a row."
"It's not like that."
"Yes, it is. In marriage one has got to have - well - friendships with other people. This suspicious attitude is all wrong. I - I can't speak to a pretty woman without your jumping to the conclusion that I'm in love with her -" He stopped. He shrugged his shoulders.
Christine Redfern said: "You are in love with her..."
"Oh, don't be a fool, Christine! I've - I've barely spoken to her."
"That's not true."
"Don't for goodness' sake get into the habit of being jealous of every pretty woman we come across."
Christine Redfern said: "She's not just any pretty woman! She's - she's different! She's a bad lot! Yes, she is. She'll do you harm. Patrick, please, give it up. Let's go away from here."
Patrick Redfern stuck out his chin mutinously. He looked somehow very young as he said defiantly: "Don't be ridiculous, Christine. And and don't let's quarrel about it."
"I don't want to quarrel."
"Then behave like a reasonable human being. Come on, let's go back to the hotel."
He got up. There was a pause, then Christine Redfern got up too. She said: "Very well..."
In the recess adjoining, on the seat there, Hercule Poirot sat and shook his head sorrowfully. Some people might have scrupulously removed themselves from earshot of a private conversation. But not Hercule Poirot. He had no scruples of that kind. "Besides," as he explained to his friend Hastings at a later date, "it was a question of murder."
Hastings said, staring: "But the murder hadn't happened, then."
Hercule Poirot sighed. He said: "But already, mon cher, it was very clearly indicated."
"Then why didn't you stop it?"
And Hercule Poirot, with a sigh, said, as he had said once before in Egypt, that if a person is determined to commit murder it is not easy to prevent them. He does not blame himself for what happened. It was, according to him, inevitable.
第二章
罗莎梦·戴礼过来坐在他身边的时候，赫邱里·白罗毫不掩饰他的高兴，而且他也当众承认过他对罗莎梦·戴礼像他所见过别的女性一样的爱慕有加，更欣赏她的出众，她优雅的身材，昂首而行的神情。他喜欢她一头黑发乱如光滑的波浪，以及她略带讽刺的笑容，她穿着一套深蓝色料子做的洋装，上面点缀了些白色，看来十分简单，其实线条十分复杂。罗莎梦·戴礼的玫瑰屋服饰公司是伦敦最著名的女装公司之一。她说：“我觉得我并不喜欢这个地方，我还在奇怪到底是为什么到这里来。”
“你以前也来过这里的，是吧？”
“是的，两年前的复活节，当时还没现在这么多人。”
赫邱里·白罗看看她，很温柔地说：“出了什么让你担心的事，我说得对不对？”
她点了点头，两脚前后摆动，她低头瞪着两脚，说道，
“我见到鬼了。”
“鬼？”
“嗯。”
“什么鬼？还是什么人的鬼魂？”
“哦，我自己的鬼魂。”
白罗柔和地问道：“这个鬼很叫人痛苦吗？”
“没想到会那么痛苦，把我拉回到以前去了，你知道。”她停了下来，想了想，然后说道：“想想我童年时的——不，你不可能想象得到，你不是英国人！”
白罗问道：“是非常英国化的童年吗？”
“哦，你简直不敢相信有多英国化！住在乡下——一座好大的老房子——有马，有狗——在雨中散步——木柴生火——果园里有苹果——没什么钱——旧苏格兰呢衣服——穿上好几年的夜礼服——没人照料的花园——秋天到处都是小野菊花……”
白罗温柔地问道：“你希望能回到那时候去？”
罗莎梦·戴礼摇了摇头。她说：“人是不能回到过去的，不是吗？永远也不可能。可是我倒希望自己选了——另外一条路。”
白罗说：“不见得。”
罗莎梦·戴礼笑了起来，“我真的那样想呢。”
白罗说：“我年轻的时候(哎，小、姐，那可真是好久以前的事了)，流行过一个游戏叫‘若不做你自己，你想做谁？’答案要写在一些女孩子的小本子里，那些本子有金边，外面是蓝颜色的皮面。小、姐，这个问题的答案却很不容易找得到呢。”
罗莎梦说：“唉——我想也是。那会要冒很大的险。谁也不会想做墨索里尼或是伊莉莎白公主，至于自己的朋友，对他们又了解得太多，我还记得有次碰到一对很好的夫妇，他们彼此好有礼貌，好开心，在结婚那么多年之后还能维持这样的关系，真叫我羡慕那个女人，我绝对会心甘情愿地和她交换身份，可是后来有人告诉我说，他们两人私下已经有十一年不曾交谈了！”她笑了笑，“这不正表示你什么事都想象不到吗？”
过了一阵之后，白罗说：“有很多人想必都很羡慕你呢。”
罗莎梦·戴礼冷冷地说：“哦，不错，当然啦。”她想了想，嘴角提了上去，露出那带讽刺的笑来，“不错，我正是成功女性的典型，我很能享受一个成功的创作艺术家在艺术上的满足(我也真喜欢设计服装)，以及一个成功的职业妇女在钱财上的满足，我生活得相当好，我的身材不错，脸孔也过得去，还有并不太尖刻的口舌。”她停了下，她的笑更大了些，“当然——我还少个丈夫！这一点是失败了，对不对？白罗先生？”
白罗很殷勤地说：“小、姐，你之所以还未结婚，是因为我的同性之间没有一个够资格的，你之所以维持独身，是你的选择，而非必要。”
罗莎梦·戴礼说：“话虽是这么说，可是我相信你也和所有的男人一样，在心里深信一个女人要不等到结婚生子就不可能满足。”
白罗耸了下肩膀，“结婚生子是一般女人都会的，但一百个女人里只有一个——不对，一千个女人里只有一个——能像你一样得到今天的名声和地位。”
罗莎梦对他咧嘴一笑道：“可是，我毕竟还只是一个已经憔悴了的老处女！至少，我今天就有这样的感觉，我倒情愿一年没几个钱，却有个高大却不多嘴的丈夫，和一大堆小鬼跟在我后面，这也是实话吧。是不是？”
白罗耸了下肩膀，“你既然这样说，就算是这样吧。”
罗莎梦笑了起来，她突然恢复了自制，拿出一支香烟来点上，她说：“你真懂得如何应付女人，白罗先生，我现在倒觉得要采取相对的立场和看法，来和你争执女性应以事业为重了。我现在这样的生活当然不坏——我也知道。”
“那，我们是不是可以说，一切又都很美好了？”
“一点也不错。”
白罗也掏出了烟盒，点上一支他最喜欢的细支香烟，他望着袅袅上升的青烟，喃喃地说道：“那么，马歇尔先生是你的老朋友了？小、姐。”
罗莎梦坐直了身子，她说：“哎，你怎么知道的？哦，我想是甘逸世告诉你的吧？”
白罗摇了下头，“什么人也没告诉我什么，可是，小、姐，我是个侦探呀，这是个很显然可得的结论。”
罗莎梦·戴礼说：“我不明白。”
“想想看！”他两手比划着，“你到这里来了一个礼拜，很活跃，很开心，一点心事也没有，今天却突然说到鬼，说到以前的事，这是怎么回事呢？过去几天里都没有新的客人来，一直到昨天晚上才来了马歇尔先生和他的太太跟女儿。今天你就起了这样的变化！事情不是很明显吗？”
罗莎梦·戴礼说：“嗯，这倒是真的，甘逸世·马歇尔和我算是青梅竹马的朋友，马歇尔家就住在我们隔壁，甘逸世一向对我很好——当然，是一种照顾式的好法，因为他比我大四岁。我后来好久没有见过他。总有——至少有十五年了。”
白罗沉吟地道：“好长的一段时间。”罗莎梦点点头，他们沉默了一阵，然后赫邱里·白罗说：“他很有同情心，是吗？”
罗莎梦很热情地说：“甘逸世是个好人，最好的人，沉静而内向得可怕，我敢说他唯一的错误就是有专结不幸婚姻的坏习惯。”
白罗很了解地说了一声：“啊……”
罗莎梦·戴礼继续说道：“甘逸世是个傻瓜——他一碰到女人就成了个大傻瓜！你还记得马婷黛的案子吗？”
白罗皱起了眉头，“马婷黛？马婷黛？是下毒吧，是不是？”
“不错，十七八年前的事了，那个女人被控谋杀亲夫。”
“后来证明他有服食砒霜的习惯，结果她被判无罪开释了。”
“不错。呃，在她获释之后，甘逸世娶了她，他就会做这种傻事。”
赫邱里·白罗喃喃地道：“可是说不定她的确是清白的呢？”
罗莎梦不耐烦地说道：“啊，我敢说她一定是清白的，谁也搞不清楚！可是世界上有多少女人好娶，又何必偏去娶个因为谋杀案受过审的女人呢？”白罗没有说什么，也许他知道如果他保持沉默的话，罗莎梦·戴礼就会继续下去，她果然继续说道：“当然，那时候他还很年轻，才二十一岁，他对她爱得发疯，她在生琳达的时候死的——他们结婚才一年。我相信她的死让甘逸世很受打击。后来他乱过一阵子——我想他是想把以前的事忘掉。”她顿了一下，“后来又来了这个艾莲娜·史达特，她常常演歌舞剧。有一宗有名的离婚案子，柯丁顿夫人和柯丁顿离婚的时候，就指艾莲娜·史达特是妨害家庭的第三者，他们说柯丁顿爵士爱她爱得要命，大家都知道一等离婚成立之后，他们两个就要结婚的。可是，事到临头，他却没有娶她，硬把她给拒之千里之外。反正，这件事在当时闹得很大，接下来，就是甘逸世去把她娶了回来。这个傻瓜——这个大傻瓜！”
赫邱里·白罗喃喃说道：“这种傻瓜也有值得原谅的地方——她很美呢。”
“不错，一点也不错。三年前，还有一件丑闻，老爵士罗吉·安思勤死后把全部财产遗赠给她。我原以为这件事总该让甘逸世睁开眼睛来了。”
“可是并没有吗？”
罗莎梦耸了下肩膀：“我告诉你我已经有多年没见过他了。不过，别人说他丝毫未动声色地就认了下来，我倒想知道这是为什么？难道他对她盲目地信任吗？”
“也许另有原因。”
“不错，面子问题，面子总要维持！我不知道他对她到底感觉如何，没有人知道。”
“她呢，她对他有什么感觉？”
罗莎梦瞪着他。她说：“她？她是世界上天字第一号的掘金女郎，也是个会吃人的妖精！只要是个男人到了她周围方圆百码之内，艾莲娜马上就想动手了，她就是这种人。”
白罗极表同意地点了点头。“不错，”他说：“你说得不错，她的两眼只看一样东西——男人。”
罗莎梦说：“她现在又看上了派屈克·雷德方，他长得很好看——很单纯的一个人——你知道，喜欢他太太，不是到处拈花惹草的人，这种人最对艾莲娜的胃口，我很喜欢雷德方太太——她那副楚楚可怜的样子很好看——可是我想她是绝对搞不过吃人母老虎艾莲娜的。”
白罗说：“嗯，正像你说的那样。”他看来很是沮丧。
罗莎梦说：“克莉丝汀·雷德方好像是个老师，她是那种相信思想重于一切的人。她可有得吃惊的哩。”白罗懊恼地摇了摇头。罗莎梦站了起来，她说：“这真不该。”她很含糊地又补上一句说：“真该有人用什么办法来解决一下。”
琳达·马歇尔很不开心地在卧室里照着镜子，她很不喜欢自己的这张脸。现在她尤其觉得大部分只是骨头和雀斑，她看到自己一头红棕色蓬松的头发就讨厌(她在心里暗骂一声，就像老鼠一样)。她也不喜欢自己灰绿色的眼睛，高高的颧骨和长长的下巴。她的嘴和牙齿也许不那么坏——可是牙齿好又有什么用？还有，她鼻子旁边长的这个红点是什么呢？后来发现并不是一粒粉刺，才放心下来。她自己暗想：“十六岁真可怕——简直可怕透了！”
一个人好像就是搞不清自己的处境。琳达笨得像条小牛，坐立不安得又如一只刺猬。她随时都感到自己很丑，也觉得自己什么也不是。在学校里还没这么坏，可是她现在离开了学校，好像没一个人知道她该做什么，她父亲含含糊糊地提到今年冬天要送她到巴黎去。琳达不想去巴黎——可是她也不想耽在家里，一直到现在她才真正明白她有多讨厌艾莲娜。
琳达那张年轻的脸绷紧起来，灰绿的眼睛神色变得冷硬。艾莲娜……她心里想道：“她是个禽兽——畜牲……”后母！有个后母实在是一件坏事，每个人都这样说。这话一点也不错！倒不是说艾莲娜对她不好，大多数的时候，艾莲娜根本就不注意到这个小女孩，可是一旦注意到了，那她的眼里和话里总带着一种轻蔑的神情……艾莲娜优雅的姿态和动作，正强调了琳达的笨拙，只要艾莲娜在身边，她就会很惭愧地感受到自己的幼稚和粗鲁。可是问题还不止这些，还不止这一点而已，琳达想着又停了下来。她还不善于理清自己的感觉，问题在艾莲娜给别人——给他们家——带来的影响，“她是个坏人。”琳达想道：“她很坏，很坏。”
可是事情还不止到此而已，不能只对她嗤之以鼻就可以置之不理了，问题在她对别人的影响。比方说，对爸爸，爸爸现在和以前很不一样了……她不解地想了想，爸爸来带她出学校的时候，爸爸有次带她去游船，还有爸爸在家——艾莲娜也在的时候。一切——一切好像都杂在一起而又不——不在那里。琳达想道：“事情还会继续这样下去，一天又一天——一月又一月。我受不了。”
展现在她眼前的生活——无尽无止——是一连串因为艾莲娜而黑暗的日子，她还很孩子气，不大有比较观念。一年，在琳达看来就如永恒，一阵憎恨如焚烧的火浪在她心里升起，她想道：“我真想杀了她。啊！我真希望她死掉……”
她的目光越过镜子望向下面的海水，这个地方其实很好玩，至少应该会很好玩的。有好几处海滩、小湾，还有好多好玩的小路，有好多可以去探险的地方，也有好多可以一个人去厮混的地方，柯温家的孩子告诉她说，也有好些山洞，琳达想：“只要艾莲娜走了，我就可以玩得开心了。”
她回想起刚到的那天，从对面过来让她感到很兴奋，潮水淹没了堤路，他们是坐小船过来的。这个旅馆看来很特殊、很刺激，然后在阳台上有一个高高黑黑的女人跳了起来，说：“哎呀，是你，甘逸世！”
而她父亲一副非常吃惊的样子，失声叫道：“罗莎梦！”
琳达用孩子们惯有的挑剔态度仔细打量了罗莎梦·戴礼之后，决定她很欣赏罗莎梦。她认为罗莎梦很明理。她的头发也长得很好——好像正配她——大部分人的头发都和他们的人不配。她的衣着也好，她还有一张很有趣的脸——好像很自得其乐的样子。罗莎梦对琳达也很好，既没有大惊小怪，也没有“说”什么(在琳达所谓的“说什么”项下，是一大堆讨人厌的东西)。而且罗莎梦也没有把琳达当作个傻孩子似地看待，而是把她当作一个真正的人来对待。琳达很少有这种被人家当作真正的人的感觉，所以每碰到有这样的人，她就感激万分。
爸爸也好像很高兴见到戴礼小、姐。奇怪——他看起来好像突然变了一个人似的。他看起来——他当时看起来——琳达想了又想——哎，他看起来变年轻了！他大声地笑着——笑得像个孩子。现在琳达回想起来，才发现她很少听到她父亲笑，她感到很困惑，就好像她看到了另外一个完全不同的人。她想道：“不知道爸爸在我这个年纪的时候，是什么样子……”可是这太困难了，她决定不去想它。
她脑子里突然闪过一个念头。要是他们——只有她和爸爸——到这里，见到戴礼小、姐，那该多开心。她突然想见到这样的一个画面：爸爸孩子气地大笑着，戴礼小、姐和她自己——在岛上享受所有的乐趣——游泳——钻山洞——黑暗又笼罩下来。
艾莲娜，有艾莲娜在，就没办法开心。为什么不行呢？哎，至少她，琳达，就开心不起来。有一个你恨的人在，你就不会快乐的。不错，恨！她恨艾莲娜。那阵憎恨的火焰慢慢地又在她心里升了起来，琳达的脸色变得很白，她的嘴唇微微张了开来，两眼的瞳孔收缩，十指僵直拳曲……
甘逸世·马歇尔敲了敲他妻子的房门，听到她回应的声音，他推开门走了进去。艾莲娜刚化好妆，她穿着一身闪亮的绿衣服，看来有点像条人鱼，她正站在镜子前面，把睫毛膏涂刷在眼睫毛上，她说：“啊，原来是你。”
“嗯，我来看看你弄好了没有？”
“马上好。”
甘逸世·马歇尔走到窗前，望向外面的大海，他的脸和平时一样没有流露出什么表情，还是很愉悦而平常，他转过身来，说道：“艾莲娜？”
“什么事？”
“我猜，你以前就认得雷德方吧？”
艾莲娜很轻松地回答道：“啊，是啊，亲爱的，在什么地方一个鸡尾酒会上见过，我觉得他很乖呢。”
“我想也是。你原先就知道他跟他太太要到这里来吗？”
艾莲娜把眼睛睁得好大，“啊，不知道啊，亲爱的，我再也没想到会碰到他啊。”
甘逸世·马歇尔很平静地说：“我以为也许就是因为他们要来才让你想到要来这个地方的，当时你很坚持要我们到这里来呢。”
艾莲娜把睫毛膏放下，转过身去对着他。她微微一笑——笑容中充满了诱惑，她说：“有人跟我说起这个地方，我想是李南夫妇吧。他们说这个地方太好了——完全保持了很纯正的风光！你难道不喜欢这里吗？”
甘逸世·马歇尔说：“我不知道。”
“哦，亲爱的，可是你最喜欢游泳跟闲散了，我想你一定会喜欢这里的。”
“我知道你的意思是说你自己会享乐。”她的眼睛更睁大了一点，有点不知所措地望着他。甘逸世·马歇尔说：“我猜实际上是你告诉雷德方说你要到这里来吧？”
艾莲娜说：“甘逸世，亲爱的，你可不是要找我麻烦吧？”
甘逸世·马歇尔说：“哎，艾莲娜，我知道你是个什么样的人。他们是对很好的小夫妻，那个男孩子真的很爱他的太太，你难道一定要去搅和人家吗？”
艾莲娜道：“这样怪我未免太不公平了，我什么也没做——一点也没，我也不能管着别人不——”
他追问道：“不怎么样？”
她的眼睛不停眨动，“哎，当然，我知道很多人都为我而疯狂，可是那也不是我的错，他们就是会这样嘛。”
“那你承认雷德方为你疯狂了！”
艾莲娜喃喃道：“他实在太蠢了，”她向她丈夫走近一步，“可是你了解的，是吧？你知道我真正爱着的只有你一个人。”
她抬起眼来，透过刷了睫毛膏的睫毛望着他，她的表情很动人——很少有男人能抗拒得了。甘逸世·马歇尔阴沉地俯视着她。他的脸上神色如常，声音平静地说：“我想我相当了解你，艾莲娜……”
走到旅馆南侧的阳台上，海滨浴场就正在阳台下面，也有一条小路通出去。绕过悬崖到岛的西南侧，往前走一小段路，有几级石阶通到一连串在悬崖上开凿出来的凹处。在旅馆地图上标注做“阳光崖”，这些地方都设有座椅，雷德方夫妇在一吃过晚饭后，就到了一处这样的地方。夜色清明，月光很亮，雷德方夫妇坐了下来，沉默了好一阵，最后派屈克·雷德方说：“夜色真美，是不是？克莉丝汀。”
“嗯，”她的语气里有一丝也许会让他感到不安的表情。
他坐在那里，没有看她，克莉丝汀用她平静的声音问道：
“你原先就知道那个女人要到这里来的吗？”
他车转身来，说道：“我不懂，你这话是什么意思。”
“我想你明白。”
“哎，克莉丝汀，我不知道你这是怎么了——”
她打断了他的话，她的声音很低，颤抖着。“我怎么了？是你怎么了！”
“我没有怎么样。”
“哦，派屈克，就有！你坚持一定要到这里来，你非常的固执，我本来想再去我们以前度蜜月的地方，可是你非要来这里不可。”
“哎，为什么不行呢？这是个很好的地方呀！”
“也许吧，可是你之所以想到这里来，是因为她要来的缘故。”
“她？谁是她？”
“马歇尔太太。你——你爱上她了。”
“我的老天，克莉丝汀，别搞得你自己出丑。这样吃醋法，简直不像是你。”他这脾气发得有些不自然，相当夸张。
她说：“我们一直很快乐！”
“快乐，当然我们一直很快乐呀！我们现在也很快乐！可是要是我一跟别的女人说话，你就吵吵闹闹的话，那我们就不会快乐了！”
“不是这么回事。”
“就是！结了婚的人也一定得——呃——和别人维持友谊。你这种疑心的态度完全不对。我——我一跟个漂亮女人说话，你就马上推出结论说我爱上了她——”他停了下来，耸了耸肩膀。
克莉丝汀·雷德方说：“你本来就是爱上了她……”
“啊，别傻了，克莉丝汀！我——我只不过是跟她谈了两三句话而已。”
“才不是呢。”
“不要养成我们一碰到漂亮女人，你就吃醋的坏习惯。”
克莉丝汀·雷德方说：“她可不止是一个漂亮女人而已！她——她和别人不一样！她是个坏女人！一点也不错，她就是，她会害你的。派屈克，我求求你，放开她吧，让我们离开这里。”
派屈克·雷德方不高兴地将下巴伸了出来，很孩子气地辩解道：“别傻了，克莉丝汀，我们——我们别为这种事吵架。”
“我不想吵架。”
“那就好好讲点道理，来，我们回旅馆去吧。”
他站起身来，克莉丝汀略停了下，然后也站了起来，她说：“好吧……”
在隔壁的凹处，赫邱里·白罗坐在那里，他有点忧伤地摇了下头。有些人也许会在可能偷听到别人谈话时赶紧走开，可是赫邱里·白罗却不会，他完全没有这种想法，“何况”他后来向他的朋友海斯亭说：“事关谋杀。”
海斯亭瞪大了眼睛道：“可是，当时谋杀案还没发生哩。”
赫邱里·白罗叹了口气，他说：“可是，我的朋友，事情已经很明显有这种迹象了。”
“那你为什么不事先制止呢？”
赫邱里·白罗叹了口气，像他以前在埃及时说的一样，说要是有哪个人决心要谋杀别人的话，就不容易防止了，对所发生的事情，他一点也不怪自己，据他说，那件事根本是无法避免得了的。
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