阳光下的罪恶——Evil under the sun（中英对照）_派派后花园

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[Novel] 阳光下的罪恶——Evil under the sun（中英对照）

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　　喜爱日光浴的阿琳娜·斯图尔特美丽的棕色身体脸朝下横陈在海滩上，但是这一次没有阳光——她被人勒死了。阿琳娜一出现，赫尔克里·波洛就在海滩的空气中嗅到了情欲的气息。但是，这个显而易见的“激情犯罪”中，也许包含着更多的邪恶和阴谋？赫尔克里·波洛探长该如何侦破这一悬案？


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Chapter 13

Poirot said reflectively: "It was on a morning when we were sitting out here that we talked of suntanned bodies lying like meat upon a slab and it was then that I reflected how little difference there was between one body and another. If one looked closely and appraisingly - yes - but to the casual glance? One moderately well-made young woman is very like another. Two brown legs, two brown arms, a little piece of bathing suit in between - just a body lying out in the sun. When a woman walks, when she speaks, laughs, turns her head, moves a hand - then, yes, then, there is personality - individuality. But in the sun ritual - no.

"It was that day we spoke of evil - evil under the sun, as Mr Lane put it. Mr Lane is a very sensitive person - evil affects him - he perceives its presence - but though he is a good recording instrument, he did not really know exactly where the evil was. To him, evil was focussed in the person of Arlena Marshall and practically every one present agreed with him.

"But to my mind, though evil was present, it was not centralized in Arlena Marshall at all. It was connected with her, yes - but in a totally different way. I saw her, first, last and all the time, as an eternal and predestined victim. Because she was beautiful, because she had glamour, because men turned their heads to look at her, it was assumed that she was the type of woman who wrecked lives and destroyed souls. But I saw her very differently. It was not she who fatally attracted men - it was men who fatally attracted her. She was the type of woman whom men care for easily and of whom they as easily tire. And everything that I was told or found out about her strengthened my conviction on this point. The first thing that was mentioned about her was how the man in whose divorce case she had been cited refused to marry her. It was then that Captain Marshall, one of those incurably chivalrous men, stepped in and asked her to marry him. To a shy retiring man of Captain Marshall's type, a public ordeal of any kind would be the worst torture - hence his love and pity for his first wife who was publicly accused and tried for a murder she had not committed. He married her and found himself amply justified in his estimate of her character. After her death another beautiful woman, perhaps something of the same type (since Linda has red hair which she probably inherited from her mother) is held up to public ignominy. Again Marshall performs a rescue act. But this time he finds little to sustain his infatuation. Arlena is stupid, unworthy of his sympathy and protection, mindless. Nevertheless I think he always had a fairly true vision of her. Long after he ceased to love her and was irked by her presence, he remained sorry for her. She was to him like a child who cannot get farther than a certain page in the book of life.

"I saw in Arlena Marshall with her passion for men, a predestined prey for an unscrupulous man of a certain type. In Patrick Redfern, with his good looks, his easy assurance, his undeniable charm for women, I recognized at once that type. The adventurer who makes his living, one way or another, out of women. Looking on from my place on the beach I was quite certain that Arlena was Patrick's victim, not the other way about. And I associated that focus of evil with Patrick Redfern not with Arlena Marshall.

"Arlena had recently come into a large sum of money, left her by an elderly admirer who had not had time to grow tired of her. She was the type of woman who is invariably defrauded of money by some man or other. Miss Brewster mentioned a young man who had been 'ruined' by Arlena, but a letter from him which was found in her room, though it expressed a wish (which cost nothing) to cover her with jewels, in actual fact acknowledged a cheque from her by means of which he hoped to escape prosecution. A clear case of a young waster sponging on her. I have no doubt that Patrick Redfern found it easy to induce her to hand him large sums from time to time 'for investment.' He probably dazzled her with stories of great opportunities - how he would make her fortune and his own. Unprotected women, living alone, are easy preys to that type of man - and he usually escapes scot-free with the booty. If, however, there is a husband, or a brother, or a father about, things are apt to take an unpleasant turn for the swindler. Once Captain Marshall was to find out what had happened to his wife's fortune, Patrick Redfern might expect short shrift. That did not worry him, however, because he contemplated quite calmly doing away with her when he judged it necessary - encouraged by having already got away with one murder - that of a young woman whom he had married in the name of Corrigan and whom he had persuaded to insure her life for a large sum.

"In his plans he was aided and abetted by the young woman who down here passed as his wife and to whom he was genuinely attached. A young woman as unlike the type of his victims as could well be imagined - cool, calm, passionless, but steadfastly loyal to him and an actress of no mean ability. From the time of her arrival here Christine Redfern played the part, the part of the 'poor little wife' - frail, helpless, an intellectual rather than athletic. Think of the points she made one after another. Her tendency to blister in the sun and her consequent white skin, her giddiness at heights - stories of getting stuck on Milan Cathedral, etc. An emphasis on her frailty and delicacy - nearly every one spoke of her as a 'little woman.' She was actually as tall as Arlena Marshall but with very small hands and feet. She spoke of herself as a former schoolteacher and thereby emphasized an impression of book learning and lack of athletic prowess. Actually it is quite true that she had worked in a school, but the position she held there was that of games mistress and she was an extremely active young woman who could climb like a cat and run like an athlete.

"The crime itself was perfectly planned and timed. It was, as I mentioned before, a very slick crime. The timing was a work of genius. First of all there were certain preliminary scenes - one played on the cliff ledge when they knew me to be occupying the next recess - a conventional jealous wife dialogue between her and her husband. Later she played the same part in a scene with me. At the time I remember a vague feeling of having read all this in a book. It did not seem real. Because, of course, it was not real. Then came the day of the crime. It was a fine day - an essential. Redfern's first act was to slip out very early - by the balcony door which he unlocked from the inside (if found open it would only be thought some one had gone for an early bathe). Under his bathingwrap he concealed a green Chinese hat, the duplicate of the one Arlena was in the habit of wearing. He slipped across the island, down the ladder and stowed it away in an appointed place behind some rocks. Part I.

"On the previous evening he had arranged a rendezvous with Arlena. They were exercising a good deal of caution about meeting as Arlena was slightly afraid of her husband. She agreed to go round to Pixy Cove early. Nobody went there in the morning. Redfern was to join her there, taking a chance to slip away unobtrusively. If she heard any one descending the ladder or a boat came in sight she was to slip inside the Pixy's Cave, the secret of which he had told her, and wait there until the coast was clear. Part II.

"In the meantime Christine went to Linda's room at a time when she judged Linda would have gone for her early morning dip. She would then alter Linda's watch, putting it on twenty minutes. There was, of course, a risk that Linda might notice her watch was wrong, but it did not much matter if she did. Christine's real alibi was the size of her hands which made it a physical impossibility for her to have committed the crime. Nevertheless an additional alibi would be desirable. When in Linda's room she noticed the book on witchcraft and magic, open at a certain page. She read it and when Linda came in and dropped a parcel of candles she realized what was in Linda's mind. It opened up some new ideas to her. The original idea of the guilty pair had been to cast a reasonable amount of suspicion on Kenneth Marshall, hence the abstracted pipe, a fragment of which was to be planted at the cove underneath the ladder. On Linda's return Christine easily arranged an outing together to Gull Cove. She then returned to her own room, took out from a locked suitcase a bottle of artificial suntan, applied it carefully and threw the empty bottle out of the window where it narrowly escaped hitting Emily Brewster who was bathing. Part III successfully accomplished.

"Christine then dressed herself in a white bathing-suit and over it a pair of beach trousers and coat with long floppy sleeves which effectually concealed her newly browned arms and legs. At 10.15 Arlena departed for her rendezvous, a minute or two later Patrick Redfern came down and registered surprise, annoyance, etc. Christine's task was easy enough. Keeping her own watch concealed she asked Linda at twenty-five past eleven what time it was. Linda looked at her watch and replied that it was a quarter to twelve. She then starts down to the sea and Christine packs up her sketching things. As soon as Linda's back is turned Christine picks up the girl's watch which she had necessarily discarded before going into the sea and alters it back to the correct time. Then she hurries up the cliff path, runs across the narrow neck of land to the top of the ladder, strips off her pyjamas and shoves them and her sketching box behind a rock and swarms rapidly down the ladder in her best gymnastic fashion.

"Arlena is on the beach below wondering why Patrick is so long in coming. She sees or hears some one on the ladder, takes a cautious observation and to her annoyance sees that inconvenient person - the wife! She hurries along the beach and into the Pixy's Cave.

"Christine takes the hat from its hiding-place, a false red curl pinned underneath the brim at the back, and disposes herself in a sprawling attitude with the hat and curl shielding her face and neck. The timing is perfect. A minute or two later the boat containing Patrick and Emily Brewster comes round the point. Remember it is Patrick who bends down and examines the body, Patrick who is stunned - shocked - broken down by the death of his lady love! His witness has been carefully chosen. Miss Brewster has not got a good head, she will not attempt to go up the ladder. She will leave the cove by boat, Patrick naturally being the one to remain with the body - 'in case the murderer may still be about.' Miss Brewster rows off to fetch the police. Christine, as soon as the boat has disappeared, springs up, cuts the hat into pieces with the scissors Patrick has carefully brought, stuffs them into her bathing suit and swarms up the ladder in double-quick time, slips into her beach pyjamas and runs back to the hotel. Just time to have a quick bath, washing off the brown suntan application, and into her tennis dress. One other thing she does. She burns the pieces of the green cardboard hat and the hair in Linda's grate, adding a leaf of a calendar so that it may be associated with the cardboard. Not a Hat but a Calendar has been burnt. As she suspected Linda has been experimenting in magic - the blob of wax and the pin show that.

"Then, down to the tennis court, arriving the last, but showing no sign of flurry or haste.

"And meanwhile Patrick has gone to the Cave. Arlena has seen nothing and heard very little - a boat - voices - she has prudently remained hidden. But now it is Patrick calling. 'All clear, darling,' and she comes out and his hands fasten round her neck - and that is the end of poor foolish beautiful Arlena Marshall..."

His voice died away. For a moment there was silence, then Rosamund Darnley said with a little shiver: "Yes, you make one see it all. But that's the story from the other side. You haven't told us how you came to get at the truth?"

Hercule Poirot said: "I told you once that I had a very simple mind. Always, from the beginning, it seemed to me that the most likely person had killed Arlena Marshall. And the most likely person was Patrick Redfern. He was the type, par excellence - the type of man who exploits women like her - and the type of the killer - the kind of man who will take a woman's savings and cut her throat into the bargain. Who was Arlena going to meet that morning? By the evidence of her face, her smile, her manner, her words to me - Patrick Redfern. And therefore, in the very nature of things, it should be Patrick Redfern who killed her.

"But at once I came up, as I told you, against impossibility. Patrick Redfern could not have killed her since he was on the beach and in Miss Brewster's company until the actual discovery of the body. So I looked about for other solutions - and there were several. She could have been killed by her husband - with Miss Darnley's connivance. (They too had both lied as to one point which looked suspicious.) She could have been killed as a result of her having stumbled on the secret of the dope smuggling. She could have been killed, as I said, by a religious maniac, and she could have been killed by her stepdaughter. The latter seemed to me at one time to be the real solution. Linda's manner in her very first interview with the police was significant. An interview that I had with her later assured me of one point. Linda considered herself guilty."

"You mean she imagined that she had actually killed Arlena?" Rosamund's voice was incredulous.

Hercule nodded. "Yes. Remember - she is really little more than a child. She read that book on witchcraft and she half believed it. She hated Arlena. She deliberately made the wax doll, cast her spell, pierced it to the heart, melted it away - and that very day Arlena dies. Older and wiser people than Linda have believed fervently in magic. Naturally she believed that it was all true - that by using magic she had killed her stepmother."

Rosamund cried: "Oh, poor child, poor child. And I thought - I imagined - something quite different - that she knew something which would -"

Rosamund stopped. Poirot said: "I know what it was you thought. Actually your manner frightened Linda still further. She believed that her action had really brought about Arlena's death and that you knew it. Christine Redfern worked on her too, introducing the idea of the sleeping tablets to her mind, showing her the way to a speedy and painless expiation of her crime. You see, once Captain Marshall was proved to have an alibi, it was vital for a new suspect to be found. Neither she nor her husband knew about the dope smuggling. They fixed on Linda to be the scapegoat."

Rosamund said: "What a devil!"

Poirot nodded. "Yes, you are right. A cold-blooded and cruel woman. For me, I was in great difficulty. Was Linda guilty only of the childish attempt at witchcraft, or had her hate carried her still further - to the actual act? I tried to get her to confess to me. But it was no good. At that moment I was in grave uncertainty. The Chief Constable was inclined to accept the dope smuggling explanation. I could let it go at that. I went over the facts again very carefully. I had, you see, a collection of jig saw puzzle pieces, isolated happenings - plain facts. The whole must fit into a complete and harmonious pattern. There were the scissors found on the beach - a bottle thrown from a window - a bath that no one would admit to having taken - all perfectly harmless occurrences in themselves, but rendered significant by the fact that no one would admit to them. Therefore, they must be of significance. Nothing about them fitted in with the theories of either Captain Marshall's or Linda's or of a dope gang's being responsible. And yet they must having meaning. I went back again to my first solution - that Patrick Redfern had committed the murder. Was there anything in support of that? Yes, the fact that a very large sum of money was missing from Arlena's account. Who had got that money? Patrick Redfern, of course. She was the type of woman easily swindled by a handsome young man - but she was not at all the type of woman to be blackmailed. She was far too transparent, not good enough at keeping a secret. The blackmailer story had never rung true to my mind. And yet there had been that conversation overheard - ah, but overheard by whom? Patrick Redfern's wife. It was her story - unsupported by any outside evidence. Why was it invented? The answer came to me like lightning. To account for the absence of Arlena's money!

"Patrick and Christine Redfern. The two of them were in it together. Christine hadn't got the physical strength to strangle her or the mental make-up. No, it was Patrick who had done it - but that was impossible! Every minute of his time was accounted for until the body was found. Body - the word body stirred something in my mind - bodies lying on the beach - all alike. Patrick Redfern and Emily Brewster had got to the cove and seen a body lying there. A body - suppose it was not Arlena's body but somebody else's? The face was hidden by the great Chinese hat.

"But there was only one dead body - Arlena's. Then, could it be - a live body - some one pretending to be dead? Could it be Arlena herself, inspired by Patrick to play some kind of a joke. I shook my head - no, too risky. A live body - whose? Was there any woman who would help Redfern? Of course - his wife. But she was a white-skinned delicate creature - Ah, yes, but suntan can be applied out of bottles - bottles - a bottle - I had one of my jig saw pieces. Yes, and afterwards, of course, a bath - to wash the tell-tale stain off before she went out to play tennis. And the scissors? Why, to cut up the duplicate cardboard hat - an unwieldy thing that must be got out of the way, and in the haste the scissors were left behind - the one thing that the pair of murderers forgot.

"But where was Arlena all the time? That again was perfectly clear. Either Rosamund Darnley or Arlena Marshall had been in the Pixy's Cave, the scent they both used told me that. It was certainly not Rosamund Darnley. Then it was Arlena, hiding till the coast should clear.

"When Emily Brewster went off in the boat, Patrick had the beach to himself and full opportunity to commit the crime. Arlena Marshall was killed after a quarter to twelve but the medical evidence was only concerned with the earliest possible time the crime could have been committed. That Arlena was dead at a quarter to twelve was what was told to the doctor, not what he told the police.

"Two more points had to be settled. Linda Marshall's evidence gave Christine Redfern an alibi. Yes, but that evidence depended on Linda Marshall's wrist-watch. All that was needed was to prove that Christine had had two opportunities of tampering with the watch. I found those easily enough. She had been alone in Linda's room that morning - and there was an indirect proof. Linda was heard to say that she was 'afraid she was going to be late,' but when she got down it was only twenty-five past ten by the lounge clock. The second opportunity was easy - she could alter the watch back again as soon as Linda turned her back and went down to bathe. Then there was the question of the ladder. Christine had always declared she had no head for heights. Another carefully prepared lie.

"I had my mosaic now - each piece beautifully fitted into its place. But unfortunately I had no definite proof. It was all in my mind. It was then that an idea came to me. There was an assurance - a slickness about the crime. I had no doubt that in the future Patrick Redfern would repeat his crime. What about the past? It was remotely possible that this was not his first killing. The method employed, strangulation, was in harmony with his nature - a killer for pleasure as well as for profit. If he was already a murderer I was sure that he would have used the same means. I asked Inspector Colgate for a list of women victims of strangulation. The result filled me with joy. The death of Nellie Parsons found strangled in a lonely copse might or might not be Patrick Redfern's work - it might merely have suggested choice of locality to him, but in Alice Corrigan's death I found exactly what I was looking for. In essence the same method. Juggling with time - a murder committed not, as is the usual way, before it is supposed to have happened, but afterwards. A body supposedly discovered at a quarter past four. A husband with an alibi up to twenty-five past four.

"What really happened? It was said that Edward Corrigan arrived at the Pine Ridge, found his wife was not there and went out and walked up and down. Actually of course he ran full speed to the rendezvous, Caesar's Grove (which you will remember was quite near by), killed her and returned to the café. The girl hiker who reported the crime was a most respectable young lady, games mistress in a well-known girls' school. Apparently she had no connection with Edward Corrigan. She had to walk some way to report the death. The police surgeon only examined the body at a quarter to six. As in this case the time of death was accepted without question.

"I made one final test. I must know definitely if Mrs Redfern was a liar. I arranged our little excursion to Dartmoor. If any one had a bad head for heights, they are never comfortable crossing a narrow bridge over running water. Miss Brewster, a genuine sufferer, showed giddiness, but Christine Redfern, unconcerned, ran across without a qualm. It was a small point, but it was a definite test. If she had told one unnecessary lie - then all the other lies were possible. In the meantime Colgate had got the photograph identified by the Surrey police. I played my hand in the only way I thought likely to succeed. Having lulled Patrick Redfern into security, I turned on him and did my utmost to make him lose his self-control. The knowledge that he had been identified with Corrigan caused him to lose his head completely."

Hercule Poirot stroked his throat reminiscently. "What I did," he said with importance, "was exceedingly dangerous - but I do not regret it. I succeeded! I did not suffer in vain."

There was a moment's silence. Then Mrs Gardener gave a deep sigh. "Why, M. Poirot," she said. "It's just been too wonderful - hearing just exactly how you got your results. It's every bit as fascinating as a lecture on criminology - in fact it is a lecture on criminology. And to think my magenta wool and that sunbathing conversation actually had something to do with it! That really makes me too excited for words and I'm sure Mr Gardener feels the same, don't you, Odell?"

"Yes, darling," said Mr Gardener.

Hercule Poirot said: "Mr Gardener too was of assistance to me. I wanted the opinion of a sensible man about Mrs Marshall. I asked Mr Gardener what he thought of her."

"Is that so," said Mrs Gardener. "And what did you say about her, Odell?"

Mr Gardener coughed. He said: "Well, darling, I never did think very much of her, you know."

"That's the kind of thing men always say to their wives," said Mrs Gardener. "And if you ask me, even M. Poirot here is what I should call a shade on the indulgent side about her, calling her a natural victim and all that. Of course it's true that she wasn't a cultured woman at all, and as Captain Marshall isn't here I don't mind saying that she always did seem to me kind of dumb. I said so to Mr Gardener, didn't I, Odell?"

"Yes, darling," said Mr Gardener.

Linda Marshall sat with Hercule Poirot on Gull Cove. She said: "Of course I'm glad I didn't die after all. But you know, M. Poirot, it's just the same as if I'd killed her, isn't it? I meant to."

Hercule Poirot said energetically: "It is not at all the same thing. The wish to kill and the action of killing are two different things. If in your bedroom instead of a little wax figure you had had your stepmother bound and helpless and a dagger in your hand instead of a pin, you would not have pushed it into her heart! Something within you would have said 'no.' It is the same with me. I enrage myself at an imbecile. I say, 'I would like to kick him.' Instead I kick the table. I say. This table, it is the imbecile, I kick him so.' And then, if I have not hurt my toe too much, I feel much better and the table it is not usually damaged. But if the imbecile himself was there I should not kick him. To make the wax figure and stick in the pins it is silly, yes, it is childish, yes - but it does something useful too. You took the hate out of yourself and put it into that little figure. And with the pin and the fire you destroyed - not your stepmother - but the hate you bore her. Afterwards, even before you heard of her death, you felt cleansed, did you not - you felt lighter - happier?"

Linda nodded. She said: "How did you know? That's just how I did feel."

Poirot said: "Then do not repeat to yourself the imbecilities. Just make up your mind not to hate your next stepmother."

Linda said, startled: "Do you think I'm going to have another? Oh, I see, you mean Rosamund. I don't mind her." She hesitated a minute. "She's sensible."

It was not the adjective that Poirot himself would have selected for Rosamund Darnley, but he realized that it was Linda's idea of high praise.

Kenneth Marshall said: "Rosamund, did you get some extraordinary idea into your head that I'd killed Arlena?"

Rosamund looked rather shamefaced. She said: "I suppose I was a damned fool."

"Or course you were."

"Yes, but, Ken, you are such an oyster. I never knew what you really felt about Arlena. I didn't know if you accepted her as she was and were just frightfully decent about her, or whether you - well, just believed in her blindly. And I thought if it was that and you suddenly found out that she was letting you down you might go mad with rage. I've heard stories about you. You're always very quiet but you're rather frightening sometimes."

"So you thought I just took her by the throat and throttled the life out of her?"

"Well - yes - that's just exactly what I did think. And your alibi seemed a bit on the light side. That's when I suddenly decided to take a hand and make up that silly story about seeing you typing in your room. And when I heard that you said you'd seen me look in - well, that made me quite sure you'd done it. That, and Linda's queerness."

Kenneth Marshall said with a sigh: "Don't you realize that I said I'd seen you in the mirror in order to back up your story. I - I thought you needed it corroborated."

Rosamund stared at him. "You don't mean you thought that I killed your wife?"

Kenneth Marshall shifted uneasily. He mumbled: "Dash it all, Rosamund, don't you remember how you nearly killed that boy about that dog once? How you hung on to my throat and wouldn't let go."

"But that was years ago."

"Yes, I know -"

Rosamund said sharply: "What earthly motive do you think I had to kill Arlena?"

His glance shifted. He mumbled something again. Rosamund cried: "Ken, you mass of conceit! You thought I killed her out of altruism on your behalf, did you? Or - or did you think I killed her because I wanted you myself?"

"Not at all," said Kenneth Marshall indignantly. "But you know what you said that day - about Linda and everything - and - and you seemed to care what happened to me."

Rosamund said: "I've always cared about that."

"I believe you have. You know, Rosamund - I can't usually talk about things - I'm not good at talking - but I'd like to get this clear. I didn't care for Arlena - only just a little at first - and living with her day after day was a pretty nerve-racking business. In fact it was absolute hell, but I was awfully sorry for her. She was such a damned fool - crazy about men - she just couldn't help it - and they always let her down and treated her rottenly. I simply felt I couldn't be the one to give her the final push. I'd married her and it was up to me to look after her as best I could. I think she knew that and was grateful to me really. She was - she was a pathetic sort of creature really."

Rosamund said gently: "It's all right, Ken. I understand now."

Without looking at her Kenneth Marshall carefully filled a pipe. He mumbled:

"You're - pretty good at understanding, Rosamund."

A faint smile curved Rosamund's ironic mouth. She said: "Are you going to ask me to marry you now, Ken, or are you determined to wait six months?"

Kenneth Marshall's pipe dropped from his lips and crashed on the rocks below. He said: "Damn, that's the second pipe I've lost down here. And I haven't got another with me. How the devil did you know I'd fixed six months as the proper time?"

"I suppose because it is the proper time. But I'd rather have something definite now, please. Because in the intervening months you may come across some other persecuted female and rush to the rescue in chivalrous fashion again."

He laughed. "You're going to be the persecuted female this time, Rosamund. You're going to give up that damned dressmaking business of yours and we're going to live in the country."

"Don't you know that I make a very handsome income out of my business? Don't you realize that it's my business - that I created it and worked it up and that I'm proud of it! And you've got the damned nerve to come along and say, 'Give it all up, dear.'"

"I've got the damned nerve to say it, yes."

"And you think I care enough for you to do it?"

"If you don't," said Kenneth Marshall, "you'd be no good to me."

Rosamund said softly: "Oh, my dear, I've wanted to live in the country with you all my life. Now - it's going to come true..."

第十三章



　　白罗沉吟地说道：“那天早上我们坐在这里的时候，谈到那些给太阳晒黑的身子躺在底下，就好像是砧板上的肉，那时候我也说到这些身体之间没有多少差别，如果仔细去观察的话——当然是有区别的——可是若只是一眼扫过呢？每个身材较好的年轻女子彼此都很相象的，两条棕色的腿，两条棕色的手臂，中间是一件小小的泳装——只不过是躺在阳光下的一个人体而已。一个女人如果在走路、说话、发笑、转头、抬手——那时候，不错，到那时候，就看得出她的个性来——有她独特的地方。可是在晒日光浴的时候——个性都没有了。
　　“那天我们也谈到邪恶——蓝恩牧师说过，艳阳下的邪行恶事。蓝恩先生是个很敏感的人——邪恶对他很有影响——他能察觉邪恶的存在——可是他虽然是个很好的记录工具，却并不能真正了解邪恶在什么地方。在他说来，邪恶的化身就是艾莲娜·马歇尔，而几乎每个人都同意他的看法。
　　“然而在我的心里，虽然我也认为有邪恶存在，但并不是集中于艾莲娜·马歇尔一个人的身上。和她有关系，不错——但完全是另外一回事。从头到尾，我一直认为她其实是一个受害者，因为她很美，因为她有魅力，因为男人都会转过头来看她，大家就假定她是那种会毁了别人的生活，腐蚀别人灵魂的女人。可是我对她的看法完全不同。不是她到处吸引男人——而是到处有男人吸引她。她是那种男人很容易就看上，却也很容易就感到厌倦的女人。而所有别人告诉我的，和我查到的一切，也都更证实了我的这种看法。第一件提到她的事，就是那个因为牵涉到她而闹出离婚案的男人拒绝娶她为妻，就在那件事情之后，马歇尔先生，这位有着非凡豪侠骑士精神的人，来向她求婚。对像马歇尔这样一个腼腆内向的人来说，当众遭到羞辱是最难忍受的折磨——所以他才会对他第一任妻子有爱情和怜悯，因为她为了不会犯过的谋杀罪而遭到控诉与审判。他娶了她，发现自己对她的看法完全没有错，在她死了之后，另外一个美丽的女子，也许还是同一类型的人(因为琳达也有一头红头发，大约是由她母亲那里遗传来的)，也遭到了公开的羞辱。马歇尔又出面去救她，可是这一次他却发现并不如他所预期的那样，艾莲娜很愚蠢，不值得他去同情和保护，而她很没有脑筋。不过话虽如此，找想他对她也一直还有相当清楚的认识。在他不再爱她之后，虽然不愿看到她，却也为她感到难过。在他的心目中，她就像是一个在生活中难以再有新的一页的一个小孩子。
　　“我看到艾莲娜·马歇尔对男人的热情，知道她正是某一类男人心目中最好的猎物。而从派屈克·雷德方那里，以他的外表，轻松而充满自信的神情，他那种对女人来说难以忽视的风采，都让我马上认出他是那一型的男人。那种会利用女人来赚生活的男人。从我坐在海边的位置上看下去，我很有把握说艾莲娜是派屈克的猎物，而不是反过来的情形。而我认为邪恶的人，是派屈克·雷德方，而不是艾莲娜·马歇尔。
　　“艾莲娜最近刚得到一大笔钱，是一个对她爱慕有加，还没来得及对她感到厌倦的老人遗赠给她的，她是那种钱财终究不免会被男人骗取掉的女人。布雷斯特小、姐提到一个年轻人被艾莲娜‘毁了’，可是在她房间找到他来的一封信里，虽然表示了他要给她戴满珠宝的愿望——这话可是不必花钱的，实际上却是为了说明收到了她寄去的一张支票，他希望这张支票可以让他不致因亏空公款而被起诉，这正是年轻无赖向她诈财的好例子。我相信派屈克·雷德方一定也发现很容易就可以哄得她不时地给他一大笔钱‘去投资’。他说不定用不少有什么大好机会的故事去骗她——说他可以让他们两个都发大财。没有人保护的女人，一个人生活的，都是这一类男人最容易找的猎物——通常他也可以轻易得手而无后患。不过，万一有个做丈夫的，或是有个兄弟，有个爸爸在，那事情就可能比较麻烦。一旦马歇尔先生发现他妻子的钱财到哪里去了之后，派屈克·雷德方很可能会碰上麻烦。但是，他一点也不担心，因为他早已计划好在必要的时候就下手干掉她——他之所以这么大胆，是因为已经干过一次谋杀的勾当而没有被人发现——那是一个他以柯瑞甘的名字娶来的年轻女子，听了他的话，投下巨额的人寿保险。
　　“在他的计划中，帮他忙的是一个年轻女人，在这里以他妻子的身分出现，实际上，他们两人也有极亲密的关系。这个年轻的女人和他的猎物尽量弄得截然不同——她很冷静，一点也不热情，但对他非常忠诚不二，并且还是一个很高明的演员。从她到了这里之后，克莉丝汀·雷德方就开始扮演她的角色，演一个‘可怜的小妻子’——脆弱、无助、脑力胜于体力。想想她所强调的，她不能晒太阳，她那白晰的皮肤，她的惧高症——当年在米兰大教堂外被卡在半空中等等的故事，处处都在强调她的纤弱——几乎每个人提起她来都说她是个‘小女人’。其实她和艾莲娜·马歇尔一样高，只不过她的手脚要小得多。她说自己以前是个老师，借此使别人印象里认为她是个只会钻在书本里，却没有运动细胞的人。事实上，她的确在学校里教过书，但她的职务却是体育老师，而且她是个非常活跃的年轻女子，爬起山来像只猫，跑起来也像个运动家。
　　“这件罪案本身计划周详，时间计算得也极其精确。正像我以前也说过，这是一件很‘滑溜’的罪案。时间的安排简直是天才的作品。首先，有几场在最初打底子的戏——一场扮演的地方是在阳光崖上，他们碰巧知道我在隔壁——一个典型的嫉妒的妻子和她丈夫之间的对话。后来，她又和我一起，再扮演了一次同样的角色。那时候，我记得模糊地感觉到哪一套似乎在哪一本书里看过，似乎很不真实。当然，那是因为本来就不真实的缘故，然后到了罪案发生的那天。那天的天气很好——这是一个很必要的条件。雷德方的第一步是很早就溜出去——从他由里面打开锁的阳台门出去(如果有人发现门开了，也会以为有人出去早泳去了)。在他的大浴巾里，包藏了一顶绿色的中国式帽子，做得跟艾莲娜习惯上戴用的那顶一模一样。他溜到岛的那一边，下了梯子，把帽子藏在事先约定好的地方，大概是几块岩石后面，这是第一部分。
　　“在头一天夜里，他已经和艾莲娜定下了约会，他们平常对见面的事就安排得很小心，因为艾莲娜还有点怕她的丈夫。她同意很早就去小妖湾，早上那里是没人去的，雷德方说好要到那里和她见面，说是会找机会乘人不注意的时候溜去，要是万一她听见有人从梯子上下来，或是有船从海上来的话，她就要赶快躲到妖精洞里去，他早跟她说过那个地方的秘密，要她在里面等到人都走开了之后再出来。这是第二部分。
　　“同时，克莉丝汀在她算计琳达应该是去早泳去了的时间，到琳达的房间里去，拨动琳达的手表，拨快二十分钟。这样做法，当然要冒琳达可能会发现她表不对的险，可是就算她发现了也没关系，克莉丝汀真正的不在场证明还是她手的大小，证明她根本不可能是行凶的凶手。不过多一件不在场证明总是好的。她在琳达的房间里时，又发现了那本谈巫术和魔法的书，打开在某一页上，她看了一下，而在琳达回到房里，又散落了一包蜡烛的时候，她就知道了琳达心里在想些什么，这也引发了她一个新的构想。原本这一对犯罪搭档计划把相当大的嫌疑推在甘逸世·马歇尔身上，因此才会偷走他一个烟斗，把部分碎片放在小妖湾靠梯子脚下的地方。琳达回来之后，克莉丝汀很轻易地和她约好一起去鸥湾，然后她回到自己的房间里，由锁着的箱子里取出一瓶有颜色的油来，小心地涂在身上，再把空瓶由窗口丢出去，结果差点打中了正在早泳的艾蜜莉·布雷斯特。第三部分成功地完成了。
　　“克莉丝汀然后自己穿上一套白色泳装，在外面罩上一套海滩上穿着的裤装，宽大的衣袖和裤脚遮去了她刚涂成棕色的手臂和双腿。十点十五分时，艾莲娜离开海滩去赴她的约会，一两分钟之后，派屈克·雷德方下来，做出吃惊、烦恼等等的表情，克莉丝汀的工作就简单得多了，她把自己的表藏起来，却在十一点二十五分的时候问琳达几点钟了。琳达看了下表，回答说是十二点差一刻。然后她下海去游泳，而克莉丝汀则开始收拾她的画具，一等琳达转过背去之后，克莉丝汀就把那个女孩子在下水前一定要摘下的表拿起来，拨回到正确的时间。然后她很快地沿着小径爬到岸上，再跑过一小段路，到了那边的梯子顶上，脱掉她的衣服，和她的画具等等一起藏在巨石后面，很快地缘梯而下。显出了她运动员的真功夫。
　　“艾莲娜正在底下的海滩上奇怪派屈克怎么这么久还没有来。她看见或是听到有人从梯子上下来，她小心地偷看了一眼，发现来的人正是最不该来的——她情人的妻子！所以她很快地躲进了妖精洞里。
　　“克莉丝汀把帽子从藏着的地方取出来，一圈红色的假发缝在帽子后面的边缘下，她躺在沙滩上用帽子和假发遮住了脸部和颈子。时间计算得恰到好处，一两分钟之后，载着派屈克和艾蜜莉·布雷斯特的小船由岬角那边绕了过来。要记得是派屈克俯身下去检查‘尸体’的，是派屈克呆住了——吃了一惊——然后因为他所爱的女人死了而崩溃！他的证人也是经过慎重选择的。布雷斯特小、姐有惧高症，所以她不会想到爬上梯子由陆路去报警，她一定会再乘船离开海湾，当然要由派屈克留下来守看尸体——‘怕万一那个凶手还在附近。’布雷斯特小、姐划着船去找警察，克莉丝汀等船一走远，马上就跳了起来，用派屈克带来的一把剪刀将纸帽子剪碎塞进她的泳衣里，以飞快的速度爬上梯子，穿上她那套宽大的海滩装，跑回旅馆去，正好还有时间很快地洗了一个澡，把她身上涂的颜色冲洗干净，换上网球装。她另外还做了一件事，就是把那顶绿色纸帽子的碎片及假发放进琳达房间的壁炉里去加以烧毁，加进一页日历，好让人以为硬纸板是日历的一部分。烧的不是一顶帽子，而是一本日历。因为她怀疑琳达大概是在作魔法试验——才有烧熔的蜡烛和那根针。
　　“然后，她赶到网球场，虽然是最后一个到的，却一点也不显得匆促。
　　“同时，派屈克走到妖精洞去，艾莲娜什么也没看到，听到的也有限——有船来了——有人声——她一直藏在洞里。可是现在是派屈克在叫她，‘没事了，亲爱的。’她走出洞来，而他的两手扼上了她的颈子——这个既可怜又愚蠢的美人艾莲娜·马歇尔就这样丧了性命……”
　　他的语声停了下来，一时之间，沉默笼罩下来。然后罗莎梦·戴礼打了个寒噤说：“哎，你让我们明白了所有的经过，可是这是哪一边的故事，你还没告诉我们，你是怎么发现事情真相的呢？”
　　赫邱里·白罗说：“我有次和你说过，我的头脑非常简单，从一开头，我就一直觉得是那个最可能的嫌犯杀了艾莲娜·马歇尔，而最可能的嫌犯就是派屈克·雷德方。他正是那样一个典型人物——这种男人就是会利用像她那样的女人——这种男人也就是凶手——这种男人会夺走一个女人的储蓄，还会割断她的喉咙。那天早晨艾莲娜是去和谁会面呢？由她的脸，她的笑容，她的态度，她和我所说的话等等，都可以证明是——派屈克·雷德方。所以，很自然的，就该是派屈克·雷德方杀了她。
　　“可是，正如先前说过的，我马上就碰上了不可能的情况。派屈克·雷德方不可能杀她，因为在发现尸体之前，他先是和我们一起在海滩上，然后又和布雷斯特小、姐一起在船上。所以我只好另寻答案——其余也还有好几种可能情况，她很可能是被她丈夫杀死的——由戴礼小、姐从旁协助——他们两个在某一点上都说了谎话，令人怀疑。她也可能是因为无意中撞见走私的人而被杀了灭口。她也可能是被一个宗教狂所杀。还可能是她的继女下的手。最后这一点曾经一度让我以为是真正的答案。琳达在第一次接受警方盘查时的态度就足够证明。而后来我和她谈过一次，更让我在一件事上得到确认，琳达自认有罪。”
　　“你是说，她想象自己真正杀了艾莲娜吗？”罗莎梦用不敢置信的语气问道。
　　赫邱里·白罗点了点头，“是的，要记得——她还不过是个孩子而已。她看了那本关于巫术的书，有一半相信里面所写的，她恨艾莲娜。她故意做了个蜡人形，念了咒，用针刺穿心脏，再加以熔融——而就在那天，艾莲娜死了。比琳达年纪大，也比她聪明的人里都会有对魔法巫术深信不疑的，当然她也相信这一切全是真的了——她以为用巫术就真的杀死了她的继母。”
　　罗莎梦叫道：“啊，可怜的孩子，可怜的孩子。我还以为——我猜想是——跟这完全不一样的事——我以为她知道一些可能会——”
　　罗莎梦停了下来，白罗说：“我知道你的想法是什么。实际上，你的态度使琳达更感到害怕。她相信她的行动真正带来了文莲娜的死亡，而你已经知道了这件事。克莉丝汀·雷德方在这方面下了功夫，让她知道有安眠药，让她能很快而没有痛苦地抛开她的罪。你知道，一旦马歇尔先生证明他确有不在场证明之后，他们就一定得再找个新的嫌疑犯，克莉丝汀和她丈夫都不知道有走私贩毒的这件事，所以他们决定让琳达来做替罪羔羊。”
　　罗莎梦说：“她真是个魔鬼！”
　　白罗点了点头，“不错，你说得很对。她是个冷血而残忍的女人。对我来说，我却遭到了很大的困难。琳达到底只是孩子气地想试试巫术？还是真的进一步发泄了她的恨意——真正的行了凶？我想让她对我坦白，可是并没有成功。当时我也不敢断定。警察局长很有意思接受走私毒品什么的那种说法。我可以就这样让他去。我把所有的事实又再仔细地重新想过一遍。你知道，我就像是有一大堆拼图游戏的碎片，一些独立事件——一些简单的事实。所有的这些必须能完整地拼凑出一个图形来。有一把在海滩上找到的剪刀——一个从窗口丢下去的瓶子——有人洗过澡。可是谁也不肯承认——这些事件本身都好像没有什么大不了，可是偏偏都没有人肯承认，其中就必定另有缘故了，所以这些事也必然有其重要性。而这些和马歇尔先生，或琳达，或是走私毒品的人涉及行凶的事都扯不上任何一点关系。可是这些小事又一定具有某种意义，我于是又回到最初的想法上——认为派屈克·雷德方是凶手。有没有支持这种说法的证据呢？有的。在艾莲娜的帐户里少了很大的一笔钱，是谁得到了这笔钱呢？当然是派屈克·雷德方啦。她就是那种很容易把钱拿出去贴小白脸的女人——却绝对不是那种会受人勒索的女人。她太容易叫人一眼就看穿了，根本守不住什么秘密。那个说什么有人勒索的故事，我根本就不相信是真的。可是却有人听到了这番话——啊，可是是谁听到的呢？是派屈克·雷德方的妻子。那是她说的故事——完全没有其他任何外来的证据，为什么要编造这样的故事呢？我马上就想到了答案，要解释艾莲娜的钱到哪里去了！
　　“派屈克与克莉丝汀·雷德方，这两人同谋合计，克莉丝汀既没有扼杀艾莲娜的体力，心理上也没有足够的助力，行凶的是派屈克——可是看起来又不可能！因为在发现尸体之前，他的每一分钟都有证人。尸体——我心里突然想到身体这两个字——躺在沙滩上的人体——样子都一样。派屈克·雷德方和艾蜜莉·布雷斯特到了海湾那边，看到有个人躺在那里。一个人的身体——如果那不是艾莲娜，而是别的人呢？脸又被那顶中国式的帽子给遮住了。
　　“可是事实上只有一具尸体——就是艾莲娜的。那，可不可能是——一个活人的身体一什么人假装已经死了？那会不会是艾莲娜本人，听了派屈克的话，来开玩笑？我摇了摇头——不对，那太冒险了。一个活人的身体——谁的呢？会有谁来帮雷德方？对了——是他的太太。可是她是个皮肤很白、人很纤弱的女人——啊，对了，人身上的棕色可以用颜料涂出来的，颜料装在瓶子里——瓶子——我的拼图里有一片就是一个瓶子，对了。事后，当然要洗个澡——在她出去打网球之前，一定要把身上的颜色冲洗干净。而那把剪刀呢？哎，就是要把另外那顶一模一样的帽子剪碎用的——那顶帽子一定非要给毁掉不可，结果在匆忙中，那把剪刀就掉了下来——成为这对凶手忘记了的一件东西。
　　“可是这段时间里，艾莲娜又在哪里呢？这一点又很清楚了。我由两位女士所用的同一种牌子的香水，知道不是罗莎梦·戴礼，就是艾莲娜·马歇尔到过妖精洞里，既然绝对不是罗莎梦·戴礼，那就是艾莲娜躲在里面等外面的人散了。
　　“艾蜜莉·布雷斯特划着船走了之后，整个海滩上只剩下了派屈克一个人，正是他实行犯罪计划的大好时机。艾莲娜·马歇尔是在十二点差一刻之后被杀的，可是法医的检定只注意到罪案可能发生的最早时间。而说艾莲娜在十二点一刻时已经死了的话，是他们告诉法医、而不是法医告诉警方的。
　　“另外还有两个问题必须解决，琳达·马歇尔的证词给克莉丝汀·雷德方提供了不在场证明。不错，可是那个证明是靠琳达·马歇尔的手表而成立的，只需要证明克莉丝汀先后有过两个机会来拨动表上的时间。我发现这件事很容易。那天早上她曾经一个人到过琳达的房间里——另外有个间接的证明。有人听到琳达说她‘怕自己会迟到’，可是等她赶到楼下时，大厅里的钟才十点二十五分。第二个机会更方便——她可以在琳达一转过背去下水之后就可以把表拨回来了。然后还有那道梯子的问题。克莉丝汀一直说她不敢站在高处，这又是一个细心准备好的谎话。
　　“我的拼图已经差不多快完成了——每一片都很美地放到了定位。可是不幸得很，我并没有确切的证据。这些全在我的脑子里。就在这时候，我想到了一个好主意，这件罪案之所以会这么顺利，是因为他们很有把握，我深信派屈克·雷德方将来还会再重复他的罪行。可是在过去呢，很可能这不是他第一次行凶。他所用的手法，扼死对方，很合于他的本性——他是一个除了要获利之外还为了得到快感而杀人的凶手。如果他已经做过凶手的话，我相信他一定也用的是同一种手法。我向柯根德巡官要一份近年来女子被扼死的旧案记录，其结果使我非常高兴。妮莉·帕森丝被扼死在杂树林里的事，不一定是派屈克·雷德方的杰作——对他也许只有在地区的选择上有点暗示作用，可是艾莉丝·柯瑞甘一案却让我找到了我要找的东西。也就是说用同样的方法，在时间上玩花样——谋杀案发生的时间并不像平常一样在假定发生的时间之前，而是在那之后。尸体据说是在四点一刻发现的，而死者的丈夫一直到四点二十五分都有不在场证明。
　　“到底是怎么回事呢？证人说爱德华·柯瑞甘到了松岩茶屋，发现他的妻子还没到，就到外面走来走去等她。实际上，他却是以全速跑到凯撒林——你们当然记得那里相距不远，将她杀了，再回到茶屋来，去报案的女子是个很受人尊敬的小、姐，是一家著名女子学校里的体育教员，她显然和爱德华·柯瑞甘毫无关连，她得走相当远的一段路去报警。警方的法医到了六点差一刻的时候才检查尸体，所以就像本案一样，接受了报案者所称的死亡时间而没有另加追究。
　　“我还做了最后一项试验，我必须要很确定地知道雷德方太太有没有说谎，所以我安排大家到大德漠去野餐，凡是有惧高症的人，就没法横过河上的那道狭窄的独木桥，布雷斯特小、姐是这样的人，结果就差点出事，可是克莉丝汀·雷德方却毫不在乎地跑过桥去，这是一件小事，可是却是个很好的试验，如果她连这种不必要的事都会说谎——那其他的话也可能都是谎话了。同时柯根德巡官也把照片送给苏瑞郡警方指认过了。我用我有把握一定可以成功的方法露了最后一张王牌，先哄得派屈克·雷德方以为自己已经安全无虞，然后再转过头来，尽力对他猛烈攻击，使他失去自制。听说柯根德让人指认出他身分的事，终于让他完全昏了头。”
　　赫邱里·白罗摸着自己的喉咙。“我所做的那件事，”他煞有介事地说：“非常非常危险——可是我并不后悔。我成功了！我没有白受苦。”
　　大家沉默了一阵，然后贾德纳太太深深地叹了口气。“哎呀，白罗先生，”她说：“这实在是太了不起了——听你说到底是怎么查得结果的，这简直就像听一篇犯罪学的演讲一样动人——说老实话，这就是一篇犯罪学的演讲。想想看，我的那束毛线和在海水浴场上谈到日光浴的那段谈话，居然也和这个案子有点关系！真叫我兴奋得无法用言语形容，我相信贾德纳先生也有同样的感觉，是不是？欧帝尔？”
　　“是的，亲爱的。”贾德纳先生说。
　　赫邱里·白罗说：“贾德纳先生也帮了我很大的忙，我希望能得到一个很通世故而讲道理的人讲讲对马歇尔太太的看法，我问贾德纳先生的意见如何。”
　　“真的呀？”贾德纳太太说：“你对她的意见怎么样呢？欧帝尔？”
　　贾德纳先生咳嗽一声，他说：“呃，亲爱的，你知道，我根本就没怎么想她。”
　　“男人跟他们老婆总是这样说的，”贾德纳太太说：“要是问我的话，就算白罗先生对她可以说是相当宽容，说她天生是个被害人什么的，可是她实在不是个很有教养的女人，而且正好马歇尔先生现在不在这里，我可以告诉你，我一直觉得她有那么点蠢，我以前也这样跟贾德纳先生说过，是不是？欧帝尔？”
　　“是的，亲爱的。”贾德纳先生说。
　　琳达·马歇尔和赫邱里·白罗一起坐在鸥湾。她说：“我当然很庆幸自己没有死，可是你知道，白罗先生，这跟我杀了她还是一样的，对不对？我原本就想杀她。”
　　赫邱里·白罗用很强调的语气说：“这完全不是一回事。想杀人的念头和实际杀人的行动是完全不同的两件事，如果说，在你的卧室里不是那个你做的蜡人，而是把你的继母绑在那里，你手里拿的是一把刀，而不是一根针，你一定不会刺进她心脏里去的。你心里会有个声音对你说‘不行’，我也是一样。我跟某个人生气，我说：‘我真想踢他一脚。’可是我没有踢他，我踢了桌子一脚。我说：‘这张桌子，就是某人，我用力地踢了他。’这样，要是我没太踢痛我的脚趾头的话，我就会觉得好过多了，而那张桌子通常也不会给踢坏。可是如果那个家伙本人在那里的话，我就不会踢他了。弄个蜡人来，拿针去刺它。很傻，不错，很孩子气，也不错——可是这种做法也有好处。你把心里的恨意都发泄在那个小蜡人身上了。用针和火摧毁的——不是你的继母——而是你对她的恨意。事后，在你听到死讯之前，你是不是觉得自己好过多了——轻松多了——也快乐多了呢？”
　　琳达点了点头，她说：“你怎么知道的？那些正是我的感觉。”
　　白罗说：“那就别再有这种感觉了，要下定决心，不要再恨你下一个继母。”
　　琳达吃了一惊道：“你想我又会再有一个继母吗？哦，我明白了，你是说罗莎梦，我不在乎她。”她迟疑了一下，“她很明理。”
　　这不是白罗会选来形容罗莎梦·戴礼的话，不过他明白这在琳达说来是很夸赞的用语。
　　甘逸世·马歇尔说：“罗莎梦，你有没有突发奇想地认为是我杀了艾莲娜？”
　　罗莎梦一副惭愧的表情，她说：“我想我是个该死的傻瓜。”
　　“一点也不错。”
　　“哎，可是，甘，你就像个合紧了的蛤蜊一样，我从来就不知道你对艾莲娜的真正感觉如何。我不知道你是不是能接受她这个人，或者只是为了要对她好，或者是你——呃，只是盲目地信任她。我想如果真是这样，而你突然发现她对不起你，你很可能因此气得发疯。我听过一些关于你的事，你一向很沉静，可是有时候你也实在叫人害怕。”
　　“所以你以为我用两手扼住她的喉咙，活生生地把她给扼死了？”
　　“呃——是的——我正是那样想。而你的不在场证明又好像不那么充分，所以我才突然决定来插一手，编出了个愚蠢的故事来，说看到你在房间里打字，后来我听说你说你也看到我探头进去的时候——哎，那可让我认定准是你干的了。除了那件事之外，还有琳达的古怪行为。”
　　甘逸世·马歇尔叹了一口气说：“你难道不知道我之所以说我在镜子里看到你，是为了支持你的故事，我——我还以为你需要别人帮你的忙呢。”
　　罗莎梦瞪着他，“你的意思可不是说，你以为是我杀了你的太太吧？”
　　甘逸世·马歇尔有点不安地挪动了下身子，他含糊地说道：“哎呀，罗莎梦，难道你不记得好久以前你差点为了一只狗把那个男孩子杀了的事吗？还有回抓着我的脖子不肯放。”
　　“可是那是好多年前的事了。”
　　“是的，我知道——”
　　罗莎梦突然问道：“你想我会有什么动机，一定要杀掉艾莲娜？”
　　他避开了她的目光，又含糊地说了句什么。罗莎梦叫道：“甘，你这个妄想的自大狂！你以为我是替你把她杀了的吗？还是——还是以为我之所以要杀了她，是因为我自己要你的缘故？”
　　“完全不是这么回事，”甘逸世·马歇尔大不以为然地说：“可是你知道你那天说过的话——谈到琳达和其他的等等——而且——而且你好像很关心我的事。”
　　罗莎梦说：“我一向关心你。”
　　“我相信。你知道，罗莎梦——我通常不大跟别人说什么——我不善言辞——可是我想把这件事和你说清楚。我并不爱艾莲娜——只是在最初对她有点关心——后来和她日以继夜地生活在一起，却是一件令人精神无法忍受的事。事实上，简直就如生活在地狱里一样。可是我很为她难过，她实在是个大傻瓜——对男人疯狂得不得了——她自己也禁不住自己——而那些男人又总都对不起她，对她很坏。我只是觉得我不能做那个最后推她一把的人。我既然已经娶了她，就一定要竭尽我能力所及来尽量好好照顾她。我想她也知道这一点，而且真正对我很感激，她是个——她实在是个很可怜的人。”
　　罗莎梦很温柔地说道：“没有关系的，甘，我现在了解了。”
　　甘逸世·马歇尔没有看着她，只是很小心地装好了烟斗，他含糊地说道：“你——你很善解人意，罗莎梦。”
　　罗莎梦的嘴边漾起淡淡的讽刺性的微笑，她说：“你是现在就要向我求婚呢？甘，还是决心再等六个月？”
　　甘逸世·马歇尔嘴里的烟斗掉了下去，摔碎在下面的岩石上。他说：“妈的，这已经是我在这里掉的第二支烟斗了，我身边再没有了。你到底是怎么晓得我认为六个月是该等的时候？”
　　“我想是因为就应该等那么久才对吧。不过，拜托，我希望现在就能把事情说定了。因为在这一段时间里，说不定你又会听说那个女人境遇堪怜，又要发挥你的豪侠精神，挺身而出去救她了。”
　　他大声笑道：“这次境遇堪怜的会是你了，罗莎梦。你要放弃你那个服饰生意，我们要一起住到乡下去。”
　　“难道你不知道我的生意赚的钱相当多吗？难道你不知道那是我的事业——是我创设、努力做起来的，我为此非常得意！你好大的胆子，居然来跟我说‘放弃了吧，亲爱的。’”
　　“我正是有这么大胆子来说这句话。”
　　“而你想我会爱你到这样的程度？”
　　“如果你不这样做的话，”甘逸世·马歇尔说：“那我就不要你了。”
　　罗莎梦温柔地说：“啊，亲爱的，我一直好想和你一辈子住在乡下，现在——我的梦想就要实现了……”

　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　.The End.  
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Chapter 11

Inspector Colgate was reporting to the Chief Constable.

"I've got on to one thing, sir, and something pretty sensational. It's about Mrs Marshall's money. I've been into it with her lawyers. I'd say it's a bit of a shock to them. I've got proof of the blackmail story. You remember she was left fifty thousand pounds by old Erskine? Well, all that's left of that is about fifteen thousand."

The Chief Constable whistled. "Whew, what's become of the rest?"

"That's the interesting point, sir. She's sold out stuff from time to time, and each time she's handled it in cash or negotiable securities - that's to say she's handed out money to some one that she didn't want traced. Blackmail all right."

The Chief Constable nodded. "Certainly looks like it. And the blackmailer is here in this hotel. That means it must be one of those three men. Got anything fresh on any of them?"

"Can't say I've got anything definite, sir. Major Barry's a retired Army man, as he says. Lives in a small flat, has a pension and a small income from stocks. But he's paid in pretty considerable sums into his accounts in the last year."

"That sounds promising. What's his explanation?"

"Says they're betting gains. It's perfectly true that he goes to all the large race meetings. Places his bets on the course too, doesn't run an account."

The Chief Constable nodded. "Hard to disprove that," he said. "But it's suggestive."

Colgate went on: "Next, the Reverend Stephen Lane. He's bona fide all right - had a living at St Helen's, Whiteridge, Surrey - resigned his living just over a year ago owing to ill-health. His ill-health amounted to his going into a nursing home for mental patients. He was there for over a year."

"Interesting," said Weston.

"Yes, sir. I tried to get as much as I could out of the doctor in charge but you know what these medicos are - it's difficult to pin them down to anything you can get hold of.

But as far as I can make out, his Reverence's trouble was an obsession about the Devil - especially the Devil in the guise of woman - scarlet woman - whore of Babylon."

"H'm," said Weston. "There have been precedents for murder there."

"Yes, sir. It seems to me that Stephen Lane is at least a possibility. The late Mrs Marshall was a pretty good example of what a clergyman would call a Scarlet Woman - hair and goings-on and all. Seems to me it's not impossible he may have felt it his appointed task to dispose of her. That is if he is really batty."

"Nothing to fit in with the blackmail theory?"

"No, sir. I think we can wash him out as far as that's concerned. Has some private means of his own, but not very much, and no sudden increase lately."

"What about his story of his movements on the day of the crime?"

"Can't get any confirmation of them. Nobody remembers meeting a parson in the lanes. As to the book at the church, the last entry was three days before and nobody looked at it for about a fortnight. He could have quite easily gone over the day before, say, or even a couple of days before, and dated his entry the 25th."

Weston nodded. He said: "And the third man?"

"Horace Blatt? It's my opinion, sir, that there's definitely something fishy there. Pays income tax on a sum far exceeding what he makes out of his hardware business. And mind you, he's a slippery customer. He could probably cook up a reasonable statement - he gambles a bit on the Stock Exchange and he's in with one or two shady deals. Oh, yes, there may be plausible explanations, but there's no getting away from it that he's been making pretty big sums from unexplained sources for some years now."

"In fact," said Weston, "the idea is that Mr Horace Blatt is a successful blackmailer by profession?"

"Either that, sir, or it's dope. I saw Chief Inspector Ridgeway who's in charge of the dope business, and he was no end keen. Seems there's been a good bit of heroin coming in lately. They're on to the small distributors and they know more or less who's running it the other end, but it's the way it's coming into the country that's baffled them so far."

Weston said: "If the Marshall woman's death is the result of her getting mixed up, innocently or otherwise, with the dope-running stunt, then we'd better hand the whole thing over to Scotland Yard. It's their pigeon. Eh? What do you say?"

Inspector Colgate said rather regretfully: "I'm afraid you're right, sir. If it's dope, then it's a case for the Yard."

Weston said after a moment or two's thought: "It really seems the most likely explanation."

Colgate nodded gloomily. "Yes, it does. Marshall's right out of it - though I did get some information that might have been useful if his alibi hadn't been so good. Seems his firm is very near the rocks. Not his fault or his partner's, just the general result of the crisis last year and the general state of trade and finance. And as far as he knew, he'd come into fifty thousand pounds if his wife died. And fifty thousand would have been a very useful sum." He sighed. "Seems a pity when a man's got two perfectly good motives for murder, that he can be proved to have nothing to do with it!"

Weston smiled. "Cheer up, Colgate. There's still a chance we may distinguish ourselves. There's the blackmail angle still and there's the batty parson, but personally I think the dope solution is far the most likely." He added: "And if it was one of the dope gang who put her out we'll have been instrumental in helping Scotland Yard to solve the dope problem. In fact, take it all round, one way or another, we've done pretty well."

An unwilling smile showed on Colgate's face. He said: "Well, that's the lot, sir. By the way, I checked up on the writer of that letter we found in her room. The one signed J.N. Nothing doing. He's in China safe enough. Same chap as Miss Brewster was telling us about. Bit of a young scallywag. I've checked up on the rest of Mrs Marshall's friends. No leads there. Everything there is to get, we've got, sir."

Weston said: "So now it's up to us." He paused and then added: "Seen anything of our Belgian colleague? Does he know all you've told me?"

Colgate said with a grin: "He's a queer little cuss, isn't he? D'you know what he asked me day before yesterday? He wanted particulars of any cases of strangulation in the last three years."

Colonel Weston sat up. "He did, did he? Now I wonder -" he paused a minute. "When did you say the Reverend Stephen Lane went into that mental home?"

"A year ago last Easter, sir."

Colonel Weston was thinking deeply. He said: "There was a case - body of a young woman found somewhere near Bagshot. Going to meet her husband somewhere and never turned up. And there was what the papers called the Lonely Copse Mystery. Both in Surrey if I remember rightly."

His eyes met those of his Inspector. Colgate said: "Surrey? My word, sir, it fits, doesn't it? I wonder..."

Hercule Poirot sat on the turf on the summit of the island. A little to his left was the beginning of the steel ladder that led down to Pixy's Cove. There were several rough boulders near the head of the ladder, he noted, forming easy concealment for any one who proposed to descend to the beach below. Of the beach itself little could be seen from the top owing to the overhang of the cliff.

Hercule Poirot nodded his head gravely. The pieces of his mosaic were fitting into position. Mentally he went over those pieces considering each as a detached item.

A morning on the bathing beach some few days before Arlena Marshall's death.

One, two, three, four, five, separate remarks uttered that morning.

The evening of a bridge game. He, Patrick Redfern and Rosamund Darnley had been at the table. Christine had wandered out while dummy and had overheard a certain conversation. Who else had been in the lounge at that time? Who had been absent?

The evening before the crime. The conversation he had had with Christine on the cliff and the scene he had witnessed on his way back to the hotel.

Gabrielle No. 8.

A pair of scissors.

A broken pipe.

A bottle thrown from a window.

A green calendar.

A packet of candles.

A mirror and a typewriter.

A skein of magenta wool.

A girl's wristwatch.

Bath-water rushing down the waste-pipe.

Each of these unrelated facts must fit into its appointed place. There must be no loose ends. And then, with each concrete fact fitted into position, on to the next step: his own belief in the presence of evil on the island... Evil... He looked down at a typewritten list in his hands. Nellie Parsons - found strangled in a lonely copse near Chobham. No clue to her murderer ever discovered. Nellie Parsons? Alice Corrigan. He read very carefully the details of Alice Corrigan's death.

To Hercule Poirot, sitting on the ledge overlooking the sea, came Inspector Colgate. Poirot liked Inspector Colgate. He liked his rugged face, his shrewd eyes, and his slow unhurried manner. Inspector Colgate sat down. He said, glancing down at the typewritten sheets in Poirot's hand: "Done anything with those cases, sir?"

"I have studied them - yes."

Colgate got up, he walked along and peered into the next niche. He came back, saying: "One can't be too careful. Don't want to be overheard."

Poirot said: "You are wise."

Colgate said: "I don't mind telling you, M. Poirot, that I've been interested in those cases myself - though perhaps I shouldn't have thought about them if you hadn't asked for them." He paused. "I've been interested in one case in particular."

"Alice Corrigan?"

"Alice Corrigan." He paused. "I've been on to the Surrey police about that case - wanted to get all the ins and outs of it."

"Tell me, my friend. I am interested - very interested."

"I thought you might be. Alice Corrigan was found strangled in Caesar's Grove on Blackridge Heath - not ten miles from Marley Copse where Nellie Parsons was found - and both those places are within twelve miles of Whiteridge where Mr Lane was vicar."

Poirot said: "Tell me more about the death of Alice Corrigan."

Colgate said: "The Surrey police didn't at first connect her death with that of Nellie Parsons. That's because they'd pitched on the husband as the guilty party. Don't quite know why except that he was a bit of what the press calls a 'mystery man' - not much known about him - who he was or where he came from. She'd married him against her people's wishes, she'd a bit of money of her own - and she'd insured her life in his favour - all that was enough to raise suspicion, as I think you'll agree, sir?" Poirot nodded.

"But when it came down to brass tacks the husband was washed right out of the picture. The body was discovered by one of these woman hikers - hefty young woman in shorts. She was an absolutely competent and reliable witness - games mistress at a school in Lancashire. She noted the time when she found the body - it was exactly four fifteen - and gave it as her opinion that the woman had been dead quite a short time - not more than ten minutes. That fitted in well enough with the police surgeon's view when he examined the body at 5.45. She left everything as it was and tramped across country to Bagshot police station where she reported the death. Now from three o'clock to four ten, Edward Corrigan was in the train coming down from London where he'd gone up for the day on business. Four other people were in the carriage with him. From the station he took the local bus, two of his fellow passengers travelling by it also. He got off at the Pine Ridge Café where he'd arranged to meet his wife for tea. Time then was four twenty-five. He ordered tea for them both, but said not to bring it till she came. Then he walked about outside waiting for her. When, by five o'clock she hadn't turned up, he was getting alarmed - thought she might have sprained her ankle. The arrangement was that she was to walk across the moors from the village where they were staying to the Pine Ridge Café and go home by bus. Caesar's Grove is not far from the café and it's thought that as she was ahead of time she sat down there to admire the view for a bit before going on, and that some tramp or madman came upon her there and caught her unawares. Once the husband was proved to be out of it, naturally they connected up her death with that of Nellie Parsons - that rather flighty servant girl who was found strangled in Marley Copse. They decided that the same man was responsible for both crimes but they never caught him - and what's more they never came near catching him! Drew a blank everywhere."

He paused and then he said slowly: "And now - here's a third woman strangled - and a certain gentleman we won't name right on the spot." He stopped. His small shrewd eyes came round to Poirot. He waited hopefully.

Poirot's lips moved. Inspector Colgate leaned forward. Poirot was murmuring: "- so difficult to know what pieces are part of the fur rug and which are the cat's tail."

"I beg pardon, sir?" said Inspector Colgate, startled.

Poirot said quickly: "I apologize. I was following a train of thought of my own."

"What's this about a fur rug and a cat?"

"Nothing - nothing at all." He paused.

"Tell me, Inspector Colgate, if you suspected some one of telling lies - many, many lies, but you had no proof, what would you do?"

Inspector Colgate considered. "It's difficult, that is. But it's my opinion that if any one tells enough lies, they're bound to trip up in the end."

Poirot nodded. "Yes, that is very true. You see, it is only in my mind that certain statements are lies. I think that they are lies, but I cannot know they are lies. But one might perhaps make a test - a test of one little not very noticeable lie. And if that were proved to be a lie - why then, one would know that all the rest were lies, too!"

Inspector Colgate looked at him curiously. "Your mind works a funny way, doesn't it, sir? But I daresay it comes out all right in the end. If you'll excuse my asking, what put you on to asking about strangulation cases in general?"

Poirot said slowly: "You have a word in your language - slick. This crime seemed to me a very slick crime! It made me wonder, if, perhaps, it was not a first attempt."

Inspector Colgate said: "I see."

Poirot went on: "I said to myself, let us examine the past crimes of a similar kind and if there is a crime that closely resembles this one - eh bien, we shall have there a very valuable clue."

"You mean using the same method of death, sir?"

"No, no, I mean more than that. The death of Nellie Parsons for instance tells me nothing. But the death of Alice Corrigan - tell me, Inspector Colgate, do you not notice one striking form of similarity to this crime?"

Inspector Colgate turned the problem over in his mind. He said at last: "No, sir, I can't say that I do really. Unless it's that in each case the husband has got a iron-cast alibi."

Poirot said softly: "Ah, so you have noticed that?"

"Ha, Poirot. Glad to see you. Come in. Just the man I want." Hercule Poirot responded to the invitation. The Chief Constable pushed over a box of cigarettes, took one himself, and lighted it. Between puffs he said: "I've decided, more or less, on a course of action. But I'd like your opinion on it before I act decisively."

Hercule Poirot said: "Tell me, my friend."

Weston said: "I've decided to call in Scotland Yard and hand the case over to them. In my opinion, although there have been grounds for suspicion against one or two people, the whole case hinges on dope smuggling. It seems clear to me that that place, Pixy's Cove, was a definite rendezvous for the stuff."

Poirot nodded. "I agree."

"Good man. And I'm pretty certain who our dope smuggler is. Horace Blatt."

Again Poirot assented. He said: "That, too, is indicated."

"I see our minds have both worked the same way. Blatt used to go sailing in that boat of his. Sometimes he'd invite people to go with him, but most of the time he went out alone. He had some rather conspicuous red sails on that boat but we've found that he had some white sails as well stowed away. I think he sailed out on a good day to an appointed spot, and was met by another boat - sailing boat or motor yacht - something of the kind, and the stuff was handed over. Then Blatt would run ashore into Pixy's Cove at a suitable time of day -"

Hercule Poirot smiled: "Yes, yes, at half past one. The hour of the British lunch when every one is quite sure to be in the dining-room. The island is private. It is not a place where outsiders come for picnics. People take their tea sometimes from the hotel to Pixy's Cove in the afternoon when the sun is on it, or if they want a picnic they would go somewhere far afield, many miles away."

The Chief Constable nodded. "Quite," he said. "Therefore Blatt ran ashore there and stowed the stuff on that ledge in the cave. Somebody else was to pick it up there in due course."

Poirot murmured: "There was a couple, you remember, who came to the island for lunch on the day of the murder? That would be a way of getting the stuff. Some summer visitors from a hotel on the Moor or at St Loo come over to Smuggler's Island. They announce that they will have lunch. They walk round the island first. How easy to descend to the beach, pick up the sandwich box, place it, no doubt, in Madame's bathing bag which she carries - and return for lunch to the hotel - a little late, perhaps, say at ten minutes to two, having enjoyed their walk whilst every one else was in the dining room."

Weston said: "Yes, it all sounds practicable enough. Now these dope organizations are pretty ruthless. If any one blundered in and got wise to things they wouldn't make any bones about silencing that person. It seems to me that that is the right explanation of Arlena Marshall's death. It's possible that on that morning Blatt was actually at the cove stowing the stuff away. His accomplices were to come for it that very day. Arlena arrives on her float and sees him going into the cave with the box. She asks him about it and he kills her then and there and sheers off in his boat as quick as possible."

Poirot said: "You think definitely that Blatt is the murderer?"

"It seems the most probable solution. Of course it's possible that Arlena might have got on to the truth earlier, said something to Blatt about it and some other member of the gang fixed a fake appointment with her and did her in. As I say, I think the best course is to hand the case over to Scotland Yard. They've a far better chance than we have of proving Blatt's connection with the gang."

Hercule Poirot nodded thoughtfully.

Weston said: "You think that's the wise thing to do - eh?"

Poirot was thoughtful. He said at last: "It may be."

"Dash it all, Poirot, have you got something up your sleeve, or haven't you?"

Poirot said gravely: "If I have, I am not sure that I can prove it."

Weston said: "Of course, I know that you and Colgate have other ideas. Seems a bit fantastic to me but I'm bound to admit there may be something in it. But even if you're right, I still think it's a case for the Yard. We'll give them the facts and they can work in with the Surrey police. What I feel is that it isn't really a case for us. It's not sufficiently localized." He paused. "What do you think, Poirot? What do you feel ought to be done about it?"

Poirot seemed lost in thought. At last he said: "I know what I should like to do."

"Yes, man."

Poirot murmured: "I should like to go for a picnic."

Colonel Weston stared at him.

第十一章



　　柯根德巡官在向警察局长报告。
　　“我查到了一件事，局长，这件事相当有意思，跟马歇尔太太的钱有关，我和她的律师深谈了一下，这件事对他们来说，相当令他们感到吃惊。我得到她受人勒索的证明了，你还记得老安思勤爵士赠给她五万镑吧？呃，她现在手里只剩下大约一万五千镑了。”
　　温斯顿吹了声口哨，“喔，其余的钱呢？”
　　“有意思的就在这一点，局长，她不时会卖一些东西，而每次都要拿现金或是不记名的公债券——也就是说她把钱给了人之后，还不希望能让人追查得到。一定是勒索。”
　　警察局长点了点头。“看来的确是如此。而勒索者也在这个旅馆里，也就是说，必定是这三位男士之一。有没有他们的新资料？”
　　“还没什么决定性的东西，局长。巴瑞少校是一个已经退休的军人，和他说的一样。住在一间小公寓里，有一份养老金，还有股票上来的小收入。可是他在去年却在银行户头里收进好几笔大数目的钱。”
　　“这倒好像值得一查，他的解释如何？”
　　“说是赛马赢来的，他的确都到所有的大赛马场去，也都赌马，不过没有固定的户头。”
　　警察局长点了点头。“也很难提出反证，”他说：“不过很有问题。”
　　柯根德继续说道：“其次，是史蒂文·蓝恩牧师，他的资料没有问题——他原先在苏瑞郡白崖镇的圣海伦教区——因为健康情形不佳，在一年前辞去了圣职。他的病使他进了一家精神病疗养院，他在那里住了一年多。”
　　“很有意思。”温斯顿说。
　　“是的，局长，我尽量想从负责诊治的大夫那里挖点内幕出来，可是你知道那些医生都是那个样子的——反正很难把他们逼着给你要的东西。可是据我调查所得，这位牧师的毛病在对魔鬼有他的偏执想法——尤其是魔鬼以女人的形态出现——猩红色的女人——巴比伦的妓女。”
　　“嗯，”温斯顿说：“也有因此而犯谋杀案的先例。”
　　“是的，局长，我觉得蓝恩牧师至少是个可能的嫌疑。已故的马歇尔太太正是这位牧师所说的那样一个坏女人的典型——红头发，以及她的风情等等。在我看起来，要是他觉得他是上天派来毁灭那个女人的，也不是不可能的事。我是说，如果他真有那么疯的话。”
　　“他没什么和勒索案扯得上关系的地方吗？”
　　“没有，局长。我想在这方面可以洗清他的嫌疑。他自己有点小钱，不过不多，最近也没有什么突然的增加。”
　　“案发那天他的行踪有没有什么问题？”
　　“没法证实，没有一个人记得在路上见过有牧师走过，至于教堂里的那本签名簿，最后一个名字也是三天前填进去的，而且从来没有人去看它。他很可能在，比方说前一天，或是两三天前去，把他签名的日期填成二十五号。”
　　温斯顿点了点头，他说：“第三位呢？”
　　“贺雷士·卜拉特。局长，在我看起来，他最有问题，他所付的税数量大过他那五金生意所能赚得到的利润。还有，他是个很滑溜的人，他恐怕会想出个很合理的说法来——他在股票市场上做一点股票，也有一两样额外的买卖。呃，反正，他总会有说得通的解释，可是再怎么说，他近好几年来一直从很多无法解释的来源赚了很多钱。”
　　“说起来，”温斯顿说：“你认为贺雷士·卜拉特先生是个职业性的勒索者吗？”
　　“要不是这样，局长，那就是贩毒。我去见了缉毒组的督察雷季威，他对这事兴趣大极了。好像近来有大量的海洛因进来，他们能抓得到的都是些中小盘。他们也多少知道主使的人可能是谁，可是他们搞不清楚的是这些毒品到底是怎么偷运进国内来的。”
　　温斯顿说：“要是马歇尔太太的死是因为她跟这事扯上了关系，不管她本人是不是清白的，我们都最好把这个案子交给苏格兰警场。那就是他的事了，对吧？你怎么说呢？”
　　柯根德巡官有点懊恼地说：“我怕你说得不错，局长，如果跟贩毒有关的话，那就是苏格兰场的案子了。”
　　温斯顿想了一阵子之后，说道：“看起来这是最可能的解释。”
　　柯根德郁郁地点了点头，“是的，不错，马歇尔跟这事已没有关系了——虽然我这里又有了点关于他的情报，如果他的不在场证明不是那么好的话，倒真有点用呢。他的公司好像正摇摇欲坠，不是他和他合伙人的错，只是去年不景气，以及目前贸易与财务一般的状况影响下的结果。就他所知，如果他太太死亡的话，他可以得到五万镑，而五万镑对他来说可是一笔很有用的数目哩。”他叹了口气，“实在可惜呀，这个人有两个非常好的谋杀动机，却证明了他根本没有关系！”
　　温斯顿微笑道：“开心点吧，柯根德，我们照样还是有可以破案的机会。还有勒索的那件事，也还有那个疯子牧师的事。不过就我个人看来，恐怕还是贩毒的事最说得通。”他又说：“如果真是个贩毒的走私贩子把她杀了的话，那我们也算是有助于苏格兰警场解决了他们缉毒方面的难题，所以，归根结底，不管怎么样，我们都干得不错。”
　　柯根德很勉强地笑了笑，他说：“哎，就这么回事，局长。对了，我还查过在她房间里发现的那封信的寄信人，就是署名J·N·的，没有问题，他的确在中国。就是布雷斯特小、姐跟我们说起过的那个小伙子。是个年轻的窝囊废，我也查过了马歇尔太太的其他朋友，毫无线索，我们能得到的资料，都早已经得到了。”
　　温斯顿说：“那现在全靠我们了。”他顿了一顿，又说道：“有没有看到我们那位比利时籍的同事？你告诉我的这些，他都知道了吗？”
　　柯根德咧嘴一笑，答道：“他是个小怪人，是不是？你可知道他前天问我要什么吗？他要三年来所有关于扼杀案件的资料。”
　　温斯顿上校一下子坐直了身子，“真的吗？我倒不懂——”他停了一分钟，“你说史蒂文·蓝恩牧师是什么时候进精神病院的？”
　　“一年前的复活节，局长。”
　　温斯顿上校深深地沉思着。他说：“当年有一个案子——一个年轻女子的尸体，在贝格夏附近发现的，她本来要去和她丈夫见面的，却始终没到。另外还有一宗报纸上称那是‘荒树林神秘艳尸案’的，两件案子我记得都在苏瑞郡。”
　　他望着他手下的巡官，柯根德说：“苏瑞郡？我的天，局长，那就对了，我想……”
　　赫邱里·白罗坐在岛上的小丘顶上，他左边过去一点的地方就是那道通往小妖湾的直梯。在梯顶有几块大石头，他注意到如果有人想从梯子下到海滩去的话，很可以先藏身在大石堆里。而由于突出的悬崖，所以从上面不大看得到下面的海滩。
　　赫邱里郁郁地点了点头，他那张镶嵌画的碎片已经渐渐放在定位，他在脑筋里再把所有这些零碎资料想过一遍：
　　艾莲娜·马歇尔遇害前几天早晨在海水浴场的时候。一、二、三、四、五句在那天早上说出来，互不相干的话。
　　那天夜里的桥牌戏。他，派屈克·雷德方，还有罗莎梦·戴礼在牌桌上，克莉丝汀·雷德方正好是空位，就走了出去，听到了某一段谈话，当时在休息室的还有哪些人？不在的又是哪些人？
　　凶案发生的前夜，他在崖上和克莉丝汀的那番谈话，还有他在回旅馆路上目睹的一幕。

　　佳百丽八号香水。
　　一把剪刀。
　　一块碎了的烟斗碎片。
　　一个从窗口丢下去的瓶子。
　　一份绿色的日历。
　　一包蜡烛。
　　一面镜子和一架打字机。
　　一束毛线。
　　一个女孩子的手表。
　　从废水管排出去的洗澡水。

　　这些互不相关的事实都必须各个安放在适当的位置，一定不能有凑不起来的地方，然后，等每一件确实的事实都归到定位之后，就要到下一步！他自己相信在岛上有着邪恶……邪恶……他低头看看手里的一张以打字机打好的资料，“妮莉·帕森丝——被发现勒毙于近查布汉的杂树林内。至今尚未查出与凶手有关之任何线索。”妮莉·帕森丝？“艾莉丝·柯瑞甘。”他很仔细地看过关于艾莉丝·柯瑞甘一案的细节。
　　柯根德巡官朝坐在崖顶的白罗走来。白罗很喜欢柯根德巡官，他喜欢这位巡官那张棱角分明的脸，他那对精明的眼睛，和他那从容不迫的举止。柯根德巡官坐了下来，他低头看了看白罗手里的那张纸，说道：“这几个案子都研究过了吗？”
　　“不错——我仔细地看过了。”
　　柯根德站了起来，走过去看看隔壁的凹洞，说道：“做人还是小心点好，不希望有人偷听到我们的谈话。”
　　白罗说：“你很聪明。”
　　柯根德说：“我可以告诉你。白罗先生，我本人对这几个案子也很感兴趣——虽然也许你没向我要这些资料的话，我也不会想起来。”他顿了顿，“我尤其对其中的某一个案子感到兴趣。”
　　“艾莉丝·柯瑞甘？”
　　“艾莉丝·柯瑞甘。”他说：“我曾向苏瑞郡的警方查问这个案子——希望能把所有的资料收集齐全。”
　　“告诉我吧，老兄，我对这案子有兴趣——非常有兴趣。”
　　“我想你也会有兴趣的。艾莉丝·柯瑞甘被人发现给扼死在黑山荒地的凯撒林里——距离妮莉·帕森丝陈尸的马连杂树林不到十哩——而这两个地方距离蓝恩先生当牧师的白崖镇都不到十二哩。”
　　白罗说：“把艾莉丝·柯瑞甘的案子跟我说一下。”
　　柯根德说：“苏瑞郡警方起先并没有把她的死和妮莉·帕森丝的案子连在一起。因为他们认为死者的丈夫是嫌犯。原因不详，只知道他是个报上所谓的‘神秘人物’——对他所知不多——不知道他是什么人，是哪里人。她当初不顾亲友反对嫁给了他，她自己有点钱——保了寿险，也是以他为受益人——这一切都会引起人怀疑的，我想你同意吧？”白罗点了点头。
　　“可是真正调查下来，那个做丈夫的却完全洗脱了嫌疑。尸体是由一个在健行的女子发现的——是一个穿着短裤的年轻女子。她是一个非常可靠的证人——是兰开夏一所学校里的体育老师，她注意到发现尸体的时间——是四点十五分整——也向警方表示她的意见，说那个女人刚过世不久——不超过十分钟。这和警方的法医在五点四十五分时检查尸体所得到的推论相同。她当时保留了现场，赶到贝格夏的警局去报案，而从三点到四点十分，爱德华·柯瑞甘却正坐在从伦敦开来的火车上，他那天去伦敦办事。有四个人和他坐在同一节车厢里，他由车站搭乘当地的公共汽车。同时上车的还有和他一起坐火车来的两个人，他在松岩茶屋门口下车，因为他说好要在那里等他太太来一起喝茶。当时是四点二十五分，他叫了两杯茶，可是关照等她来了之后再送来。然后他到店外走来走去等她。到了五点钟，她还没有到，他就觉得不对劲了——以为她大概是扭伤了足踝，他们本来约定她从那头他们住的村子穿过沼泽地到松岩茶屋来，再和他一起乘公共汽车回去。凯撒林离茶屋不远，大家认为她因为时间还早，所以在那里坐下来看看风景再走，不想正好碰到什么流氓或疯子，出其不意地杀了她。等做丈夫的证明和这事毫无关系之后，警方当然就把这件案子和妮莉·帕森丝的案子连想到一起了——妮莉是个小女佣人，给扼死在马连杂树林里，他们认为这两个案子是同一个人干的，可是始终没抓到凶手——而且连一点线索也没有，到处是一片空白！”
　　他停了一下，然后慢慢地说道：“现在——是第三个被扼死的女人——而一个我们暂时不说他名字的先生又正好在场。”他停了下来，那对精明的小眼睛转到白罗的脸上，充满期盼地等他说话。
　　白罗的嘴唇蠕动着，柯根德巡官俯过身去，白罗正喃喃地说道：“——真难知道哪几块是长毛地毯的一部分，哪些又是猫的尾巴。”
　　“对不起，你说什么？”柯根德巡官吃惊地问道。
　　白罗很快地说道：“对不起，我还在想我自己的心事。”
　　“长毛地毯和猫是怎么回事？”
　　“没什么——根本没什么。”他停了一下，“告诉我，柯根德巡官，如果你怀疑什么人说了谎——很多很多的谎话，可是你又没有证据，那你怎么办呢？”
　　柯根德巡官考虑了一下，“这很困难。可是我以为，要是一个人谎话说多了，最后一定会出差错的。”
　　白罗点了点头，“不错，这话很对。你知道，我只是心里明白某些人说的某些话是谎话，我想那是些谎话，可是我不能确知哪些是谎话。不过我可以做个小小的测验——试一试一个很小、又不为人注意的谎言。如果能证明哪是谎话——哎，那就知道其余的也都是谎话了！”
　　柯根德巡官奇怪地望着他，“你的想法真奇怪，是不是？可是我敢说最后一定有好结果，如果你许我请教一下，你究竟是为什么想起问到一般扼杀案的？”
　　白罗慢吞吞地说：“你们的话里有一个形容词——滑溜。这件案子在我看来是一件很滑溜的罪案！让我想起也许这不是第一次这样做法。”
　　柯根德巡官说：“哦。”
　　白罗继续说道：“我对自己说，我们来查查过去和这相似的案子吧，如果有和这件案子非常相似的——那我们可就有很有价值的线索了。”
　　“你是说同样的谋杀方法？”
　　“不是，不是，我的意思绝不止这一点，比方说，妮莉·帕森丝的案子就让我得不到什么。可是艾莉丝·柯瑞甘之死——我说，柯根德巡官，你有没有注意到这两件案子之间有一点非常相似之处呢？”
　　柯根德巡官在心里把这个问题好好地想了想，最后开口说道：“没有，我想并没有真正看出什么来，除非是，这两个案子里，做丈夫的都有牢不可破的不在场证明。”
　　白罗柔和地说：“啊，原来你注意到了这一点？”
　　“嗨，白罗，你好呀，请进。我正要找你。”赫邱里·白罗接受了邀请，警察局长推过来一包香烟，自己取了一支点上，一面吸，一面说道：“我已经大致决定了行动的方向，不过在我采取实际行动之前，我想听听你的意见。”
　　赫邱里·白罗说：“你跟我说说看，朋友。”
　　温斯顿说：“我决定找苏格兰警场来，把这个案子交给他，在我看起来，虽然我们有些证据怀疑一两个人，但是整个案子的关键却还是在毒品走私上，我觉得那个地方，就是小妖湾，很明显的就是他们走私见面交货的地点。”
　　白罗点了点头，“我同意。”
　　“好人。而且我也知道我们这里贩毒的人是谁，就是贺雷士·卜拉特。”
　　白罗又表示同意说：“这一点也很清楚。”
　　“我看我们两个人的想法一致，卜拉特常常乘他那艘小帆船，有时请人和他一起去玩，但绝大多数的时候，他都是一个人出去，他在船上用一张很怪异的红色大帆，可是我们发现他也有些白色的帆藏在船上。我想他会在说好的那天航行到某个地方，和另一艘船碰头——帆船或是摩托快艇——这一类的，东西就这样转了手，然后卜拉特顺着岛的岸边到小妖湾，当然要找个适当的时间——”
　　赫邱里·白罗微微一笑道：“对，对，在下午一点半，那时候是英国人的午餐时间，每个人大概都会在餐厅里。这个岛是外人不上来的，也没有外面的人到这里来野餐，有时候有旅馆的客人把下午茶由旅馆改到小妖湾去吃，也是要等那里有太阳的时候，要是他们要吃野餐，他们就会到对面好几哩路远的野地去。”
　　警察局长点了点头，“一点也不错，”他说：“所以卡拉特在那里上岸，把东西藏在妖精洞里的突岩上，等别的人来取货。”
　　白罗喃喃地说：“你还记得，有一对夫妇在凶案发生的那天到岛上来吃午餐吧？那就是取货的方法之一，有些附近的避暑观光客会到私贩岛上来，说要在这里进午餐，他们先到岛上四处走走，很容易地就走到下面的海滩上，取过那个装三明治的盒子，我想必然是放进那位太太所带的一个大袋子里——然后回到旅馆来吃午饭——也许会迟一点，比方说是，两点差十分左右，大家都在餐厅里吃饭的时候，他们去欣赏岛上的风景去了嘛。”
　　温斯顿说：“是的，听来相当切合实际。这些贩毒组织的人都是些凶残无情的家伙，要是给人撞见，对他们有点什么的话，他们是考虑都不考虑就动手灭口的。我觉得这正是艾莲娜·马歇尔的死因，很可能那天早上卜拉特其实是在那个洞里藏他的货，那天中午接货的人就要来取货了，艾莲娜乘着小筏子过来，看到他带着盒子走进洞里，她问起这件事，而他当场把她杀了，尽快坐船逃之夭夭。”
　　白罗说：“你想绝对就是卜拉特是凶手吗？”
　　“看来这是最可能的答案，当然也可能是艾莲娜早已知道这件事，跟卜拉特说过什么，而贩毒组织里的其他人把她骗去，将她干掉。我说过，我认为最好的办法就是把这个案子交给苏格兰警场，他们要证明卜拉特和那帮人有关，一定比我们方便得多。”
　　赫邱里·白罗沉吟地点了点头。温斯顿说：“你认为这样做聪明吗？——呃？”
　　白罗想着心事，最后终于开口说道：“可能吧。”
　　“他妈的，白罗，你是不是还暗藏着什么玄机？呃？”
　　白罗郁郁地说：“就算我有，我也不敢说是不是一定能证明得了。”
　　温斯顿说：“当然，我知道你和柯根德还有别的想法，在我看起来，未免有点太异想天开，不过我也不能不承认也许有点什么在里面。可是即使你是对的，我还是认为这是个该交给苏格兰警场的案子，我们把所有的事实提供给他们，他们可以和苏瑞郡的警察合作破案。我的感觉是，这实在不是我们办的案子，不完全是地方性的。”他停了一下。“你认为怎么样？白罗？你觉得我们该怎么办？”
　　白罗似乎只在想着心事，最后他说道：“我知道该怎么办了。”
　　“怎么样？”
　　白罗喃喃地道：“我想去野餐。”
　　温斯顿上校张大了眼睛瞪着他。


Chapter 12

"A picnic, M. Poirot?" Emily Brewster stared at him as though he were out of his senses.

Poirot said engagingly: "It sounds to you, does it not, very outrageous? But indeed it seems to me a most admirable idea. We need something of the everyday, the usual, to restore life to the normal. I am most anxious to see something of Dartmoor, the weather is good. It will - how shall I say, it will cheer everybody up! So aid me in this matter. Persuade every one."

The idea met with unexpected success. Every one was at first dubious and then grudgingly admitted it might not be such a bad idea after all. It was not suggested that Captain Marshall should be asked. He had himself announced that he had to go to Plymouth that day. Mr Blatt was of the party, enthusiastically so. He was determined to be the life and soul of it. Besides him, there were Emily Brewster, the Redferns, Stephen Lane, the Gardeners who were persuaded to delay their departure by one day, Rosamund Darnley and Linda.

Poirot had been eloquent to Rosamund and had dwelt on the advantage it would be to Linda to have something to take her out of herself. To this Rosamund agreed. She said: "You're quite right. The shock has been very bad for a child of that age. It has made her terribly jumpy."

"That is only natural, Mademoiselle. But at that age one soon forgets. Persuade her to come. You can, I know."

Major Barry had refused firmly. He said he didn't like picnics. "Lots of baskets to carry," he said. "And darned uncomfortable. Eating my food at a table's good enough for me."

The party assembled at ten o'clock. Three cars had been ordered. Mr Blatt was loud and cheerful imitating a tourist guide. "This way, ladies and gentlemen - this way for Dartmoor. Heather and bilberries, Devonshire cream and convicts. Bring your wives, gentlemen, or bring the other thing! Every one welcome! Scenery guaranteed. Walk up. Walk up."

At the last minute Rosamund Darnley came down looking concerned. She said: "Linda's not coming. She says she's got a frightful headache."

Poirot cried: "But it will do her good to come. Persuade her, Mademoiselle."

Rosamund said firmly: "It's no good. She's absolutely determined. I've given her some aspirin and she's gone to bed." She hesitated and said: "I think, perhaps, I won't go, either."

"Can't allow that, dear lady, can't allow that," cried Mr Blatt, seizing her facetiously by the arm. "La haute Mode must grace this occasion. No refusals! I've taken you into custody, ha, ha. Sentenced to Dartmoor."

He led her firmly to the first car. Rosamund threw a black look at Hercule Poirot. "I'll stay with Linda," said Christine Redfern. "I don't mind a bit."

Patrick said: "Oh, come on, Christine."

And Poirot said: "No, no, you must come, Madame. With a headache one is better alone. Come, let us start."

The three cars drove off. They went first to the real Pixy's Cave on Sheepstor and had a good deal of fun looking for the entrance and at last finding it, aided by a picture postcard. It was precarious going on the big boulders and Hercule Poirot did not attempt it. He watched indulgently while Christine Redfern sprang lightly from stone to stone and observed that her husband was never far from her. Rosamund Darnley and Emily Brewster had joined in the search though the latter slipped once and gave a slight twist to her ankle. Stephen Lane was indefatigable, his long lean figure turning and twisting among the boulders. Mr Blatt contented himself with going a little way and shouting encouragement, also taking photographs of the searchers.

The Gardeners and Poirot remained staidly sitting by the wayside whilst Mrs Gardener's voice upraised itself in a pleasant even-toned monologue punctuated now and then by the obedient "Yes, darlings" of her spouse. "- and what I always have felt, M. Poirot, and Mr Gardener agrees with me - is that snapshots can be very annoying. Unless, that is to say, they are taken among friends. That Mr Blatt has just no sensitiveness of any kind. He just comes right up to every one and talks away and takes pictures of you and, as I said to Mr Gardener, that really is very ill-bred. That's what I said, Odell, wasn't it?"

"Yes, darling."

"That group he took of us all sitting on the beach. Well, that's all very well, but he should have asked first. As it was, Miss Brewster was just getting up from the beach and it certainly makes her look a very peculiar shape."

"I'll say it does," said Mr Gardener with a grin.

"And there's Mr Blatt giving round copies to everybody without so much as asking first. He gave one to you, M. Poirot, I noticed."

Poirot nodded. He said: "I value that group very much."

Mrs Gardener went on: "And look at his behavior today - so loud and noisy and common. Why, it just makes me shudder. You ought to have arranged to leave that man at home, M. Poirot."

Hercule Poirot murmured: "Alas, Madame, that would have been difficult."

"I should say it would. That man just pushes his way in anywhere. He's just not sensitive at all."

At this moment the discovery of the Pixy's Cave was hailed from below with loud cries. The party now drove on, under Hercule Poirot's directions, to a spot where a short walk from the car down a hillside of heather led to a delightful spot by a small river. A narrow plank bridge crossed the river and Poirot and her husband induced Mrs Gardener to cross it to where a delightful heathery spot free from prickly furze looked an ideal spot for a picnic lunch. Talking volubly about her sensations when crossing on a plank bridge Mrs Gardener sank down. Suddenly there was a slight outcry. The others had run across the bridge lightly enough, but Emily Brewster was standing in the middle of the plank, her eyes shut, swaying to and fro. Poirot and Patrick Redfern rushed to the rescue. Emily Brewster was gruff and ashamed. "Thanks, thanks. Sorry. Never was good at crossing running water. Get giddy. Stupid, very."

Lunch was spread out and the picnic began. All the people concerned were secretly surprised to find out how much they enjoyed this interlude. It was, perhaps, because it afforded an escape from an atmosphere of suspicion and dread. Here, with the trickling of the water, the soft peaty smell in the air and the warm colouring of bracken and heather, a world of murder and police inquiries and suspicion seemed blotted out as though it had never existed. Even Mr Blatt forgot to be the life and soul of the party. After lunch he went to sleep a little distance away and subdued snores testified to his blissful unconsciousness.

It was quite a grateful party of people who packed up the picnic baskets and congratulated Hercule Poirot on his good idea. The sun was sinking as they returned along the narrow winding lanes. From the top of the hill above Leathercombe Bay they had a brief glimpse of the island with the white Hotel on it. It looked peaceful and innocent in the setting sun. Mrs Gardener, not loquacious for once, sighed and said: "I really do thank you, M. Poirot. I feel so calm. It's just wonderful."

Major Barry came out to greet them on arrival. "Hullo," he said. "Had a good day?"

Mrs Gardener said: "Indeed we did. The moors were just too lovely for anything. So English and old world. And the air delicious and invigorating. You ought to be ashamed of yourself for being so lazy as to stay behind."

The Major chuckled. "I'm too old for that kind of thing - sitting on a patch of bog and eating sandwiches."

A chambermaid had come out of the hotel. She was a little out of breath. She hesitated for a moment, then came swiftly up to Christine Redfern. Hercule Poirot recognized her as Gladys Narracott. Her voice came quick and uneven. "Excuse me, Madam, but I'm worried about the young lady. About Miss Marshall. I took her some tea just now and I couldn't get her to wake and she looks so - so queer somehow."

Christine looked round helplessly. Poirot was at her side in a moment. His hand under her elbow he said quietly: "We will go up and see."

They hurried up the stairs and along the passage to Linda's room. One glance at her was enough to tell them both that something was very wrong. She had an odd colour and her breathing was hardly perceptible. Poirot's hand went to her pulse. At the same time he noticed an envelope stuck up against the lamp on the bedside table. It was addressed to himself.

Captain Marshall came quickly into the room. He said: "What's this about Linda? What's the matter with her?"

A small frightened sob came from Christine Redfern. Hercule Poirot turned from the bed. He said to Marshall: "Get a doctor - as quick as you possibly can. But I'm afraid - very much afraid - it may be too late."

He took the letter with his name on it and ripped open the envelope. Inside were a few lines of writing in Linda's prim schoolgirl hand. "I think this is the best way out. Ask Father to try and forgive me. I killed Arlena. I thought I should be glad - but I'm not. I am very sorry for everything..."

They were assembled in the lounge - Marshall, the Redferns, Rosamund Darnley and Hercule Poirot. They sat there silent - waiting... The door opened and Dr Neasdon came in. He said curdy: "I've done all I can. She may pull through - but I'm bound to tell you that there's not much hope."

He paused. Marshall, his face stiff, his eyes a cold frosty blue, asked: "How did she get hold of the stuff?"

Neasdon opened the door again and beckoned. The chambermaid came into the room. She had been crying. Neasdon said: "Just tell us again what you saw?"

Sniffing, the girl said: "I never thought - I never thought for a minute there was anything wrong - though the young lady did seem rather strange about it." A slight gesture of impatience from the doctor started her off again. "She was in the other lady's room. Mrs Redfern's. Your room, Madam. Over at the washstand and she took up a little bottle. She did give a bit of a jump when I came in and I thought it was queer her taking things from your room, but then of course it might be something she'd lent you. She just said: 'Oh, this is what I'm looking for -' and went out."

Christine said almost in a whisper: "My sleeping tablets."

The doctor said brusquely: "How did she know about them?"

Christine said: "I gave her one. The night after it happened. She told me she couldn't sleep. She - I remember her saying - 'Will one be enough?' - and I said, 'Oh, yes, they were very strong' - that I'd been cautioned never to take more than two at most."

Neasdon nodded. "She made pretty sure," he said. "Took six of them."

Christine sobbed again. "Oh, dear, I feel it's my fault. I should have kept them locked up."

The doctor shrugged his shoulders. "It might have been wiser, Mrs Redfern."

Christine said despairingly: "She's dying - and it's my fault..."

Kenneth Marshall stirred in his chair. He said: "No, you can't blame yourself. Linda knew what she was doing. She took them deliberately. Perhaps - perhaps it was best." He looked down at the crumpled note in his hand - the note that Poirot had silently handed to him.

Rosamund Darnley cried out: "I don't believe it. I don't believe Linda killed her. Surely it's impossible - on the evidence!"

Christine said eagerly: "Yes, she can't have done it! She must have got overwrought and imagined it all."

The door opened and Colonel Weston came in. He said: "What's all this I hear?"

Dr Neasdon look the note from Marshall's hand and handed it to the Chief Constable. The latter read it. He exclaimed incredulously: "What? But this is nonsense - absolute nonsense! It's impossible." He repeated with assurance. "Impossible! Isn't it, Poirot?"

Hercule Poirot moved for the first time. He said in a slow sad voice: "No, I'm afraid it is not impossible."

Christine Redfern said: "But I was with her, M. Poirot. I was with her up to a quarter to twelve. I told the police so."

Poirot said: "Your evidence gave her an alibi - yes. But what was your evidence based on? It was based on Linda Marshall's own wrist-watch. You did not know of your own knowledge that it was a quarter to twelve when you left her - you only know that she told you so. You said yourself the time seemed to have gone very fast."

She stared at him stricken. He said: "Now think, Madame, when you left the beach, did you walk back to the hotel fast or slow?"

"I - well, fairly slowly, I think."

"Do you remember much about that walk back?"

"Not very much, I'm afraid. I - I was thinking."

Poirot said: "I am sorry to ask you this, but will you tell just what you were thinking about during that walk?"

Christine flushed. "I suppose - if it is necessary - I was considering the question of - of leaving here. Just going away without telling my husband. I - I was very unhappy just then, you see."

Patrick Redfern cried: "Oh, Christine! I know... I know..."

Poirot's precise voice cut in: "Exactly. You were concerned over taking a step of some importance. You were, I should say, deaf and blind to your surroundings. You probably walked very slowly and occasionally stopped for some minutes whilst you puzzled things out."

Christine nodded. "How clever you are. It was just like that. I woke up from a kind of dream just outside the hotel and hurried in thinking I should be very late but when I saw the clock in the lounge I realized I had plenty of time."

Hercule Poirot said again: "Exactly." He turned to Marshall: "I must now describe to you certain things I found in your daughter's room after the murder. In the grate was a large blob of melted wax, some burnt hair, fragments of cardboard and paper and an ordinary household pin. The paper and the cardboard might not be relevant but the other three things were suggestive - particularly when I found tucked away in the bookshelves a volume from the local library here dealing with witchcraft and magic. It opened very easily at a certain page. On that page were described various methods of causing death by moulding in wax a figure supposed to represent the victim. This was then slowly roasted till it melted away - or alternatively you would pierce the wax figure to the heart with a pin. Death of the victim would ensue. I later heard from Mrs Redfern that Linda Marshall had been out early that morning and had bought a packet of candles and had seemed embarrassed when her purchase was revealed. I had no doubt what had happened after that. Linda had made a crude figure of the candle wax - possibly adorning it with a snip of Arlena's red hair to give the magic force - had then stabbed it to the heart with a pin and finally melted the figure away by lighting strips of cardboard under it.

"It was crude, childish, superstitious, but it revealed one thing: the desire to kill. Was there any possibility that there had been more than a desire? Could Linda Marshall have actually killed her stepmother? At first sight it seemed as though she had a perfect alibi - but in actuality, as I have just pointed out, the time evidence was supplied by Linda herself. She could easily have declared the time to be a quarter of an hour later than it really was.

"It was quite possible once Mrs Redfern had left the beach for Linda to follow her up and then strike across the narrow neck of land to the ladder, hurry down it, meet her stepmother there, strangle her and return up the ladder before the boat containing Miss Brewster and Patrick Redfern came in sight. She could then return to Gull Cove, take her bathe and return to the hotel at her leisure.

"But that entailed two things. She must have definite knowledge that Arlena Marshall would be at Pixy Cove and she must be physically capable of the deed. Well, the first was quite possible - if Linda Marshall had written a note to Arlena herself in some one else's name. As to the second, Linda has very large strong hands. They are as large as a man's. As to the strength she is at the age when one is prone to be mentally unbalanced. Mental derangement often is accompanied by unusual strength. There was one other small point. Linda Marshall's mother had actually been accused and tried for murder."

Kenneth Marshall lifted his head. He said fiercely: "She was also acquitted."

"She was acquitted," Poirot agreed. Marshall said: "And I'll tell you this, M. Poirot. Ruth - my wife - was innocent. That I know with complete and absolute certainty. In the intimacy of our life I could not have been deceived. She was an innocent victim of circumstance." He paused: "And I don't believe that Linda killed Arlena. It's ridiculous - absurd!"

Poirot said: "Do you believe that letter, then, to be a forgery?"

Marshall held out his hand for it and Weston gave it to him. Marshall studied it attentively. "No," he said unwillingly. "I believe Linda did write this."

Poirot said: "Then if she wrote it, there are only two explanations. Either she wrote it in all good faith, knowing herself to be the murderess or - or, I say - she wrote it deliberately to shield some one else, some one whom she feared was suspected."

Kenneth Marshall said: "You mean me?"

"It is possible, is it not?"

Marshall considered for a moment or two, then he said quietly: "No, I think this idea is absurd. Linda may have realized that I was regarded with suspicion at first. But she knew definitely by now that that was over and done with - that the police had accepted my alibi and turned their attention elsewhere."

Poirot said: "And supposing that it was not so much that she thought that you were suspected as that she knew you were guilty."

Marshall started at him. He gave a short laugh. "That's absurd."

Poirot said: "I wonder. There are, you know, several possibilities about Mrs Marshall's death. There is the theory that she was being blackmailed, that she went that morning to meet the blackmailer and that the blackmailer killed her. There is the theory that Pixy Cove and Cave were being used for drug-running and that she was killed because she accidentally learned something about that. The is a third possibility - that she was killed by a religious maniac. And there is a fourth possibility - you stood to gain a lot of money by your wife's death, Captain Marshall?"

"I've just told you -"

"Yes, yes - I agree that it is impossible that you could have killed your wife - if you were acting alone. But supposing someone helped you?"

"What the devil do you mean?" The quiet man was roused at last. He half rose from his chair. His voice was menacing. There was a hard angry light in his eyes.

Poirot said: "I mean that this is not a crime that was committed single-handed. Two people were in it. It is quite true that you could not have typed that letter and at the same time gone to the cove - but there would have been time for you to have jotted down that letter in shorthand - and for some one else to have typed it in your room while you yourself were absent on your murderous errand."

Hercule Poirot looked towards Rosamund Darnley. He said: "Miss Darnley states that she left Sunny Ledge at ten minutes past eleven and saw you typing in your room. But just about that time Mr Gardener went up to the hotel to fetch a skein of wool for his wife. He did not meet Miss Darnley or see her. That is rather remarkable. It looks as though either Miss Darnley never left Sunny Ledge, or else she had left it much earlier and was in your room typing industriously. Another point, you stated that when Miss Darnley looked into your room at a quarter past eleven you saw her in the mirror. But on the day of the murder your typewriter and papers were all on the writing-desk across the corner of the room, whereas the mirror was between the windows. So that that statement was a deliberate lie. Later, you moved your typewriter to the table under the mirror so as to substantiate your story - but it was too late. I was aware that both you and Miss Darnley had lied."

Rosamund Darnley spoke. Her voice was low and clear. She said: "How devilishly ingenious you are!"

Hercule Poirot said, raising his voice: "But not so devilish and so ingenious as the man who killed Arlena Marshall! Think back for a moment. Who did I think - who did everybody think - that Arlena Marshall had gone to meet that morning? We all jumped to the same conclusion. Patrick Redfern. It was not to meet a blackmailer that she went. Her face alone would have told me that. Oh, no, it was a lover she was going to meet - or thought she was going to meet. Yes, I was quite sure of that. Arlena Marshall was going to meet Patrick Redfern. But a minute later Patrick Redfern appeared on the beach and was obviously looking for her. So what then?"

Patrick Redfern said with subdued anger: "Some devil used my name."

Poirot said: "You were obviously upset and surprised by her non-appearance. Almost too obviously, perhaps. It is my theory, Mr Redfern, that she went to Pixy Cove to meet you and that she did meet you and that you killed her there as you had planned to do."

Patrick Redfern stared. He said in his high good-humoured Irish voice: "Is it daft you are? I was with you on the beach until I went round in the boat with Miss Brewster and found her dead."

Hercule Poirot said: "You killed her after Miss Brewster had gone off in the boat to fetch the police. Arlena Marshall was not dead when you got to the beach. She was waiting hidden in the Cave until the coast should be clear."

"But the body! Miss Brewster and I both saw the body."

"A body - yes. But not a dead body. The live body of the woman who helped you, her arms and legs stained with tan, her face hidden by a green cardboard hat. Christine, your wife (or possibly not your wife - but still your partner), helping you to commit this crime as she helped you to commit that crime in the past when she 'discovered' the body of Alice Corrigan at least twenty minutes before Alice Corrigan died - killed by her husband Edward Corrigan - you!"

Christine spoke. Her voice was sharp - cold. She said: "Be careful, Patrick, don't lose your temper."

Poirot said: "You will be interested to hear that both you and your wife Christine were easily recognized and picked out by the Surrey police from a group of people photographed here. They identified you both at once as Edward Corrigan and Christine Deverill, the young woman who found the body."

Patrick Redfern had risen. His handsome face was transformed, suffused with blood, blind with rage. It was the face of a killer - of a tiger. He yelled: "You damned interfering murdering lousy little worm!"

He hurled himself forward, his fingers stretching and curling, his voice raving curses, as he fastened his fingers round Hercule Poirot's throat...

第十二章



　　“野餐？白罗先生？”艾蜜莉·布雷斯特瞪着他，好像他疯了似地。
　　白罗用很动人的语调说：“你是不是觉得这样做法很不妥？可是我却的确觉得这是个再好也不过的想法。我们需要做点日常的事，像平常一样的事，好让我们恢复正常的生活。我很想去逛逛附近的名胜大德漠，天气又好。这样一定会——我该怎么说呢？这样一定会让大家心情好转的！所以，在这件事情上帮帮我的忙吧，帮我去说服所有的人。”
　　他这个构想得到意想不到的成功，每个人最初都有点怀疑，但随即都承认这个想法其实并不坏。大家并没有认为最好不要去请马歇尔先生。可是他自己说那天他正好一定得去一趟朴莱茅斯。卜拉特先生当然参加了，而且极度热心。决定要成为这个团体的灵魂人物，除了他之外，还有艾蜜莉·布雷斯特、雷德方夫妇、史蒂文·蓝恩、贾德纳夫妇也给劝得延一天动身，另外还有罗莎梦·戴礼和琳达。
　　白罗花了很久的时间来说服罗莎梦，说这样做法可以让琳达心情宽舒。罗莎梦在这一点上表示同意，她说：“你说得很对，这种打击对这个年龄的孩子来说，相当严重。使她紧张不安。”
　　“这是很自然的事，小、姐，可是这个年龄的孩子很快就会忘掉的，劝她一起去玩吧，我知道你能说得动她的。”
　　巴瑞少校却坚决拒绝，他说他不喜欢野餐，“要带好多篮子，”他说：“而且一路会很不舒服。坐在餐桌上吃饭，我觉得就够好了。”
　　他们在十点钟集合，叫了三辆车，卜拉特先生大声喧嚷，高兴地学着导游的口气吆喝道：“这边走，各位女士，各位先生——这边是往大德漠去的，有好吃的、好看的、还有好玩的。各位先生，请带你们的太太来，要不就带别的！每个人我们都欢迎！保证景色美如画！大家来啊！大家来啊！”
　　到了最后一分钟，罗莎梦·戴礼满面着急的神情走下楼来，她说：“琳达不去了，她说她头痛得很厉害。”
　　白罗叫道：“可是她去玩玩的话，对她会有好处的，去劝劝她吧，小、姐。”
　　罗莎梦很坚决地说：“没有用的，她已经下定决心不去了。我给了她几颗头痛药，她上床去睡觉了。”她迟疑了一下，说：“我想，也许我也不去了。”
　　“不可以，小、姐，绝对不可以。”卜拉特先生叫着，一把抓住她的手臂。“这位小、姐一定要参加，不准拒绝！我把你逮住了，哈，哈，哈，判决你到大德漠去。”
　　他把她拉向第一辆车去，罗莎梦恨恨地看了赫邱里·白罗一眼。
　　“我留下来陪琳达吧，”克莉丝汀·雷德方说：“我无所谓。”
　　派屈克说：“啊，来吧。克莉丝汀。”
　　白罗也说：“不行，不行，你一定要去，夫人。头痛的人最好一个人休息，来，我们动身吧。”
　　三部车子开了出去，他们首先到了在旭浦士陀的正牌妖精洞去，为了找入口在哪里，好忙了一阵，最后终于找到了，还是靠了一张风景明信片之助。洞口在下面一大堆乱石之中，赫邱里·白罗没有爬下去。他望着克莉丝汀·雷德方轻巧地在巨石上跳来跳去，看到她的丈夫一直跟在她身边，须臾不离；罗莎梦·戴礼和艾蜜莉·布雷斯特也跟着大家一起寻找；不过艾蜜莉后来在石头上滑了一下，稍微扭到了她的脚踝；史蒂文·蓝恩也毫无倦意，瘦长的身子在巨石之间扭动转侧而过。卜拉特先生则只走了一小段路，大声吆喝鼓励大家继续努力，同时拍下很多照片。
　　贾德纳夫妇和白罗一起坐在路边，贾德纳太太提高了声音，又开始她那没有什么抑扬顿挫的独白，只偶尔插进她丈夫很驯服的“是的，亲爱的。”——“白罗先生，我一向就觉得，贾德纳先生也同意——就是随便拍人家照片，真叫人讨厌。我是说，除非是朋友之间拍照，那又另当别论了。那个卜拉特先生简直就是个一点也不敏感的人，他一迳走到每个人面前，一面噜苏，一面就拍了你的照片，我那天还跟贾德纳先生说过，这种样子实在是没教养。我是这样说的吧？欧帝尔，是不是？”
　　“是的，亲爱的。”
　　“那天他拍了一张我们这群人坐在海滩上的照片，哎，这倒也没什么啦，可是他应该先问过一声的，结果，布雷斯特小、姐正要起身，照片拍出来，当然把她搞成一副怪相。”
　　“的确。”贾德纳先生咧嘴笑道。
　　“而且卜拉特先生把照片洗出来之后，送给每一个人，也不先问过一声。我注意到，他还给了你一张，白罗先生。”
　　白罗点了点头，他说：“我对我们这群朋友看得很重哩。”
　　贾德纳太太继续说道：“你看看他今天的举止——这么吵，这么庸俗，哎呀，简直叫我起鸡皮疙瘩。你应该想办法安排把他留在旅馆里的，白罗先生。”
　　赫邱里·白罗喃喃地道：“唉，夫人，那可困难得很啦。”
　　“我想也是，那个人到处无孔不入地钻，他简直一点也没感觉。”
　　就在这时候，下面一阵欢呼，找到了妖精洞。然后大队人马在赫邱里·白罗的指导下，继续乘车往前走，到了一个地方，下车往小丘陵下走不远，就到了一条小河边一处很美的地方。河上架着一道窄窄的独木桥。白罗和贾德纳先生扶着贾德纳太太过了河，到了一处开着石南花，却没有杂树刺草的地方，看来正是野餐的理想地点。贾德纳太太一面说她过独木桥时有多害怕，一面跌坐在地上。这时候，那边传来了一声惊叫，其他的人都很轻快地跑过了独木桥，可是艾蜜莉·布雷斯特却站在桥中间闭紧了两眼，身子前后摇晃，白罗和派屈克·雷德方赶忙跑去扶她。艾蜜莉·布雷斯特既不高兴，又很不好意思。“谢谢、谢谢、抱歉啊，从河上过去，总会这样。人会头昏，真蠢，不是吗？”
　　午餐摆开来，野餐开始了。所有的人都在心里暗自觉得奇怪，因为每个人都发现他们很喜欢这样的玩一玩，也许是让他们可以从充满了怀疑与惧怕的气氛中有个逃避的机会吧。在这里，听着潺潺的水声，空中飘散着柔和的芬香，还有色彩缤纷的石南花，那个有着谋杀与警察盘查及怀疑的世界似乎全被屏弃于外，就好像根本不存在似的。就连卜拉特先生也忘了要做这个团体的灵魂人物。在吃过午饭之后，他到一边去睡午觉，在睡梦中发出微微的鼾声。
　　到动身回去的时候，这些人都充满了感激，收拾起野餐篮子，为白罗想出这个好主意而向他道贺。在他们回到曲折小径上时，太阳已经开始下落。在皮梳湾外的小山顶上，他们看到那个上面有座白色旅馆的小岛，在夕阳中显得宁静而无邪，难得不在喋喋不休的贾德纳太太叹了口气说：“我真要谢谢你，白罗先生，我觉得好平静，这实在是太美好了。”
　　巴瑞少校出来接他们，“喂，”他说：“玩得好吗？”
　　贾德纳太太说：“玩得好极了，那里真是可爱得不得了。真充满了英国风味和老世界的风情，空气都芬芳可爱，你这么懒，躲在旅馆里不去玩，真该感到惭愧才对。”少校咯咯笑道：“我干这种事未免太老了——这把年纪怎么还能坐在泥巴地上啃三明治呢。”
　　一个女佣从旅馆里冲了出来，有点上气不接下气的，她迟疑了一下，然后飞快地赶到克莉丝汀·雷德方面前，赫邱里·白罗认出她就是那个叫葛莱德丝·纳瑞可德的女佣，她的话说得很快而不平稳：“对不起，夫人，可是我有点担心那位小、姐，马歇尔小、姐，我刚给她送了点茶去，却叫不醒她，她看起来——样子好像很奇怪。”
　　克莉丝汀不知所措地四下张望，白罗马上赶到了她的身边，用手托着她的手肘，不动声色地说：“我们上去看看。”
　　他们很快地上了楼梯，顺着走廊，到了琳达房间里，只要看她一眼，他们两个就都知道出了大事。她脸色奇怪，呼吸微弱到几乎停止了的地步，白罗马上伸手去搭脉，同时他注意到床边小几的灯旁竖靠着一个信封，信封上写的正是他自己的名字。
　　马歇尔先生冲进房间来，他说：“琳达怎么了？她到底是怎么回事？”
　　克莉丝汀·雷德方发出一声害怕的啜泣。赫邱里·白罗回过头来，对马歇尔说：“找医生——赶快找医生，不过我怕——我很怕——大概已经来不及了。”
　　他拿过那封写着他名字的信，拆开信封，里面是琳达以孩子的笔迹写的几行字：“我想这是解脱的最好方法，请我父亲原谅我，我杀了艾莲娜。我原以为我会很高兴的——可是不然，我对一切都觉得遗憾……”
　　他们集聚在休息室里——马歇尔、雷德方夫妇、罗莎梦·戴礼和赫邱里·白罗，他们默默地坐着——等着……门开了，倪司敦大夫走了进来，他很简明扼要地说道：“我已经尽了一切能力，她也许可以撑得过去——不过我不能不告诉你们，希望并不大。”
　　他停了一下，马歇尔板着脸，两眼的神色冷若冰霜，他问道：“她怎么会有那些药的？”
　　倪司敦打开了门，招了招手，那个女佣走进房间来，她刚刚哭过。倪司敦说：“把你看到的情形再给我们说一遍。”
　　那女孩子抽抽搭搭地说道：“我根本没想到——我根本一点也没想到有什么不对——虽然那位小、姐的样子有点奇怪。”
　　那位大夫不耐烦地挥了挥手，让她继续说下去。“她在另外一位太太的房间里，雷德方太太的，你的房间啦，夫人，在浴室的小柜子里拿下一个小瓶子。我走进去的时候，她吓了一跳，我觉得她到你房间去拿东西，是件很奇怪的事，可是，说不定那是她借给你的什么东西呢，她只说了声：‘啊，我要找的就是这个——’就走出去了。”
　　克莉丝汀用很低的声音说：“是我的安眠药。”
　　那位医生很唐突地问道：“她怎么知道你有安眠药的？”
　　克莉丝汀说：“我给过她一粒，凶案发生的第二天晚上，她告诉我说她睡不着，她——我还记得她说——‘一粒就够了吗？’——我说，啊，够了，这种药性很强的——我还说我一直很小心，最多只能吃两粒。”
　　倪司敦点了点头。“她倒是很保险的做法，”他说：“一共吃了六粒。”
　　克莉丝汀又啜泣起来，“哎呀，我觉得这全是我的错，我应该把安眠药锁起来的。”
　　大夫耸了下肩膀，“那样做法可能比较聪明，雷德方太太。”
　　克莉丝汀绝望地说：“她就要死了——这都是我的错……”
　　甘逸世·马歇尔在椅子上欠动了下身子，他说：“不是的，你不能这样自责，琳达自己知道自己在干什么，她是有意吃的，也许——也许这样最好。”他低头看着被他捏绉在手里的纸条——那张白罗默不作声递给他的纸条。
　　罗莎梦·戴礼叫道：“我不相信，我不相信是琳达杀了她，以各种证据来说——根本不可能。”
　　克莉丝汀热切地说：“不错，不可能是她干的，她一定受惊吓过度，想象出来的这些事情。”
　　门打开了，温斯顿上校走了进来，他说：“我听说的究竟是怎么一回事？”倪司敦从马歇尔手里将那张纸条拿过来，交给那位警察局长。温斯顿看了一遍，不敢相信地叫道：“什么？这真是胡说八道——完全是胡说，不可能。”他很有把握地重复道：“不可能！是吧？白罗？”
　　赫邱里·白罗这才动了动，他以低沉而悲伤的声音说：“不对，我怕这事并不见得不可能。”
　　克莉丝汀·雷德方说：“可是我一直和她在一起呀，白罗先生，我和她在一起一直到十二点差一刻，我跟警方也说过了。”
　　白罗说：“你的证词给了她不在场证明——不错，可是你的证词是以什么为根据的呢？你的根据是琳达·马歇尔的手表，你离开她的时候，你自己并不确切知道那是十二点差一刻——你之所以知道，只是因为她这样说。你自己也说过觉得时间过得好快。”
　　她呆瞪着他，白罗说：“你好好想一下，夫人，在你离开海滩之后，你走回旅馆的速度是快，还是慢呢？”
　　“我——呃，我想，相当慢吧。”
　　“你还记不记得走回来路上的事？”
　　“不大记得，我怕，我——我当时正在想着心事。”
　　白罗说：“对不起得很，我不得不问你这个问题，可是你能不能告诉我们你在走回来的路上想的是什么呢？”
　　克莉丝汀的脸红了。“我想——如果真有这个必要……我当时想的是——是离开这里的问题。我想不告诉我丈夫，一走了之。我——当时我很不快乐呢，你知道。”
　　派屈克·雷德方叫道：“啊，克莉丝汀！我知道……我知道……”
　　白罗的声音插了进来，“一点也不错，你正在考虑要走很重要的一步。我想可以说你对你周遭的一切，可说是视而不见，听而不闻。你说不定走得很慢很慢，偶尔还停下来几分钟，想想事情。”
　　克莉丝汀点了点头。“你真聪明，事情正像你说的那样，我像从梦中醒来的时候，人已经到了旅馆门口，因此我很快地赶进去，想我大概是迟到了，不过等我看到大厅里的钟，才知道我还有的是时间。”
　　赫邱里·白罗又说：“一点也不错。”他转身对马歇尔说：“我现在必须要向你说一下，在谋杀案发生之后，我在你女儿房间里找到几样东西。在壁炉里有一大块熔了的蜡，一些烧焦的毛发，硬纸板和纸的碎片，还有一根很普通的针。那些纸和硬纸板也许没什么特别，可是其他三样东西却代表了某种意义——尤其是后来我在书架上发现一本藏在后面的小书，那是从本地租书店里租来的，书里谈的是巫术和魔法。这本书很容易翻到某一页，在那一页上谈的又是各种杀人的方法，比方说用蜡做成人形，来代表受害人，再将人形熔化——或者是可以用一根针刺进蜡人心脏部位。这样就可以让那个人丧命。我后来从雷德方太太那里听说，琳达·马歇尔在那天早上买了一包蜡烛，被人发现她买了什么之后，还很尴尬。我可以想象得到后来的情形。琳达用蜡烛的蜡做了一个人形——也许在其中还加上了一小束艾莲娜的红发，以加强魔法的力量——然后用一根针刺进心脏里，再放在壁炉里，用一些碎纸和硬纸板放在底下，点着了火，把蜡人熔掉。
　　“这件事很孩子气，也很迷信，可是却显示了一点：谋杀的欲望！是不是有可能不止是存在心中的欲望而已呢？琳达·马歇尔是不是可能真正杀了她的继母？起先看起来，她好像有很好的不在场证明——可是实际上，正如我刚才指出的，时间的证据是由琳达本人提供的，她很可能把时间说得比实际的时间晚上一个小时。
　　“很可能一等雷德方太太离开了海滩，琳达就跟在她后面，然后越过那一块并不太宽的地方，到梯子那里，很快地沿梯而下，在海滩上找到她的继母，将艾莲娜扼死，再赶在布雷斯特小、姐和派屈克·雷德方的小船划过来之前，爬梯子回去。她可以再回到鸥湾，游游泳，然后随她高兴什么时候走，再返回旅馆。
　　“但是这样必须有两个前提，她一定要确知艾莲娜·马歇尔会在小妖湾，而且她一定要在体力上有真正可以行凶的能力。第一点是很可能的——比方说，琳达·马歇尔可以假托别人的名义写信约艾莲娜去。至于第二点，琳达有一双很大而强壮有力的手，大得像个男人一样。至于体力问题，她这个年龄的人经常会在精神上产生不平衡，而精神上的刺激通常会使人产生不寻常的力量。另外还有一点小事，琳达·马歇尔的母亲曾经因涉嫌谋杀而被起诉和受审。”
　　甘逸世·马歇尔抬起头来，他狠狠地说：“她被判无罪开释了。”
　　“不错。”白罗同意道。
　　马歇尔说：“我可以告诉你，白罗先生，马婷黛——我的前妻——是清白的，这件事情我绝对清楚而确定，在我们共同生活的那段时间里，如果有什么的话，是绝对骗不过我的。她是个清白的人，却也是环境的牺牲者。”他喘了口气：“我不相信琳达杀了艾莲娜，这太荒唐——太荒谬了。”
　　白罗说：“那你认为这封信是伪造的了？”
　　马歇尔伸出手来，温斯顿把信交给了他，马歇尔仔细地把信看过，然后摇了摇头，“不是假的，”他满心不情愿地说道：“我相信这的确是琳达亲笔写的。”
　　白罗说：“如果真是她写的，那只有两种解释。若不是她留这封信时，知道她自己就是杀人凶手，就是——我说，否则就是——她故意这样写，来掩护什么人，某一个她怕会受人怀疑的人。”
　　甘逸世·马歇尔说：“你是说我？”
　　“有这个可能，不是吗？”
　　马歇尔考虑了一下，然后他很平静地说：“不，我认为你这种想法太荒谬了。琳达起初也许会以为我受到怀疑，但现在她绝对已经知道这种怀疑已然过去——知道警方已经接受了我的不在场证明，把他们的注意力转移到别处去了。”
　　白罗说：“万一她并不是以为你受到怀疑，而是她以为她知道你有罪呢？”
　　马歇尔瞪着他，发出一声短促的笑声，“这太荒谬了。”
　　白罗说：“未必见得。你知道，关于马歇尔太太之死，有几种可能的情况。有一个说法是她受到勒索。她那天早晨就是去和那个勒索者见面，而勒索者扼死了她。也有种说法是小妖湾与妖精洞是贩毒的人用来将货转手的地方，而她之所以被杀，是因为她碰巧知道了这些事。还有第三种可能——就是她是被一个宗教上的狂热分子所杀。另外第四种可能——你会因为你太太的死而得到一大笔钱。对不对，马歇尔先生？”
　　“我刚才跟你说过——”
　　“是的，是的——我同意你不可能杀害你太太的说法——不过那是说如果你一个人行动的话。可是假设有人帮你的忙呢？”
　　“你这是什么意思？”这个沉静的人终于被激怒了。他由椅子上站了起来，声音中充满了怒意，眼里也流露出愤怒。
　　白罗说：“我是说，这件罪案的凶手不止一个人。一共有两个人牵扯在里面。不错，你不可能一面打那封信，同时又到那个海滩上去杀人——可是你可以有时间以速写的方式拟好信稿——让另外一个人在你房间里打字，而你自己则去干你的谋杀勾当。”
　　赫邱里·白罗望向罗莎梦·戴礼。他说：“戴礼小、姐说她在十一点十分的时候离开阳光崖，看到你在房间里打字。可是就在差不多那同一时间，贾德纳先生回旅馆楼上去替他太太找一束毛线，他既没遇到戴礼小、姐，也没有看到她。这件事很值得注意，看来似乎戴礼小、姐若不是根本没有离开过阳光崖，就是她早就离开那里，到你房间里很卖力地在打字。另外一点，你说戴礼小、姐在十一点一刻到你房间门口探头进来看你的时候，你在镜子里看到了她。可是在凶案发生的那天，你的打字机和纸都放在房间角落的写字台上，而镜子则挂在两扇窗子之间。所以你的那句证词其实根本是谎话。后来，你把你的打字机搬到镜子下面那张小桌子上来，好合乎你所说的故事——可是那已经太晚了。我已经发现你和戴礼小、姐两个人都说了谎话。”
　　罗莎梦·戴礼开了口，她的声音很低而清楚，她说：“你这个人真是鬼样聪明！”
　　赫邱里·白罗提高了声音说；“可是还不如杀艾莲娜·马歇尔的凶手那么鬼，那么聪明！回想一下，当时我以为是谁——所有的人都以为是谁——是艾莲娜·马歇尔那天早上要去相会的人？我们都马上断定是派屈克·雷德方。她要去见的不是一个勒索她的人，从她脸上的表情就可以让我知道了。啊，不是的。她去见的是她的情人——至少她以为她要去见的是这样一个人。不错，我对这一点很有把握。艾莲娜·马歇尔要去见的人就是派屈克·雷德方。可是一分钟之后，派屈克·雷德方却出现在海滩上，而且很明显地在找她。那是怎么一回事呢？”
　　派屈克·雷德方强忍住怒气说：“那个鬼冒用了我的名字。”
　　白罗说：“你当时显然很不快，而且为她一直没有出现而感到意外。也许，你做得太过分明显了。我认为，雷德方先生，她去小妖湾是和你约会，她也的确见到了你，而你按照你的计谋杀死了她。”
　　派屈克·雷德方瞪大了眼睛，他用他那充满了高度幽默感的爱尔兰腔调说：“你疯了吗？我起先一直和你一起在海滩上，然后我和布雷斯特小、姐一起上了船划过去，发现了她的尸体。”
　　赫邱里·白罗说：“你是在布雷斯特小、姐划船回来报警之后把她杀了的。你到海滩上的时候，艾莲娜·马歇尔还没有死，她正躲在妖精洞里，要等一切都没事了之后再出来。”
　　“可是那具尸体！布雷斯特小、姐和我都看到了那具尸体。”
　　“是一个人的身体——不错，但不是已经死了的尸体。是那个帮助你的女人活生生的身体，把两腿和两臂弄得好像晒黑了一般，她的脸用绿色的硬纸帽子遮住，克莉丝汀，你的妻子——可能不是你的妻子——可是还是你的搭档，帮你完成了这个罪案，正如过去她帮你完成了另外一次谋杀，当时她‘发现’了艾莉丝·柯瑞甘的尸体，至少在她死前二十分钟。而杀艾莉丝·柯瑞甘的凶手是她的丈夫爱德华·柯瑞甘——也就是你！”
　　克莉丝汀开口说了话，她的语气很凌厉——也很冷。她说：“小心，派屈克，别发脾气。”
　　白罗说；“你大概会想知道你和你的太太克莉丝汀很容易让苏瑞郡的警方从我们这里的人所照的一张团体照里指认出来，他们马上认出了你们两个是爱德华·柯瑞甘和克莉丝汀·狄薇若，也就是那个发现尸体的女教员。”
　　派屈克·雷德方已经站了起来，他那张英俊的脸整个变了，满面通红，愤怒得盲目了一般，那是一张杀手的脸——像一头猛虎，他大声叫道：“你他妈该死的管闲事的混帐王八蛋！”
　　他整个人扑了过来，十指拳曲，一面咒骂，一面用手指扼紧了赫邱里·白罗的咽喉……
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Chapter 9

For the second time that morning Patrick Redfern was rowing a boat into Pixy's Cove. The other occupants of the boat were Hercule Poirot, very pale with a hand to his stomach, and Stephen Lane. Colonel Weston had taken the land route. Having been delayed on the way he arrived on the beach at the same time as the boat grounded. A Police Constable and a plain clothes sergeant were on the beach already. Weston was questioning the latter as the three from the boat walked up and joined him.

Sergeant Phillips said: "I think I've been over every inch of the beach, sir."

"Good, what did you find?"

"It's all together here, sir, if you like to come and see." A small collection of objects was laid out neatly on a rock. There were a pair of scissors, an empty Gold Flake packet, five patent bottle tops, a number of used matches, three pieces of string, one or two fragments of newspaper, a fragment of a smashed pipe, four buttons, the drumstick bone of a chicken and an empty bottle of sun-bathing oil.

Weston looked down appraisingly on the objects. "H'm," he said. "Rather moderate for a beach nowadays! Most people seem to confuse a beach with a public rubbish dump! Empty bottle's been here some time by the way the label's blurred - so have most of the other things, I should say. The scissors are new, though. Bright and shining. They weren't out in yesterday's rain! Where were they?"

"Close by the bottom of the ladder, sir. Also this bit of pipe."

"H'm, probably dropped by some one going up or down. Nothing to say who they belong to?"

"No, sir. Quite an ordinary pair of nail scissors. Pipe's a good quality briar - expensive."

Poirot murmured thoughtfully: "Captain Marshall told us, I think, that he had mislaid his pipe."

Weston said: "Marshall's out of the picture. Anyway he's not the only person who smokes a pipe."

Hercule Poirot was watching Stephen Lane as the latter's hand went to his pocket and away again. He said pleasantly: "You also smoke a pipe, do you not, Mr Lane?"

The clergyman started. He looked at Poirot. He said: "Yes. Oh, yes. My pipe is an old friend and companion." Putting his hand into his pocket again he drew out a pipe, filled it with tobacco and lighted it.

Hercule Poirot moved away to where Redfern was standing, his eyes blank. He said in a low voice: "I'm glad - they've taken her away..."

Stephen Lane asked: "Where was she found?"

The Sergeant said cheerfully: "Just about where you're standing, sir."

Lane moved swiftly aside. He stared at the spot he had just vacated. The Sergeant went on: "Place where the float was drawn up agrees with putting the time she arrived here at 10.45. That's going by the tide. It's turned now."

Weston said: "Photography all done?"

"Yes, sir."

Weston turned to Redfern. "Now then, man, where's the entrance to this cave of yours?"

Patrick Redfern was still staring down at the beach where Lane had been standing. It was as though he was seeing that sprawling body that was no longer there. Weston's words recalled him to himself. He said: "It's over here." He led the way to where a great mass of tumbled down rocks were massed picturesquely against the cliffside. He went straight to where two big rocks, side by side, showed a straight narrow cleft between them. He said: "The entrance is here."

Weston said: "Here? Doesn't look as though a man could squeeze through."

"It's deceptive, you'll find, sir. It can just be done."

Weston inserted himself gingerly into the cleft. It was not as narrow as it looked. Inside, the space widened and proved to be a fairly roomy recess with room to stand upright and to move about. Hercule Poirot and Stephen Lane joined the Chief Constable. The others stayed outside. Light filtered in through the opening, but Weston had also got a powerful torch which he played freely over the interior. He observed: "Handy place. You'd never suspect it from the outside." He played the torch carefully over the floor.

Hercule Poirot was delicately sniffing the air. Noticing this, Weston said: "Air quite fresh, not fishy or seaweedy, but of course this place is well above highwater mark."

But to Poirot's sensitive nose, the air was more than fresh. It was delicately scented. He knew two people who used that elusive perfume... Weston's torch came to rest. He said: "Don't see anything out of the way in here."

Poirot's eyes rose to a ledge a little way above his head. He murmured: "One might perhaps see that there is nothing up there?"

Weston said: "If there's anything up there it would have to be deliberately put there. Still, we'd better have a look."

Poirot said to Lane: "You are, I think, the tallest of us, Monsieur. Could we venture to ask you to make sure there is nothing resting on that ledge?"

Lane stretched up, but he could not quite reach to the back of the shelf. Then, seeing a crevice in the rock, he inserted a toe in it and pulled himself up by one hand. He said: "Hullo, there's a box up here."

In a minute or two they were out in the sunshine examining the clergyman's find. Weston said: "Careful, don't handle it more than you can help. May be fingerprints."

It was a dark green tin box and bore the word Sandwiches on it. Sergeant Phillips said: "Left from some picnic or other, I suppose." He opened the lid with his handkerchief. Inside were small tin containers marked salt, pepper, mustard, and two larger square tins evidently for sandwiches. Sergeant Phillips lifted the lid of the salt container. It was full to the brim. He raised the next one, commenting: "H'm, got salt in the pepper one too." The mustard compartment also contained salt. His face suddenly alert, the police sergeant opened one of the bigger square tins. That, too, contained the same white crystalline powder.

Very gingerly, Sergeant Phillips dipped a finger in and applied it to his tongue. His face changed. He said - and his voice was excited: "This isn't salt, sir. Not by a long way! Bitter taste! Seems to me it's some kind of drug."

"The third angle," said Colonel Weston with a groan. They were back at the hotel again. The Chief Constable went on: "If by any chance there's a dope gang mixed up in this, it opens up several possibilities. First of all, the dead woman may have been in with the gang herself. Think that's likely?"

Hercule Poirot said cautiously: "It is possible."

"She may have been a drug addict?"

Poirot shook his head. He said: "I should doubt that. She had steady nerves, radiant health, there were no marks of hypodermic injections (not that that proves anything. Some people sniff the stuff.). No, I do not think she took drugs."

"In that case," said Weston, "she may have run into the business accidentally and she was deliberately silenced by the people running the show. We'll know presently just what the stuff is. I've sent it to Neasdon. If we're on to some dope ring, they're not the people to stick at trifles -"

He broke off as the door opened and Mr Horace Blatt came briskly into the room. Mr Blatt was looking hot. He was wiping the perspiration from his forehead. His big hearty voice billowed out and filled the small room. "Just this minute got back and heard the news! You the Chief Constable? They told me you were in here. My name's Blatt - Horace Blatt. Any way I can help you? Don't suppose so. I've been out in my boat since early this morning. Missed the whole blinking show. The one day that something does happen in this out-of-the-way spot, I'm not there. Just like life, that, isn't it? Hullo, Poirot, didn't see you at first. So you're in on this? Oh, well, I suppose you would be. Sherlock Holmes v. the local police, is that it? Ha, ha! Lestrade - all that stuff. I'll enjoy seeing you do a bit of fancy sleuthing."

Mr Blatt came to anchor in a chair, pulled out a cigarette case and offered it to Colonel Weston who shook his head. He said, with a slight smile: "I'm an inveterate pipe smoker."

"Same here. I smoke cigarettes as well - but nothing beats a pipe."

Colonel Weston said with sudden geniality: "Then light up, man."

Blatt shook his head. "Not got my pipe on me at the moment. But put me wise about all this. All I've heard so far is that Mrs Marshall was found murdered on one of the beaches here."

"On Pixy Cove," said Colonel Weston, watching him.

But Mr Blatt merely asked excitedly: "And she was strangled?"

"Yes, Mr Blatt."

"Nasty - very nasty. Mind you, she asked for it! Hot stuff - très moutarde - eh, M. Poirot? Any idea who did it, or mustn't I ask that?"

With a faint smile Colonel Weston said: "Well, you know, it's we who are supposed to ask the questions."

Mr Blatt waved his cigarette. "Sorry - sorry - my mistake. Go ahead."

"You went out sailing this morning. At what time?"

"Left here at a quarter to ten."

"Was any one with you?"

"Not a soul. All on my little lonesome."

"And where did you go?"

"Along the coast in the direction of Plymouth. Took lunch with me. Not much wind so I didn't actually get very far."

After another question or two, Weston asked: "Now about the Marshalls? Do you know anything that might help us?"

"Well, I've given you my opinion. Crime passionnel! All I can tell you is, it wasn't me! The fair Arlena had no use for me. Nothing doing in that quarter. She had her own blue-eyed boy! And if you ask me, Marshall was getting wise to it."

"Have you any evidence for that?"

"Saw him give young Redfern a dirty look once or twice. Dark horse, Marshall. Looks very meek and mild and as though he were half asleep all the time - but that's not his reputation in the City. I've heard a thing or two about him. Nearly had up for assault once. Mind you, the fellow in question had put up a pretty dirty deal. Marshall had trusted him and the fellow had let him down cold. Particularly dirty business, I believe. Marshall went for him and half killed him. Fellow didn't prosecute - too afraid of what might come out. I give you that for what it's worth."

"So you think it possible," said Poirot, "that Captain Marshall strangled his wife?"

"Not at all. Never said anything of the sort. Just letting you know that he's the sort of fellow who could go berserk on occasions."

Poirot said: "Mr Blatt, there is reason to believe that Mrs Marshall went this morning to Pixy Cove to meet some one. Have you any idea who that some one might be?"

Mr Blatt winked. "It's not a guess. It's a certainty. Redfern!"

"It was not Mr Redfern."

Mr Blatt seemed taken aback. He said hesitatingly: "Then I don't know... No, I can't imagine..." He went on, regaining a little of his aplomb. "As I said before, it wasn't me! No such luck! Let me see, couldn't have been Gardener - his wife keeps far too sharp an eye on him! That old ass Barry? Rot! And it would hardly be the parson. Although, mind you, I've seen his Reverence watching her a good bit. All holy disapproval, but perhaps an eye for the contours all the same! Eh? Lot of hypocrites, most parsons. Did you read the case last month? Parson and the Churchwarden's daughter? Bit of an eyeopener." Mr Blatt chuckled.

Colonel Weston said coldly: "There is nothing you can think of that might help us?"

The other shook his head. "No. Can't think of a thing." He added: "This will make a bit of a stir, I imagine. The press will be on to it like hot cakes. There won't be quite so much of this high-toned exclusiveness about the Jolly Roger in future. Jolly Roger, indeed. Precious little jollity about it."

Hercule Poirot murmured: "You have not enjoyed your stay here?"

Mr Blatt's face got slightly redder. He said: "Well, no, I haven't. The sailing's all right and the scenery and the service and the food - but there's no mateyness in the place, you know what I mean! What I say is, my money's as good as another man's. We're all here to enjoy ourselves. Then why not get together and do it? All these cliques and people sitting by themselves and giving you frosty Good-mornings - and Good-evenings - and Yes, very pleasant weather. No joy de viver. Lot of stuck-up dummies!" Mr Blatt paused - by now very red indeed. He wiped his forehead once more and said apologetically: "Don't pay any attention to me. I get all worked up."

Hercule Poirot murmured: "And what do we think of Mr Blatt?"

Colonel Weston grinned and said: "What do you think of him? You've seen more of him than I have."

Poirot said softly: "There are many of your English idioms that describe him. The rough diamond! The self-made man! The social climber! He is, as you choose to look at it, pathetic, ludicrous, blatant! It is a matter of opinion. But I think, too, that he is something else."

"And what is that?"

Hercule Poirot, his eyes raised to the ceiling, murmured: "I think that he is - nervous!"

Inspector Colgate said: "I've got those times worked out. From the hotel to the ladder down to Pixy Cove three minutes. That's walking till you are out of sight of the hotel and then running like hell."

Weston raised his eyebrows. He said: "That's quicker than I thought."

"Down ladder to beach one minute and three quarters. Up same two minutes. That's P.C. Flint. He's a bit of an athlete. Walking and taking the ladder in the normal way the whole business takes close to a quarter of an hour."

Weston nodded. He said: "There's another thing we must go into, the pipe question."

Colgate said: "Blatt smokes a pipe, so does Marshall, so does the parson. Redfern smokes cigarettes, the American prefers a cigar. Major Barry doesn't smoke at all. There's one pipe in Marshall's room, two in Blatt's, and one in the parson's. Chambermaid says Marshall has two pipes. The other chambermaid isn't a very bright girl. Doesn't know how many pipes the other two have. Says vaguely she's noticed two or three about in their rooms."

Weston nodded. "Anything else?"

"I've checked up on the staff. They all seem quite O.K. Henry, in the bar, checks Marshall's statement about seeing him at ten to eleven. William, the beach attendant, was down repairing the ladder on the rocks most of the morning. He seems all right. George marked the tennis court and then bedded out some plants round by the dining-room. Neither of them would have seen any one who came across the causeway to the island."

"When was the causeway uncovered?"

"Round about 9.30, sir."

Weston pulled at his moustache. "It's possible somebody did come that way. We've got a new angle, Colgate." He told of the discovery of the sandwich box in the cave. There was a tap on the door.

"Come in," said Weston.

It was Captain Marshall. He said: "Can you tell me what arrangements I can make about the funeral?"

"I think we shall manage the inquest for the day after tomorrow. Captain Marshall."

"Thank you."

Inspector Colgate said: "Excuse me, sir, allow me to return you these." He handed over the three letters.

Kenneth Marshall smiled rather sardonically. He said: "Has the police department been testing the speed of my typing? I hope my character is cleared."

Colonel Weston said pleasantly: "Yes, Captain Marshall, I think we can give you a clean bill of health. Those sheets take fully an hour to type. Moreover, you were heard typing them by the chambermaid up till five minutes to eleven and you were seen by another witness at twenty minutes past."

Captain Marshall murmured: "Really? That all seems very satisfactory!"

"Yes. Miss Darnley came to your room at twenty minutes past eleven. You were so busy typing that you did not observe her entry."

Kenneth Marshall's face took on an impassive expression. He said: "Does Miss Darnley say that?" He paused. "As a matter of fact she is wrong. I did see her, though she may not be aware of the fact. I saw her in the mirror."

Poirot murmured: "But you did not interrupt your typing?"

Marshall said shortly: "No. I wanted to get finished." He paused a minute, then in an abrupt voice, he said: "Nothing more I can do for you?"

"No, thank you. Captain Marshall."

Kenneth Marshall nodded and went out. Weston said with a sigh: "There goes our most hopeful suspect - cleared! Hullo, here's Neasdon."

The doctor came in with a trace of excitement in his manner. He said: "That's a nice little death lot you sent me along."

"What is it?"

"What is it? Diamorphine hydrochloride. Stuff that's usually called heroin."

Inspector Colgate whistled. He said: "Now we're getting places, all right! Depend upon it, this dope stunt is at the bottom of the whole business."

第九章



　　派屈克·雷德方今天这是第二次划着小船往小妖湾去。船上还坐着脸色苍白，一手抚着胃部的赫邱里·白罗和史蒂文·蓝恩。温斯顿上校走陆路过去，因为路上略有耽搁，所以他到海滩时，小船也正好进海湾内。海滩上已经有了一名警员和一个便衣警佐，温斯顿正在和便衣警佐说话时，船上的三个人都走了过来。
　　菲力浦警佐说：“我想海滩上每一寸地方我都查过了。”
　　“很好，有没有发现什么？”
　　“都在这边，局长，请过来看看。”一小堆东西很整齐地排放在一块大石头上。有一把剪刀，一个空纸袋，五个特殊设计的瓶盖，几根用过的火柴，三条绳子，一两片碎报纸，一块打烂了的烟斗的碎片，四颗扣子，一根鸡腿的骨头，还有一个装防晒油的空瓶子。
　　温斯顿低头看看这些东西，“唔，”他说：“就今日海滩的情况看来，这些东西还算是少的了。大部分人好像都搞不清海滩不是垃圾堆。空瓶子在这里很久了，标签都模糊了——其他的东西，我看也很久了。不过这把剪刀倒是新的，还很亮。昨天下雨的时候还没给淋到！这是在哪里捡到的？”
　　“靠梯子下面，那块烟斗的碎片也是那里找到的。”
　　“啊，可能是什么人从那里上下的时候掉的，看不出是什么人的吗？”
　　“看不出，是一把很普通的、剪指甲用的剪刀，烟斗的质料倒很好——价钱不便宜。”
　　白罗沉吟地喃喃说道：“我想，马歇尔先生跟我们说过他的烟斗不知放到那里去了。”
　　温斯顿说：“马歇尔已经和这案子无关了，而且又不只有他一个人抽烟斗。”
　　赫邱里·白罗注意地看着史蒂文·蓝恩的手伸向口袋，又缩了回来，他用很高兴的语调问道：“你也抽烟斗的吧？蓝恩先生？”
　　那个牧师吃了一惊，他望着白罗，说道：“是的，哦，我也吸烟斗，烟斗是我的老朋友和伴侣。”他又把手伸进口袋里，拿出一支烟斗来，装上烟丝，点了火。
　　赫邱里·白罗走到雷德方站着的地方，眼中没有一点表情。他低声地说：“我很高兴——他们已经把尸体移走了……”
　　史蒂文，蓝恩问道：“是在哪里发现她的？”
　　警佐用很轻快的语调说：“就在你站着的地方。”蓝恩很快地闪到一边，他瞪着刚才他站的地方。警佐继续说道：“从停泊小筏子的地方，推断她抵达的时间是十点四十五分。当时是顺潮水来的，现在流向反过来了。”
　　温斯顿说：“照片都照了吗？”
　　“照好了，局长。”
　　温斯顿转身对雷德方说：“好了，老兄，你说的那个山洞入口在哪里？”
　　派屈克·雷德方仍然在瞪着海滩上蓝恩刚才站着的那块地方。就好像他还能看见那具现在已经不在那里了的尸体。温斯顿的声音使他醒了过来。他说：“就在这边。”他带着路向悬崖底下一大堆凌乱的岩石走去，直接走到并立的两块巨石之间，那里有一条狭窄的缝隙，他说：“入口就在这里。”
　　温斯顿说：“这里？看起来不像一个人可以挤得过去。”
　　“这是视觉上的错觉，局长，人正好可以通得过。”
　　温斯顿很快地走进石缝，那里果然不像看来那么窄。里面的空间渐渐变大，相当的空，可以让人站得直，也可以走动。赫邱里·白罗和史蒂文·蓝恩也走了进去。其他的人则留在洞外。光从石缝里透照进来，温斯顿手里也拿了一个大手电筒，在洞里各处照着。他说：“很方便的地方，从外面再也猜不到里面会是这个样子。”他把手电筒仔细地在地上照着。
　　赫邱里·白罗在空中不停地嗅着，温斯顿注意到了，他说：“空气相当新鲜，没有鱼腥味或海草气，不过这是当然的事，这里在最高水位线以上呢。”
　　可是对白罗敏感的鼻子来说，这里的空气不只是很新鲜，而且有股淡淡的香味。他知道有两个人用这种香水的……温斯顿手里的电筒光关熄了。他说：“这里没有看到什么不对劲的东西。”
　　白罗的眼光抬向比他头部略高的一块突出的石头。“从这里大概看不到上面有没有东西吧？”
　　温斯顿说：“如果上面有什么的话，那一定是故意放在那里的。不过，我们最好还是看一看。”
　　白罗对蓝恩说：“我想，我们三个里就数你最高了，可不可以劳驾你看看上面是不是确实没有什么东西？”
　　蓝恩踮起了脚尖，可是他还是无法完全摸到底。然后，他发现石头上有点小缝，就把脚尖塞进去，利用一双手将身体撑高了。他说：“哎哟，上面有个盒子呢。”
　　一两分钟之后，他们回到洞外的阳光下，仔细看那位牧师找到的东西。温斯顿说：“小心，不要过分乱动，恐怕有指纹在上面。”
　　那是一个深绿色的铁皮盒子，上面有“三明治”的字样。菲力浦警佐说：“我想，是什么人野餐之后丢下的。”他用手帕垫着打开了盖子。里面是一些小的铁制容器，标明盐，胡椒、芥末等，还有两个较大的方块形容器，显然是放三明治用的。菲力浦警佐把盐罐的盖子打开，里面的盐放得满满的。他打开第二个小罐的盖子，说道：“唔，胡椒罐子里也放的是盐。”放芥末的罐子里放的还是盐。这位警佐脸上突然露出了警党的表情，打开方形扁盒的盖子，那里面同样的放满了白色晶体状的粉末。
　　菲力浦警佐很快地将手指伸进去蘸了下，再送到舌边舔舔，他脸上的表情变了，用非常激动的声音说道：“这不是盐，局长，一点也不是！味道苦苦的！我想是某种毒品。”
　　“第三种角度。”温斯顿上校呻吟一声道。他们又回到了旅馆里，警察局长继续说道：“如果这件案子还牵扯到贩毒，那又引出了好几种可能，第一，死者很可能也是贩毒的这帮人之一，你想有这可能吗？”
　　赫邱里·白罗很谨慎地回答道：“有这可能。”
　　“也许她自己就是用毒的人？”
　　白罗摇了摇头说：“不会吧，她的精神状态稳定，身体健康，容光焕发，身上没有注射的针孔(倒不是说这点能证明什么，有些人是吸用的)。我想她不是个吸毒的人。”
　　“如果是这样的话，”温斯顿说：“她很可能是偶然撞见了他们，结果被人杀了灭口，我们马上就可以知道这些东西是什么，我送去给倪司敦化验了。如果真是碰上贩毒集团，他们可不是那种——”
　　他的话突然煞住，因为门开了，贺雷士·卜拉特先生很快地走了进来。卜拉特先生看来很热的样子，正在擦他额头上的汗水。他又大又亮的声音充塞了整个房间。“我刚回来就听到了这个消息！你是警察局长？他们告诉我说你在这里。我的名字叫卜拉特，贺雷士·卜拉特。有没有什么我可以帮忙的地方？我想大概没有。今天一大早我就上了船，错过了所有的热闹。在这样一个小地方碰上真正出事的这一天，我偏偏又不在。人生就是如此，是不是？你好，白罗，起先没有看到你。原来你也在办这个案子？哦，好呀，我想你也会办的。福尔摩斯和本地警察。对不对？哈哈！真来劲，能看你表演些侦探的本事，一定很过瘾的。”
　　卜拉特先生坐进一张椅子里，拿出一个烟盒，递给温斯顿上校。他摇了摇头，微笑道：“我是个抽烟斗的。”
　　“我也一样，我也抽香烟——不过没什么比得过烟斗就是了。”
　　温斯顿上校突然很亲切地说：“那就点起烟斗来抽吧，老兄。”
　　卜拉特摇了摇头。“现在烟斗不在我身上。先把这件案子跟我说一说吧。到现在为止，我听说的只是马歇尔太太被人谋杀，死在这里的一处海滩上。”
　　“是小妖湾。”温斯顿上校说着，一面仔细地看着他。
　　可是卜拉特先生只很兴奋地问道：“她是被扼死的？”
　　“是的，卜拉特先生。”
　　“差劲——真差劲！我说，她这是咎由自取！事情很棘手吧？呃？白罗先生？知不知道是谁干的？还是说，我不该问这个问题？”
　　温斯顿上校带着淡淡的微笑说：“哎，你知道，应该是我们来发问的呢。”
　　卜拉特先生挥着手里的香烟，“抱歉——抱歉——是我的错，请问吧。”
　　“你今天早上驾船出海，是几点钟？”
　　“十点差一刻离开这里的。”
　　“有没有谁和你一起？”
　　“一个人也没有，完全孤伶伶一个人。”
　　“你去了什么地方呢？”
　　“顺海岸往扑莱茅斯那方向。我带着午餐，风不太大，所以我其实没有去多远。”
　　再问过一两个问题之后，温斯顿问道：“关于马歇尔夫妇，你是不是知道什么可以有助于我们破案的事？”
　　“啊，我已经向你们表示过了我的意见，情欲引起的犯罪啦！我能说的是，跟我无关，漂亮的艾莲娜对我没有用，这方面扯不上关系。她有她自己的蓝眼男孩子！要是你们问我的意见，我说是马歇尔听到了风声了。”
　　“这件事你有何证据吗？”
　　“看到他有一两次横着眼瞪年轻的小伙子雷德方，马歇尔可是匹黑马呀，看起来很软弱温驯，整天好像都是半睡半醒——可是他在伦敦的名声可不是如此。我听说过关于他的一两件事。有次差点吃上伤害官司，我告诉你，对方的生意做得很下流，马歇尔信任了他，他却欺上瞒下，我想，那种做生意的手法真卑劣。马歇尔发现了去找他算帐。打得他半死。那家伙没敢提起上诉，怕事情闹出来，我告诉你们这件事，你们就知道怎么样了。”
　　“那你想可能是，”白罗说：“马歇尔扼死了他太太吗？”
　　“不是呀，我从来没有说这种话。只是让你们晓得他偶而会发狂。”
　　白罗说：“卜拉特先生，由于某种原因，我们相信马歇尔太太今天早上到小妖湾是去见什么人的。你知不知道她可能会去见谁呢？”
　　卜拉特先生眨了眨眼说：“我不是猜测，是说得定的，准是去见雷德方！”
　　“那个人不是雷德方先生。”
　　卜拉特先生似乎大吃了一惊，他有点迟疑地说：“那我就不知道了……哎，我想不出……”他略为恢复了些平日的自信，继续说道：“我先也说过，总不会是我！我没那么好的福气！我想想看，不可能是贾德纳——他老婆盯他可盯得紧哩！是巴瑞那个老家伙吗？该死！也不大可能是那个牧师。不过，我告诉你，我也看到那位牧师常常盯着她看咧。他满口批评她，可是说不定还是一样要取眼皮子供养，呃？世界上伪君子可多着呢，大部分人都是，你有没有看过上个月那个案子？牧师和教堂执事的女儿搅七捻三？可真让人大开眼界。”
　　卜拉特先生咯咯地笑了起来。
　　温斯顿上校冷冷地说：“你没有再想到什么对我们有帮助的事了吗？”
　　卜拉特摇了摇头。“没有，想不起什么来了。”他说：“我想，这总会搞出点热闹来的吧。新闻记者一定会来像抢刚出炉的热蛋糕一样。以后乐园旅馆就没什么好再神气了，还说什么乐园，有啥好乐的呢？”
　　赫邱里·白罗喃喃地说道：“你在这里玩得并不开心吗？”
　　卜拉特先生的一张红脸变得比先前更红，他说：“呃，我不开心。驾船出去还不错，还有此地的风景，此地的服务和餐饮——可是这里的人不够亲近，你懂我的意思吧！我要说的是，我的钱跟人家的钱一样好，我们都是到这里来开心的。那为什么不大家一起来玩玩呢？结果各有各的小圈圈，自己坐在一堆，只冷冷地跟你说早呀——晚安——是呀，天气真好，一点也不热闹开心，全是些木偶布娃娃似的。”卜拉特先生停了下来——他的脸现在真是非常的红了。他又擦了下额头，有点抱歉地说：“不要理我这些话，我一下子太激动了。”
　　赫邱里·白罗喃喃地说道：“我们对卜拉特先生有何看法？”
　　温斯顿上校咧嘴一笑道：“你认为他怎么样？你对他比我认识得多了。”
　　白罗柔和地说：“你们英国人有不少俗语可以用来形容他的。未琢的钻石！白手起家的人！在社交界拼命往上爬的！说起来，你会觉得他可怜、可笑、可厌，看你怎么想，完全是各人的看法。可是我也觉得他另有一番面目。”
　　“那又是什么呢？”
　　赫邱里·白罗两眼望着天花板，喃喃说道：“我想他是——紧张。”
　　柯根德巡官说：“我已经把各种时间算过了，从旅馆下到小妖湾的那道梯子一共三分钟，那是走到旅馆里的人看不到你的地方再拼命跑过去所需的时间。”
　　温斯顿挑起了盾毛，他说：“比我想象的要快多了。”
　　“从梯子下到海滩上，一分钟又四十五秒，上来的话是两分钟。做这试验的是符灵特，他有点运动家的派头。照一般人走路和上下梯子的速度来算，全部大约将近十五分钟左右。”
　　温斯顿点了点头。他说：“还有一件事我们必须调查清楚，就是烟斗的问题。”
　　柯根德说：“卜拉特抽烟斗，马歇尔也一样，还有那位牧师。雷德方抽香烟，那个美国佬喜欢雪茄，巴瑞少校根本不吸烟。马歇尔房间皇有一根清烟斗的烟签，卜拉特房间有两根，牧师房里有一根。女佣说马歇尔有两支烟斗，另外一个女佣是个比较笨的女孩子，搞不清楚另外两个人有几支烟斗，只含而糊之地说她注意到他们房间有两支还是三支。”
　　温斯顿点了点头。“还有什么别的吗？”
　　“我也查过旅馆的职员，好像都没有问题，在酒吧间的亨利，证实了马歇尔的话，说在十一点差十分时见过他。负责照顾海水浴场的威廉，早上大部分时间都在整修岩石上的梯子，他好像也没有问题。乔治在网球场上画线，然后在餐厅外面整理花木，要是有人从堤路过来，到小岛上的话，他们几个都不会看见的。”
　　“堤路上的水什么时候退尽？”
　　“大约九点半左右。”
　　温斯顿摸着胡子。“很可能真的有人从这条路过来。我们又有了新的发现，柯根德。”他把在洞里找到那个三明治盒子的事告诉了这个巡官。
　　门上响起了敲门声。
　　“请进。”温斯顿说。
　　来的人是马歇尔，他说：“你能不能告诉我可以在什么时候安排葬礼的事？”
　　“我想我们在后天就要验尸了，马歇尔先生。”
　　“谢谢你。”
　　柯根德巡官说：“对不起，这几件东西还给你。”他把那三封信递了过去。
　　甘逸世·马歇尔有点挖苦地笑了笑。他说：“警方有没有试验过我打字的速度？我希望可以还我清白了吧。”
　　温斯顿上校用很开朗的语气说：“是的，马歇尔先生，我想我们可以给你开张健康证明书。这些信至少要花整整一小时来打字，而且，女佣听到你打字，一直到十一点差五分，二十分钟之后，另外一位证人又看到了你。”
　　马歇尔喃喃地道，“真的吗？那一切都很令人满意了。”
　　“是的，戴礼小、姐在十一点二十分的时候，到了你房间里，你当时正忙着打字，所以根本没注意到她进来。”
　　甘逸世·马歇尔的脸上表情冷淡地说：“戴礼小、姐这样说的吗？”他停了一下，“其实她错了，我看到了她，不过她不知道而已，我是从镜子里看到她的。”
　　白罗喃喃地说道：“可是你并没有把打字的工作停下来？”
　　马歇尔不快地说：“没有。我想把信赶完。”他停了下，然后突然问道：“没有什么别的可以效劳的地方了吧？”
　　“没有了，谢谢你，马歇尔先生。”
　　甘逸世·马歇尔点了点头，走出房间。温斯顿叹了口气说：“这下我们最有希望的一个嫌疑犯没有了——刷清了嫌疑。啊，倪司敦来了！”
　　那位法医很兴奋地走了进来，他说：“你们送来的东西真不得了。”
　　“是什么呢？”
　　“是什么？就是俗称‘海洛因’的毒品。”
　　柯根德巡官吹了声口哨，他说：“这下我们可真有点东西了！照这样说起来，整个案子到底恐怕跟这个毒品有关哩。”


Chapter 10

The little crowd of people flocked out of The Red Bull. The brief inquest was over - adjourned for a fortnight. Rosamund Darnley joined Captain Marshall. She said in a low voice: "That wasn't so bad, was it, Ken?"

He did not answer at once. Perhaps he was conscious of the staring eyes of the villagers, the fingers that nearly pointed to him and only just did not quite do so!

"That's 'im, my dear." "See, that's 'er 'usband" "That be the 'usband." "Look, there 'e goes..."

The murmurs were not loud enough to reach his ears, but he was none the less sensitive to them. This was the modern day pillory. The press he had already encountered - self-confident, persuasive young men, adept at battering down his wall of silence, of "Nothing to say" that he had endeavoured to erect. Even the curt monosyllables that he had uttered thinking that they at least could not lead to misapprehension had reappeared in this morning's papers in a totally different guise. "Asked whether he agreed that the mystery of his wife's death could only be explained on the assumption that a homicidal murderer had found his way on to the island, Captain Marshall declared that -" and so on and so forth.

Cameras had clicked ceaselessly. Now, at this minute, the well-known sound caught his ear. He half turned - a smiling young man was nodding cheerfully, his purpose accomplished.

Rosamund murmured: "Captain Marshall and a friend leaving The Red Bull after the inquest." Marshall winced. Rosamund said: "It's no use, Ken! You've got to face it! I don't mean just the fact of Arlena's death - I mean all the attendant beastliness. The staring eyes and gossiping tongues, the fatuous interviews in the papers - and the best way to meet it is to find it funny! Come out with all the old inane clichés and curl a sardonic lip at them."

He said: "Is that your way?"

"Yes." She paused. "It isn't yours, I know. Protective colouring is your line. Remain rigidly non-active and fade into the background! But you can't do that here - you've no background to fade into. You stand out clear for all to see - like a striped tiger against a white backcloth. The husband of the murdered woman!"

"For God's sake, Rosamund -"

She said gently: "My dear, I'm trying to be good for you!"

They walked for a few steps in silence. Then Marshall said in a different voice: "I know you are. I'm not really ungrateful, Rosamund."

They had progressed beyond the limits of the village. Eyes followed them but there was no one very near. Rosamund Darnley's voice dropped as she repeated a variant of her first remark. "It didn't really go so badly, did it?"

He was silent for a moment, then he said: "I don't know."

"What do the police think?"

"They're noncommittal."

After a minute Rosamund said: "That little man - Poirot - is he really taking an active interest?"

Kenneth Marshall said: "Seemed to be sitting in the Chief Constable's pocket all right the other day."

"I know - but is he doing anything?"

"How the hell should I know, Rosamund?"

She said thoughtfully: "He's pretty old. Probably more or less ga ga."

"Perhaps."

They came to the causeway. Opposite them, serene in the sun, lay the island. Rosamund said suddenly: "Sometimes - things seem unreal. I can't believe, this minute, that it ever happened..."

Marshall said slowly: "I think I know what you mean. Nature is so - regardless! One ant the less - that's all it is in Nature!"

Rosamund said: "Yes - and that's the proper way to look at it really."

He gave her one very quick glance. Then he said in a low voice: "Don't worry, my dear. It's all right. It's all right."

Linda came down to the causeway to meet them. She moved with the spasmodic jerkiness of a nervous colt. Her young face was marred by deep black shadows under her eyes. Her lips were dry and rough. She said breathlessly: "What happened - what - what did they say?"

Her father said abruptly: "Inquest adjourned for a fortnight."

"That means they - they haven't decided?"

"Yes. More evidence is needed."

"But - but what do they think?"

Marshall smiled a little in spite of himself. "Oh, my dear child - who knows? And whom do you mean by they? The Coroner, the jury, the police, the newspaper reporters, the fishing folk of Leathercombe Bay?"

Linda said slowly: "I suppose I mean - the police."

Marshall said drily: "Whatever the police think, they're not giving it away at present." His lips closed tightly after the sentence. He went into the hotel.

As Rosamund Darnley was about to follow suit, Linda said: "Rosamund!"

Rosamund turned. The mute appeal in the girl's unhappy face touched her. She linked her arm through Linda's and together they walked away from the hotel, taking the path that led to the extreme end of the island.

Rosamund said gently: "Try not to mind so much, Linda. I know it's all very terrible and a shock and all that, but it's no use brooding over these things. And it can be only the - the horror of it, that is worrying you. You weren't in the least fond of Arlena, you know."

She felt the tremor that ran through the girl's body as Linda answered: "No, I wasn't fond of her..."

Rosamund went on: "Sorrow for a person is different - one can't put that behind one. But one can get over shock and horror by just not letting your mind dwell on it all the time."

Linda said sharply: "You don't understand."

"I think I do, my dear."

Linda shook her head. "No, you don't. You don't understand in the least - and Christine doesn't understand either! Both of you have been nice to me, but you can't understand what I'm feeling. You just think it's morbid - that I'm dwelling on it all when I needn't." She paused. "But it isn't that at all. If you knew what I know -"

Rosamund stopped dead. Her body did not tremble - on the contrary it stiffened. She stood for a minute or two, then she disengaged her arm from Linda's. She said: "What is it that you know, Linda?"

The girl gazed at her. Then she shook her head. She muttered: "Nothing."

Rosamund caught her by the arm. The grip hurt and Linda winced slightly. Rosamund said: "Be careful, Linda. Be damned careful."

Linda had gone dead white. She said: "I am very careful - all the time."

Rosamund said urgently: "Listen, Linda, what I said a minute or two ago applies just the same - only a hundred times more so. Put the whole business out of your mind. Never think about it. Forget - forget... You can if you try! Arlena is dead and nothing can bring her back to life... Forget everything and live in the future. And above all, hold your tongue."

Linda shrank a little. She said: "You - you seem to know all about it?"

Rosamund said energetically: "I don't know anything! In my opinion a wandering maniac got onto the island and killed Arlena. That's much the most probable solution. I'm fairly sure that the police will have to accept that in the end. That's what must have happened! That's what did happen!"

Linda said: "If Father -"

Rosamund interrupted her. "Don't talk about it."

Linda said: "I've got to say one thing. My Mother -"

"Well, what about her?"

"She - she was tried for murder, wasn't she?"

"Yes."

Linda said slowly: "And then Father married her. That looks, doesn't it, as though Father didn't really think murder was very wrong - not always, that is."

Rosamund said sharply: "Don't say things like that - even to me! The police haven't got anything against your father. He's got an alibi - an alibi that they can't break. He's perfectly safe."

Linda whispered: "Did they think at first that Father -?"

Rosamund cried: "I don't know what they thought! But they know now that he couldn't have done it. Do you understand? He couldn't have done it." She spoke with authority, her eyes commanded Linda's acquiescence. The girl uttered a long fluttering sigh. Rosamund said: "You'll be able to leave here soon. You'll forget everything - everything!"

Linda said with sudden unexpected violence: "I shall never forget." She turned abruptly and ran back to the hotel. Rosamund stared after her.

"There is something I want to know, Madame?"

Christine Redfern glanced up at Poirot in a slightly abstracted manner. She said: "Yes?"

Hercule Poirot took very little notice of her abstraction. He had noted the way her eyes followed her husband's figure where he was pacing up and down on the terrace outside the bar, but for the moment he had no interest in purely conjugal problems. He wanted information. He said: "Yes, Madame. It was a phrase - a chance phrase of yours the other day which roused my attention."

Christine, her eyes till on Patrick, said: "Yes? What did I say?"

"It was in answer to a question from the Chief Constable. You described how you went into Miss Linda Marshall's room on the morning of the crime and how you found her absent from it and how she returned there and it was then that the Chief Constable asked you where she had been."

Christine said rather impatiently: "And I said she had been bathing? Is that it?"

"Ah, but you did not say quite that. You did not say 'she had been bathing.' Your words were 'she said she had been bathing.'"

Christine said: "It's the same thing, surely."

"No, it is not the same! The form of your answer suggested a certain attitude of mind on your part. Linda Marshall came into the room - she was wearing a bathing-wrap and yet - for some reason - you did not at once assume she had been bathing. That is shown by your words 'she said she had been bathing.' What was there about her appearance - was it her manner, or something that she was wearing or something she said, that led you to feel surprised when she said she had been bathing?"

Christine's attention left Patrick and focused itself entirely on Poirot. She was interested. She said: "That's clever of you. It's quite true, now I remember... I was, just faintly, surprised when Linda said she had been bathing."

"But why, Madame, why?"

"Yes, why? That's just what I'm trying to remember. Oh, yes, I think it was the parcel in her hand."

"She had a parcel?"

"Yes."

"You do not know what was in it?"

"Oh, yes, I do. The string broke. It was loosely done up the way they do in the village. It was candles - they were scattered on the floor. I helped her to pick them up."

"Ah," said Poirot. "Candles."

Christine stared at him. She said: "You seem excited, M. Poirot."

Poirot asked: "Did Linda say why she had bought candles?"

Christine reflected. "No, I don't think she did. I suppose it was to read by at night - perhaps the electric light wasn't good."

"On the contrary, Madame, there was a bedside electric lamp in perfect order."

Christine said: "Then I don't know what she wanted them for."

Poirot said: "What was her manner - when the string broke and the candles fell out of the parcel?"

Christine said slowly: "She was - upset - embarrassed."

Poirot nodded his head. Then he asked: "Did you notice a calendar in her room?"

"A calendar? What kind of calendar?"

Poirot said: "Possibly a green calendar - with tear-off leaves."

Christine screwed up her eyes in an effort of memory. "A green calendar - rather a bright green. Yes, I have seen a calendar like that - but I can't remember where. It may have been in Linda's room, but I can't be sure."

"But you have definitely seen such a thing."

"Yes." Again Poirot nodded. Christine said rather sharply: "What are you hinting at, M. Poirot? What is the meaning of all this?"

For answer Poirot produced a small volume bound in faded brown calf. He said: "Have you ever seen this before?"

"Why - I think - I'm not sure - yes, Linda was looking into it in the village lending library the other day. But she shut it up and thrust it back quickly when I came up to her. It made me wonder what it was."

Silently Poirot displayed the tide. A History of Witchcraft, Sorcery and of the Compounding of Untraceable Poisons.

Christine said: "I don't understand. What does all this mean?"

Poirot said gravely: "It may mean, Madame, a good deal."

She looked at him inquiringly, but he did not go on. Instead he said: "One more question, Madame. Did you take a bath that morning before you went out to play tennis?"

Christine stared again. "A bath? No. I would have had no time and anyway I didn't want a bath - not before tennis. I might have had one after."

"Did you use your bathroom at all when you came in?"

"I sponged my face and hands, that's all."

"You did not turn on the bath at all?"

"No, I'm sure I didn't."

Poirot nodded. He said: "It is of no importance."

Hercule Poirot stood by the table where Mrs Gardener was wrestling with a jigsaw. She looked up and jumped. "Why M. Poirot, how very quietly you came up beside me! I never heard you. Have you just come back from the inquest? You know, the very thought of that inquest makes me so nervous, I don't know what to do. That's why I'm doing this puzzle. I just felt I couldn't sit outside on the beach as usual. As Mr Gardener knows, when my nerves are all upset, there's nothing like one of these puzzles for calming me. There now, where does this white piece fit in? It must be part of the fur rug, but I don't seem to see..."

Gently Poirot's hand took the piece from her. He said: "It fits, Madame, here. It is part of the cat."

"It can't be. It's a black cat."

"A black cat, yes, but you see the tip of the black cat's tail happens to be white."

"Why, so it does! How clever of you! But I do think the people who make puzzles are kind of mean. They just go out of their way tn deceive you." She fitted in another piece and then resumed: "You know, M. Poirot, I've been watching you this last day or two. I just wanted to watch you detecting if you know what I mean - not that it doesn't sound rather heartless put like that, as though it were all a game - and a poor creature killed. Oh, dear, every time I think of it I get the shivers! I told Mr Gardener this morning I'd just got to get away from here, and now the inquest's over he says he thinks we'll be able to leave tomorrow, and that's a blessing, I'm sure. But about detecting, I would so like to know your methods - you know, I'd feel privileged if you'd just explain it to me."

Hercule Poirot said: "It is a little like your puzzle, Madame. One assembles the pieces. It is like a mosaic - many colours and patterns - and every strange-shaped little piece must be fitted into its own place."

"Now isn't that interesting? Why, I'm sure you explain it just too beautifully."

Poirot went on: "And sometimes it is like that piece of your puzzle just now. One arranges very methodically the pieces of the puzzle - one sorts the colours - and then perhaps a piece of one colour that should fit in with - say, the fur rug, fits instead in a black cat's tail."

"Why, if that doesn't sound too fascinating! And are there a great many pieces, M. Poirot?"

"Yes, Madame. About every one here in this hotel has given me a piece for my puzzle. You amongst them."

"Me?" Mrs Gardener's tone was shrill.

"Yes, a remark of yours, Madame, was exceedingly helpful. I might say it was illuminating."

"Well, if that isn't too lovely! Can't you tell me some more, M. Poirot?"

"Ah! Madame, I reserve the explanations for the last chapter."

Mrs Gardener murmured: "If that isn't just too bad!"

Hercule Poirot tapped gently on the door of Captain Marshall's room. Inside there was the sound of a typewriter. A curt "Come in" came from the room and Poirot entered. Captain Marshall's back was turned to him. He was sitting typing at the table between the windows. He did not turn his head but his eyes met Poirot's in the mirror that hung on the wall directly in front of him. He said irritably: "Well, M. Poirot, what is it?"

Poirot said quickly: "A thousand apologies for intruding. You are busy?"

Marshall said shortly: "I am rather."

Poirot said: "It is one little question that I would like to ask you."

Marshall said: "My God, I'm sick of answering questions. I've answered the police questions. I don't feel called upon to answer yours."

Poirot said: "Mine is a very simple one. Only this. On the morning of your wife's death, did you have a bath after you finished typing and before you went out to play tennis?"

"A bath? No, of course I didn't! I had a bath only an hour earlier!"

Hercule Poirot said: "Thank you. That is all."

"But look here - Oh -" the other paused irresolutely. Poirot withdrew gently closing the door. Kenneth Marshall said: "The fellow's crazy!"

Just outside the bar Poirot encountered Mr Gardener. He was carrying two cocktails and was clearly on his way to where Mrs Gardener was ensconced with her jig saw. He smiled at Poirot in genial fashion. "Care to join us, M. Poirot?"

Poirot shook his head. He said: "What did you think of the inquest, Mr Gardener?"

Mr Gardener lowered his voice. He said: "Seemed kind of indeterminate to me. Your police, I gather, have got something up their sleeves."

"It is possible," said Hercule Poirot.

Mr Gardener lowered his voice still further. "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 you 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 going 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."

Rosamund Darnley said: "So it's my turn, is it?"

"Pardon?"

She laughed. "The other day the Chief Constable held his 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. Further 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 some one 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."

Rosamund said: "She mayn't have known she was going to meet him. He may have sent her a message in some other person's name."

Poirot murmured: "That is possible." Then he said: "But you forget one thing, Mademoiselle. A man bent on murder could not risk coming in broad daylight across the causeway and past the hotel. Some one might have seen him."

"They might have - but I don't think that it's certain. I think it's quite possible that he could have come without any one noticing him at all."

"It would be possible, yes, that I grant you. But the point is that he could not count on that possibility."

Rosamund said: "Aren't you forgetting something? The weather."

"The weather?"

"Yes. The day of the murder was a glorious day but the day before, remember, there was rain and thick mist. Any one could come onto the island then without being seen. He had only to go down to the beach and spend the night in the cave. That mist, M. Poirot, is important."

Poirot looked at her thoughtfully for a minute or two. He said: "You know, there is a good deal in what you have just said."

Rosamund flushed. She said: "That's my theory, for what it is worth. Now tell me yours."

"Ah," said Hercule Poirot. He stared down at the sea. "Eh bien, Mademoiselle. I am a very simple person. I always incline to the belief that the most likely person committed the crime. At the very beginning it seemed to me that only one person was very clearly indicated."

Rosamund's voice hardened a little. She said: "Go on."

Hercule Poirot went on. "But you see, there is what you call a snag in the way! It seems that it was impossible for that person to have committed the crime."

He heard the quick expulsion of her breath. She said rather breathlessly: "Well?"

Hercule Poirot shrugged his shoulders. "Well, what do we do about it? That is my problem." He paused and then went on. "May I ask you a question?"

"Certainly."

She faced him, alert and vigilant. But the question that came was an unexpected one. "When you came in to change for tennis that morning, did you have a bath?"

Rosamund stared at him. "A bath? What do you mean?"

"That is what I mean. A bath! The receptacle of porcelain, one turns the taps and fills it, one gets in, one gets out and ghoosh - ghoosh - ghoosh, the water goes down the waste pipe!"

"M. Poirot, are you quite mad?"

"No, I am extremely sane."

"Well, anyway, I didn't take a bath."

"Ha!" said Poirot. "So nobody took a bath. That is extremely interesting."

"But why should any one take a bath?"

Hercule Poirot said: "Why, indeed?"

Rosamund said with some exasperation: "I suppose this is the Sherlock Holmes touch!"

Hercule Poirot smiled. Then he sniffed the air delicately. "Will you permit me to be impertinent. Mademoiselle?"

"I'm sure you couldn't be impertinent, M. Poirot."

"That is very kind of you. Then may I venture to say that the scent you use is delicious - it has a nuance - a delicate elusive charm." He waved his hands, and then added in a practical voice, "Gabrielle, No. 8, I think?"

"How clever you are. Yes, I always use it."

"So did the late Mrs Marshall. It is chic, eh? And very expensive?" Rosamund shrugged her shoulders with a faint smile. Poirot said: "You sat here where we are now, Mademoiselle, on the morning of the crime. You were seen here, or at least your sunshade was seen by Miss Brewster and Mr Redfern as they passed on the sea. During the morning. Mademoiselle, are you sure you did not happen to go down to Pixy's Cove and enter the cave there - the famous Pixy's Cave?"

Rosamund turned her head an stared at him. She said in a quiet voice: "Are you asking me if I killed Arlena Marshall?"

"No. I am asking you if you went into the Pixy's Cave?"

"I don't even know where it is. Why should I go into it? For what reason?"

"On the day of the crime. Mademoiselle, somebody had been in that cave who used Gabrielle No. 8."

Rosamund said sharply: "You've just said yourself, M. Poirot, that Arlena Marshall used Gabrielle No. 8. She was on the beach that day. Presumably she went into the cave."

"Why should she go into the cave? It is dark there and narrow and very uncomfortable."

Rosamund said impatiently: "Don't ask me for reasons. Since she was actually at the cove she was by far the most likely person. I've told you already I never left this place the whole morning."

"Except for the time when you went into the hotel to Captain Marshall's room," Poirot reminded her.

"Yes, of course. I'd forgotten that."

Poirot said: "And you were wrong, Mademoiselle, when you thought that Captain Marshall did not see you."

Rosamund said incredulously: "Kenneth did see me? Did - did he say so?"

Poirot nodded. "He saw you, Mademoiselle, in the mirror that hangs over the table."

Rosamund caught her breath. She said: "Oh! I see."

Poirot was no longer looking out to sea. He was looking at Rosamund Darnley's hands as they lay folded in her lap. They were well-shaped hands, beautifully moulded with very long fingers. Rosamund, shooting a quick look at him, followed the direction of his eyes. She said sharply: "What are you looking at my hands for? Do you think - do you think -?"

Poirot said: "Do I think - what, Mademoiselle?"

Rosamund Darnley said: "Nothing."

It was perhaps an hour later that Hercule Poirot came to the top of the path leading to Gull Cove. There was some one sitting on the beach. A slight figure in a red shirt and dark blue shorts. Poirot descended the path, stepping carefully in his tight smart shoes. Linda Marshall turned her head sharply. He thought that she shrank a little. Her eyes, as he came and lowered himself gingerly to the shingle beside her- rested on him with the suspicion and alertness of a trapped animal. He realized, with a pang, how young and vulnerable she was. She said: "What is it? What do you want?"

Hercule Poirot did not answer for a minute or two. Then he said: "The other day you told the Chief Constable that you were fond of your stepmother and that she was kind to you."

"Well?"

"That was not true, was it, Mademoiselle?"

"Yes, it was."

Poirot said: "She may not have been actively unkind - that I will grant you. But you were not fond of her - oh, no - I think you disliked her very much. That was very plain to see."

Linda said: "Perhaps I didn't like her very much. But one can't say that when a person is dead. It wouldn't be decent."

Poirot sighed. He said: "They taught you that at your school?"

"More or less, I suppose."

Hercule Poirot said: "When a person has been murdered, it is more important to be truthful than to be decent."

Linda said: "I suppose you would say a thing like that."

"I would saw it and I do say it. It is my business, you see, to find out who killed Arlena Marshall."

Linda muttered: "I want to forget it all. It's so horrible."

Poirot said gently: "But you can't forget, can you?"

Linda said: "I suppose some beastly madman killed her."

Hercule Poirot murmured: "No, I do not think it was quite like that."

Linda caught her breath. She said: "You sound - as though you knew?"

Poirot said: "Perhaps I do know." He paused and went on, "Will you trust me, my child, to do the best I can for you in your bitter trouble?"

Linda sprang up. She said: "I haven't any trouble. There is nothing you can do for me. I don't know what you are talking about."

Poirot said, watching her: "I am talking about candles..."

He saw the terror leap into her eyes. She cried: "I won't listen to you. I won't listen." She ran across the beach, swift as a young gazelle, and went flying up the zigzag path.

Poirot shook his head. He looked grave and troubled.

第十章



　　一小群人从“红牛小店”里走出来，简短的验尸工作已经完了——结果要再等两天。罗莎梦·戴礼走到了马歇尔的身边，低声说道：“情形并没有那么坏，是吧？甘？”
　　他没有马上回答，也许他注意到很多村民注视他的眼睛，以及那些强行忍住才没有指向他的手指。
　　“就是他。”“看，那就是那个女人的丈夫。”“罗！他就是那个老公。”“你看，走过去的那个人就是……”
　　这些细语的声音还不够响得可以传到他耳朵里，但他却仍然能够感受得到。这是现代人的枷锁，新闻界他已经接触过了——那些充满自信，极具说服力的年轻人，拼命想推倒他以“无可奉告”砌起的那座沉默之墙。就连他所发出的一些无意义的声音，原以为至少不会引起胡乱猜测的，在第二天的报纸上，却也有了完全不同的意义，“在问到他是否同意他妻子之死只能以杀人狂到了岛上之假设为唯一解释时，马歇尔先生表示——”等等云云。
　　照相机不停地响，就在现在这一刻，这个他很熟悉的声音又传进他的耳里，他半侧过身来——一个面带微笑的年轻人朝他开心地点了点头，他的目的已经达到了。
　　罗莎梦喃喃地道：“马歇尔及其友于验尸后离开红牛小店。”马歇尔做了个苦脸，罗莎梦说：“没有用的，甘！你必须要面对这件事！我说的不只是艾莲娜已死的这个事实——我是说随之而来的这些麻烦，那些瞪着你看的眼睛，和说闲话的口舌，以及在报上的那些虚假的采访——最好的办法就是直接面对它，一笑置之。用一些陈腔滥调的空话去回答他们，对他们不屑地撇着嘴。”
　　他说：“这就是你对付他们的办法？”
　　“是的，”她停了下，“我知道，这不是你用的方法，你要用的是保护色，要保持着一动不动地退隐进背景里去！可是你在这里没法这样做——这里没有可以让你混进消失的背景，你很明显地可以让每一个人看得清清楚楚——像一支有斑纹的老虎衬在一块白布前面。你是那个被谋杀的女人的丈夫！”
　　“我的天，罗莎梦——”
　　她温柔地说：“亲爱的，我这是为你好。”
　　他们默默地走了几步，然后马歇尔用另一种语气说：“我知道你是为我好，我并不是不知感激，罗莎梦。”
　　他们已经走到村子外，还有很多人的眼光跟着他们，但没有什么人在他们近处。罗莎梦的声音放低了，重复了一遍她起先所说的第一句话，“情形其实并没有那么坏，是吧？”
　　他沉默了一阵，然后说道：“我不知道。”
　　“警方怎么想呢？”
　　“他们没有发表意见。”
　　过了一分钟之后，罗莎梦说：“那个小个子——白罗——他是不是真的很有兴趣调查？”
　　甘逸世·马歇尔说：“那天他好像是一直跟着警察局长。”
　　“我知道——可是他有没有在做什么呢？”
　　“我怎么会晓得呢？罗莎梦？”
　　她沉吟地道：“他相当老了，也许多少有点老糊涂了吧。”
　　“也许吧。”
　　他们走到了堤路上，那个小岛就在他们对面，浴在阳光中，罗莎梦突然说道：“有时候——一切都很不真实，我现在就不能相信真发生这件事……”
　　马歇尔缓缓地说道：“我想我懂你的意思。大自然总是那样——丝毫不受影响！不过是少了一只蚂蚁——在大自然中不过如此而已！”
　　罗莎梦说：“不错——实在也应该这样去看才对。”
　　他很快地看了她一眼，然后他用很低的声音说道：“不要担心，亲爱的，一切都没问题，一切都没问题！”
　　琳达由堤路那边过来接他们。她像一匹紧张不安的小马，动作突兀而激动，她那张年轻的面孔上两眼下有深黑的阴影，两唇干而粗，她有点上气不接下气地说：“怎么样了——什么——他们怎么说？”
　　她父亲很突兀地说：“要再延两天才知道。”
　　“那就是说他们——他们还没决定？”
　　“是的，还需要有更多证据。”
　　“可是——可是他们怎么想呢？”
　　马歇尔不由自主地微笑起来，“啊，孩子——谁知道呢？你说的他们又是谁？验尸官？陪审团？警察？新闻记者？还是皮梳湾村子里的渔民？”
　　琳达慢慢地说道：“我想我是说——警察。”
　　马歇尔淡然地说：“警察想的不管是什么，目前都没有透露。”说完这话后，他的嘴就闭得紧紧地，迳自走进了旅馆。
　　罗莎梦·戴礼正要跟着进去，琳达说道：“罗莎梦。”
　　罗莎梦转过身来，那女孩子不快乐的脸上所流露出来的默默哀求使她深受感动。她挽起了琳达的手，一起离开旅馆门前，沿那条通往岛那头的小径走去。
　　罗莎梦温柔地说：“尽量不要太在乎这件事，琳达，我知道对你来说这是个很可怕的惊吓，可是一直想这件事也没有用，而且很可能只是——这件事的可怕使你很忧心，你知道，你根本一点也不喜欢艾莲娜。”
　　她感到琳达的身子起了一阵颤抖，听到她回答道：“嗯，我不喜欢她……”
　　罗莎梦继续说道：“对一个人来说，悲伤就是另外一回事了——你不可能把悲伤抛在脑后，可是一个人若是能不让自己去想的话，对震惊和恐怖是可以忘掉的。”
　　琳达不乐地说：“你不了解。”
　　“我想我了解的，孩子。”
　　琳达摇了摇头，“不，你不了解，你一点也不了解——克莉丝汀也不了解！你们两个对我都很好，可是你们不了解我现在的感觉。你们只觉得这是件可怕的事——我明明不需要想，却偏在想它。”她停了一下，“可是事情根本不是那么回事，要是你知道我晓得什么的话——”
　　罗莎梦一下子呆住了，她的身子并没有颤抖——相反的，却僵直了。她站在那里过了一两分钟，然后她将手由琳达的臂弯里抽出来，说道：“你知道什么？琳达？”
　　那个女孩子瞪着她，然后摇了摇头，支吾地道：“没什么。”
　　罗莎梦抓住了她的手臂，紧到使琳达痛得皱起了盾头。罗莎梦说：“小心点，琳达！你给我小心点！”
　　琳达的脸色死白，她说：“我是很小心——一直很小心。”
　　罗莎梦急切地说：“听好，琳达，我一两分钟前说的话，现在还是那个意思——而且还要加一百倍，把所有的事忘掉，永远不要再去想他，忘掉——忘掉……只要你肯试，就一定可以忘得掉的。艾莲娜已经死了，再怎么样也不能使她复生……把一切都忘掉，活在将来，最重要的是，要守口如瓶。”
　　琳达向后退缩了一点，她说：“你——你好像全都知道？”
　　罗莎梦用力地说：“我什么都不知道！在我看来，是有个杀人狂偷上了这个岛，把艾莲娜杀掉了，这也是最可能的答案。我大概可以说得定警方最后一定非接受这种说法不可。事情就一定得如此？事情根本就是如此！”
　　琳达说：“要是爸爸——”
　　罗莎梦打断了她的话。“不要说了。”
　　琳达说：“我一定要说一件事，我母亲——”
　　“怎么样？她怎么样？”
　　“她——她曾经因为谋杀案而受审，是不是？”
　　“是的。”
　　琳达慢慢地说道：“后来爸爸娶了她，这样看起来，好像爸爸并不认为谋杀是很不对的事——我是说，并不都是不对的。”
　　罗莎梦斩钉截铁地说道：“不准再说这些——那怕对我也是一样！警方并没有任何不利于你父亲的说法，他有不在场证明——一个他们打不破的不在场证明，他完全安全。”
　　琳达低声说道：“难道他们起先以为爸爸——？”
　　罗莎梦叫道：“我不知道他们原先怎么想法！可是他们现在知道不可能是他干的了，你懂不懂？不可能是他干的！”她的语气十分权威，眼光似乎在命令琳达接受她的说法。琳达叹了一口长气，罗莎梦说：“你不久就可以离开这里了，你会把一切都忘掉的——所有的一切！”
　　琳达突然用令人意外的暴烈神情说道：“我永远也忘不掉。”她车转身子，跑回旅馆去，罗莎梦瞪着她的背影。
　　“夫人，我想请问一两件事。”
　　克莉丝汀·雷德方抬起头来，有点茫然地望着白罗，她说：“什么事呢？”
　　赫邱里·白罗似乎没有注意到她的茫然，他早就注意到她的视线一直跟着她那在酒吧外阳台上走来走去的丈夫，可是他目前对别人夫妇间的问题并无兴趣，他要的是资料。他说：“夫人，我要问的是一句话——那天你偶而说出来的一句话，引起了我的注意。”
　　克莉丝汀的两眼仍然盯着派屈克，说道：“哦？我说的哪句话呢？”
　　“那是一句回答局长问话的话，你说你在发生刑案的那天早上到了琳达·马歇尔小、姐的房间里，发现她不在，后来她又回来了，就在那时候，局长问你她起先去了哪里。”
　　克莉丝汀有点不耐烦地说：“我说她去游泳了，是不是？”
　　“啊，可是你那时候不是这样说的，你并没有说：‘她去游泳了’，你说的是‘她说她去游泳了’。”
　　克莉丝汀说：“这根本是一回事嘛。”
　　“不对，这可不一样！你那样回答法暗示了你这边的某种看法。琳达·马歇尔回到房间里——她穿着泳装，可是——因为某种缘故——你并没有马上假定她是去游泳回来，这由你用的句子‘她说她去游泳了’就听得出来——是不是由于她的态度，或是她身上穿的什么，或是她说的什么话，使你在她说她去游泳了的时候感到颇为意外？”
　　克莉丝汀的注意力离开了派屈克，而整个落在白罗身上，她这下感到了兴趣。她说：“你真聪明。一点也不错，我现在想起来了……当琳达跟我说她去游泳了的时候，我的确有点觉得惊讶。”
　　“为什么？夫人，为什么呢？”
　　“对了，为什么？这正是我现在想要回想起来的事。啊，对了，我想是因为她手里拿着的包裹。”
　　“她拿着个包裹？”
　　“是的。”
　　“你不知道里面是什么吧？”
　　“啊，我知道，绳子散了，他们村子里绑东西绑得很松散，里面是蜡烛——全散在地上了，我还帮她捡了起来。”
　　“啊，”白罗说：“是蜡烛。”
　　克莉丝汀瞪着他，她说：“你好像很兴奋，白罗先生。”
　　白罗问道：“琳达有没有说她为什么要买蜡烛呢？”
　　克莉丝汀答道：“没有，我记得她没有说。我想大概是晚上看书用的吧——也许电灯不大亮。”
　　“正好相反，夫人，她床头的灯亮得很。”
　　克莉丝汀说：“那我就不知道她要蜡烛做什么了。”
　　白罗说：“她当时的态度怎么样——绳子散了，蜡烛从纸包里滚落出来的时候？”
　　克莉丝汀慢吞吞地说：“她很——不安——尴尬。”
　　白罗点了点头，然后问道，“你有没有注意到她房间里有绿色的日历？”
　　“日历？那种日历？”
　　白罗说：“可能是绿色的日历——一张张撕用的。”
　　克莉丝汀两眼望向上面，努力回忆，“绿的日历——翠绿色的，不错，我见过这样的一份日历——不过记不得是在哪里见过了。可能是在琳达的房间里，不过我不能确定。”
　　“不过你绝对看过有这样的东西？”
　　“是的。”白罗又点了点头，克莉丝汀有点没好气地问道：“你在暗示些什么？白罗先生，这到底是什么意思？”
　　白罗没有答话，却拿出一本由退色棕皮面装订的小书来，“你以前有没有见过这本书？”
　　“哎——我想——我不大确定——对，那天琳达在村子里的租书店看这本书，可是我到她身边的时候，她就把书一合，很快地放回架子上，我正奇怪不知道这是本什么书。”
　　白罗默默地把书名给她看：“巫术及无迹可寻毒药史”。
　　克莉丝汀说：“我不懂，这一切到底是什么意思呢？”
　　白罗郁郁地说：“夫人，其中的意思可能相当多。”
　　她不解地望着他，可是他并没有继续说下去，却又问道：“还有一个问题，夫人，那天早上你在去打网球之前有没有洗澡？”
　　克莉丝汀又瞪大了眼睛，“洗澡？没有，我当时根本没有时间，而且我也不会想到洗澡——不会在打网球之前洗澡的，打过之后才会洗澡呢。”
　　“你回来之后，有没有用过浴室呢？”
　　“只洗了把脸，洗了下手，如此而已。”
　　“完全没有放洗澡水？”
　　“没有，我很确定没有。”
　　白罗点了点头，他说：“这件事不重要。”
　　赫邱里·白罗站在贾德纳太太正费尽心思在拼图的桌子边。她抬起头来，吓了一跳。“哎呀，白罗先生，你怎么这么静悄悄地就走到我身边来了？我根本都没听到声音。你刚去参加过验尸回来吗？你知道，一想到验尸什么的，就让我紧张不安，都不知如何是好。所以我才会在这里拼图，我只觉得没办法像平常一样坐在外面的海滩上，贾德纳先生知道，我一神经紧张，再也没有比玩拼图更能让我镇定下来的了。哎呀，这块白的该放在哪里呢？一定是这块长毛地毯的一部分，可是我好像看不出……”
　　白罗很温柔地伸手由她手里拿过那一块来，他说：“该放在这里，夫人，这是猫身上的一部分。”
　　“不可能的，这是支黑猫呀。”
　　“一支黑猫，不错，可是你看，黑猫尾巴的尖端碰巧是白色的。”
　　“哎，果然是这样！你好聪明呀！可是我真觉得那些做拼图游戏的人真坏，他们故意想尽办法来骗你。”她放好另外一块，又继续说道：“你知道，白罗先生，最近一两天我一直在注意你，我是想看你怎么侦查，你懂我的意思吧——倒不是我这样好像很没心肝似的，好像这是一场游戏——而实际上死了个人哩。哎哟，每次我一想到就全身发抖！我今天早上还跟贾德纳先生说我非离开这里不可。现在验尸也验过了，他说他想我们明天就可以走了，这真是件好事。可是关于侦查的事，我真希望能知道你的方法——你知道，要是你能向我解释说明的话，那我真是感激不尽。”
　　赫邱里·白罗说：“那有点像你玩的拼图，夫人，我要把所有的碎片凑起来，就像一幅镶嵌画——很多的颜色，很多的式样——而每一片奇形怪状的小碎片，都一定要拼在它该在的地方。”
　　“哎，这可真有意思。哎，你解释得实在是太棒了。”
　　白罗继续说道：“有时候又像你刚才拼上去的这一块拼图碎片，一个人玩这种游戏的时候，总会很有一套方法——把各种颜色分开来——可是也许有某个颜色的碎片好像是拼在——比方说，长毛地毯上的，却该拼在黑猫尾巴尖上才对。”
　　“哎，这可真是太奇妙了！有很多很多的碎片吗？白罗先生？”
　　“是的，夫人，差不多在这个旅馆里的每一个人都给了我一块碎片让我去拼凑，你也是其中之一。”
　　“我？”贾德纳太太的语气十分兴奋。
　　“是的。夫人，你的一句话，对我极有帮助，我可以说，对我有振聋发聩的作用。”
　　“哎哟，那真是太了不起了！你能不能再跟我多说一点，白罗先生？”
　　“啊，夫人。我要把这些说明留到最后一章。”
　　贾德纳太太喃喃地道：“哎哟！那真是太可惜了！”
　　赫邱里·白罗轻轻敲了下马歇尔先生的房门，里面传来打字的声音，以及一声“进来”，白罗走了进去。马歇尔的背朝着他，正坐在两扇窗子之间的小桌前打字，他并没有回头，但他的眼光在正挂在他对面墙上的镜子里望着白罗。他有点不乐地说：“哎，白罗先生，什么事呀？”
　　白罗很快地说道：“真对不起，这样来打扰你。你正忙吗？”
　　马歇尔很简单明了地说：“很忙。”
　　白罗说：“我有个小问题想请教你。”
　　马歇尔说：“我的老天，我回答问题都快烦死了，我已经回答过警方的问题，我不想再回答你的问题。”
　　白罗说：“我的这个问题很简单，就是，在尊夫人遇害的那天上午，在你打完字之后，去打网球之前，你有没有洗澡？”
　　“洗澡？没有，我当然没有！我在一个钟点之前才刚洗过澡呀。”
　　赫邱里·白罗说：“谢谢你，没别的事了。”
　　“可是我说——哦——”马歇尔不知所借地停了下来，白罗退出门去，轻轻地带关了房门。甘逸世·马歇尔说：“这家伙疯了！”
　　白罗在酒吧间门口碰到了贾德纳先生，他手里端着两杯鸡尾酒，显然正要送去给忙着拼图的贾德纳太太，他很客气地向白罗笑了笑。“来和我们一起坐坐吧，白罗先生？”
　　白罗摇了摇头，说：“你对这次的验尸调查觉得如何？贾德纳先生？”
　　贾德纳先生放低了声音说：“我觉得还没什么结果，我想你们警方还有没使出来的招数。”
　　“很有可能。”白罗说。
　　贾德纳先生把声音压得更低了些，“我很想把贾德纳太太带着早些离开这里，她是个非常非常敏感的女人，这件事让她很难过，她很紧张咧。”
　　赫邱里·白罗说：“贾德纳先生，我能不能请教你一个问题？”
　　“哎，当然可以，白罗先生，我绝对乐于尽我所能来帮忙的。”
　　赫邱里·白罗说：“你是个见多识广的人——我想，你也是个绝顶聪明的人，坦白地说，你对已故的马歇尔太太到底有什么看法？”
　　贾德纳先生吃惊地扬起了眉毛，他很小心地四下环顾，然后放低了声音说：“哎，白罗先生，我听到一些传言，你懂我的意思吧，尤其是那些女人之间传来传去的话。”白罗点了点头。“可是要是你问我，我倒可以告诉你我心里真正的想法，就是，那个女人实在是一个该死的傻瓜！”
　　赫邱里·白罗沉吟地道：“唔，这话倒很有意思。”
　　罗莎梦·戴礼说：“这回轮到我了，是吗？”
　　“对不起，你说什么？”
　　她笑了起来，“那天警察局长问话的时候，你坐在一边。今天，我想，你是在作你自己非正式的调查，我一直在注意你。先是找雷德方太太，然后我从休息室的窗子里看到你跟玩她那个讨厌的拼图游戏的贾德纳太太在一起，现在轮到我了。”
　　赫邱里·白罗在她身边坐了下来，他们在阳光崖上，下面的海水显出漂亮的绿色，再远一点的地方，海水却是一片耀眼的淡蓝色。白罗说：“你很聪明，小、姐，从我到这里以后，我就一直有这样的想法，和你讨论问题会是一件很令人高兴的事。”
　　罗莎梦·戴礼柔和地说：“你希望知道我对这件事的看法？”
　　“我想一定很有意思。”
　　罗莎梦说：“我认为这件事其实非常简单，案子的线索就在这个女人的过去。”
　　“过去？不是现在？”
　　“哦！不一定非要是很久很久以前的事，我对这件事的看法是这样的。艾莲娜·马歇尔很有吸引力，对男人极具吸引力，我想她也可能对某个男人很快就会感到厌倦，在她的——我们可以说是，追求者里——有一个人对这一点很不喜欢，啊，不要误会我的意思，不会是一个很突出的人，也许只是个微不足道的小人，很虚荣，又很敏感——那种会钻牛角尖的人，我想他跟踪着她来到这里，等到有了机会，就把她杀了。”
　　“你是说他是个外来的人？是从对岸来的？”
　　“是的，他很可能就藏身在那个洞里等下手的机会。”
　　白罗摇了摇头，他说：“她难道会到那里去见一个像你形容的这种人吗？不会的，她一定会置之一笑，不会去的。”
　　罗莎梦说：“她也许不知道自己会见到他，也许他是用别人的名字送信给她的。”
　　白罗喃喃说道：“这也有可能。”然后他说：“可是你忘了一件事，小、姐，一个想谋杀别人的凶手不会敢冒险在光天化日之下经过堤路，穿过旅馆的，说不定有人会看到他。”
　　“可能——但是我想这也不见得一定，很可能他来了之后，一个人也没注意到呢。”
　　“这的确是可能的，这一点我同意，可是问题在于他不能这么有把握。”
　　罗莎梦说：“你忘记了一件事，天气。”
　　“天气？”
　　“不错，凶案发生的那天，天气很好，可是前一天呢？你还记得吧，既下着雨，又有浓雾。那样有谁要到岛上来，就不会有人注意了。他可以直接走到小妖湾，在洞里过一夜，白罗先生，那场大雾是很重要的。”
　　白罗沉吟地望着她，过了一两分钟。他说：“你知道，你刚才说的有不少很有道理。”
　　罗莎梦的脸红了。她说：“不管对不对，那是我的理论。现在说说你的吧。”
　　“啊，”赫邱里·白罗说，他望着下面的大海。“小、姐，我是个很单纯的人，我总会相信是嫌疑最重的那个人犯的案。起初我想有一个人，各项证据都很清楚地指向他。”
　　罗莎梦的语气冷了下来，她说：“说下去。”
　　赫邱里·白罗继续说道：“可是你知道，其中还有障碍，似乎那个某人根本不可能行凶。”
　　他听到她猛地吐了口气。她有点上气不接下气地说：“怎么样呢？”
　　赫邱里·白罗耸了下肩膀。“哎，我们该怎么办呢？这是我的问题。”他停顿了一下，然后继续说道：“我能请教你一个问题吗？”
　　“当然可以。”
　　她转过头来对着他，有点警觉而充满戒备，但白罗所提出的问题却大出她的意料之外。“那天早上你回房间换衣服去打网球的时候，有没有洗澡？”
　　罗莎梦瞪着他，“洗澡？这话是什么意思？”
　　“就是这个意思，洗澡！一个磁的大缸，你扭开水龙头，放水进去，然后进了浴缸，再出来，然后哗啦——哗啦——哗啦，水就从排废水的水管里放出去了。”
　　“白罗先生，你疯了吗？”
　　“没有，我非常清醒。”
　　“不管怎么样吧，反正我没有洗澡。”
　　“哈！”白罗说：“原来谁都没洗澡，这实在是太有意思了。”
　　“可是为什么要有谁洗澡呢？”
　　赫邱里·白罗说：“就是说嘛，为什么呢？”
　　罗莎梦有点不高兴地说：“我想这是福尔摩斯的手法吧！”
　　赫邱里·白罗微微一笑，然后他嗅了下空中。“我能不能再冒昧地问一个问题，小、姐？”
　　“我相信你不会冒昧的，白罗先生。”
　　“你太客气了。那我可不可以说你用的香水味道很好——有种特殊的气质——很迷人的香味。”他挥了下手，然后煞有介事地说道：“我想，是佳百丽八号香水吧？”
　　“你真聪明，不错，我一向用这种香水的。”
　　“已故的马歇尔太太也用这个牌子的香水，很流行的，呃？而且很贵吧？”罗莎梦耸了下肩膀，微微一笑。白罗说：“案子发生的那天早上，你就坐在我们现在坐的这个地方，小、姐，有人看见你在这里，或者说，至少布雷斯特小、姐和雷德方先生划船经过的时候，看到了你的阳伞。在那个早上，小、姐，你确定你没有走下到小妖湾，进过那个山洞——那有名的妖精洞吗？”
　　罗莎梦转过头来瞪着他，她以很平静的声音问道：“你是不是在问我有没有杀艾莲娜·马歇尔？”
　　“不是的，我是在问你有没有走进妖精洞？”
　　“我甚至于连那个洞在哪里都不知道，我为什么要进洞里去？为了什么原因呢？”
　　“在罪案发生的那天，小、姐，有个用佳百丽八号香水的人到过妖精洞里。”
　　罗莎梦以很凌厉的语气说：“你自己刚才也说过，白罗先生，说艾莲娜·马歇尔也用佳百丽八号香水，那天她在那里的海滩上，大概是她进过山洞吧。”
　　“她为什么要到山洞里去呢？那里面又黑、又狭、又不舒服。”
　　罗莎梦不耐烦地道：“不要问我为什么，因为她实际上就在那里，所以她是最可能进去的一个人，我早已经告诉过你说我整个早上都没离开过这里。”
　　“只除了你回旅馆去马歇尔先生房间的时候。”白罗提醒她说。
　　“啊，对了，我忘了这件事。”
　　白罗说：“而且你也错了，小、姐，你以为马歇尔先生没有看到你。”
　　罗莎梦不敢相信地说：“甘逸世说他看到了我？他——他是这么说的吗？”
　　白罗点了点头，“小、姐，他在挂在书桌上面的镜子里看到了你。”
　　罗莎梦倒吸了一口气。她说：“哦，原来如此。”
　　白罗没有再望着大海，他盯着罗莎梦放在怀里的两手。她的手长得很美，手指修长。罗莎梦看了他一眼，顺着他的眼光望去。她不快地说：“你看我的手做什么？难道你以为——难道你以为——？”
　　白罗说：“我以为——什么？小、姐？”
　　罗莎梦·戴礼说：“没什么。”
　　大约一个小时之后，赫邱里·白罗到了通往鸥湾的小径上，有个人坐在海滩上，小小的个子，穿着红衬衫和深黄色短裤。白罗顺着小径下去，穿着紧紧时髦皮鞋的脚小心翼翼地踏下。琳达·马歇尔猛地转过头来，他觉得她似乎畏缩了一下。在他坐到她身边海滩上时，她的眼光带着像落入陷井的小动物一样怀疑而警觉的神色，落在他的脸上，他突然感到她是那样的年轻而脆弱。她说：“什么事？你想干吗？”
　　赫邱里·白罗有一两分钟没有答腔，然后他说：“那天你告诉警察局长说你很喜欢你的后母，她对你也很好。”
　　“怎么样？”
　　“其实不是这样的，对不对？小、姐。”
　　“谁说的？就是。”
　　白罗说：“她也许不见得真对你怎么不好——这一点我同意，可是你并不喜欢她——啊，——我想你很讨厌她，这种事情很明显。”
　　琳达说：“也许我并不是非常喜欢她，可是人都死了，不能再这么说，这样太不庄重。”
　　白罗叹了口气，他说“他们在学校里是这样教你的吗？”
　　“我想，多多少少总是这样的吧。”
　　赫邱里·白罗说：“碰到有人被谋杀的时候，说实话要比庄重不庄重的事重要得多。”
　　琳达说：“我想你就是会这样说的。”
　　“我会这样说，我也这样说了。你知道，我要查出是谁杀了艾莲娜·马歇尔。”
　　琳达喃喃地说：“我想把这件事忘掉，这太可怕了。”
　　白罗温和地说：“可是你忘不了，是吗？”
　　琳达说：“我想是个凶残的疯子杀了她。”
　　赫邱里·白罗喃喃地道：“不会，我想不是这样的。”
　　琳达倒吸了一口气。她说：“你这话说起来——好像你已经知道了。”
　　白罗说：“也许我的确已经知道了。”他顿了一顿，又继续说道：“孩子，你能不能相信我会尽我一切的力量来帮助你解决麻烦？”
　　琳达一跃而起，她说：“我没有任何麻烦，你也帮不上我什么忙，我不知道你在说些什么。”
　　白罗望着她说：“我说的是蜡烛……”
　　他看到她两眼中突然现出恐怖的神情，她叫道：“我不要听你的话，我不要听。”她冲过海滩，像一支年轻的羚羊，顺着弯弯曲曲的小径一路跑了上去。
　　白罗播了摇头，他的表情忧郁而困惑。
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Chapter 8

They were standing in the bedroom that had been Arlena Marshall's. Two big bay windows gave onto a balcony that overlooked the bathing beach and the sea beyond. Sunshine poured into the room flashing over the bewildering array of bottles and jars on Arlena's dressing-table. Here there was every kind of cosmetic and unguent known to beauty parlours. Amongst this panoply of women's affairs three men moved purposefully. Inspector Colgate went about shutting and opening drawers. Presently he gave a grunt. He had come upon a packet of folded letters. He and Weston ran through them together.

Hercule Poirot had moved to the wardrobe. He opened the door of the hanging cupboard and looked at the multiplicity of gowns and sports suits that hung there. He opened the other side. Foamy lingerie lay in piles. On a wide shelf were hats. Two more beach cardboard hats in lacquer red and pale yellow - a big Hawaiian straw hat - another of drooping dark blue linen and three or four little absurdities for which, no doubt, several guineas had been paid apiece - a kind of beret in dark blue - a tuft, no more, of black velvet - a pale grey turban. Hercule Poirot stood scanning them - a faintly indulgent smile came to his lips. He murmured: "Les femmes!"

Colonel Weston was refolding the letters. "Three from young Redfern," he said. "Damned young ass. He'll learn not to write to women in a few more years. Women always keep letters and then swear they've burnt them. There's one other letter here. Same line of country." He held it out and Poirot took it.

"Darling Arlena,

"God, I feel blue. To be going out to China - and perhaps not seeing you again for years and years. I didn't know any man could go on feeling crazy about a woman like I feel about you. Thanks for the cheque. They won't prosecute now. It was a near shave, though, and all because I wanted to make big money for you. Can you forgive me? I wanted to set diamonds in your ears - your lovely lovely ears and clasp great milk-white pearls round your throat only they say pearls are no good nowadays. A fabulous emerald, then? Yes, that's the thing. A great emerald, cool and green and full of hidden fire. Don't forget me - but you won't, I know. You're mine - always.

"Good-bye - goodbye - good-bye.

"J.N."

Inspector Colgate said: "Might be worth while to find out if J.N. really did go to China. Otherwise - well, he might be the person we're looking for. Crazy about the woman, idealizing her, suddenly finding out he'd been played for a sucker. It sounds to me as though this is the boy Miss Brewster mentioned. Yes, I think this might be useful."

Hercule Poirot nodded. He said: "Yes, that letter is important. I find it very important."

He turned round and stared at the room - at the bottles on the dressing table - at the open wardrobe and at a big Pierrot doll that lolled insolently on the bed. They went into Kenneth Marshall's room. It was next door to his wife's but with no communicating door and no balcony. It faced the same way and had two windows, but it was much smaller. Between the two windows a gilt mirror hung on the wall. In the corner beyond the right-hand window was the dressing-table. On it were two ivory brushes, a clothes brush and a bottle of hair lotion. In the corner by the left-hand window was a writing-table. An open typewriter stood on it and papers were ranged in a stack beside it.

Colgate went through them rapidly. He said: "All seems straightforward enough. Ah, here's the letter he mentioned this morning. Dated the 24th - that's yesterday. And here's the envelope - postmarked Leathercombe Bay this morning. Seems all square. Now we'll have an idea if he could have prepared that answer of his beforehand."

He sat down. Colonel Weston said: "We'll leave you to it, for a moment. We'll just glance through the rest of the rooms. Every one's been kept out of this corridor until now and they're getting a bit restive about it." They went next into Linda Marshall's room. It faced east, looking out over the rocks down to the sea below.

Weston gave a glance round. He murmured: "Don't suppose there's anything to see here. But it's possible Marshall might have put something in his daughter's room that he didn't want us to find. Not likely, though. It isn't as though there had been a weapon or anything to get rid of." He went out again.

Hercule Poirot stayed behind. He found something that interested him in the grate. Something had been burnt there recently. He knelt down, working patiently. He laid out his finds on a sheet of paper. A large irregular blob of candle grease - some fragments of green paper or cardboard, possibly a pull-off calendar, for with it was an unburnt fragment bearing a large figure 5 and a scrap of printing... noble deeds... There was also an ordinary pin and some burnt animal matter which might have been hair. Poirot arranged them neatly in a row and stared at them. He murmured: "'Do noble deeds, not dream them all day long.' C'est possible. But what is one to make of this collection? C'est fantastique!" And he picked up the pin and his eyes grew sharp and green. He murmured: "Pour l'amour de Dieu! Is it possible?"

Hercule Poirot got up from where he had been kneeling by the grate. Slowly he looked round the room and this time there was an entirely new expression on his face. It was grave and almost stern. To the left of the mantelpiece there were some shelves with a row of books. Hercule Poirot looked thoughtfully along the titles. A Bible, a battered copy of Shakespeare's plays. The Marriage of William Ashe by Mrs Humphry Ward. The Young Stepmother by Charlotte Yonge. The Shropshire Lad. Eliot's Murder in the Cathedral. Bernard Shaw's St Joan. Gone with the Wind by Margaret Mitchell. The Burning Court by Dickson Carr.

Poirot took out two books. The Young Stepmother and William Ashe, and glanced inside at the blurred stamp affixed to the title page. As he was about to replace them, his eye caught sight of a book that had been shoved behind the other books. It was a small dumpy volume bound in brown calf. He took it out and opened it. Very slowly he nodded his head. He murmured: "So I was right... Yes, I was right. But for the other - is that possible too? No, it is not possible, unless..."

He stayed there, motionless, stroking his moustaches whilst his mind ranged busily over the problem. He said again softly: "Unless -?"

Colonel Weston looked in at the door. "Hullo, Poirot, still there?"

"I arrive. I arrive," cried Poirot. He hurried out into the corridor. The room next to Linda's was that of the Redferns. Poirot looked into it, noting automatically the traces of two different individualities - a neatness and tidiness which he associated with Christine and a picturesque disorder which was characteristic of Patrick. Apart from these sidelights on personality the room did not interest him. Next to it again was Rosamund Darnley's room and here he lingered for a moment in the sheer pleasure of the owner's personality. He noted the few books that lay on the table next to the bed, the expensive simplicity of the toilet set on the dressing-table. And there came gently to his nostrils, the elusive expensive perfume that Rosamund Darnley used.

Next to Rosamund Darnley's room at the northern end of the corridor was an open window leading to a balcony from which an outside stair led down to the rocks below. Weston said: "That's the way people go down to bathe before breakfast - that is, if they bathe off the rocks as most of them do."

Interest came into Hercule Poirot's eyes. He stepped outside and looked down. Below, a path led to steps cut zigzag leading down the rocks to the sea. There was also a path that led round the hotel to the left. He said: "One could go down these stairs, go to the left round the hotel and join the main path up from the causeway."

Weston nodded. He amplified Poirot's statement. "One could go right across the island without going through the hotel at all." He added: "But one might still be seen from a window."

"What window?"

"Two of the public bathrooms look out that way - north - and the staff bathroom, and the cloakroom on the ground floor. Also the billiard room."

Poirot nodded. He said: "And all the former have frosted glass windows and one does not play billiards on a fine morning."

"Exactly." Weston paused and said: "If he did it, that's the way he went."

"You mean Captain Marshall?"

"Yes. Blackmail, or no blackmail, I still feel it points to him. And his manner - well, his manner is unfortunate."

Hercule Poirot said drily: "Perhaps - but a manner does not make a murderer!"

Weston said: "Then you think he's out of it?"

Poirot shook his head. He said: "No, I would not say that."

Weston said: "We'll see what Colgate can make out of the typewriting alibi. In the meantime I've got the chambermaid of this floor waiting to be interviewed. A good deal may depend on her evidence."

The chambermaid was a woman of thirty, brisk, efficient and intelligent. Her answers came readily. Captain Marshall had come up to his room not long after ten-thirty. She was then finishing the room. He had asked her to be as quick as possible. She had not seen him come back but she had heard the sound of the typewriter a little later. She put it at about five minutes to eleven. She was then in Mr and Mrs Redfern's room. After she had done that she moved on to Miss Darnley's room, as near as she could say, at just after eleven o'clock. She remembered hearing Leathercombe Church strike the hour as she went in. At a quarter past eleven she had gone downstairs for her eleven o'clock cup of tea and "snack." Afterwards she had gone to do the rooms in the other wing of the hotel. In answer to the Chief Constable's question she explained that she had done the rooms in this corridor in the following order: Miss Linda Marshall's, the two public bathrooms, Mrs Marshall's room and private bath, Captain Marshall's room. Mr and Mrs Redfern's room and private bath. Miss Darnley's room and private bath. Captain Marshall's and Miss Marshall's rooms had no adjoining bathrooms. During the time she was in Miss Darnley's room and bathroom she had not heard any one pass the door or go out by the staircase to the rocks, but it was quite likely she wouldn't have heard if any one went quietly.

Weston then directed his questions to the subject of Mrs Marshall.

No, Mrs Marshall wasn't one for rising early as a rule. She, Gladys Narracott, had been surprised to find the door open and Mrs Marshall gone down at just after ten. Something quite unusual, that was.

"Did Mrs Marshall always have her breakfast in bed?"

"Oh, yes, sir, always. Not very much of it either. Just tea and orange juice and one piece of toast. Slimming like so many ladies."

No, she hadn't noticed anything unusual in Mrs Marshall's manner that morning. She'd seemed quite as usual.

Hercule Poirot murmured: "What did you think of Mrs Marshall, Mademoiselle?"

Gladys Narracott stared at him. She said: "Well, that's hardly for me to say, is it, sir?"

"But yes, it is for you to say. We are anxious - very anxious - to hear your impression."

Gladys gave a slightly uneasy glance towards the Chief Constable who endeavoured to make his face sympathetic and approving, though actually he felt slightly embarrassed by his foreign colleague's methods of approach. He said: "Er - yes, certainly. Go ahead."

For the first time Gladys Narracott's brisk efficiency deserted her. Her fingers fumbled with her print dress. She said: "Well, Mrs Marshall - she wasn't exactly a lady, as you might say. What I mean is she was more like an actress."

Colonel Weston said: "She was an actress."

"Yes, sir, that's what I'm saying. She just went on exactly as she felt like it. She didn't - well, she didn't trouble to be polite if she wasn't feeling polite. And she'd be all smiles one minute and then if she couldn't find something or the bell wasn't answered at once or her laundry wasn't back, well, she'd be downright rude and nasty about it. None of us as you might say liked her. But her clothes were beautiful, and of course she was a very handsome lady, so it was only natural she should be admired."

Colonel Weston said: "I am sorry to have to ask you what I am going to ask you, but it is a very vital matter. Can you tell me how things were between her and her husband?"

Gladys Narracott hesitated a minute. She said: "You don't - it wasn't - you don't think as he did it?"

Hercule Poirot said quickly: "Do you?"

"Oh! I wouldn't like to think so. He's such a nice gentleman, Captain Marshall. He couldn't do a thing like that - I'm sure he couldn't."

"But you are not very sure - I hear it in your voice."

Gladys Narracott said reluctantly: "You do read things in the papers! When there's jealously. If there's been goings-on - and of course every one's been talking about it - about her and Mr Redfern, I mean. And Mrs Redfern's such a nice quiet lady! It does seem a shame! And Mr Redfern's a nice gentleman too, but it seems men can't help themselves when it's a lady like Mrs Marshall - one who's used to having her own way. Wives have to put up with a lot, I'm sure." She sighed and paused. "But if Captain Marshall found out about it -"

Colonel Weston said sharply: "Well?"

Gladys Narracott said slowly: "I did think sometimes that Mrs Marshall was frightened of her husband knowing."

"What makes you say that?"

"It wasn't anything definite, sir. It was only I felt - that sometimes she was - afraid of him. He was a very quiet gentleman but he wasn't - he wasn't easy."

Weston said: "But you've nothing definite to go on? Nothing either of them ever said to each other." Slowly Gladys Narracott shook her head. Weston sighed. He went on: "Now, as to letters received by Mrs Marshall this morning. Can you tell us anything about those?"

"There were about six or seven, sir. I couldn't say exactly."

"Did you take them up to her?"

"Yes, sir. I got them from the office as usual and put them on her breakfast tray."

"Do you remember anything about the look of them?"

The girl shook her head. "They were just ordinary-looking letters. Some of them were bills and circulars, I think, because they were torn up on the tray."

"What happened to them?"

"They went into the dustbin, sir. One of the police gentlemen is going through that now."

Weston nodded. "And the contents of the wastepaper baskets, where are they?"

"They'll be in the dustbin too."

Weston said: "H'm - well, I think that is all at present." He looked inquiringly at Poirot.

Poirot leaned forward. "When you did Miss Linda Marshall's room this morning, did you do the fireplace?"

"There wasn't anything to do, sir. There had been no fire lit."

"And there was nothing in the fireplace itself?"

"No, sir, it was perfectly all right."

"What time did you do her room?"

"About a quarter past nine, sir, when she'd gone down to breakfast."

"Did she come up to her room after breakfast, do you know?"

"Yes, sir. She came up about a quarter to ten."

"Did she stay in her room?"

"I think so, sir. She came out, hurrying rather, just before half past ten."

"You didn't go into her room again?"

"No, sir. I had finished with it."

Poirot nodded. He said: "There is another thing I want to know. What people bathed before breakfast this morning?"

"I couldn't say about the other wing and the floor above. Only about this one."

"That is all I want to know."

"Well, sir. Captain Marshall and Mr Redfern were the only ones this morning, I think. They always go down for an early dip."

"Did you see them?"

"No, sir, but their wet bathing things were hanging over the balcony rail as usual."

"Miss Linda Marshall did not bathe this morning?"

"No, sir. All her bathing dresses were quite dry."

"Ah," said Poirot. "That is what I wanted to know."

Gladys Narracott volunteered: "She does most mornings, sir."

"And the other three, Miss Darnley, Mrs Redfern and Mrs Marshall?"

"Mrs Marshall never, sir. Miss Darnley has once or twice, I think. Mrs Redfern doesn't often bathe before breakfast - only when it's very hot, but she didn't this morning."

Again Poirot nodded. Then he asked: "I wonder if you have noticed whether a bottle is missing from any of the rooms you look after in this wing?"

"A bottle, sir? What kind of bottle?"

"Unfortunately I do not know. But have you noticed - if one has gone?"

Gladys said frankly: "I shouldn't from Mrs Marshall's room, sir, and that's a fact. She has ever so many."

"And the other rooms?"

"Well, I'm not sure about Miss Darnley. She has a good many creams and lotions. But from the other rooms, yes, I would, sir. I mean if I were to look special. If I were noticing, so to speak."

"But you haven't actually noticed?"

"No, because I wasn't looking special, as I say."

"Perhaps you would go and look now, then."

"Certainly, sir."

She left the room, her print dress rustling. Weston looked at Poirot. He said: "What's all this?"

Poirot murmured: "My orderly mind, that is vexed by trifles! Miss Brewster, this morning, was bathing off the rocks before breakfast, and she says that a bottle was thrown from above and nearly hit her. Eh bien, I want to know who threw that bottle and why?"

"My dear man, any one may have chucked a bottle away."

"Not at all. To begin with, it could only have been thrown from a window on the east side of the hotel - that is, one of the windows of the rooms we have just examined. Now I ask you, if you have an empty bottle on your dressing-table or in your bathroom, what do you do with it? I will tell you, you drop it into the wastepaper basket. You do not take the trouble to go out on your balcony and hurl it into the sea! For one thing you might hit some one, for another it would be too much trouble. No, you would only do that if you did not want any one to see that particular bottle."

Weston stared at him. Weston said: "I know that Chief Inspector Japp, whom I met over a case not long ago, always says you have a damned tortuous mind. You're not going to tell me now that Arlena Marshall wasn't strangled at all, but poisoned out of some mysterious bottle with a mysterious drug?"

"No, no, I do not think there was poison in that bottle."

"Then what was there?"

"I do not know at all. That's why I am interested."

Gladys Narracott came back. She was a little breathless. She said: "I'm sorry, sir, but I can't find anything missing. I'm sure there's nothing gone from Captain Marshall's room or Miss Linda Marshall's room or Mr and Mrs Redfern's room, and I'm pretty sure there's nothing gone from Miss Darnley's either. But I couldn't say about Mrs Marshall's. As I say, she's got such a lot."

Poirot shrugged his shoulders. He said: "No matter. We will leave it."

Gladys Narracott said: "Is there anything more, sir?" She looked from one to the other of them.

Weston said: "Don't think so. Thank you."

Poirot said: "I thank you, no. You are sure, are you not, that there is nothing - nothing at all, that you have forgotten to tell us?"

"About Mrs Marshall, sir?"

"About anything at all. Anything unusual, out of the way, unexplained, slightly peculiar, rather curious - enfin, something that has made you say to yourself or to one of your colleagues: That's funny!'?"

Gladys said doubtfully: "Well, not the sort of thing that you would mean, sir?"

Hercule Poirot said: "Never mind what I mean. You do not know what I mean. It is true, then, that you have said to yourself or to a colleague today: 'That is funny!'?" He brought out the three words with ironic detachment.

Gladys said: "It was nothing really. Just a bath being run. And I did pass the remark to Elsie, downstairs, that it was funny somebody having a bath round about twelve o'clock."

"Whose bath, who had a bath?"

"That I couldn't say, sir. We heard it going down the waste from this wing, that's all, and that's when I said what I did to Elsie."

"You're sure it was a bath? Not one of the handbasins?"

"Oh! quite sure, sir. You can't mistake bath-water running away."

Poirot displaying no further desire to keep her, Gladys Narracott was permitted to depart.

Weston said: "You don't think this bath question is important, do you, Poirot? I mean, there's no point to it. No bloodstains or anything like that to wash off. That's the -" He hesitated.

Poirot cut in: "That, you would say, is the advantage of strangulation! No bloodstains, no weapon - nothing to get rid of or conceal! Nothing is needed but physical strength - and the soul of a killer!" His voice was so fierce, so charged with feeling, that Weston recoiled a little. Hercule Poirot smiled at him apologetically. "No, no," he said, "the bath is probably of no importance. Any one may have had a bath. Mrs Redfern before she went to play tennis. Captain Marshall, Miss Darnley. As I say, any one. There is nothing in that."

A Police Constable knocked at the door, and put in his head. "It's Miss Darnley, sir. She says she'd like to see you again for a minute. There's something she forgot to tell you, she says."

Weston said: "We're coming down - now."

The first person they saw was Colgate. His face was gloomy. "Just a minute, sir." Weston and Poirot followed him into Mrs Castle's office. Colgate said: "I've been checking up with Heald on this typewriting business. Not a doubt of it, it couldn't be done under an hour. Longer, if you had to stop and think here and there. That seems to me pretty well to settle it. And look at this letter." He held it out.

"My dear Marshall,

"Sorry to worry you on your holiday but an entirely unforeseen situation has arisen over the Burley and Tender contracts..."

"Etcetera, etcetera," said Colgate. "Dated the 24th - that's yesterday. Envelope postmarked yesterday evening E.C.I and Leathercombe Bay this morning. Same typewriter used on envelope and in letter. And by the contents it was clearly impossible for Marshall to prepare his answer beforehand. The figures arise out of the ones in the letter - the whole thing is quite intricate."

"H'm," said Weston gloomily. "That seems to let Marshall out. We'll have to look elsewhere." He added: "I've got to see Miss Darnley again. She's waiting now."

Rosamund came in crisply. Her smile held an apologetic nuance. She said: "I'm frightfully sorry. Probably it isn't worth bothering about. But one does forget things so."

"Yes, Miss Darnley?" The Chief Constable indicated a chair.

She shook her shapely black head. "Oh, it isn't worth sitting down. It's simply this. I told you that I spent the morning lying out on Sunny Ledge. That isn't quite accurate. I forgot that once during the morning I went back to the hotel and out again."

"What time was that, Miss Darnley?"

"It must have been about a quarter past eleven."

"You went back to the hotel, you said?"

"Yes, I'd forgotten my glare glasses. At first I thought I wouldn't bother and then my eyes got tired and I decided to go in and get them."

"You went straight to your room and out again."

"Yes. At least, as a matter of fact, I just looked in on Ken - Captain Marshall. I heard his machine going and I thought it was so stupid of him to stay indoors typing on such a lovely day. I thought I'd tell him to come out."

"And what did Captain Marshall say?"

Rosamund smiled rather shamefacedly.

"Well, when I opened the door he was typing so vigorously, and frowning and looking so concentrated that I just went away quietly. I don't think he even saw me come in."

"And that was - at what time, Miss Darnley?"

"Just about twenty past eleven. I noticed the clock in the hall as I went out again."

"And that puts the lid on it finally," said Inspector Colgate. "The chambermaid heard him typing up till five minutes to eleven. Miss Darnley saw him at twenty minutes past, and the woman was dead at a quarter to twelve. He says he spent that hour typing in his room and it seems quite clear that he was typing in his room. That washes Captain Marshall right out." He stopped, then looking at Poirot with some curiosity he asked: "M. Poirot's looking very serious over something."

Poirot said thoughtfully: "I was wondering why Miss Darnley suddenly volunteered this extra evidence."

Inspector Colgate cocked his head alertly. "Think there's something fishy about it? That it isn't just a question of 'forgetting'?" He considered for a moment or two, then he said slowly: "Look here, sir, let's look at it this way. Supposing Miss Darnley wasn't on Sunny Ledge this morning as she says. That story's a lie. Now suppose that after telling us her story, she finds that somebody saw her somewhere else or alternatively that some one went to the Ledge and didn't find her there. Then she thinks up this story quick and comes and tells it to us to account for her absence. You'll notice that she was careful to say Captain Marshall didn't see her when she looked into his room."

Poirot murmured: "Yes, I noticed that."

Weston said incredulously: "Are you suggesting that Miss Darnley's mixed up in this? Nonsense, seems absurd to me. Why should she be?"

Inspector Colgate coughed. He said: "You'll remember what the American lady, Mrs Gardener, said. She sort of hinted that Miss Darnley was sweet on Captain Marshall. There'd be a motive there, sir."

Weston said impatiently: "Arlena Marshall wasn't killed by a woman. It's a man we've got to look for. We've got to stick to the men in the case."

Inspector Colgate sighed. He said: "Yes, that's true, sir. We always come back to that, don't we?"

Weston went on: "Better put a constable on to timing one or two things. From the hotel across the island to the top of the ladder. Let him do it running and walking. Same thing with the ladder itself. And somebody had better check the time it takes to go on a float from the bathing beach to the cove."

Inspector Colgate nodded. "I'll attend to all that, sir," he said confidently.

The Chief Constable said: "Think I'll go along to the cove now. See if Phillips has found anything. Then there's that Pixy's Cave that we've been hearing about. Ought to see if there are any traces of a man waiting in there. Eh? Poirot. What do you think?"

"By all means. It is a possibility."

Weston said: "If somebody from outside had nipped over to the island that would be a good hiding-place - if he knew about it. I suppose the locals know?"

Colgate said: "Don't believe the younger generation would. You see, ever since this hotel was started the coves have been private property. Fishermen don't go there, or picnic parties. And the hotel people aren't local. Mrs Castle's a Londoner."

Weston said: "We might take Redfern with us. He told us about it. What about you, M. Poirot?"

Hercule Poirot hesitated. He said, his foreign intonation very pronounced: "No, I am like Miss Brewster and Mrs Redfern, I do not like to descend perpendicular ladders."

Weston said: "You can go round by boat."

Again Hercule Poirot sighed. "My stomach, it is not happy on the sea."

"Nonsense, man, it's a beautiful day. Calm as a mill pond. You can't let us down, you know."

Hercule Poirot hardly looked like responding to this British adjuration. But at that moment, Mrs Castle poked her ladylike face and elaborate coiffure round the door. "Ay'm sure Ay hope Ay am not intruding," she said. "But Mr Lane, the clergyman, you know, has just returned. Ay thought you might like to know."

"Ah, yes, thanks, Mrs Castle. We'll see him right away."

Mrs Castle came a little further into the room. She said: "Ay don't know if it is worth mentioning, but Ay have heard that the smallest incident should not be ignored -"

"Yes, yes?" said Weston impatiently.

"It is only that there was a lady and gentleman here about one o'clock. Came over from the mainland. For luncheon. They were informed that there had been an accident and that under the circumstances no luncheon could be served."

"Any idea who they were?"

"Ay couldn't say at all. Naturally no name was given. They expressed disappointment and a certain amount of curiosity as to the nature of the accident. Ay couldn't tell them anything, of course. Ay should say, myself, they were summer visitors of the better class."

Weston said brusquely: "Ah, well, thank you for telling us. Probably not important but quite right - er - to remember everything."

"Naturally," said Mrs Castle, "Ay wish to do my Duty!"

"Quite, quite. Ask Mr Lane to come here."

Stephen Lane strode into the room with his usual vigor. Weston said: "I'm the Chief Constable of the County, Mr Lane. I suppose you've been told what has occurred here?"

"Yes - oh, yes - I heard as soon as I got here. Terrible... Terrible..." His thin frame quivered. He said in a low voice: "All along - ever since I arrived here - I have been conscious - very conscious - of the forces of evil close at hand." His eyes, burning eager eyes, went to Hercule Poirot. He said: "You remember, M. Poirot? Our conversation some days ago? About the reality of evil?"

Weston was studying the tall gaunt figure in some perplexity. He found it difficult to make this man out. Lane's eyes came back to him. The clergyman said with a slight smile: "I daresay that seems fantastic to you, sir. We have left off believing in evil in these days. We have abolished Hell fire! We no longer believe in the Devil! But Satan and Satan's emissaries were never more powerful than they are today!"

Weston said: "Er - er - yes, perhaps. That, Mr Lane, is your province. Mine is more prosaic - to clear up a case of murder."

Stephen Lane said: "An awful word. Murder! One of the earliest sins known on earth - the ruthless shedding of an innocent brother's blood..." He paused, his eyes half closed. Then, in a more ordinary voice he said: "In what way can I help you?"

"First of all, Mr Lane, will you tell me your own movements today?"

"Willingly. I started off early on one of my usual tramps. I am fond of walking. I have roamed over a good deal of the countryside round here. Today I went to St Petrock-in-the-Combe. That is about seven miles from here - a very pleasant walk along winding lanes, up and down the Devon hills and valleys. I took some lunch with me and ate it in a spinney. I visited the Church - it has some fragments - only fragments, alas, of early glass - also a very interesting painted screen."

"Thank you, Mr Lane. Did you meet any one on your walk?"

"Not to speak to. A cart passed me once and a couple of boys on bicycles and some cows. However," he smiled, "if you want proof of my statement I wrote my name in the book at the Church. You will find it there."

"You did not see any one at the Church itself - the Vicar, or the verger?"

Stephen Lane shook his head. He said: "No, there was no one about and I was the only visitor. St Petrock is a very remote spot. The village itself lies on the far side of it about half a mile further on."

Colonel Weston said pleasantly: "You mustn't think we're - er - doubting what you say. Just a matter of checking up on everybody. Just routine, you know, routine. Have to stick to routine in cases of this kind."

Stephen Lane said gently: "Oh, yes, I quite understand."

Weston went on: "Now the next point. Is there anything you know that would assist us at all? Anything about the dead woman? Anything that could give us a pointer as to who murdered her? Anything you heard or saw?"

Stephen Lane said: "I heard nothing. All I can tell you is this: that I knew instinctively as soon as I saw her that Arlena Marshall was a focus of evil. She was Evil! Evil personified! Woman can be man's help and inspiration in life - she can also be man's downfall. She can drag a man down to the level of the beast. The dead woman was just such a woman. She appealed to everything base in a man's nature. She was a woman such as Jezebel and Aholibah. Now - she has been struck down in the middle of her wickedness!"

Hercule Poirot stirred. He said: "Not struck down - strangled! Strangled, Mr Lane, by a pair of human hands."

The clergyman's own hands trembled. The fingers writhed and twitched. He said, and his voice came low and choked: "That's horrible - horrible - Must you put it like that?"

Hercule Poirot said: "It is the simple truth. Have you any idea, Mr Lane, whose hands those were?"

The other shook his head. He said: "I know nothing - nothing..."

Weston got up. He said, after a glance at Colgate to which the latter replied by an almost imperceptible nod, "Well, we must get on to the Cove."

Lane said: "Is that where - it happened?"

Weston nodded. Lane said: "Can - can I come with you?"

About to return a curt negative, Weston was forestalled by Poirot. "But certainly," said Poirot. "Accompany me there in a boat, Mr Lane. We start immediately."

第八章



　　他们站在艾莲娜·马歇尔的卧室里，两扇落地窗外便是可以俯视海水浴场和大海的阳台。阳光照进房间里，闪亮在艾莲娜的梳妆台上排放着的各种瓶瓶罐罐上，到处都是化妆品和美容院里用的东西。在这一大堆女性用的东西之间，三个大男人到处搜查着，柯根德巡官开开关关着抽屉，他哼了一声，因为他找到了一束折好的信，他和温斯顿一起把那束信翻阅了一遍。
　　赫邱里·白罗则走到衣柜前，他打开了柜门，看到里面挂着各式各样的礼服、洋装和运动装。他拉开另一边的门，下面堆着的是透明的睡衣，上面一块宽隔板上放的是好几顶帽子。另外两顶硬纸板做的海滩帽，一顶朱红、一顶浅黄和一顶很大的夏威夷草帽——还有一顶用深蓝色亚麻布做的帽子，三四顶装饰性的小帽子，想必价钱都不在少数——一顶深蓝色的小圆形扁帽——一顶用黑色天鹅绒做成一丛羽毛状的头饰——一顶浅灰色的头巾帽，赫邱里·白罗在那里看了好一阵，唇边漾起了一丝笑意。他喃喃地说了声：“唉，女人！”
　　温斯顿上校把那些信折了起来，“三封是年轻的雷德方写来的。”他说：“那个该死的小蠢才。再过几年他就会学会不要给女人写情书了，女人总会把信留下来，却指天誓日地说已经烧了的。这里还有一封信，一样的东西。”他把信递过去，白罗接了过来。“亲爱的艾莲娜：
　　老天，我觉得好伤感，要动身到中国去——也许就此会有好多好多年无法和你再相见，我想世界上再没有那个男人会对一个女人疯狂到我对你的那种程度。谢谢你的那张支票，他们现在不起诉我了，不过，也真是危险之至，而一切只是因为我想为你弄大钱。你能原谅我吗？我想把钻石戴在你的耳朵上——你那对可爱又可亲的耳朵，还要把奶白色的大珍珠围在你的颈上，只不过他们说最近珍珠不流行了。那么，弄块大翡翠好吗？对，就是这个，一块大的翡翠，凉凉的，绿绿的，里面隐藏着火，不要忘了我——我知道，你不会忘了我的，你是我的，永远属于我。
　　再见——再见——再见。
　　J·N·”
　　柯根德巡官说：“也许值得调查一下这位J·N·是不是真的去了中国。否则——呃，他说不定正是我们要找的那个人。爱那女人爱得发疯，将她理想化了，而后突然发现他被人当冤大头耍了。我觉得这个人就是布雷斯特小、姐提到的那个。嗯，我想可能很有用。”
　　赫邱里·白罗点了点头，他说：“嗯，这封信很重要，我认为很重要。”
　　他转过身去看了看那个房间——看梳妆台上的瓶瓶罐罐——打开的衣柜，还有放在床上的一个大洋娃娃。他们走进了甘逸世·马歇尔的房间，那就在他太太房间的隔壁，但是两间房间并没有门户相通，他这边也没有阳台。房间所朝的方向相同，有两扇窗子，但房间要小得多。两扇窗子之间挂了一面镜子。右手边那扇窗边的屋角里，放了一张梳妆台，上面搁着两把象牙发刷，一把刷衣服的刷子和一瓶发水。左边窗侧的角落里则放了一张写字台，上面有一架打开盖子的打字机，旁边是一大叠白纸。
　　柯根德很快地检查了一遍。他说：“看起来都很没问题。啊，这就是他今天早上提起的那封信。发信日期是二十四号——也就是昨天。这是信封——上面还有今天早上皮梳湾邮局的邮戳，看来没有问题，现在我们可以查他是不是可能预先把他的回信写好了。”
　　他坐了下来，温斯顿上校说：“这件事暂时交给你去办，我们在这个房间里四下看看。所有的人都给限制着不准走进这条走廊，大家都有点不乐了。”他们接着走进了琳达·马歇尔的房间。那间房间朝东，望出去可以看见岩石和底下的大海。
　　温斯顿四下环顾，他喃喃地道：“我想这里也没什么好看的。可是马歇尔很可能把什么不想被我们找到的东西放在他女儿房间里，不过也不会吧，因为又不是有凶器，或是什么该丢掉的东西。”他又走了出去。
　　赫邱里·白罗留了下来，他在壁炉架上看到一些很能引起他兴趣的东西。那里最近烧过些什么。他跪了下来，很耐心地将他所找到的东西摊放在一张纸上，一大块形状不规则的蜡烛油——一些绿色的纸或是硬卡纸的碎片，很可能原是一张日历，因为有块没有烧毁的碎片上有个“5”字，还有印着的字迹“……而行……”。另外有一根普通的针，一些烧毁的动物身上的东西，可能是毛发。白罗把这些东西整齐地放成一排，然后专心地望着。喃喃自语道：“‘坐而言，不如起而行’，可能就是这个。可是这些东西到底是怎么回事呢？真奇怪！”然后他捡起那根针，眼光突然变得锐利起来。他喃喃说道：“我的天！有这个可能吗？”
　　赫邱里·白罗从炉架边他跪着的地方站起来，慢慢地在这个房间里四下看过一遍，他脸上的表情完全变了，变得很沉郁，甚至有点冷。在壁炉左侧有个架子，上面放着一排书。赫邱里·白罗沉吟地把所有书名仔细看过。一本圣经，一本很旧的莎士比亚戏剧选集、韩福瑞·华德夫人所写的《威廉·艾许的婚事》、夏洛蒂·杨吉原著的《年轻的继母》、艾略特的《大教堂谋杀案》、萧伯纳的《圣女贞德》、玛格丽特·宓西尔女士著的《飘》，还有狄金逊·卡尔的《焚烧的庭院》。
　　白罗抽出了两本书，《年轻的继母》和《威廉·艾许的婚事》，翻开来看看扉页上模糊的印章，就在他要把那两本书放回去的时候，却看见另外一本给挤到这些书本后的书，那本书的开本较小，外面是棕色软皮做的封面，他将书取出，打了开来，慢慢地点了点头，喃喃地说道：“原来我还是对了……不错，我对了，但是另外那件事——难道也可能吗？不，不可能的，除非……”
　　他一动也不动地站在那里，捋着胡须，一面不停地想着那个问题，又轻轻地自言自语道：“除非——”
　　温斯顿上校在门口探进头来，“喂，白罗，你还在这里？”
　　“来了，来了。”白罗叫道。他匆匆地走到走廊里。琳达隔壁的房间就是雷德方夫妇住的，白罗看了看，马上就注意到里面显示出两种截然不同的个性——一边非常整洁有序，他想这是克莉丝汀整理的，另一边则十分凌乱，恰是派屈克个性的表现。除了这种个性的表现之外，这个房间却并不引起他的任何兴趣。再过去一间是罗莎梦·戴礼的，他在那里多逗留了一刻，只是为了欣赏这个房间的主人，他注意到放在床边几上的几本书，以及在梳桩台上那些贵重但简单的化妆品，同时鼻子里也闻到罗莎梦·戴礼常用的香水那种优雅的香味。
　　罗莎梦·戴礼的房间再过去，在走廊北侧尽头是一扇打开的落地窗门，通往一座阳台，阳台上有梯子直达底下的岩石。温斯顿说：“客人在吃早饭前去游泳的，就走的是这条路——当然是喜欢在岩石上跳水的人才走这边。”
　　赫邱里·白罗的眼睛里流露出很感兴趣的眼光。他走到外面，低头望去，底下有一条小路通往开凿出来的梯阶，曲曲折折地直通下面的海边。另外还有一条小路绕过旅馆通往左侧。他说：“可以从这道梯阶下去，由左边绕过旅馆，接上从堤路那边过来的大路。”
　　温斯顿点了点头。他将白罗的说法再引申道：“可以不经过旅馆就从岛的这边到那边。”
　　他说：“可是还是有可能被人家由窗口看到。”
　　“什么窗口？”
　　“公共浴室朝这边的两扇窗子——朝北的——还有职员浴室，以及一楼的衣帽间，还有撞球间。”
　　白罗点了点头，他说：“不过前面那几个地方的窗子上都装的是毛玻璃，而早上天气好的话，也没人会去打撞球。”
　　“一点也不错，”温斯顿停了一停说：“案子要真是他干的话，正是走的这条路。”
　　“你是说马歇尔先生？”
　　“对，不管有没有勒索的事，我还是觉得问题在他身上，而他的态度——哎，他那种态度真太不幸了。”
　　赫邱里·白罗淡然地说：“也许吧——但是不能凭态度断定凶手。”
　　温斯顿说：“那你认为他没有嫌疑吗？”
　　白罗摇了摇头，他说：“不，我不会这样说。”
　　温斯顿说：“我们先看柯根德在打字那件不在场证明上查的结果如何，同时，我再把这一楼当值的女佣找来问问，很多问题要靠她的证词来决定哩。”
　　那个女佣年约三十岁，精神勃勃，做事很有效率，而且很聪明。她的证词非常清楚，马歇尔先生大约在十点半过后不久上楼来回到自己房间里，她当时正在打扫，他请她尽快收拾。她后来没有再看到他回来，可是过了一下之后，听到有打字的声音，她说那大约是十一点差五分左右。当时她在雷德方夫妇的房间里打扫，然后她到走廊尽头戴礼小、姐的房间去清扫，在那里就听不见打字的声音了。据她记得到戴礼小、姐房里时，大约是十一点刚过，她还记得走进门时听见皮梳湾教堂的钟敲十一点。十一点一刻的时候，她下楼去吃喝她十一点该用的茶点。然后她就到旅馆另一边的几个房间去收拾。在回答警察局长的问话时，她说明在这边打扫过的几个房间，依序是：琳达·马歇尔小、姐的房间，两间公用浴室，马歇尔太太的套房，马歇尔先生的房间，雷德方夫妇的套房，还有戴礼小、姐的套房。马歇尔先生和马歇尔小、姐的房间都没有附带浴室。在她打扫戴礼小、姐的房间和浴室时，她并没有听到任何人从门口经过，或由阶梯下到底下的海边去，可是如果什么人悄悄走过的话，她也可能听不见什么动静。
　　温斯顿接着问了些关于马歇尔太太的事。
　　这位叫葛莱德丝·纳瑞可德的女拥说，马歇尔太太平常不会那么早起床的，所以她在十点刚过就发现马歇尔太太的房门开着，人已经下楼了的时候，不禁感到吃惊，这实在是一件不寻常的事。
　　“马歇尔太太一直都是在床上吃旱点的吗？”
　　“啊，是的，局长，一向如此，而且都吃得不多，只喝茶和桔子汁，再加一片土司面包，像很多太太小、姐们一样要保持苗条。”没有，这天早晨她并没有觉得马歇尔太太的神态有什么反常之处，她看起来跟平常一样。
　　赫邱里·白罗喃喃地道：“小、姐，你对马歇尔太太的想法如何？”
　　葛莱德丝·纳瑞可德瞪着他，说道：“呃，这可不该由我来说，是吧？您哪。”
　　“当然可以由你来说啦，我们急于——很急于听听你的印象是什么。”
　　葛莱德丝有点不安地看了警察局长一眼，他马上在脸上装出副既同情而又带有鼓励的表情，其实他对这位外国同事所采取的讯问方法感到相当尴尬。他说：“啊——对，当然，说吧。”
　　葛莱德丝那种做事效率突然不见了，她的手指摸索着身上穿的印花衣服，说道：“呃，马歇尔太太——她实在不是个真正的淑女，你想必也会这样说吧，我的意思是说，她比较像个女戏子。”
　　温斯顿上校说：“她本来就是个女演员。”
　　“是的，您哪，我就是这个意思，她向来想怎么样就怎么样，她并不——呃，她要是不想对人家客气的话，就不会对人家客气，一下子笑容满面，一下子或者因为什么东西找不到了，或者是她按铃叫人而人家没马上去，或者是她送洗的衣服没送回来，她马上就会变得很凶而且很坏。我们所有的人都不喜欢她，可是她的衣服很漂亮，而且，当然她也是个很漂亮的太太，所以很自然的会有很多人仰慕她。”
　　温斯顿上校说：“对不起，我不得不问你一个问题，不过这件事很重要，你能不能告诉我她和她丈夫之间的情形怎么样？”
　　葛莱德丝迟疑了一阵，她说：“您不是——那不会是——您不会认为是他干的吧？”
　　赫邱里·白罗很快地问道：“你说呢？”
　　“哦，我可不会这样想，他是个很好的人。马歇尔先生不会做这种事的——我敢说他绝不会做这种事的。”
　　“可是你并不真的非常确定——我从你的语气里就听得出来。”
　　葛莱德丝很勉强地说道：“在报上到底也看过不少新闻啦！那些牵扯到嫉妒的事情，如果的确有什么暧昧——当然每个人都在谈论——我是说，说她和雷德方先生有什么的。而雷德方太太又是那样好，那样沉静的一个女人，实在叫人觉得可惜。雷德方先生也是个很好的人。可是男人碰到像马歇尔太太这种女人，好像就会不由自主了——她那种女人向来是要随心所欲的。我想。做太太们的恐怕得好好忍耐了。”她叹了口气，顿了顿，“可是如果马歇尔先生发现了这件事的话——”
　　温斯顿上校紧跟着追问道：“怎么样呢？”
　　“我不是说一定会怎么样，只是我觉得——有时候她也——很怕他。他是个很沉静的人，可是他并不——并不很随和。”
　　温斯顿说：“可是你没有什么确切的证据？比方说他们彼此之间说过些什么话。”葛莱德丝慢慢地摇了摇头。温斯顿叹了一口气，继续说道：“哎，关于马歇尔太太今天早上收到的几封信，你有没有什么可以告诉我们的？”
　　“大概有六七封吧，我记不清楚确实的数目。”
　　“是不是你送上去给她的？”
　　“是的，我像平常一样从办公室拿了信，放在早餐托盘里一起送上去。”
　　“你还记得那些信是什么样子吗？”
　　那个女孩子摇了摇头，“只是普通的信件，有些是广告和传单吧，我想，因为都给撕碎了丢在托盘上。”
　　“那些撕掉的信呢？”
　　“丢进拉圾箱了，现在正有一位警员先生在检查。”
　　温斯顿点了点头。“字纸篓里的东西呢？倒在那里了？”
　　“也在垃圾箱里。”
　　温斯顿说：“唔——好，好，我想目前没什么别的事了。”他有点疑问地看了白罗一眼。
　　白罗把身子俯向前来，“你今早打扫琳达·马歇尔小、姐房间的时候，有没有清理壁炉？”
　　“没有什么好清理的，您哪，又没生过火。”
　　“在壁炉里也没什么东西吗？”
　　“没有呀，什么都很干净。”
　　“你什么时候去打扫她的房间的？”
　　“大约是九点一刻吧，她下楼去吃早饭的时候。”
　　“你是不是知道，她吃完早饭之后有没有再回过房间？”
　　“我知道，她在十点差一刻的时候上楼来的。”
　　“她是不是就留在自己房间里了？”
　　“我想是吧，后来在快到十点半的时候，又匆匆忙忙地跑了出来。”
　　“你没有再进她的房间吗？”
　　“没有，那间房间已经打扫好了。”
　　白罗点了点头，他说：“还有一件事情我想知道的，今天早上有谁在吃早饭以前去游过泳的？”
　　“另外那边和上面那层楼的情形我不清楚，我只知道这几间的情形。”
　　“我只要知道这个就好了。”
　　“呃，今天早上只有马歇尔先生和雷德方先生去游过泳，我想，他们总是一大早就下水去的。”
　　“你有没有看到他们呢？”
　　“没有，可是他们湿的游泳衣像平常一样晾在阳台的栏杆上。”
　　“琳达·马歇尔小、姐今早没去游泳吗？”
　　“没有，她的游泳衣是干的。”
　　“啊，”白罗说：“我要知道的就是这一点。”
　　葛莱德丝·纳瑞可德自动地说：“她大部分时间都去早泳的。”
　　“其他三位呢？戴礼小、姐、雷德方太太和马歇尔太太。”
　　“马歇尔太太从来不去，戴礼小、姐去过一两次吧，我想，雷德方太太很少在吃早饭之前游泳——只在天特别热的时候才会，可是她今天早上没有游泳。”
　　白罗又点了点头。然后问道：“不知道你今天在负责打扫的房间里有没有发现那里少了个瓶子？”
　　“瓶子？什么样的瓶子？”
　　“不幸得很，我不知道——可是若是那个房间里真少了什么的话，你会不会注意到呢？”
　　葛莱德丝很坦白地说：“是马歇尔太太房间的话，就不会知道了，这是事实，她那里的瓶瓶罐罐实在太多了。”
　　“其他的房间呢？”
　　“呃，戴礼小、姐的房间里，我也不敢确定，她也有很多冷霜和化妆水，可是其他的房间就会注意到了。我是说，如果真特别去看看，或是说真去注意的话。”
　　“可是你并没有真去注意？”
　　“没有，因为我没有像我说的特别去看过。”
　　“那，你现在去看一看如何？”
　　“好的。”
　　她离开了房间，那件印花衣服悉率作响。温斯顿看着白罗说道：“这是怎么回事？”
　　白罗喃喃地说道：“我那井然有序的头脑被一些小事弄乱了！布雷斯特小、姐今天早上在吃早饭之前到岩石下面去早泳，她说上面丢下来一个瓶子，差点打中了她，所以我想搞清楚是谁扔的那个瓶子？又为什么要扔？”
　　“哎呀，随便什么人都会丢掉个瓶子什么的啦。”
　　“才不呢。首先，只是由旅馆东厢的窗子丢出去的，那也就是说，是从我们刚才检查过的某一间房间的窗口扔出去的。现在我问你，要是在你的梳妆台上或是浴室里有个空瓶子的话，你会怎么办？我告诉你，你会扔进字纸篓里，不会那么麻烦地走到外面阳台上，再把瓶子扔下海去！因为第一，你很可能会砸到别人，第二，那样也太麻烦了。这样做法，只会是因为不希望某种特殊的瓶子被别人看到。”
　　温斯顿瞪着他，说道：“我常听我跟他办过一两次案的贾普督察说你的脑筋有七弯八拐，你可不是打算跟我说艾莲娜·马歇尔其实不是被扼死，而是被人以放在某个神秘瓶子里的神秘药物给毒死的吧？”
　　“不是，不是，我想那个瓶子里装的不是毒药。”
　　“那装的是什么呢？”
　　“我一点也不知道。所以我才会感兴趣。”
　　葛莱德丝·纳瑞可德走了回来，有点上气不接下气地说：“对不起，先生，可是我看不出少了什么东西。我有把握说马歇尔先生房间里什么都没少。琳达·马歇尔小、姐和雷德方夫妇的房间里也一样，另外我也确定戴礼小、姐房里的东西没有少，可是马歇尔太太房里，我就说不准了，我刚才说过，她那里东西太多。”
　　白罗耸了下肩膀，他说：“没关系，暂时不用管他了。”
　　葛莱德丝·纳瑞可德说：“还有什么别的事吗？”她对他们一个个地望去。
　　温斯顿说：“我想没有了，谢谢你。”
　　白罗说：“谢谢你，没事了。你确定没有什么——完全没有什么是你忘记告诉我们的吧？”
　　“关于马歇尔太太的事吗？”
　　“随便什么事，所有不寻常的，不合情理的，说不通的，有点特别，很奇怪——等等，反正是会让你心里想到，或是会跟你同事提起说：‘好奇怪！’的事情。”
　　葛莱德丝有点怀疑的说：“呃，你总不会说是那一类的小事吧？”
　　赫邱里·白罗说：“不要管我的意思怎么样，你不知道我是什么意思。哪，你的确在今天碰到过在心里想到‘真奇怪’的事吗？”他把那三个字说得颇有点讽刺的味道。
　　葛莱德丝说：“其实根本不算什么，只是有人在放水洗澡，不过我倒真跟楼下当值的爱喜说，好奇怪，怎么会有人在十二点左右洗澡。”
　　“谁的洗澡间？谁在洗澡？”
　　“这我就不知道了，我们只是听到有废水从这边的水管排下来，我就跟爱喜说了那话。”
　　“你能确定那是有人在洗澡吗？不是谁在洗手？”
　　“啊！我很确定，放掉洗澡水的声音是不会听错的。”
　　白罗表示不需要再多留她了，于是他们放葛莱德丝·纳瑞可德离去。
　　温斯顿说：“你不会认为有人洗澡是个很重要的问题吧？白罗？我是说，这方面没有什么关系，又不是有血渍要洗掉，这正是——”他犹豫起来。
　　白罗插嘴道：“你要说的是，这就是扼杀的好处！没有血渍、没有凶器——不用丢掉或藏匿什么！除了体力之外什么也不需要——只不过还要有行凶的本性！”他的语气非常愤怒，充满了激动的感情，使温斯顿为之退缩。赫邱里·白罗微带歉意地笑了笑，“哎，哎，”他说：“洗澡的事也许不重要，谁都可能洗个澡的。雷德方太太在去打网球之前，或是马歇尔先生、戴札小、姐，我刚说过，谁都可以洗澡，这没什么。”
　　一名警员敲了敲门，把头伸进来说：“戴礼小、姐找你们，她说想再见你们二位，她说，她有件事忘了告诉你们。”
　　温斯顿说：“我们现在就下去。”
　　他们所见到的第一个人就是柯根德。他苦着脸。“劳驾一下，局长。”温斯顿和白罗跟着他走进了康素太太的办公室里，柯根德说：“我找韩德查过了打字的事，没有问题，至少要花一个小时的时间才打得完。如果说中间还得停下来想一下的话，恐怕花的时间还更多。我想这时间是没有问题的了。还有，你看看这封信。”他把信递过来。

　　“马歇尔先生大鉴：

　　在阁下度假期间，致函相扰，殊感抱歉，惟与百利公司所签合约，发生未能预见之紧急状况……”

　　“等等，云云。”柯根德说：“发信日期是二十四号——也就是昨天，信封上是昨天由伦敦发出的邮戳，和今天早上皮梳湾收到的邮戳。信封和信纸上的字是同一部打字机打的，由内容看来，马歇尔完全不可能事先准备好回信。数字都是从信里引出来的——整件事完全没有问题。”
　　“唔，”温斯顿不快地说：“这下好像洗刷了马歇尔的嫌疑，我们得另起炉灶了。”他跟着又道：“我得去见戴礼小、姐，她现在正在等着呢。”
　　罗莎梦很爽快地走了进来，脸上带着微含歉意的笑容。她说：“实在抱歉得很，这件事也许不值得来麻烦你们，可是人有时就是会忘记事情的。”
　　“什么事呢？戴礼小、姐？”警察局长指了指一张椅子。
　　她摇了摇头，“哦，小事情，不值得坐下来谈，只不过是这样的，我跟你们说过，我一早上都在阳光崖上，其实这话并不完全确实，我忘记了中间我还回到旅馆一次，又再出去。”
　　“那是几点钟呢？戴礼小、姐？”
　　“应该是十一点一刻吧。”
　　“你说，你回到旅馆里？”
　　“是的，我忘了我的太阳眼镜，起先我以为没关系，后来我眼睛有点累，所以决定回来拿一下。”
　　“你直接回你房间，然后又出去的吗？”
　　“是的，不过，我也去看了下甘——呃，马歇尔先生，我听到他打字机的声音，就想今天天气那么好，他却坐在屋里，实在是太笨了。我该叫他出去。”
　　“马歇尔先生怎么说呢？”
　　罗莎梦有点不好意思地微微一笑道：“呃，我打开门的时候，他正忙着打字，皱着眉头，一副专心的样子，所以我就悄悄地走了，我想恐怕他都没看到我进去。”
　　“那这——又是几点钟的事？戴礼小、姐？”
　　“正好十一点二十分，我出去的时候，看了下走廊上的钟。”
　　“这等于是最后再加了个盖子，”柯根德巡官说：“女佣听到他在打字，至少到十一点五分，戴礼小、姐在十一点二十分又看见他，那个女人死在十二点差一刻。他说他在房间里打字前后有一个小时，看起来，他的确是在房间里打字，这下马歇尔先生的嫌疑就洗刷清楚了。”他停了下来，有点奇怪地看了看白罗，问道：“白罗先生好像在想什么事。”
　　白罗沉吟地说道：“我在想戴礼小、姐为什么突然自告奋勇地来提供这个额外的证据。”
　　柯根德巡官有点警觉地抬起了头，“你想其中有诈？不是她‘忘了’的问题？”他想了一两分钟，然后慢吞吞地说：“我说，我们这样看吧，假设戴礼小、姐并不像她所说的早上在阳光崖，那套话根本是骗人的，假设在她跟我们说完之后，她发现有人在别处看到了她，或是说有什么人上了阳光崖，却发现她不在那里。所以她很快地再编一套说词，来告诉我们，以解释她不在那里的原因，你大概也注意到了她特别说到马歇尔先生并没有在她探头进去的时候看见她。”
　　白罗喃喃地道：“嗯，我注意到了。”
　　温斯顿不敢相信地问道：“你难道是说戴礼小、姐也牵扯在这案子里吗？胡说八道，我觉得真是太荒谬了，她怎么会呢？”
　　柯根德巡官咳嗽一声道：“你还记得那位美国女人，贾德纳太太的话吧，她好像暗示说戴礼小、姐很爱马歇尔先生，这就是动机呀，局长。”
　　温斯顿不耐烦地说：“艾莲娜·马歇尔不是死在女人手里，我们要找的凶手是个男人，我们在这个案子里要查的是男人。”
　　柯根德巡官叹了口气，他说：“唉，这倒是真的，我们总是又回到老问题上来了，是吧？”
　　温斯顿继续说道：“最好派一个警员去核计查对一下时间，比方说从旅馆绕到岛那头的梯子顶上要多久，让他跑一趟，走一趟。也要算过上下梯子要用的时间，最好再找人查查用小筏子从海水浴场到小妖湾要多久时间。”
　　柯根德巡官点了点头。“我会处理的。”他很自信地说。
　　警察局长说：“我想找一个人现在去小妖湾。看菲力浦有没有发现什么。还有我们听说过的妖精洞。应该去看看是不是有什么人在那里等过的痕迹，呃？白罗？你看呢？”
　　“绝对要查，很有可能哩。”
　　温斯顿说：“要是什么人从外地溜上小岛，那正是藏身的好地方——如果他知道有那个地方的话。我想本地人都知道吧？”
　　柯根德说：“我想年轻一代不会晓得，自从这里的旅馆开业以后，这些海湾都成了私产，渔夫和野餐的人都不去那里了，旅馆里的人又都不是本地人。康素太太是在伦敦土生土长的。”
　　温斯顿说：“我们可以把雷德方带去，他跟我们说过这个地方的。你呢？白罗先生？”
　　赫邱里·白罗迟疑了一下，用很重的外国腔说道：“不，我跟布雷斯特小、姐和雷德方太太一样，不喜欢爬直梯子。”
　　温斯顿说：“你可以坐船绕过来。”
　　赫邱里·白罗又叹了口气，“我的胃在海上就不舒服。”
　　“胡说，老兄，今天天气很好，海平静得像小池塘，你不能让我们失望呀。”
　　赫邱里·白罗看来一副不想答应这个英国人恳请的模样，可是正在这时候，康素太太从门口探进头来，“我希望没有打扰各位。”她说：“可是蓝恩先生，你知道，就是那位牧师，刚刚回来，我想你们大概想知道这件事。”
　　“阿，是的，谢谢你，康素太太，我们马上见他。”
　　康素太太走进了房里，她说：“我不知道有件事是不是值得一提，可是我听说再小的意外，也不该忽视——”
　　“对的，是什么事呢？”温斯顿不耐烦地说道。
　　“没什么，只是差不多一点钟的时候，有一位太太和一位先生来了，是从对岸来吃中饭的。我们告诉他们说这里出了点意外，在这种情形下，没办法供应午餐。”
　　“知道他们是什么人吗？”
　　“我一点也不知道，当然也没请教他们的尊姓大名，他们表示很失望，也很好奇的想知道出了什么样的意外，当然，我什么也不能跟他们说。我看他们是夏天来玩的有钱人。”
　　温斯顿很唐突地说：“啊，好，谢谢你告诉我们这件事。也许并不重要，可是，什么事都记得——呃——是对的。”
　　“当然，”康素太太说：“我希望能尽我应尽的责任。”
　　“对，对，请蓝恩先生到这里来。”
　　史蒂文·蓝恩像平常一样很有活力地大步走进了房间。
　　温斯顿说：“我是本郡的警察局长，蓝恩先生，我想你已经听说这里出了什么事吧？”
　　“是的——啊，不错——我一回来就听说了。真可怕……真可怕……”他瘦瘦的身子颤抖着，放低了声音道：“这么久以来——自从我到了这里以后——我就注意到——非常注意到——我们身边有邪恶的力量。”他热切的眼光转到白罗身上，他说：“你还记得吧？白罗先生，我们几天前谈过的话？谈到真正有邪恶存在的问题？”
　　温斯顿正打量这个瘦高个子，觉得很难弄清他是个什么样的人。蓝恩的目光回到他身上，那个牧师带着微笑说：“我敢说这话让你感到很荒谬，近来大家都不相信有邪恶了，我们废除了地狱之火！我们不再相信有魔鬼！可是撒旦和撒旦的使者再也没有像今天这么有势力过。”
　　温斯顿说：“呃——呃——是的，大概吧。蓝恩先生，这是你在行的事，我这行比较无聊——只是要破这件谋杀案子。”
　　史蒂文·蓝恩说：“多可怕的字眼，谋杀！这是世人最早知道的罪恶之一——该隐无情地杀死了他无辜的兄弟……”他停了下来，两眼半闭。然后用比较正常的声音问道：“我有什么可以效劳之处？”
　　“首先，蓝恩先生，你能不能把你今天的行动告诉我？”
　　“可以。我今早很早就出发健行，我很喜欢健行。我走过这附近乡野很多的地方。今天我去了圣培尔，大约在离此地七英里远的地方——沿着弯曲的小路上下狄逢丘陵和山谷，非常好玩。我随身带着午餐，在一个小树林子里吃的。我也去了他们那里的教堂——教堂里有一些以前的玻璃碎片——可惜，只有些碎片而已——另外还有一面画得很好的屏风。”
　　“谢谢你，蓝恩先生，你在路上有没有碰到什么人呢？”
　　“没有和人谈话，有次一辆车子经过我身边，还有两个骑脚踏车的男孩子、几头牛。不过，”他微笑道：“如果你要我提出证明的话，我在教堂的来宾签名簿上留下了名字，你可以去查一查。”
　　“在教堂里你也没有见到什么人吗？——比方说，执事，或是堂守？”
　　史蒂文·蓝恩摇了摇头。他说：“没有，教堂里没有人，游客也只有我一个。圣培尔是个很荒僻的地方，村子离教堂还又有半英里路呢。”
　　温斯顿上校很轻快地说：“你可别以为我们——呃——怀疑你的话，我们只是要查问每个人的行踪，你知道，这是例行公事，例行公事而已。碰到这种事，就一定要照规矩来。”
　　史蒂文·蓝恩用柔和的语气说：“哦，我很了解。”
　　温斯顿继续说道：“第二个问题，你是不是知道有什么可以对我们有所帮助的？关于死者的任何事情？可以让我们知道凶手是谁的线索？或是你听到、看到的事情？”
　　史蒂文·蓝恩说：“我什么都没听说。我能告诉你的是：我一看到艾莲娜·马歇尔，马上很本能的就知道她是邪恶的中心，她就是邪恶！是邪恶的化身！女人可以是男人生活中的助力与灵感——但也可能会毁灭男人。她会把一个男人往下拖到和禽兽一般的地步。那个已经死了的女人正是这样一个女人。他代表了人类所有的原始本性。她就是圣经上所记述的妖女，现在——她在作恶的中途被击倒了。”
　　赫邱里·白罗只动了下身子。他说：“不是被击倒了——是被扼死的，蓝恩先生，是一双人的手扼死的。”
　　那个牧师的两手颤抖，十指拳曲。他的声音低沉而哽咽地说：“真可怕——真可怕——你难道一定要这样说吗？”
　　赫邱里·白罗说：“事实如此。蓝恩先生，你可知道那双手是谁的吗？”
　　蓝恩摇了摇头，他说：“我不知道——什么也不知道……”
　　温斯顿站了起来，朝柯根德看了一眼，对方向他微一颔首。温斯顿说：“呃，我们该去小妖湾了。”
　　蓝恩说：“事情就——发生在那里吗？”
　　温斯顿点了点头。蓝恩说：“我能——能不能跟你一起去？”
　　温斯顿正要加以婉拒，白罗却抢先一步说道：“当然可以，陪我一起坐船去吧，蓝恩先生，我们马上动身。”  
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Chapter 7

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 any one 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."

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."

"It certainly explains that point," agreed Poirot.

Inspector Colgate went on: "And think of the place chosen. The very spot for the purpose. The lady goes off on her float. That's natural enough. It's what she does every day. She goes round to Pixy Cove where no one ever goes in the morning and which will be a nice quiet place for an interview."

Poirot said: "But yes, I too was struck by that point. It is, as you say, an ideal spot for a rendezvous. It is deserted, it is only accessible from the land side by descending a vertical steel ladder which is not everybody's money, bien entendu. Moreover, most of the beach is invisible from above because of the overhanging cliff. And it has another advantage. Mr Redfern told me of that one day. There is a cave on it, the entrance to which is not easy to find but where any one could wait unseen."

Weston said: "Of course, the Pixy's Cave - remember hearing about it."

Inspector Colgate said: "Haven't heard it spoken of for years, though. We'd better have a look inside it. Never know, we might find a pointer of some kind."

Weston said: "Yes, you're right, Colgate, we've got the solution to part one of the puzzle. Why did Mrs Marshall go to Pixy's Cove? We want the other half of that solution, though. Who did she go there to meet? Presumably someone staying in this hotel. None of them fitted as a lover - but a blackmailer's a different proposition." He drew the register towards him. "Excluding the waiters, boots, etc., whom I don't think likely, we've got the following. The American - Gardener, Major Barry, Mr Horace Blatt, and the Reverend Stephen Lane."

Inspector Colgate said: "We can narrow it down a bit, sir. We might almost rule out the American, I think. He was on the beach all the morning. That's so, isn't it, M. Poirot?"

Poirot replied: "He was absent for a short time when he fetched a skein of wool for his wife."

Colgate said: "Oh, well, we needn't count that."

Weston said: "And what about the other three?"

"Major Barry went out at ten o'clock this morning. He returned at one-thirty. Mr Lane was earlier still. He breakfasted at eight. Said he was going for a tramp. Mr Blatt went off for a sail at nine-thirty same as he does most days. Neither of them is back yet?"

"A sail, eh?" Colonel Weston's voice was thoughtful.

Inspector Colgate's voice was responsive. He said: "Might fit in rather well, sir."

Weston said: "Well, we'll have a word with this Major bloke - and let me see, who else is there? Rosamund Darnley. And there's the Brewster woman who found the body with Redfern. What's she like, Colgate?"

"Oh, a sensible party, sir. No nonsense about her."

"She didn't express any opinions on the death?"

The inspector shook his head. "I don't think she'll have anything more to tell us, sir, but we'll have to make sure. Then there are the Americans."

Colonel Weston nodded. He said: "Let's have 'em all in and get it over as soon as possible. Never know, might learn something. About the blackmailing stunt if about nothing else."

Mr and Mrs Gardener came into the presence of authority together. Mrs Gardener explained immediately. "I hope you'll understand how it is, Colonel Weston (that is the name, I think?)." Reassured on this point she went on: "But this has been a very bad shock to me and Mr Gardener is always very, very careful of my health -"

Mr Gardener here interpolated. "Mrs Gardener," he said, "is very sensitive."

"- and he said to me, 'Why, Carrie,' he said, 'naturally I'm coming right along with you.' It's not that we haven't the highest admiration for British police methods, because we have. I've been told that British police procedure is the most refined and delicate and I've never doubted it and certainly when I once had a bracelet missing at the Savoy Hotel nothing could have been more lovely and sympathetic than the young man who came to see me about it, and of course I hadn't really lost the bracelet at all, but just mislaid it, that's the worst of rushing about so much, it makes you kind of forgetful where you put things -" Mrs Gardener paused, inhaled gently and started off again. "And what I say is, and I know Mr Gardener agrees with me, that we're only too anxious to do anything to help the British police in every way. So go right ahead and ask me anything at all you want to know -"

Colonel Weston opened his mouth to comply with this invitation but had momentarily to postpone speech while Mrs Gardener went on. "That's what I said, Odell, isn't it? And that's so, isn't it?"

"Yes, darling," said Mr Gardener.

Colonel Weston spoke hastily. "I understand, Mrs Gardener, that you and your husband were on the beach all the morning?"

For once Mr Gardener was able to get in first. "That's so," he said.

"Why, certainly we were," said Mrs Gardener. "And a lovely peaceful morning it was, just like any other morning, if you get me, perhaps even more so, and not the slightest idea in our minds of what was happening round the corner on that lonely beach."

"Did you see Mrs Marshall at all today?"

"We did not. And I said to Odell, 'Why, wherever can Mrs Marshall have got to this morning?' I said. And first her husband coming looking for her and then that good-looking young man, Mr Redfern, and so impatient he was, just sitting there on the beach scowling at every one and everything. And I said to myself, 'Why, when he has that nice pretty little wife of his own, must he go running after that dreadful woman?' Because that's just what I felt she was. I always felt that about her, didn't I, Odell?"

"Yes, darling."

"However that nice Captain Marshall came to marry such a woman I just cannot imagine - and with that nice young daughter growing up, and it's so important for girls to have the right influence. Mrs Marshall was not at all the right person - no breeding at all - and I should say a very animal nature. Now if Captain Marshall had had any sense he'd have married Miss Darnley who's a very, very charming woman and a very distinguished one. I must say I admire the way she's gone straight ahead and built up a first-class business as she has. It takes brains to do a thing like that - and you've only to look at Rosamund Darnley to see she's just frantic with brains. She could plan and carry out any mortal thing she liked. I just admire that woman more than I can say. And I said to Mr Gardener the other day that any one could see she was very much in love with Captain Marshall - crazy about him was what I said, didn't I, Odell?"

"Yes, darling."

"It seems they knew each other as children, and, why, now, who knows, it may all come right after all with that woman out of the way. I'm not a narrow-minded woman, Colonel Weston, and it isn't that I disapprove of the stage as such - why, quite a lot of my best friends are actresses - but I've said to Mr Gardener all along that there was something evil about that woman. And you see, I've been proved right."

She paused triumphantly. The lips of Hercule Poirot quivered in a little smile. His eyes met for a minute the shrewd grey eyes of Mr Gardener. Colonel Weston said rather desperately: "Well, thank you, Mrs Gardener. I suppose there's nothing that either of you has noticed since you've been here that might have a bearing upon the case?"

"Why, no, I don't think so." Mr Gardener spoke with a slow drawl. "Mrs Marshall was around with young Redfern most of the time - but everybody can tell you that."

"What about her husband? Did he mind, do you think?"

Mr Gardener said cautiously: "Captain Marshall is a very reserved man."

Mrs Gardener confirmed this by saying: "Why, yes, he is a real Britisher!"

On the slightly apoplectic countenance of Major Barry various emotions seemed contending for mastery. He was endeavouring to look properly horrified but could not subdue a kind of shamefaced gusto. He was saying in his hoarse slightly wheezy voice: "Glad to help you any way I can. 'Course I don't know anythin' about it - nothin' at all. Not acquainted with the parties. But I've knocked about a bit in my time. Lived a lot in the East, you know. And I can tell you that after being in an Indian hill station what you don't know about human nature isn't worth knowin'." He paused, took a breath and was off again. "Matter of fact this business reminds me of a case in Simla. Fellow called Robinson or was it Falconer? Anyway he was in the East Wilts or was it the North Surreys? Can't remember now and anyway it doesn't matter. Quiet chap, you know, great reader - mild as milk you'd have said. Went for his wife one evening in their bungalow. Got her by the throat. She'd been carryin' on with some feller or other and he'd got wise to it. By Jove, he nearly did for her! It was touch and go. Surprised us all! Didn't think he had it in him."

Hercule Poirot murmured: "And you see there an analogy to the death of Mrs Marshall?"

"Well, what I mean to say - strangled, you know. Same idea. Feller suddenly sees red!"

Poirot said: "You think that Captain Marshall felt like that?"

"Oh, look here, I never said that." Major Barry's face went even redder. "Never said anything about Marshall. Thoroughly nice chap. Wouldn't say a word against him for the world."

Poirot murmured: "Ah, pardon, but you did refer to the natural reactions of a husband."

Major Barry said: "Well, I mean to say, I should think she'd been pretty hot stuff. Eh? Got young Redfern on a string all right. And there were probably others before him. But the funny thing is, you know, that husbands are a dense lot. Amazin'. I've been surprised by it again and again. They see a fellow sweet on their wife but they don't see that she's sweet on him! Remember a case like that in Poona. Very pretty woman. Jove, she led her husband a dance -"

Colonel Weston stirred a little restively. He said: "Yes, yes. Major Barry. For the moment we've just got to establish the facts. You don't know of anything personally - that you've seen or noticed that might help us in this case?"

"Well, really, Weston, I can't say I do. Saw her and young Redfern one afternoon on Gull Cove -" Here he winked knowingly and gave a deep hoarse chuckle - "Very pretty it was, too. But it's not evidence of that kind you're wanting. Ha, ha."

"You did not see Mrs Marshall at all this morning?"

"Didn't see anybody this morning. Went over to St Loo. Just my luck. Sort of place here where nothin' happens for months and when it does you miss it!"

The Major's voice held a ghoulish regret. Colonel Weston prompted him. "You went to St Loo, you say?"

"Yes, wanted to do some telephonin'. No telephone here and that post office place at Leathercombe Bay isn't very private."

"Were your telephone calls of a very private nature?"

The Major winked again cheerfully. "Well, they were and they weren't. Wanted to get through to a pal of mine and get him to put somethin' on a horse. Couldn't get through to him, worse luck."

"Where did you telephone from?"

"Call box in the G.P.O. at St Loo. Then on the way back I got lost - these confounded lanes - twistin' and turnin' all over the place. Must have wasted an hour over that at least. Damned confusing part of the world. I only got back half an hour ago."

Colonel Weston said: "Speak to any one or meet any one in St Loo?"

Major Barry said with a chuckle: "Wantin' me to prove an alibi? Can't think of anythin' useful. Saw about fifty thousand people in St Loo - but that's not to say they'll remember seem' me."

The Chief Constable said: "We have to ask these things, you know."

"Right you are. Call on me at any time. Glad to help you. Very fetchin' woman, the deceased. Like to help you catch the feller who did it. The Lonely Beach Murder - bet you that's what the papers will call it. Reminds me of the time -"

It was Inspector Colgate who firmly nipped this latest reminiscence in the bud and manoeuvred the garrulous Major out of the door. Coming back he said: "Difficult to check up on anything in St Loo. It's the middle of the holiday season."

The Chief Constable said: "Yes, we can't take him off the list. Not that I seriously believe he's implicated. Dozens of old bores like him going about. Remember one or two of them in my Army days. Still - he's a possibility. I leave all that to you, Colgate. Check what time he took the car out - petrol - all that. It's humanly possible that he parked the car somewhere in a lonely spot, walked back here and went to the cove. But it doesn't seem feasible to me. He'd have run too much risk of being seen."

Colgate nodded. He said: "Of course there are a good many charabancs here today. Fine day. They start arriving round about half past eleven. High tide was at seven. Low tide would be about one o'clock. People would be spread out over the sands and the causeway."

Weston said: "Yes. But he'd have to come up from the causeway past the hotel."

"Not right past it. He could branch off on the path that leads up over the top of the island."

Weston said doubtfully: "I'm not saying that he mightn't have done it without being seen. Practically all the hotel guests were on the bathing beach except for Mrs Redfern and the Marshall girl who were down in Gull Cove, and the beginning of that path would only be overlooked by a few rooms of the hotel and there are plenty of chances against any one looking out of those windows just at that moment. For the matter of that, I daresay it's possible for a man to walk up to the hotel, through the lounge and out again without any one happening to see him. But what I say is, he couldn't count on no one seeing him."

Colgate said: "He could have gone round to the cove by boat."

Weston nodded. He said: "That's much sounder. If he'd had a boat handy in one of the coves near by, he could have left the car, rowed or sailed to Pixy's Cove, done the murder, rowed back, picked up the car and arrived back with this tale about having been to St Loo and lost his way - a story that he'd know would be pretty hard to disprove."

"You're right, sir."

The Chief Constable said: "Well. I leave it to you, Colgate. Comb the neighbourhood thoroughly. You know what to do. We'd better see Miss Brewster now."

Emily Brewster was not able to add anything of material value to what they already knew. Weston said after she had repeated her story: "And there's nothing you know of that could help us in any way?"

Emily Brewster said shortly: "Afraid not. It's a distressing business. However I expect you'll soon get to the bottom of it."

Weston said: "I hope so too."

Emily Brewster said drily: "Ought not to be difficult."

"Now what do you mean by that, Miss Brewster?"

"Sorry. Wasn't attempting to teach you your business. All I meant was that with a woman of that kind it ought to be easy enough."

Hercule Poirot murmured: "That is your opinion?"

Emily Brewster snapped out: "Of course. De mortuis nil nisi bonum and all that, but you can't get away from facts. That woman was a bad lot through and through. You've only got to hunt round a bit in her unsavoury past."

Hercule Poirot said gently: "You did not like her?"

"I know a bit too much about her." In answer to the inquiring looks she went on. "My first cousin married one of the Erskines. You've probably heard that that woman induced old Sir Robert when he was in his dotage to leave most of his fortune to her away from his own family."

Colonel Weston said: "And the family - er - resented that?"

"Naturally. His association with her was a scandal anyway and on top of that to leave her a sum like fifty thousand pounds shows just the kind of woman she was. I daresay I sound hard, but in my opinion the Arlena Stuarts of this world deserve very little sympathy. I know of something else too - a young fellow who lost his head about her completely - he'd always been a bit wild, naturally his association with her pushed him over the edge. He did something rather fishy with some shares - solely to get money to spend on her - and only just managed to escape prosecution. That woman contaminated every one she met. Look at the way she was ruining young Redfern. No, I'm afraid I can't have any regret for her death - though of course it would have been better if she'd drowned herself, or fallen over a cliff. Strangling is rather unpleasant."

"And you think the murderer was some one out of her past?"

"Yes, I do."

"Some one who came from the mainland with no one seeing him?"

"Why should any one see him? We were all on the beach. I gather the Marshall child and Christine Redfern were down on Gull Cove out of the way. Captain Marshall was in his room in the hotel. Then who on earth was there to see him except possibly Miss Darnley?"

"Where was Miss Darnley?"

"Sitting up on the cutting at the top of the cliff. Sunny Ledge it's called. We saw her there, Mr Redfern and I, when we were rowing round the island."

Colonel Weston said: "You may be right, Miss Brewster."

Emily Brewster said positively: "I'm sure I'm right. When a woman's neither more nor less than a nasty mess, then she herself will provide the best possible clue. Don't you agree with me, M. Poirot?"

Hercule Poirot looked up. His eyes met her confident grey ones. He said: "Oh, yes - I agree with that which you have just this minute said. Arlena Marshall herself is the best, the only clue, to her own death."

Miss Brewster said sharply: "Well, then!" She stood there, an erect sturdy figure, her cool self-confident glance going from one man to the other.

Colonel Weston said: "You may be sure, Miss Brewster, that any clue there may be in Mrs Marshall's past life will not be overlooked."

Emily Brewster went out.

Inspector Colgate shifted his position at the table. He said in a thoughtful voice: "She's a determined one, she is. And she'd got her knife in to the dead lady, proper, she had." He stopped a minute and said reflectively: "It's a pity in a way that she's got a cast-iron alibi for the whole morning. Did you notice her hands, sir? As big as a man's. And she's a hefty woman - as strong and stronger than many a man I'd say..." He paused again. His glance at Poirot was almost pleading. "And you say she never left the beach this morning, M. Poirot?"

Slowly Poirot shook his head. He said: "My dear Inspector, she came down to the beach before Mrs Marshall could have reached Pixy's Cove and she was within my sight until she set off with Mr Redfern in the boat."

Inspector Colgate said gloomily: "Then that washes her out." He seemed upset about it.

As always, Hercule Poirot felt a keen sense of pleasure at the sight of Rosamund Darnley. Even to a bare police inquiry into the ugly facts of murder she brought a distinction of her own. She sat down opposite Colonel Weston and turned a grave and intelligent face to him. She said: "You want my name and address? Rosamund Anne Darnley. I carry on a dressmaking business under the name of Rose Mond, Ltd at 622 Brook Street."

"Thank you. Miss Darnley. Now can you tell us anything that may help us?"

"I don't really think I can."

"Your own movements -"

"I had breakfast about nine-thirty. Then I went up to my room and collected some books and my sunshade and went out to Sunny Ledge. That must have been about twenty-five past ten. I came back to the hotel about ten minutes to twelve, went up and got my tennis racquet and went out to the tennis courts where I played tennis until lunchtime."

"You were in the cliff recess, called by the hotel, Sunny Ledge, from about half past ten until ten minutes to twelve?"

"Yes."

"Did you see Mrs Marshall at all this morning?"

"No."

"Did you see her from the cliff as she paddled her float round to Pixy's Cove?"

"No, she must have gone by before I got there."

"Did you notice any one on a float or in a boat at all this morning?"

"No, I don't think I did. You see I was reading. Of course I looked up from my book from time to time but as it happened the sea was quiet each time I did so."

"You didn't even notice Mr Redfern and Miss Brewster when they went round?"

"No."

"You were, I think, acquainted with Mr Marshall?"

"Captain Marshall is an old family friend. His family and mine lived next door to each other. I had not seen him, however, for a good many years - it must be something like twelve wears."

"And Mrs Marshall?"

"I'd never exchanged half a dozen words with her until I met her here."

"Were Captain and Mrs Marshall, as far as you knew, on good terms with each other?"

"On perfectly good terms, I should say."

"Was Captain Marshall very devoted to his wife?"

Rosamund said: "He may have been. I can't really tell you anything about that. Captain Marshall is rather old-fashioned - but he hasn't got the modern habit of shouting matrimonial woes upon the housetop."

"Did you like Mrs Marshall, Miss Darnley?"

"No." The monosyllable came quietly and evenly. It sounded what it was - a simple statement of fact.

"Why was that?"

A half smile came to Rosamund's lips. She said: "Surely you've discovered that Arlena Marshall was not popular with her own sex? She was bored to death with women and showed it. Nevertheless I should like to have had the dressing of her. She had a great gift for clothes. Her clothes were always just right and she wore them well. I should like to have had her as a client."

"She spent a good deal on clothes?"

"She must have. But then she had money of her own and of course Captain Marshall is quite well off."

"Did you ever hear or did it ever occur to you that Mrs Marshall was being blackmailed, Miss Darnley?"

A look of intense astonishment came over Rosamund Darnley's expressive face. She said: "Blackmailed? Arlena?"

"The idea seems to surprise you."

"Well, yes, it does rather. It seems so incongruous."

"But surely it is possible?"

"Everything's possible, isn't it? The world soon teaches one that. But I wondered what any one could blackmail Arlena about?"

"There are certain things, I suppose, that Mrs Marshall might be anxious should not come to her husband's ears?"

"We-ll, yes." She explained the doubt in her voice by saying with a half smile: "I sound skeptical, but then, you see, Arlena was rather notorious in her conduct. She never made much of a pose of respectability."

"You think, then, that her husband was aware of her - intimacies with other people?"

There was a pause. Rosamund was frowning. She spoke at last in a slow reluctant voice. She said: "You know, I don't really know what to think. I've always assumed that Kenneth Marshall accepted his wife, quite frankly, for what she was. That he had no illusions about her. But it may not be so."

"He may have believed in her absolutely?"

Rosamund said with semi-exasperation: "Men are such fools. And Kenneth Marshall is unworldly under his sophisticated manner. He may have believed in her blindly. He may have thought she was just - admired."

"And you know of no one - that is you have heard of no one who was likely to have had a grudge against Mrs Marshall?"

Rosamund Darnley smiled. She said: "Only resentful wives. And I presume since she was strangled, that it was a man who killed her."

"Yes."

Rosamund said thoughtfully: "No, I can't think of any one. But then I probably shouldn't know. You'll have to ask some one in her own intimate set."

"Thank you, Miss Darnley."

Rosamund turned a little in her chair. She said: "Hasn't M. Poirot any questions to ask?" Her faintly ironic smile flashed out at him.

Hercule Poirot smiled and shook his head. He said: "I can think of nothing."

Rosamund Darnley got up and went out.

第七章



　　克莉丝汀瞪着他，好像一时没听懂他的意思。她几乎是很机械地回答道：“我想——因为她受到了勒索。她是那种会遭人勒索的人。”
　　温斯顿上校很热切地说：“可是——你知道她遭人勒索吗？”
　　她的两颊上起了一阵红晕，她有点尴尬地说：“说老实话，我碰巧知道，我，我——偶而听到了一些话。”
　　“你能不能解释一下？雷德方太太？”
　　克莉丝汀·雷德方的脸越来越红，她说：“我——我并不是有意偷听，完全是意外。那是两——不是，是三天之前，我们正在玩桥牌。”她转头对白罗问道：“你还记得吧？我先生和我，白罗先生和戴礼小、姐，我正好是空位。桥牌室里空气很闷，我就从落地长窗走到外面去吸口新鲜空气。我向海滩走去时，突然听到有人声，一个声音——就是艾莲娜·马歇尔——我马上就听出来了，她说：‘这样逼我也没有用，我现在再弄不到钱了，我丈夫会怀疑的。’然后有个男人的声音说：‘我不管你有什么借口，你一定得把钱吐出来。’艾莲娜·马歇尔说：‘你这个勒索人的下流胚子，’那个男人说：‘下流不下流，你还是得付钱，夫人’。”克莉丝汀停了一下。“我转身往回走，一分钟之后，艾莲娜·马歇尔从我身边冲过，她看来——呃，非常不高兴的样子。”
　　温斯顿说：“那个男人呢？你知道他是什么人吗？”
　　克莉丝汀·雷德方摇了摇头说：“他的声音压得很低，我都几乎听不清他说些什么。”
　　“听不出是你认得的那个人的声音吗？”
　　她想了想，但又摇了摇头。她说：“我不知道，声音很含糊，也很低。那声音——啊，可以是任何一个人的声音。”
　　温斯顿上校说：“谢谢你，雷德方太太。”
　　等克莉丝汀·雷德方出去把门带上了之后，柯根德巡官说：“这下我们有点头绪了。”
　　温斯顿说：“你认为如此，呃？”
　　“哎，这很有参考性。局长，不能丢下不管，这个旅馆里有人在勒索那位女士。”
　　白罗喃喃地道：“可是死的不是那个勒索的歹徒，而是被害人。”
　　“这一点有些叫人懊恼，我同意，”巡官说：“勒索的人通常是不会把他们勒索对象干掉的。不过这至少给了我们一个答案，给马歇尔太太那天早上的奇异行径提供了一个理由。她是去和那个勒索她的人见面，她不希望让她的丈夫或雷德方知道这件事。”
　　“这点倒的确可以解释得通。”白罗同意道。
　　柯根德巡官继续说道：“想想所选定的地方，正是为这目的而安排的适当地点。那位太太乘着小筏子去，够自然的了。她每天都这样的，她绕到小妖湾那样一个早上从来没人去的地方，正是谈话的安静地方。”
　　白罗说：“不错，我也想到这些。那里正如你所说的，是个碰头的好地点，没有别人，要从陆地这边到那里，只有由崖顶沿梯子下去，那不是每个人都爱走的一条路。还有，那个地方大部分从上面都看不见，因为被悬崖遮挡住了。另外还有个好处。雷德方先生那天才跟我说起过，那里有个山洞，入口很难找得到，但任何人都可以在那里等着而不被别人看到。”
　　温斯顿说：“对了，叫妖精洞——记得听人提起过。”
　　柯根德巡官说：“不过已经有好多年没听人说到了。我们最好到洞里去查一查，谁知道呢，说不定可以找到点线索什么的。”
　　温斯顿说：“对，说得对，柯根德，我们已经得到这个谜的一部分答案了，知道了马歇尔太太为什么去小妖湾。不过，我们还要另外一半答案，她到那里去见什么人？假定那也是个住在这个旅馆里的人。这里没有一个够资格做她的情人——可是勒索者又是另外一种身分了。”他把旅客登记簿拉了过来，“把侍者、佣人什么的除外，我觉得他们不大可能，剩下的是：那个美国佬，贾德纳、巴瑞少校、贺雷士·卜拉特先生，还有史蒂文·蓝恩牧师。”
　　柯根德巡官说：“我们还可以把范围再缩小一点，局长。我想我们也可以把那个美国佬除外，他一整个上午都在海滩上，是这样的吧？白罗先生？”
　　白罗回答道：“他有一小段时间不在，去给他太太拿毛线去了。”
　　柯根德说：“啊，呃，那不必算。”
　　温斯顿说：“另外三个呢？”
　　“巴瑞少校今早十点钟出去的，一点半回来。蓝恩牧师更早，他八点钟吃早饭，说他要去健行。卜拉特先生九点半驾船出海，跟他平常一样，他们几个都还没回来吧？”
　　“驾船出去了？呃？”温斯顿上校说话时好像在想着什么。
　　柯根德巡官随声附和地说道：“蛮相合的呢，局长。”
　　温斯顿说：“呃，我们要跟那位少校谈谈——我看看，还有些什么人？罗莎梦·戴礼，还有那个姓布雷斯特的女人，她跟雷德方一起发现尸体的。她是个什么样的人？柯根德？”
　　“啊，一个很理智的人，局长，什么都实事求是。”
　　“她对这件案子有没有发表过什么意见？”
　　巡官摇了摇头，“我想她再没什么要告诉我们的了，局长，不过我们得确定一下。另外就是那对美国夫妇。”
　　温斯顿上校点了点头，他说：“我们让他们一起进来，尽早把话问完，谁晓得呢，说不定会有什么发现。即使不说别的，也许在勒索案上有点线索。”
　　贾德纳夫妇到了他们面前，贾德纳太太马上解释道：“我希望你能了解，温斯顿上校——我想，大名没说错吧？”这一点上得到证实后，她继续说道：“这对我来说真是相当大的震惊，而贾德纳先生一向非常、非常注意我的健康——”
　　贾德纳先生在这里插进嘴来。“贾德纳太太，”他说：“是个很敏感的人。”
　　“——他对我说：‘哎呀，嘉丽，’他说：‘我当然马上陪你去。’倒不是说我们对英国警察的侦察方法不表最高的赞赏，因为我们确实非常赞佩，有人告诉我说，英国警察的侦察工作是最精细、最好的，我从来就不怀疑这一点。而且有回我在三福大饭店丢了一只手镯，再没人比为这事来看我的那个年轻警员更可爱，更富同情心的了，当然，其实我的手镯根本就没有掉，而是放错了地方，这都是因为什么事情都太匆忙的缘故，让你忘了东西在那里了——”贾德纳太太停了下来，轻轻地吸了口气，然后又开始说道：“我要说的是，我知道贾德纳先生也同意我的话，那就是，我们绝对愿意竭尽全力来在各方面协助英国警方，所以请尽量问你们想要问的任何问题——”
　　温斯顿上校张开嘴来，准备遵命行事，但又只好暂时把话忍住，因为贾德纳太太继续说道：“我是这样说的吧？对不对？欧帝尔，就是这样，对不对？”
　　“是的，亲爱的。”贾德纳先生说。
　　温斯顿上校很快地说道：“据我所知，贾德纳太太，你和你先生一早上都在海滩上吧？”
　　这次贾德纳先生居然抢了次先着。“不错。”他说。
　　“哎，当然在呀，”贾德纳太太说：“今天早上天气真可爱，也真安静，就像其他日子一样，你懂我的意思吧，甚至更好些，我们一点也没有想到就在另外那边那个没人的海湾里会出了那样的事情。”
　　“你今天有没有看到过马歇尔太太？”
　　“没有。我跟欧帝尔说，哎，马歇尔太太今早到哪里去了？我说。起先是她丈夫来找她，然后是那个长得很好看的年轻人，雷德方先生，他好不耐烦的样子，坐在海滩上，对什么人、什么东西都皱着眉头，我心里想，为什么他有了那么好，那么漂亮的太太，还一定要去追那个可怕的女人呢？因为我觉得她就是个可怕的女人，我一直对她有这种感觉，是不是？欧帝尔？”
　　“是的，亲爱的。”
　　“我实在想不通那么好的马歇尔先生怎么会娶这么个女人——何况他还有个正在发育期间的小女儿，女孩子要有好的影响是非常重要的一件事呀！马歇尔太太完全不是适当的人选——完全没有教养——我该说她是很兽性的才对。哎，要是马歇尔先生真有点脑筋的话，他就该娶戴礼小、姐，那才是一个非常、非常迷人的女子。而且又非常有名气，我实在是佩服她能这样直接下功夫，搞出个一流的生意，跟她一样了不起，要做这种事，非得靠头脑不可——而你只要看看罗莎梦·戴礼，就可以看得出她是个头脑很好的人，随便什么人能想得到的事，她都能计划得好好的，而且还能实行出来。我对这位女士简直是佩服得无法形容，那天我还跟贾德纳先生说，恁谁都看得出她很爱马歇尔先生——我当时说的是，爱他爱得发疯，对不对，欧帝尔？”
　　“对啦，亲爱的。”
　　“好像他们是青梅竹马的老相识了。哎，现在，谁知道，那个女人既然已经不在了，说不定就真会有好结果了。我不是个思想偏狭的女人，温斯顿上校，也不是说我不赞成演艺界的人到那个程度——哎，我的好朋友里，有好多都是女演员哩——可是我一直跟贾德纳先生说，那个女人有点邪气，你看，现在证明我的话对了吧。”
　　她很得意地停了下来。赫邱里·白罗的嘴唇颤抖着，止不住微笑起来。他的眼光和贾德纳精明的灰色眼睛对望了一眼，温斯顿上校有点绝望地说道：“呃，谢谢你，贾德纳太太，我想你们两位自从住到这里来之后，大概没有再注意到别的什么和这个案子有关的事了吧？”
　　“哎，没有，我想是没有了。”贾德纳先生细声慢气地说：“马歇尔太太大部分时间都和年轻的雷德方在一起——不过每个人都能告诉你这件事。”
　　“她的丈夫呢？你想，他会很在乎吗？”
　　贾德纳先生很小心地说道：“马歇尔先生是个很内向的人。”
　　贾德纳太太很表同意地说：“哎，一点也不错，他是真正标准的英国人！”
　　在巴瑞少校充血的脸上，各种感情交织在一起，他很想露出一副大为吃惊的表情，可是又忍不住有种不该有的高兴。他用他那沙哑而微带喘息的声音说：“我乐意尽我所能来帮你们忙。我当然对本案一无所知——什么也不晓得。和有关系的几个人都不熟，不过我这辈子也见多了，你知道，我在东方住了很久，我可以告诉你，在印度山里驻扎过之后，你对人性要是还有些不知道的，那都是不值一谈的部分了。”他停下来，换了口气，又继续说道：“说起来，这件事例让我想起以前在印度支那地方的一件案子，一个叫罗宾森，还是胡可纳的家伙，反正他驻在东维帝市，要不还是北苏瑞■？现在记不清楚了，反正也没关系，他是个很沉静的人，你知道，书看得很多——温柔得像牛奶一样，有天晚上在他们住的小屋里把他的老婆给干掉了，扼住了她的脖子。她一直和一个家伙来往，后来被他发现了。老天啦，他差点为她送了命！事情一触即发，我们全都吓坏了！从来没想到他会这样。”
　　赫邱里·白罗喃喃地道：“你认为那件案子和马歇尔太太之死有相同之处吗？”
　　“呃，我的意思是说——扼死的，你知道，事情一样，那家伙突然眼红发作了嘛。”
　　白罗说：“你认为马歇尔先生有那样的感觉吗？”
　　“哎，我可从来没说过这句话，”巴瑞少校的脸更红了。“从来没说马歇尔什么的，他是个大大的好人，我说什么也绝不会说他一句坏话的。”
　　白罗喃喃地说道：“啊，对不起，可是你的确谈到了做丈夫的自然反应。”
　　巴瑞少校说，“哎，我的意思是说，我觉得她是相当热的人物。呃？把年轻的雷德方引上了钩，在他之前恐怕还少不了有别的人。可是滑稽的是，你知道，那些做丈夫的都很顽固，这件事真叫人奇怪，也一再叫我感到吃惊，他们只看到一个家伙对他太太怎么怎么好，就看不见她对那家伙怎么好法。我还记得在印度普拉地方的一个案子，那个女人好漂亮。老天爷，她带她丈夫去跳舞——”
　　温斯顿上校挪动了下身子，说道：“是的，是的，巴瑞少校，目前我们只要弄清楚事实，你个人是不是知道什么——听到或注意到什么可能对我们破案有帮助的事？”
　　“哎，说老实话，温斯顿，我想是没有，有天下午在鸥湾看到她和年轻的雷德方在一起——”他别有含意地眨了下眼睛，发出沙哑而深沉的笑声——“很漂亮，不过这可不是你们要的那种证据吧？哈，哈。”
　　“今天早上你完全没有看到马歇尔太太吗？”
　　“今天早上我什么人也没见到。我到圣卢镇上去了。这也怪我的运气不好，像这里这种地方几个月也不出什么事，出事的时候，我却又错过了。”
　　少校的语气里带着一丝懊恼。温斯顿上校追问道：“你说，你去了圣卢镇？”
　　“是的，想去打个电话。这里没电话，而皮梳湾的电信局又太不隐密了。”
　　“你打电话是为了很私人的事吗？”
　　巴瑞少校又很开心地眨了下眼睛。“哎，也可以说是，也可以说不是。想要和我的一个老朋友连络上，让他替我在一匹马上押点注。运气不好，没能和他通到电话。”
　　“你是在那里打的电话？”
　　“圣卢镇邮电总局的电话亭里。后来在回来的路上，我又迷了路——那些该死的小巷小弄——到处转来绕去的，在那里至少浪费了一个钟头。这一带真是叫人搞不清楚。我刚回来不到半个小时。”
　　温斯顿上校说：“在圣卢镇有没有和什么人谈话，或是见到什么人呢？”
　　巴瑞少校轻笑着说：“要我提出不在场证明吗？想不出有什么有用的资料，在圣卢镇见到了五万人——可是那并不是说他们都记得见过我。”
　　警察局长说：“这些话我们是一定要问你，你也知道。”
　　“你说得不错，随时找我问好了，乐于帮忙。那个死者真是个很有吸引力的女人。乐于协助你们抓到做案的家伙，无人海滩谋杀案——我敢跟你们打赌，报上一定会这样说的。这又让我回想起——”
　　这回是柯根德巡官硬把这朵回忆之花还在蓓蕾时就给折了，把那位多嘴的少校给请了出去。他回来之后说道：“要到圣卢镇上查证什么都很困难，现在正是度假季节哩。”
　　警察局长说：“嗯，我们不能把他从嫌疑名单上剔除掉。倒不是说我真相信他有什么牵扯，像他这种叫人觉得厌烦的老头子不少，我还记得我当兵的时候就碰过一两个。可是——他还是可能有嫌疑。这件事就交给你了，柯根德，查一下他什么时候开车出去的——巡逻的人——什么的，他很可能把车停在一个没有人的地方，走路回来，再到小妖湾去。不过我觉得这样也不大对劲，他得冒被人家看到的险呢。”
　　柯根德点了点头。他说：“当然，今天有不少部游览车到这里来，天气好嘛，大约十一点半左右就开始进来了，涨潮是七点，低潮是一点左右，在沙滩上和堤路上都会有人。”温斯顿说：“嗯，他得由堤路上过来，经过旅馆呢。”
　　“并不要正打这边经过，他可以绕道走那条小路，翻过到岛的那一侧。”
　　温斯顿很表怀疑地说：“我并不是说他那样做法就一定会给人看见，旅馆里的客人差不多全在前面的海水浴场，只除了雷德方太太和马歇尔家的女孩子在鸥湾，而那条小路只有旅馆的某几个房间窗口可以望得见。在当时恐怕有人从那里看出去的机会并不大，所以这样说起来，我敢说一个人要是走进旅馆，穿过大厅再出去，没有一个人看见，也是可能的。不过我要说的是，他可不能打这么好的如意算盘。”
　　柯根德说：“他可以划船到小妖湾去。”
　　温斯顿点了点头道：“这样说法有道理得多，要是他在附近那个小海湾里准备好了小船，他可以停下车子，划船或是驾船到小妖湾去，把人杀了，再划回去，上了自己的汽车，回来说他那套去了圣卢镇又迷了路的故事——这种说法他知道是很难证明不确的。”
　　“你说得对极了，局长。”
　　警察局长说：“好了，这我就交给你了，柯根德。把这附近一带仔细搜查一番，你知道该怎么做的，现在我们最好见见布雷斯特小、姐吧。”
　　艾蜜莉·布雷斯特没有让他们在已经知道的事情之外再有所增加，温斯顿在她重复说过一遍之后，向她问道：“此外你没有什么其他可以对我们有所帮助的资料吗？”
　　艾蜜莉·布雷斯特很干脆地道：“恐怕没有。这件事很叫人苦恼。不过，我希望你们能很快就挖到底。”
　　温斯顿说：“我也希望如此。”
　　艾蜜莉·布雷斯特淡然地说：“应该不会太困难。”
　　“你这话是什么意思呢？布雷斯特小、姐。”
　　“对不起，我可不是想班门弄斧，我的意思只是说，像这样个女人，这种事应该很容易了。”
　　赫邱里·白罗喃喃说道：“这是你的意见？”
　　艾蜜莉·布雷斯特直截了当地说：“当然。虽然古话说：‘人死不记仇’，可是事实是不容推翻的，那个女人是个彻头彻尾的坏女人，你只要好好调查一下她的过去就行了。”
　　赫邱里·白罗很温柔地说：“你并不喜欢她吧？”
　　“我对她了解得很多，”她看到那三个人疑问的眼光，继续说道：“我一个堂妹嫁给了安思勤家的人，你们大概也听说过那个女人也骗得老罗吉爵士把他的财产馈赠给她，而没有留给自己家人的事了吧？”
　　温斯顿上校说：“而他的家人——呃——对这件事很有反感？”
　　“当然啦，他和这个女人交往就已经是件大丑闻了，再加上留给她价值近五万镑的遗产，更说明了她是什么样的女人。我敢说我这话说来太难听了点，可是在我看来，世界上像艾莲娜·史达特这类的女人根本不值得同情。我另外还知道一件事——有个年轻人为她整个昏了头——他本来就有点疯狂。当然他和她的交往更让他整个疯掉了，他在股票的事上玩了点花样——只是为了弄钱来花在她身上——后来差点吃上官司。这个女人是见一个人毁一个人，你看她把年轻的雷德方搞成什么样子。哎，我怕我对她的死一点也不觉得遗憾——不过当然最好是她自己淹死，或是失足从悬崖上摔死，扼死总叫人觉得不舒服。”
　　“你认为凶手是她以前的情人之一？”
　　“不错，我正是这样想。”
　　“有人从对面过来，而又没有人看见？”
　　“怎么会有人看见他呢？我们全在海水浴场上，我想当时马歇尔家的孩子和克莉丝汀·雷德方正在往鸥湾去的路上，方向正好相反，马歇尔先生在旅馆他自己的房间里，那还有谁会看到他呢？除非是戴礼小、姐。”
　　“戴礼小、姐当时在那里？”
　　“坐在悬崖上开凿出来的那个地方，叫做阳光崖的。我们看到她在那里的，我是说雷德方先生和我，我们划船过去的时候。”
　　温斯顿上校说：“也许你说得对，布雷斯特小、姐。”
　　艾蜜莉·布雷斯特很肯定地说：“我有把握说我的想法一定是对的，像她这样一个不折不扣的坏女人，她本人就是最好的线索，你同意我的说法吗？白罗先生？”
　　赫邱里·白罗抬起头来，看着她那对充满了自信的灰色眼睛，他说：“哦，是的——我很同意你所说的这件事，艾莲娜·马歇尔就是她自己这件命案最好的线索。”
　　布雷斯特小、姐说道：“那，就这样了。”她直挺挺地站在那里，用她冷静而充满了自信的眼光一个个地看着那三个男人。
　　温斯顿上校说：“布雷斯特小、姐，你放心，在马歇尔太太过去生活中的所有线索，我们都绝对不会忽视的。”
　　艾蜜莉·布雷斯特走了出去。
　　坐在桌子前的柯根德巡官挪动了下身子，沉吟道：“她实在是一个很有主见的女人，她对那个死者也心怀恨意，真的。”他停了一分钟，又想起来似地说：“可惜她一早上都有铁证如山的不在场证明，你有没有注意她的两只手？局长？大得像个男人的手一样。而且她是个很壮实的女人——甚至于比某些男人更壮些……”他又停了一下，带着近乎哀恳的眼光望着白罗，“你说她今早始终没离开过海边？白罗先生？”
　　白罗缓缓地摇了摇头，他说：“亲爱的巡官大人，她来的时候，马歇尔太太还不可能已经到了小妖湾，而她在和雷德方先生一起乘着小船划出海去之前，一直就没离开过我眼前。”
　　柯根德巡官郁郁地说：“那她就没嫌疑了。”他好像对这点很不乐似的。
　　像平常一样，赫邱里·白罗看到罗莎梦·戴礼时，就感到一阵愉悦的强烈感受，即使只是在一次警方为查证谋杀案恶劣事实的讯问中，她也显得非常出众。她坐在温斯顿上校对面，充满智慧的脸上带着些许哀愁，她说：“你要我的姓名住址吗？我叫罗莎梦·安妮·戴礼，我开了家玫瑰屋服饰公司，在布洛克街六二六号。”
　　“谢谢你，戴礼小、姐，现在，你能不能告诉我们什么有助于破案的事呢？”
　　“我想大概没有什么吧。”
　　“你本人的行动——”
　　“我大约在九点半左右吃过早饭，然后上楼到我自己的房间里去拿几本书和我的阳伞，到了阳光崖，那时候大约是十点二十五分。我在十二点差十分左右回到旅馆，上楼去拿网球拍，到网球场去打网球，一直玩到吃中饭的时候。”
　　“你在那个叫做阳光崖的地方，从十点半一直耽到十二点差十分？”
　　“是的。”
　　“你今早有没有见到马歇尔太太？”
　　“没有。”
　　“你在悬崖上的时候，有没有看到她划着小筏子到小妖湾去？”
　　“没有，她想必在我到那里以前已经经过那里了。”
　　“今天一早上，你有没有注意到任何人乘着筏子或小船过去呢？”
　　“没有，我没有看到，你知道，我一直在看书，当然，我偶而也会停下来，抬头望望，可是每次海上都很平静。”
　　“你甚至于没有注意到雷德方先生和布雷斯特小、姐经过？”
　　“没有。”
　　“我想，你跟马歇尔先生原先就认识吧？”
　　“马歇尔先生和我们是通家之好，我们两家住在隔壁，不过，我已经有好多年没有见到他了——大概总有二十年吧。”
　　“马歇尔太太呢？”
　　“在这里再见到她之前，我跟她没说过五六句话。”
　　“据你所知，马歇尔先生和他太太之间的关系好不好？”
　　“我想，很好吧。”
　　“马歇尔先生很爱他太太吗？”
　　罗莎梦说：“大概是的，这方面我实在不清楚。马歇尔先生是个很老派的人——他不像现在的人那样习惯于把婚约誓言挂在嘴上。”
　　“你喜欢马歇尔太太吗？戴礼小、姐。”
　　“不喜欢。”她这句话说得很平静而不动声色，听起来意思很明显——只是简单地说明事实。
　　“为什么呢？”
　　罗莎梦的唇边浮现了半个微笑。她说：“你想必已经发现了艾莲娜·马歇尔在她的同性之间并不很受欢迎吧？她跟女人在一起，就一副烦得要死的样子，而且还表现出来。不过，我倒很欣赏她的懂得穿着，她对穿着很有天份，她选的衣服都总是恰如其分，也穿得很好。我倒希望她能做我的客户。”
　　“她在衣饰上花钱很多吧？”
　　“想必是的。可是她自己有私房钱，而马歇尔先生也很有钱。”
　　“你有没有听说，或是注意到马歇尔太太受到什么人的勒索？戴礼小、姐。”
　　罗莎梦·戴礼的脸上流露出非常惊讶的表情。她说：“有人勒索？艾莲娜？”
　　“这话好像令你大为吃惊。”
　　“呃，不错，的确如此，好像不会啊。”
　　“可是，当然也有这种可能吧？”
　　“什么事都有可能的，不是吗？人生在世就会了解这一点的，可是我想不到什么人能有什么事可以用来勒索艾莲娜的。”
　　“我想，总还是会有些事情，是马歇尔太太不希望传到她丈夫耳朵里去的吧。”
　　“呃——说得也是。”她微笑着解释她语气中含有怀疑的原因说：“我的语气带着怀疑，可是话说回来，你也知道，艾莲娜的行为使她的名声不大好，她从来不让人觉得该对她有所尊重。”
　　“那，你想她的丈夫是不是知道她——和别人的亲密关系呢？”
　　罗莎梦沉默了一阵，皱着眉头，最后，她终于缓慢而勉强地说：“你知道，我实在不知道该怎么想，我一向假定甘逸世·马歇尔相当坦然地接受了他的太太，知道她是个什么样的人，对她也不抱什么幻想。可是也可能不是如此。”
　　“他很可能对她绝对信任吗？”
　　罗莎梦有些愤慨地说：“男人都是傻瓜。甘逸世·马歇尔在他那种很懂世故的外表下，其实并不是个见多识广的人，他也许会盲目地相信她，也许他认为她只是——很受仰慕而已。”
　　“而你不知道有什么人——也就是说你没有听说什么人对马歇尔太太怀有恨意的？”
　　罗莎梦·戴礼微微一笑道：“只有一些讨厌她的太太们，而我想她既是被扼死的，凶手想必是个男人。”
　　“是的。”
　　罗莎梦沉吟地说道：“呃，我想不起有什么人来，不过，我也许根本就不会知道。你们应该去问问跟她比较亲近的人。”
　　“谢谢你，戴礼小、姐。”
　　罗莎梦在她的椅子里微微侧过身来，她说：“白罗先生没有什么问题要问吗？”她那微带着些讽刺性的笑脸向着他。
　　赫邱里·白罗微微一笑，摇了摇头。他说：“我想不起有什么要问的。”
　　罗莎梦·戴礼站起身来，走了出去。
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Chapter 6

Colonel Weston was poring over the hotel register. He read aloud.

"Major and Mrs Cowan, Miss Pamela Cowan, Master Robert Cowan, Master Evan Cowan. Rydal's Mount, Leatherhead.

"Mr and Mrs Masterman, Mr Edward Masterman, Miss Jennifer Masterman, Mr Roy Masterman, Master Frederick Masterman. 5 Malborough Avenue, London, N.W.

"Mr and Mrs Gardener. New York.

"Mr and Mrs Redfern. Crossgates, Seldon, Princes Risborough.

"Major Barry. 18 Cardon Street, St James, London, S.W.1.

"Mr Horace Blatt. 5 Pickersgill Street, London, E.C.2.

"Mr Hercule Poirot. Whitehaven Mansions, London, W.1.

"Miss Rosamund Darnley. 8 Cardigan Court, W.1.

"Miss Emily Brewster. Southgates, Sunbury-on-Thames.

"Rev. Stephen Lane. London.

"Captain and Mrs Marshall. 73 Upscott Mansions.

"Miss Linda Marshall. London, S.W.7."

He stopped. Inspector Colgate said: "I think, sir, that we can wash out the first two entries. Mrs Castle tells me that the Mastermans and the Cowans come here regularly every summer with their children. This morning they went off on an all-day excursion sailing, taking lunch with them. They left just after nine o'clock. A man called Andrew Baston took them. We can check up for him, but I think we can put them right out of it."

Weston nodded. "I agree. Let's eliminate every one we can. Can you give us a pointer on any of the rest of them, Poirot?"

Poirot said: "Superficially, that is easy. The Gardeners are a middle-aged married couple, pleasant, travelled. All the talking is done by the lady. The husband is acquiescent. He plays tennis and golf and has a form of dry humour that is attractive when one gets him to oneself."

"Sounds quite O.K."

"Next - the Redferns. Mr Redfern is young, attractive to women, a magnificent swimmer, a good tennis player and accomplished dancer. His wife I have already spoken of to you. She is quiet, pretty in a washed-out way. She is, I think, devoted to her husband. She has something that Arlena Marshall did not have."

"What is that?"

"Brains."

Inspector Colgate sighed. He said: "Brains don't count for much when it comes to an infatuation, sir."

"Perhaps not. And yet I do truly believe that in spite of his infatuation for Mrs Marshall, Patrick Redfern really cares for his wife."

"That may be, sir. It wouldn't be the first time that's happened."

Poirot murmured: "That is the pity of it! It is always the thing women find it hardest to believe." He went on: "Major Barry, Retired Indian Army. An admirer of women. A teller of long and boring stories."

Inspector Colgate sighed. "You needn't go on. I've met a few, sir."

"Mr Horace Blatt. He is, apparently, a rich man. He talks a good deal - about Mr Blatt. He wants to be everybody's friend. It is sad. For nobody likes him very much. And there is something else. Mr Blatt last night asked me a good many questions. Mr Blatt was uneasy. Yes, there is something not quite right about Mr Blatt." He paused and went on with a change of voice: "Next comes Miss Rosamund Darnley. Her business name is Rose Mond, Ltd. She is a celebrated dressmaker. What can I say of her? She has brains and charm and chic. She is very pleasing to look at." He paused and added: "And she is a very old friend of Captain Marshall's."

Weston sat up in his chair. "Oh, she is, is she?"

"Yes. They had not met for some years."

Weston asked: "Did she know he was going to be down here?"

"She says not." Poirot paused and then went on: "Who comes next? Miss Brewster. I find her just a little alarming." He shook his head. "She has a voice like a man's. She is gruff and what you call hearty. She rows boats and has a handicap of four at golf." He paused. "I think, though, that she has a good heart."

Weston said: "That leaves only the Reverend Stephen Lane. Who's the Reverend Stephen Lane?"

"I can only tell you one thing. He is a man who is in a condition of great nervous tension. Also he is, I think, a fanatic."

Inspector Colgate said: "Oh, that kind of person."

Weston said: "And that's the lot!" He looked at Poirot. "You seem very lost in thought, my friend."

Poirot said: "Yes. Because, you see, when Mrs Marshall went off this morning and asked me not to tell any one I had seen her, I jumped at once in my own mind to a certain conclusion. I thought that her friendship with Patrick Redfern had made trouble between her and her husband. I thought that she was going to meet Patrick Redfern somewhere and that she did not want her husband to know where she was."

He paused. "But that, you see, was where I was wrong. Because, although her husband appeared almost immediately on the beach and asked if I had seen her, Patrick Redfern arrived also - and was most patently and obviously looking for her! And therefore, my friends, I am asking myself. Who was it that Arlena Marshall went off to meet?"

Inspector Colgate said: "That fits in with my idea. A man from London or somewhere."

Hercule Poirot shook his head. He said: "But, my friend, according to your theory, Arlena Marshall had broken with this mythical man. Why, then, should she take such trouble and pains to meet him?"

Inspector Colgate shook his head. He said: "Who do you think it was?"

"That is just what I cannot imagine. We have just read through the list of hotel guests. They are all middle-aged - dull. Which of them would Arlena Marshall prefer to Patrick Redfern? No, that is impossible. And yet, all the same, she did go to meet some one - and that some one was not Patrick Redfern."

Weston murmured: "You don't think she just went off by herself?"

Poirot shook his head. "Mon cher," he said. "It is very evident that you never met the dead woman. Somebody once wrote a learned treatise on the difference that solitary confinement would mean to Beau Brummell or a man like Newton. Arlena Marshall, my dear friend, would practically not exist in solitude. She only lived in the light of a man's admiration. No, Arlena Marshall went to meet some one this morning. Who was it?"

Colonel Weston sighed, shook his head and said: "Well, we can go into theories later. Got to get through these interviews now. Got to get it down in black and white where everyone was. I suppose we'd better see the Marshall girl now. She might be able to tell us something useful."

Linda Marshall came into the room clumsily, knocking against the doorpost. She was breathing quickly and the pupils of her eyes were dilated. She looked like a startled young colt. Colonel Weston felt a kindly impulse towards her. He thought: "Poor kid - she's nothing but a kid after all. This must have been a pretty bad shock to her." He drew up a chair and said in a reassuring voice: "Sorry to put you through this. Miss - Linda, isn't it?"

"Yes, Linda."

Her voice had that indrawn breathy quality that is often characteristic of schoolgirls, Her hands rested helplessly on the table in front of him - pathetic hands, big and red, with large bones and long wrists. Weston thought: "A kid oughtn't to be mixed up in this sort of thing." He said reassuringly: "There's nothing very alarming about all this. We just want you to tell us anything you know that might be useful, that's all."

Linda said: "You mean - about Arlena?"

"Yes. Did you see her this morning at all?"

The girl shook her head. "No. Arlena always gets down rather late. She has breakfast in bed."

Hercule Poirot said: "And you, Mademoiselle?"

"Oh, I get up. Breakfast in bed's so stuffy."

Weston said: "Will you tell us just what you did this morning?"

"Well, I had a bathe first and then breakfast and then I went with Mrs Redfern to Gull Cove."

Weston said: "What time did you and Mrs Redfern start?"

"She said she'd be waiting for me in the hall at half past ten. I was afraid I was going to be late, but it was all right. We started off at about three minutes to the half hour."

Poirot said: "And what did you do at Gull Cove?"

"Oh, I oiled myself and sunbathed and Mrs Redfern sketched. Then, later, I went into the sea and Christine went back to the hotel to get changed for tennis."

Weston said, keeping his voice quite casual: "Do you remember what time that was?"

"When Mrs Redfern went back to the hotel? Quarter to twelve."

"Sure of that time - quarter to twelve?"

Linda, opening her eyes wide, said: "Oh, yes. I locked at my watch."

"The watch you have on now?"

Linda glanced down at her wrist. "Yes."

Weston said: "Mind if I see?"

She held out her wrist. He compared the watch with his own and with the hotel clock on the wall. He said, smiling: "Correct to a second. And after that you had a bathe?"

"Yes."

"And you got back to the hotel - when?"

"Just about one o'clock. And - and then - I heard - about Arlena..." Her voice changed.

Colonel Weston said: "Did you - er - get on with your stepmother all right?"

She looked at him for a minute without replying. Then she said: "Oh, yes."

Poirot asked: "Did you like her, Mademoiselle?"

Linda said again: "Oh, yes." She added: "Arlena was quite kind to me."

Weston said with rather uneasy facetiousness: "Not the cruel stepmother, eh?"

Linda shook her head without smiling.

Weston said: "That's good. That's good. Sometimes, you know, there's a bit of difficulty in families - jealousy - all that. Girl and her father great pals and then she resents it a bit when he's all wrapped up in the new wife. You didn't feel like that, eh?"

Linda stared at him. She said with obvious sincerity: "Oh, no."

Weston said: "I suppose your father was - er - very wrapped up in her?"

Linda said simply: "I don't know."

Weston went on: "All sorts of difficulties, as I say, arise in families. Quarrels - rows - that sort of thing. If husband and wife get ratty with each other, that's a bit awkward for a daughter, too. Anything of that sort?"

Linda said clearly: "Do you mean, did Father and Arlena quarrel?"

"Well - yes." Weston thought to himself: "Rotten business - questioning a child about her father. Why is one a policeman? Damn it all, it's got to be done, though."

Linda said positively: "Oh, no." She added: "Father doesn't quarrel with people. He's not like that at all."

Weston said: "Now, Miss Linda, I want you to think very carefully. Have you any idea at all who might have killed your stepmother? Is there anything you've ever heard or anything you know that could help us on that point?"

Linda was silent a minute. She seemed to be giving the question a serious unhurried consideration. She said at last: "No, I don't know who could have wanted to kill Arlena." She added: "Except, of course, Mrs Redfern."

Weston said: "You think Mrs Redfern wanted to kill her? Why?"

Linda said: "Because her husband was in love with Arlena. But I don't think she would really want to kill her. I mean she'd just feel that she wished she was dead - and that isn't the same thing at all, is it?"

Poirot said gently: "No, it is not at all the same."

Linda nodded. A queer sort of spasm passed across her face. She said: "And anyway, Mrs Redfern could never do a thing like that - kill anybody. She isn't - she isn't violent, if you know what I mean."

Weston and Poirot nodded. The latter said: "I know exactly what you mean, my child, and I agree with you. Mrs Redfern is not of those who, as your saying goes, 'sees red.' She would not be -" He leaned back half closing his eyes, picking his words with care - "shaken by a storm of feeling - seeing life narrowing in front of her - seeing a hated face - a hated white neck - feeling her hands clench - longing to feel them press into flesh -"

He stopped. Linda moved jerkily back from the table. She said in a trembling voice:

"Can I go now? Is that all?"

Colonel Weston said: "Yes, yes, that's all. Thank you. Miss Linda." He got up to open the door for her. Then came back to the table and lit a cigarette. "Phew," he said. "Not a nice job, ours. I can tell you I felt a bit of a cad questioning that child about the relations between her father and her stepmother. More or less inviting a daughter to put a rope around her father's neck. All the same, it had to be done. Murder is murder. And she's the person most likely to know the truth of things. I'm rather thankful, though, that she'd nothing to tell us in that line."

Poirot said: "Yes, I thought you were."

Weston said with an embarrassed cough: "By the way, Poirot, you went a bit far, I thought, at the end. All that hands-sinking-into-flesh business! Not quite the sort of idea to put into a kid's head."

Hercule Poirot looked at him with thoughtful eyes. He said: "So you thought I put ideas into her head?"

"Well, didn't you? Come now." Poirot shook his head. Weston sheered away from the point. He said: "On the whole we got very little useful stuff out of her. Except a more or less complete alibi for the Redfern woman. If they were together from half past ten to a quarter to twelve that lets Christine Redfern out of it. Exit the jealous wife suspect."

Poirot said: "There are better reasons than that for leaving Mrs Redfern out of it. It would, I am convinced, be physically impossible and mentally impossible for her to strangle any one. She is cold rather than warm blooded, capable of deep devotion and unanswering constancy, but not of hot-blooded passion or rage. Moreover, her hands are far too small and delicate."

Colgate said: "I agree with Mr Poirot. She's out of it. Dr Neasdon says it was a full-sized pair of hands throttled that dame."

Weston said: "Well, I suppose we'd better see the Redferns next. I expect he's recovered a bit from the shock now."

Patrick Redfern had recovered full composure by now. He looked pale and haggard and suddenly very young, but his manner was quite composed.

"You are Mr Patrick Redfern of Crossgates, Seldon, Princes Risborough?"

"Yes."

"How long had you known Mrs Marshall?"

Patrick Redfern hesitated, then said: "Three months."

Weston went on: "Captain Marshall had told as that you and she met casually at a cocktail party. Is that right?"

"Yes, that's how it came about."

Weston said: "Captain Marshall has implied that until you both met down here you did not know each other well. Is that the truth, Mr Redfern?"

Again Patrick Redfern hesitated a minute. Then he said: "Well - not exactly. As a matter of fact I saw a fair amount of her one way and another."

"Without Captain Marshall's knowledge?"

Redfern flushed slightly. He said: "I don't know whether he knew about it or not."

Hercule Poirot spoke. He murmured: "And was it also without your wife's knowledge, Mr Redfern?"

"I believe I mentioned to my wife that I had met the famous Arlena Stuart."

Poirot persisted. "But she did not know how often you were seeing her?"

"Well, perhaps not."

Weston said: "Did you and Mrs Marshall arrange to meet down here?"

Redfern was silent a minute or two. Then he shrugged his shoulders. "Oh, well," he said. "I suppose it's bound to come out now. It's no good my fencing with you. I was crazy about the woman - mad - infatuated - anything you like. She wanted me to come down here. I demurred a bit and then I agreed. I - I - well, I would have agreed to do any mortal thing she liked. She had that kind of effect on people."

Hercule Poirot murmured: "You paint a very clear picture of her. She was the eternal Circe. Just that!"

Patrick Redfern said bitterly: "She turned men into swine all right!" He went on: "I'm being frank with you, gentlemen. I'm not going to hide anything. What's the use? As I say, I was infatuated with her. Whether she cared for me or not, I don't know. She pretended to, but I think she was one of those women who lose interest in a man once they've got him body and soul. She knew she'd got me all right. This morning, when I found her there on the beach, dead, it was as though -" he paused - "as though something had hit me straight between the eyes. I was dazed - knocked out!"

Poirot leaned forward. "And now?"

Patrick Redfern met his eyes squarely. He said: "I've told you the truth. What I want to ask is this - how much of it has got to be made public? It's not as though it could have any bearing on her death. And if it all comes out, it's going to be pretty rough on my wife. Oh, I know," he went on quickly. "You think I haven't thought much about her up to now? Perhaps that's true. But, though I may sound the worst kind of hypocrite, the real truth is that I care for my wife - I care for her very deeply. The other -" he twitched his shoulders - "it was a madness - the kind of idiotic fool thing men do - but Christine is different. She's real. Badly as I've treated her, I've known all along, deep down, that she was the person who really counted." He paused - sighed - and said rather pathetically: "I wish I could make you believe that."

Hercule Poirot leant forward. He said: "But I do believe it. Yes, yes, I do believe it!"

Patrick Redfern looked at him gratefully. He said: "Thank you."

Colonel Weston cleared his throat. He said: "You may take it, Mr Redfern, that we shall not go into irrelevancies. If your infatuation for Mrs Marshall played no part in the murder, then there will be no point in dragging it into the case. But what you don't seem to realize is that that - er - intimacy - may have a very direct bearing on the murder. It might establish, you understand, a motive for the crime."

Patrick Redfern said: "Motive?"

Weston said: "Yes, Mr Redfern, motive! Captain Marshall, perhaps, was unaware of the affair. Suppose that he suddenly found out."

Redfern said: "Oh, God! You mean he got wise and - and killed her?"

The Chief Constable said rather drily: "That solution had not occurred to you?"

Redfern shook his head. He said: "No - funny. I never thought of it. You see, Marshall's such a quiet chap. I - oh, it doesn't seem likely."

Weston asked: "What was Mrs Marshall's attitude to her husband in all this? Was she - well, uneasy - in case it should come to his ears? Or was she indifferent?"

Redfern said slowly: "She was - a bit nervous. She didn't want him to suspect anything."

"Did she seem afraid of him?"

"Afraid? No, I wouldn't say that."

Poirot murmured: "Excuse me, M. Redfern, there was not, at any time, the question of a divorce?"

Patrick Redfern shook his head decisively. "Oh, no, there was no question of anything like that. There was Christine, you see. And Arlena, I am sure, never thought of such a thing. She was perfectly satisfied married to Marshall. He's - well, rather a big bug in his way -" He smiled suddenly. "County - all that sort of thing, and quite well off. She never thought of me as a possible husband. No, I was just one of a succession of poor mutts - just something to pass the time with. I knew that all along, and yet, queerly enough, it didn't alter my feelings towards her..."

His voice trailed off. He sat there thinking. Weston recalled him to the needs of the moment. "Now, Mr Redfern, had you any particular appointment with Mrs Marshall this morning?"

Patrick Redfern looked slightly puzzled. He said: "Not a particular appointment, no. We usually met every morning on the beach. We used to paddle about on floats."

"Were you surprised not to find Mrs Marshall there this morning?"

"Yes, I was. Very surprised. I couldn't understand it at all."

"What did you think?"

"Well, I didn't know what to think. I mean, all the time I thought she would be coming."

"If she were keeping an appointment elsewhere you had no idea with whom that appointment might be?" Patrick Redfern merely stared and shook his head. "When you had a rendezvous with Mrs Marshall, where did you meet?"

"Well, sometimes I'd meet her in the afternoon down at Gull Cove. You see the sun is off Gull Cove in the afternoon and so there aren't usually many people there. We met there once or twice."

"Never on the other cove? Pixy Cove?"

"No. You see Pixy Cove faces west and people go round there in boats or on floats in the afternoon. We never tried to meet in the morning. It would have been too noticeable. In the afternoon people go and have a sleep or mouch around and nobody knows much where any one else is." Weston nodded. Patrick Redfern went on: "After dinner, of course, on the fine nights, we used to go off for a stroll together to different parts of the island."

Hercule Poirot murmured: "Ah, yes!" and Patrick Redfern shot him an inquiring glance.

Weston said: "Then you can give us no help whatsoever as to the cause that took Mrs Marshall to Pixy Cove this morning?"

Redfern shook his head. He said, and his voice sounded honestly bewildered: "I haven't the faintest idea! It wasn't like Arlena."

Weston said: "Had she any friends down here staying in the neighbourhood?"

"Not that I know of. Oh, I'm sure she hadn't."

"Now, Mr Redfern, I want you to think very carefully. You knew Mrs Marshall in London. You must be acquainted with various members of her circle. Is there any one you know of who could have had a grudge against her? Some one, for instance, whom you may have supplanted in her fancy?"

Patrick Redfern thought for some minutes. Then he shook his head. "Honestly," he said. "I can't think of any one."

Colonel Weston drummed with his fingers on the table. He said at last: "Well, that's that. We seem to be left with three possibilities. That of an unknown killer - some monomaniac - who happened to be in the neighbourhood - and that's a pretty tall order -"

Redfern said, interrupting: "And yet surely, it's by far the most likely explanation."

Weston shook his head: "This isn't one of the 'lonely copse' murders. This cove place was pretty inaccessible. Either the man would have to come up from the causeway past the hotel, over the top of the island and down by that ladder contraption, or else he came there by boat. Either way is unlikely for a casual killing."

Patrick Redfern said: "You said there were three possibilities."

"Um - yes," said the Chief Constable. "That's to say, there were two people on this island who had a motive for killing her. Her husband, for one, and your wife for another."

Redfern stared at him. He looked dumbfounded. He said: "My wife? Christine? D'you mean that Christine had anything to do with this?" He got up and stood there stammering slightly in his incoherent haste to get the words out. "You're mad - quite mad - Christine? Why, it's impossible. It's laughable!"

Weston said: "All the same, Mr Redfern, jealousy is a very powerful motive. Women who are jealous lose control of themselves completely."

Redfern said earnestly: "Not Christine. She's - oh, she's not like that. She was unhappy, yes. But she's not the kind of person to - Oh, there's no violence in her."

Hercule Poirot nodded thoughtfully. Violence. The same word that Linda Marshall had used. As before, he agreed with the sentiment. "Besides," went on Redfern confidently, "it would be absurd. Arlena was twice as strong physically as Christine. I doubt if Christine could strangle a kitten - certainly not a strong wiry creature like Arlena. And then Christine could never have got down that ladder to the beach. She has no head for that sort of thing. And - oh, the whole thing is fantastic!"

Colonel Weston scratched his ear tentatively.

"Well," he said. "Put like that it doesn't seem likely. I grant you that. But motive's the first thing we've got to look for." He added: "Motive and opportunity."

When Redfern had left the room, the Chief Constable observed with a slight smile: "Didn't think it necessary to tell the fellow his wife had got an alibi. Wanted to hear what he'd have to say to the idea. Shook him up a bit, didn't it?"

Hercule Poirot murmured: "The arguments he advanced were quite as strong as any alibi."

"Yes. Oh! She didn't do it! She couldn't have done it - physically impossible as you said. Marshall could have done it - but apparently he didn't."

Inspector Colgate coughed. He said: "Excuse me, sir. I've been thinking about that alibi. It's possible, you know, if he'd thought this thing out, that those letters were got ready beforehand."

Weston said: "That's a good idea. We must look into -"

He broke off as Christine Redfern entered the room. She was wearing a white tennis frock and a pale blue pullover. It accentuated her fair, rather anaemic prettiness. Yet, Hercule Poirot thought to himself, it was neither a silly face nor a weak one. It had plenty of resolution, courage and good sense. He nodded appreciatively. Colonel Weston thought: "Nice little woman. Bit wishy-washy, perhaps. A lot too good for that philandering young ass of a husband of hers. Oh, well, the boy's young. Women usually make a fool of you once!" He said: "Sit down, Mrs Redfern. We've got to go through a certain amount of routine, you see. Asking everybody for an account of their movements this morning. Just for our records."

Christine Redfern nodded. She said in her quiet precise voice: "Oh, yes, I quite understand. Where do you want me to begin?"

Hercule Poirot said: "As early as possible, Madame. What did you do when you first got up this morning?"

Christine said: "Let me see. On my way down to breakfast I went into Linda Marshall's room and fixed up with her to go to Gull Cove this morning. We agreed to meet in the lounge at half past ten."

Poirot asked: "You did not bathe before breakfast, Madame?"

"No. I very seldom do." She smiled. "I like the sea well warmed before I get into it. I'm rather a chilly person."

"But your husband bathes then?"

"Oh, yes. Nearly always."

"And Mrs Marshall, she also?"

A change came over Christine's voice. It became cold and almost acrid. She said: "Oh, no, Mrs Marshall was the sort of person who never made an appearance before the middle of the morning."

With an air of confusion, Hercule Poirot said: "Pardon, Madame, I interrupted you. You were saying that you went to Miss Linda Marshall's room. What time was that?"

"Let me see - half past eight - no, a little later."

"And was Miss Marshall up then?"

"Oh, yes, she had been out."

"Out?"

"Yes, she said she'd been bathing."

There was a faint - a very faint note of embarrassment in Christine's voice. It puzzled Hercule Poirot.

Weston said: "And then?"

"Then I went down to breakfast."

"And after breakfast?"

"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 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 quite 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 to you - 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 - 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 occurred 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 word blackmail?"

第六章



　　温斯顿拿了旅馆的旅客登记簿。
　　他大声念道：

　　　“柯温少校及夫人
　　　　潘蜜拉·柯温小、姐 雷德山，皮头镇
　　　　罗勃·柯温少爷
　　　　伊文·柯温少爷
　　　　马士特曼先生及夫人
　　　　爱德华·马士特曼 马伯乐大道五号
　　　　珍妮佛·马士特曼 伦敦，西北区
　　　　罗伊·马士特曼
　　　　佛德烈·马士特曼
　　　　贾德纳先生及夫人 纽约
　　　　雷德方先生及夫人 山■，双门街
　　　　雷士堡王子市
　　　　巴瑞少校 卡顿街十八号
　　　　伦敦圣詹姆士区
　　　　贺雷士·卜拉特先生 皮克西街五号 伦敦
　　　　赫邱里·白罗先生 伦敦白堂大厦
　　　　罗莎梦·戴礼小、姐 卡丁甘大厦八号
　　　　艾蜜莉·布雷斯特 南门街 伦敦
　　　　史蒂文·蓝恩牧师 伦敦
　　　　马歇尔先生及夫人 安普蔻大厦七三号
　　　　琳达·马歇尔小、姐 伦敦”

　　他停了下来，柯根德巡官说：“局长，我想我们可以把最前面两家消除，康索太太告诉我说，这两家人每年都带着他们的孩子到这里来度假。今天早上他们一起出去，驾船游海，耍玩一整天，还带了午餐去的，九点过一点儿就动身了。驾船带他们出去的人叫安德鲁·巴斯东，我们可以找他查对一下，可是我想我们现在就可以把他们从名单上面剔除了。”温斯顿点了点头，“我同意，我们能剔除的人都尽量先剔除掉。白罗，其他的人你能不能大略向我们说明一下呢？”
　　白罗说：“只是表面形容一下，那很容易。贾德纳夫妇是一对中年夫妇，很好的人，旅行过很多地方，话都由那位太太一个人说完了，做丈夫只在一旁答腔，他打网球和高尔夫，其实也有他的幽默感，不过那得在只有他一个人的时候才会表现出来。”
　　“听起来没什么问题。”
　　“下面一对，雷德方夫妇，雷德方很年轻，很得女士们注意，很好的泳者，网球打得不错，舞也跳得很好。他的太太我刚才已经跟你说过了，她很安静，美得有点憔悴，我想她一心爱她的丈夫，她还有些艾莲娜·马歇尔所没有的东西。”
　　“是什么呢？”
　　“头脑。”
　　柯根德巡官叹了口气说：“谈起爱情来，头脑就不作数的了。”
　　“也许吧，可是我仍然认为派屈克·雷德方虽然被马歇尔太太迷昏了头，却真正关心他的太太。”
　　“也有可能，这种事情以前也有过的。”
　　白罗喃喃地说道：“就是这种地方可怜，女人对这一点最难相信了。”他继续说道：“巴瑞少校，原先在印度服役，现在已经退伍了，很欣赏女人，很喜欢说又长又无聊的故事。”
　　柯根德巡官叹了口气，“你不必再多说下去，这种人我也见过几个。”
　　“贺雷士·卜拉特先生，很显然的是个阔人，他的话很多——谈的都是他自己的事，他希望和每个人都交朋友，这实在可怜，因为没有人很喜欢他。另外还有一件事，卜拉特先生昨晚问了我很多的问题，卜拉特先生很不安的样子，不错，卜拉特先生有那么点不对劲的地方。”他停顿了一下，然后换了个声调继续说道：“下面一位是罗莎梦·戴礼小、姐，她开了一间玫瑰屋服饰公司。她是一个很有名的服装设计师，我该怎么说她呢？她很有头脑，风度很好，也很时髦，叫人看了会觉得很愉快。”他略顿一下，又说道：“她是马歇尔先生的老朋友。”
　　温斯顿在椅子上坐直了身子，“啊，真的吗？”
　　“是的，不过他们有多年没有见面了。”
　　温斯顿问道：“她原先知不知道他要到这里来？”
　　“她说不知道。”白罗停了停，继续说道：“下面一个是谁？布雷斯特小、姐，她让我感到有点担心，”他摇了摇头，“她的声音像个男人，人很直率，也很粗卤，她会划船，高尔夫球也打得很好。”他顿了顿。“不过，我想她心肠很好。”
　　温斯顿说：“剩下的只有史蒂文·蓝恩牧师了，他是什么人？”
　　“我只能告诉你一件事，他是一个精神在极度紧张状态下的人，我想，他也是一个狂热份子。”
　　柯根德巡官说：“哦，那种人呀。”
　　温斯顿说：“就是这么些人了！”他看了看白罗，“你好像在想什么心事，朋友。”
　　白罗说：“嗯，因为，马歇尔太太今早离开海滨的时候，要我不要跟任何人讲我见到过她，我马上就想到是怎么回事，我想到她和派屈克·雷德方之间的友谊在她和她丈夫之间惹出了麻烦，我以为她打算在什么地方和派屈克·雷德方见面，却不希望她丈夫知道她在那里。”
　　他停了一下，“可是，你知道，这一点我却错了，因为，虽然她丈夫几乎是马上就到了海滩上，向我打听有没有见到她，派屈克·雷德方也来了——而且很明显的到处在找她！所以，我的朋友们，我现在要自问，艾莲娜·马歇尔去会的人，究竟是什么人呢？”
　　柯根德巡官说：“这正和我的看法相合，是一个从伦敦还是什么地方来的男人。”
　　赫邱里·白罗摇了摇头，他说，“可是，根据你的理论，艾莲娜·马歇尔已经和这位神秘人物断了往来。那末，为什么她还费尽心思去和他相会呢？”
　　柯根德巡官也摇摇头，他说：“你想会是什么人呢？”
　　“这就是我想不通的地方了。我们刚才已经把旅馆里客人的名单念过了一遍，都是中年人——很没什么道理的，其中有那一个会让艾莲娜·马歇尔比对派屈克·雷德方更喜欢呢？这种事情不可能。可是，话虽如此，她却的确是去见什么人去了——而这个人又不是派屈克·雷德方。”
　　温斯顿喃喃地说道：“你认为她不会只是一个人出去吗？”
　　白罗摇了摇头，说：“你这样说是因为你没有见过那个已经故世的女人，有人曾经写过一篇论文，谈到独处对各人所有的不同影响。我亲爱的朋友，艾莲娜·马歇尔根本就不会独处的，她只生活在男人对她的爱慕中，艾莲娜·马歇尔今天早上是去见什么人的，那个人到底是谁？”
　　温斯顿上校叹了口气，摇摇头说：“唉，我们以后再谈理论，现在先把调查工作做完再说。一定要白纸黑字写清楚每个人各在什么地方。我想我们最好现在先见见马歇尔的女儿。她说不定可以告诉我们一些有用的资料。”
　　琳达·马歇尔手足无措地走进房间，撞在门框上，她的呼吸急促，两眼瞳孔扩张，她看起来像一只受惊的小马，温斯顿上校禁不住对她感到一阵怜爱。他想：“可怜的孩子——她终究只是个小孩子而已。这对她来说，想必是很大的震惊。”
　　他拉过一把椅子，用很叫对方安心的语气说：“对不起，要让你经历这些事，你叫——琳达，是吧？”
　　“是的，我叫琳达。”
　　她的声音有种闷闷的喘息声，一般女学生特有的声音，她的两手无助地搁在他面前的桌上——很可怜的一双手，又大又红，骨头很大，手腕很长。温斯顿想：“孩子不该牵扯到这种事情里来，”他用抚慰的语气说：“这些事情没什么好紧张的，我们只要你把你所知道而我们大概可以用得到的资料告诉我们，如此而已。”
　　琳达说：“你是说——关于艾莲娜的事？”
　　“是的，你今天早上有没有看到她？”
　　小女孩摇了摇头，“没有，艾莲娜一向很晚才下楼来，她都在床上吃早餐的。”
　　赫邱里·白罗说：“你呢？小、姐。”
　　“哦，我很早起床，在床上吃早饭好无聊。”
　　温斯顿说：“你能不能告诉我，今天早上你都做了些什么事？”
　　“呃，我先去游了会泳，然后吃早饭，再跟雷德方太太去了鸥湾。”
　　温斯顿说：“你什么时候和雷德方太太动身去的？”
　　“她说她十点半在大厅里等我，我当时怕会迟到，结果没有，我们大约是在二十七分左右动身的。”
　　白罗说：“你们到鸥湾做什么？”
　　“哦，我在身上搽了油，行日光浴。雷德方太太画画。后来，我到海里游泳，克莉丝汀回旅馆去换衣服，准备打网球。”
　　温斯顿尽量用很随便的语气问道：“你还记得那大约是几点钟吗？”
　　“雷德方太太回旅馆的时候？十二点差一刻。”
　　“你能确定是这个时间——十二点差一刻？”
　　琳达瞪大了眼睛，说道：“哦，确定的，我看了表。”
　　“就是你现在戴着的这只表？”
　　琳达低头看了下手腕，“是的。”
　　温斯顿说：“借给我看看好吗？”
　　她把手伸了出来，他将自己的表伸过去比较了一下，再对对旅馆墙上的钟，他微笑道：“准得一秒不差。然后你就去游泳了？”
　　“是的。”
　　“你再回旅馆是——什么时候？”
　　“差不多一点钟左右，我——后来——我就听说了——艾莲娜……”她声音哽咽。
　　温斯顿上校说：“你——呃——和你后母之间相处得还好吗？”
　　她一言不发地对他看了一分钟，然后说道：“哦，还好。”
　　白罗问道：“你喜欢她吗？小、姐？”
　　琳达说：“哦，喜欢。”她又加上一句：“艾莲娜对我很和蔼。”
　　温斯顿有点不安地说：“不是个很残忍的后娘，呃？”
　　琳达摇了摇头，脸上没有一点笑容。
　　温斯顿说：“那好，那好。你知道，一个家里有时会有些问题——嫉妒啦，什么的，女儿跟爸爸之间原本像好朋友一样，后来他一心招呼新娶的太太，做女儿的心里就不大舒服了。你可没有这种感觉吧？呃？”
　　琳达瞪着他，一副真诚的样子说：“啊，没有。”
　　温斯顿说：“我想你父亲——呃——心都在她身上吧？”
　　琳达很简单地说：“我不知道。”
　　温斯顿继续说道：“我刚才也说过，家里会有各式各样的问题，吵架——争闹——这一类的事，要是夫妻之间有什么争执，对做女儿的来说，总不免尴尬。有没有过这类的事？”
　　琳达很清楚地问道：“你是不是说，我爹和艾莲娜有没有吵过架？”
　　“呃——是的，”温斯顿心里暗想：“这种鬼差事——对一个孩子盘问她父亲的事，我为什么要干警察呢？妈的，可是该做的事情还是要做。”
　　琳达很肯定地说：“啊，没有。”她又加上一句说：“爹不跟人吵架的，他不是那种人。”
　　温斯顿说：“呃，琳达小、姐，我希望你仔细地想一想，你知道不知道可能会是什么人杀了你的后母？在这一点上，你有没有听说过什么，或是知道点什么，可以帮得上我们忙的？”
　　琳达沉默了一分钟！她好像正在从容不迫地对这个问题慎加考虑，最后她终于开口说道，“没有，我不知道有谁会想要杀掉艾莲娜。”
　　她接着又说：“当然，除非是雷德方太太。”
　　温斯顿说：“你认为雷德方太太想杀她？为什么呢？”
　　琳达说：“因为她的丈夫爱上了艾莲娜，可是我并不是说她真的想动手杀掉她，我的意思是她觉得她希望艾莲娜会死掉——这可不是一回事，对不对？”
　　白罗很温和地说：“对，完全不是一回事。”
　　琳达点了点头，她脸上起了一阵奇怪的痉挛。她说：“而且，雷德方太太反正也不可能做那种事——杀人，她不是——她不是很暴戾的人，我想你们懂我的意思。”
　　温斯顿和白罗都点了点头。白罗说：“我很清楚你的意思，孩子，我也同意你的看法。雷德方太太正像你说的那样，不是那种会‘见红’的人，她不会——”他靠向后方，半闭起眼睛，很小心地选择他所用的字眼——“有突发性的暴戾情绪——看到她的生活在眼前变得狭窄——看到一张她憎恨的脸——一段她恨的白色颈子——感觉到她的十指拳曲——想要扼进肉里去——”
　　他停了下来，琳达像抽搐似地由桌边退了开去。她用颤抖的声音问道：“我可以走了吗？还有没有别的事？”
　　温斯顿上校说：“好了，好了，没事了。谢谢你，琳达小、姐。”他站起来，为她拉开了房门，然后回到桌子面前坐下，点上了一支香烟。“呸，”他说：“我们干的真不是好差使，我可以告诉你，我觉得真不该对一个孩子问她父亲和她继母之间的关系，这多少有点像让做女儿的把绳圈套在她老子脖子上。不过，再怎么说，事情总还是要做的。谋杀案到底是谋杀案，而她又是最可能知道事情真相的人，不过她在这方面没什么可以告诉我的，倒让我觉得是件叫我感激不尽的好事。”
　　白罗说：“不错，我猜你也是这样想。”
　　温斯顿有点尴尬地咳嗽一声道：“对了，白罗，我想，你最后有点太过分了，说什么伸手扼进肉里之类的话！这种想法实在不该说给孩子听的。”
　　赫邱里·白罗沉吟地望着他说：“你认为我是在把这些想法灌输到她的脑袋里吗？”
　　“呃，难道不是吗？承认了吧。”白罗摇了摇头，温斯顿转了个话题。他说：“说起来，我们从她那里也没问出什么有用的东西来，只不过间接地给雷德方太太提供了不在场证明，要是她们从十点半到十二点差一刻这段时间里都在一起的话，那克莉丝汀·雷德方就没嫌疑了，嫉妒妻子身分的嫌犯退场。”
　　白罗说：“还有比这更好的理由让她摆脱嫌疑，我深信在身心两方面来说，她都不可能扼杀什么人。说起来她是属于冷静一型的，只会深爱某一个人，不管对方怎么样都始终如一。而不会有那种冲动的热情或愤怒，再说，她的手也太小、太纤细了。”
　　柯根德说：“我同意白罗先生的说法，她的名字可以剔除了，倪司敦大夫说扼杀那位太太的人有一双有力的大手。”
　　温斯顿说：“好吧，我想接下来先问雷德方夫妇吧，我想他现在应该已经从所受的惊吓中恢复一点了。”
　　派屈克·雷德方已经完全恢复过来了。他看来很苍白而憔悴，而且突然变得很年轻，但是他的态度却相当沉着。
　　“你就是住在雷士堡王子市山■双门街的派屈克·雷德方先生吗？”
　　“是的。”
　　“你认得马歇尔太太有多久了？”
　　派屈克·雷德方迟疑了一下，然后说道：“三个月。”
　　温斯顿继续问道：“马歇尔先生告诉我们说，你和她是在一次鸡尾酒会上偶而认识的，对吗？”
　　“是的，就是这样。”
　　温斯顿说：“马歇尔先生表示，在你们两人到这里来又碰了面之前，你们彼此并不太熟，这事是不是真的？雷德方先生？”
　　派屈克·雷德方又迟疑了一分钟，然后说道：“呃——并不完全正确。事实上，我和她见过好几次。”
　　“马歇尔先生都不知道？”
　　雷德方的脸上微微发红。他说：“我不晓得他是不是知道。”
　　赫邱里·白罗开了口，他喃喃地道：“你太太也一样不知道吧，雷德方先生？”
　　“我相信我向我内人提到过，说我认识了著名的艾莲娜·史达特。”
　　白罗追问道：“可是她并不知道你和她经常见面的事？”
　　“呃，也许不知道。”
　　温斯顿说：“你是不是和马歇尔太太约好了到这里来见面的？”
　　雷德方沉默了一两分钟，然后耸了下肩膀。“哎，好吧，”他说：“我想事情总归会知道的，我再瞒你们也没什么好处。我对那个女人爱得发疯——爱昏了头——随你们怎么说都可以，她要我到这里来，我先支吾了一阵，后来就同意了。我——我——哎，不管她要我做什么，我都会做的，她对人就有那样的影响力。”
　　赫邱里·白罗喃喃地道：“你把她形容得非常清楚，她就是一个迷人的女妖，一点不错！”
　　派屈克·雷德方冷冷地说：“她的确会把男人变成猪猡！”
　　他继续说道：“我对各位很坦白，我不会隐瞒任何事，再瞒又有什么用？我刚才说过，我爱她爱得昏了头，至于她爱不爱我，我一点也不知道，她假装很在乎我，不过我想她是那种对某个男人一旦得手，就弃之如敝屣的女人，她知道她已经得到了我，今天早上，当我发现她死在海滩上的时候，就好像——”他停了一下——“我好像遭到当头棒喝，我感到晕眩——人都昏过去了一样。”
　　白罗的身子俯向前来，“现在呢？”
　　派屈克·雷德方正视着他的两眼。他说：“我把真话都告诉了你们，我想要问的是——这件事有多少会公开出来？因为这事情对她的死没什么关系，而若是整个公开出来的话，对我内人来说会是相当大的打击。哦，我知道，”他很快地接下去说道：“你们大概在想，我早为什么不多为她想想？也许事情确是如此。可是，这话听起来恐怕很虚伪，可是实际上，我真的很爱我的妻子——对她深为关切。另外的那个”——他耸了下肩膀——“那是一种疯狂——是男人都会做的傻事——可是克莉丝汀不同，她才是真实的，我对她尽管很不好，可是我心底里一直知道她才是真正重要的人。”他停了下来——叹了口气——有点可怜兮兮地说：“我希望我能让你们相信我所说的这些。”
　　赫邱里·白罗朝前俯着身子，他说：“我相信，真的，真的，我相信你的话。”
　　派屈克·雷德方很感激地望着他说：“谢谢你。”
　　温斯顿上校清了下嗓子，他说：“你大概在想，我们很可能不会把这件事对外宣布，如果说你和马歇尔太太之间的一段情和谋杀案本身无关的话，那就用不着硬插进这件案子里来，可是你似乎不明白——呃——你们的亲密关系很可能与谋杀案有直接牵连，你知道，这很可能造成了犯罪的动机。”
　　派屈克·雷德方说：“动机？”
　　温斯顿说：“是的，雷德方先生，动机！马歇尔先生也许并不知道你们的关系，假设他突然发现了呢？”
　　雷德方说：“哦，天啦！你是说他发现了隐情就——就杀了她？”
　　警察局长冷淡地说：“你从来没想到过会有这样的可能吗？”
　　雷德方摇了摇头，他说：“没有——奇怪，我从来没有想到过这种事，你知道，马歇尔是一个非常沉静的人，我——啊，看起来就不像会有这种事。”
　　温斯顿问道：“在你们交往之中，马歇尔太太对她丈夫的态度如何？她有没有觉得——呃，不安——怕事情传到他耳朵里？还是说，她根本不在乎？”
　　雷德方慢吞吞地说：“她——有一点紧张，她不希望他怀疑什么。”
　　“她是不是有点怕他呢？”
　　“怕？不会，我觉得不会。”
　　白罗喃喃地道：“对不起，雷德方先生，这段时间里，有没有提起过离婚的问题？”
　　派屈克·雷德方很肯定的摇了下头，“啊，没有，从来没谈到这类的问题。你知道，我有克莉丝汀，而艾莲娜，我敢说她从来没想到过这种事。她嫁给马歇尔，非常满足，他是——呃，说起来也算是个有头有脸的人物了——”他突然微微笑了起来，“是个乡绅——这一类的，而且相当有钱。她从来没想过可能会选我做丈夫。我只是她众多可怜的面首中的一个——只是用来排遣她空闲时间的，这种情形我心里一直明白得很，可是，奇怪得很，这一点也没影响到我对她的感情……”
　　他的声音小了下去，坐在那里想着。温斯顿把他从沉思中唤了回来，“呃，雷德方先生，你今天早上有没有特别和马歇尔太太订下约会？”
　　派屈克·雷德方有点不解地说：“没有特别约定什么，我们通常每天早上都在海滩上碰头的，经常划着小筏子出去。”
　　“你今早没有看到马歇尔太太，是不是觉得意外？”
　　“嗯，是的。我很意外，完全不能了解是怎么回事。”
　　“你当时怎么想呢？”
　　“呃，我不知道该怎么想，我是说，我一直在想她就要来了。”
　　“如果说她是在别处跟别人约会的话，你想不想得到可能会是和什么人呢？”派屈克·雷德方只瞪大了两眼，摇了摇头。“你平常若是和马歇尔太太约会，都在那里碰头？”
　　“呃，有时候我下午会和她在鸥湾见面，因为鸥湾一带下午没有太阳，所以通常那里都没什么人。我们在那里约会过一两次。”
　　“从来没去过别的海湾？小妖湾呢？”
　　“没有过，小妖湾朝西，下午有很多人乘船和小筏子到那边去，我们也从来不在早上约会，那样太引人注意了。下午大家会去睡个午觉，或是到处游荡，谁都不知道其他的人在那里。”温斯顿点了点头。派屈克·雷德方继续说道：“当然，吃过晚饭之后，天气好的话，我们会到岛上各个地方去散步。”
　　赫邱里·白罗喃喃地说道：“嗯，不错。”派屈克·雷德方不解地看了他一眼。
　　温斯顿说：“那你也没办法帮我们找出马歇尔太太今天早上会去小妖湾的原因了？”
　　雷德方摇了摇头，他用很不解的语气说道：“我真的一点也不明白！这简直不像艾莲娜平素的行为。”
　　温斯顿说：“她有没有什么朋友住在这附近一带的？”
　　“我不知道，啊，我相信一定没有。”
　　“呃，雷德方先生，我要你仔细地想一想，你在伦敦认识马歇尔太太的，你想必也认识她的那一圈子朋友，你印象中有没有那个对她怀有很深的恨意，比方说，有没有那个是她因为你而抛弃了的？”
　　派屈克·雷德方想了几分钟，然后摇了摇头。“说老实话，”他说：“我想不出有什么人。”
　　温斯顿上校用指节敲着桌面。最后终于开口说道：“好了，没别的事了，我们好像只剩下三种可能。也许是一个不知名的凶手——一个疯子——正好在这附近——这实在是太玄了一点——”
　　雷德方插嘴道：“可是，说老实话，倒可能真是这么回事。”
　　温斯顿摇了摇头，他说：“这个案子不会是这种情形，那个海湾相当难到得了，那个人若不是由堤路上过来，经过旅馆，翻过岛的那边再由梯子下去，否则就只有坐船过去，两条路都不像是凶手临时起意会走的。”
　　派屈克·雷德方说：“你刚才说一共有三种可能情况。”
　　“呃——不错，”警察局长说：“那就是说，在这个岛上有两个人有谋杀她的动机。一个是她的丈夫，另外一个就是你的太太。”
　　雷德方瞪着他，一副木然的样子。他说：“我内人？克莉丝汀？你是说克莉丝汀和这件事有关系？”他站了起来，气急败坏地说道：“你疯了——简直是疯了——克莉丝汀？哎，这完全不可能，太可笑了！”
　　温斯顿说：“不管怎么说，雷德方先生，嫉妒是一种很强烈的动机，嫉妒的女人会完全失去对自己的控制。”
　　雷德方很热切地说道：“克莉丝汀不会，——她，啊，她不是那样的人，她很不快乐，不错，可是她不是那种会——哎，她的本性一点也不暴戾。”
　　赫邱里·白罗沉吟地点了点头。暴戾，琳达·马歇尔也用过这两个字，他像刚才一样，同意了这种看法，“再说，”雷德方很有自信地说道：“这样想法也太荒谬了，艾莲娜在体力上至少比克莉丝汀要强壮两倍，我怀疑克莉丝汀是不是能扼得死一只猫——更不用说像艾莲娜那样强壮的一个人了。而且克莉丝汀也不可能从崖顶爬那道直梯子下到海滩上去，她不敢做这种事的，还有，啊——这真是太荒谬了！”
　　温斯顿上校抓了抓耳朵：“呃，”他说：“这样说法的确是不可能，这点我同意，可是动机是我们要我的第一件东西。”
　　他又加上一句说：“动机和机会。”
　　雷德方离开房间之后，警察局长面带微笑地说：“我想不必要告诉这个家伙说他老婆已经有不在场证明了，想听听他对我们这种说法有什么意见，好让他吃一惊是不？”
　　赫邱里·白罗喃喃说道：“他所说的那一大套也和不在场证明同样有力。”
　　“不错！哦，不是她干的！不可能是她干的——正好你所说的，她没有那么大的力气，马歇尔倒可能下手——可是显然也不是他干的。”
　　柯根德巡官咳了一声，他说：“对不起，局长，我在想那个不在场证明。你知道，如果他早有计划的话，他可以先把那三封信打好，这也是可能的。”
　　温斯顿说：“这个想法很好，我们一定要调查——”
　　他停住了话，因为克莉丝汀·雷德方走进了房间。她像平常一样，相当镇定，而且举止有度。她穿了一件白色的网球装，外罩一件浅蓝色的套头绒线衫。衬出她头发的颜色，使她漂亮了不少。但是，赫邱里·白罗心中暗想道，她那张脸既不愚蠢，也不软弱，相当有决心、勇气和理性。他很表赞赏地点了点头。温斯顿上校想道：“很好的一个小女人，也许有点嫌太淡了点，这样的人，她那个拈花惹草的笨驴老公实在有点配不上。啊，也罢，那个孩子还年轻，女人常会让男人迷糊的。”他说：“请坐，雷德方太太，你知道，有些例行公事是非要经过不可的。我们要问每个人今天早上做了些什么事，只是做个记录而已。”
　　克莉丝汀点了点头，用她那平静而清晰的声音说：“哦，我很了解，你希望我从哪里开始呢？”
　　赫邱里·白罗说：“越早越好，夫人，你今天早上起床之后就做了些什么？”
　　克莉丝汀说：“我想想看，在我下楼去吃早饭的时候，我到了琳达·马歇尔的房间里，约她今天早上和我一起到鸥湾去，我们说好了十点半在大厅里碰头。”
　　白罗问道：“你吃早饭之前没有先去游游泳吗？夫人？”
　　“没有，我很少那么早去游泳的，”她微笑道：“我喜欢等水温热一点之后再下水。我是个蛮怕冷的人。”
　　“可是你先生会去早泳？”
　　“是的，差不多每天都去。”
　　“马歇尔太太呢？她也一样吗？”
　　克莉丝汀的声音变了，变得很冷。而且有些恨意。“啊，不会，马歇尔太太不到十点多钟是不会露面的。”
　　赫邱里·白罗一副不解的表情说道：“对不起，夫人，我先打个岔。你刚才说你去了琳达·马歇尔小、姐的房间，那是几点钟的事呢？”
　　“我想想看——八点半——不对，还要再晚一点。”
　　“马歇尔小、姐那时候已经起床了吗？”
　　“啊，起来了，她都出去过了一趟。”
　　“出去过？”
　　“是的，她说她去游泳了。”
　　克莉丝汀的语气有一点——很少一点尴尬的表情，使赫邱里·白罗感到很迷惑。
　　温斯顿说：“后来呢？”
　　“后来我就下楼去吃早饭。”
　　“吃过早饭之后？”
　　“我回到楼上，收拾好我的笔盒和素描簿，然后我们就出发了。”
　　“你和琳达·马歇尔小、姐？”
　　“是的。”
　　“那时候是几点钟？”
　　“我想正好是十点半吧。”
　　“你们做了些什么呢？”
　　“我们去了鸥湾。你知道，就是在岛东侧的那个小海湾。我们在那里，我画画，琳达晒日光浴。”
　　“你什么时候离开海湾的？”
　　“十二点差一刻，我因为十二点要打网球，得先回来换衣服。”
　　“你自己戴着表吗？”
　　“没有，我没有戴表，时间是问琳达才知道的。”
　　“啊，然后呢？”
　　“我收拾画具什么的，回到旅馆里。”
　　白罗说：“琳达小、姐呢？”
　　“琳达？哦，琳达下水游泳去了。”
　　白罗说：“你们坐的地方离海远吗？”
　　“呃，我们在最高水位线上面一点，正好在悬崖下面——这样我可以坐在阴凉的地方，而琳达可以晒到太阳。”
　　白罗说：“在你离开海滨的时候，琳达小、姐是不是真正已经到海里去游泳了？”
　　克莉丝汀皱起眉头来，尽力地回想了一阵。她说：“我想想看。她跑下了海滩——我盖好了我的笔盒——不错，我在爬上悬崖去的小路上听到她跳下水去的声音。”
　　“这点你可以确定吗？夫人！她真的到了海里？”
　　“是呀！”她有点吃惊地瞪着他。
　　温斯顿上校也瞪着他，然后说道：“说下去，雷德方太太。”
　　“我回到旅馆，换好衣服，到网球场上和其他人见面。”
　　“都有那些人呢？”
　　“有马歇尔先生、贾德纳先生和戴礼小、姐。我们打了两局，正准备再开始的时候，就听到了消息——马歇尔太太的事。”
　　赫邱里·白罗的身子俯向前来。他说：“你听到那个消息的时候，有什么想法？夫人！”
　　“我有什么想法？”她一副不喜欢这个问题的表情。
　　“不错。”
　　克莉丝汀·雷德方慢慢地说道：“那实在是——一件可怕的事。”
　　“啊，不错，你感到很不快，这我很了解。可是这对你个人来说，有没有什么含意？”
　　她很快地看了他一眼——带有些哀求的神色。他当即有了反应，以煞有介事的语气说：“我请求你，夫人，你是一个很聪明，又很有理性和判断力的女人，在你住进旅馆来之后的这一段时间里，你想必对马歇尔太太是个什么样的女人有你的看法吧？”
　　克莉丝汀很小心的说：“我想一个人住在旅馆里的时候，多少总会对人产生某些看法的。”
　　“当然，这是很自然的事。所以我请问你，夫人，在听到她的死讯时是不是真的觉得很意外呢？”
　　克莉丝汀慢慢地说道：“我想我明白你的意思，不，我不觉得意外，我的确感到很震惊，可是像她那样的女人——”
　　白罗替她说完了后半句话，“像她那样的女人就是会碰上这种事的……不错，夫人，这是今天早晨以来，在这个房间里所说过最真实，也最重要的一句话。且把——呃——(他很小心地选用着字眼)个人的感情放在一边，你对已故的马歇尔太太到底有什么样的看法？”
　　克莉丝汀·雷德方镇静地说：“现在再去说这些，值得吗？”
　　“我想是值得一谈的。”
　　“呃，我能怎么说呢？”她那光滑的肌肤突然红了起来。她原本矜持的态度也放松了，在这一刻间，她的本性似乎显露了出来。“她是那种在我看来一文不值的女人！她没有脑筋——没有思想，除了男人、衣服和别人对她的奉承之外，什么也不想，她一无用处，是个寄生虫！我想，她对男人很有吸引力——哦，她当然是这样的，她过的也就是这种生活。所以，我想，我对她会有这样的结局一点也不觉得意外。她是那种专和一些乱七八糟的事搞在一起的女人——勒索、嫉妒，所以这类浅薄低下的感情，她——她是最下贱的人。”
　　她停了下来，有点喘息，略为显短的上唇翘起来，一副不屑的样子。温斯顿上校突然想到再也找不到一个比克莉丝汀·雷德方更和艾莲娜·史达特正好相反的女人了。他同时也想到，一个人如果娶了克莉丝汀·雷德方，整个气氛会纯净得让你觉得世界上像艾莲娜·史达特那样的女人特别具有吸引力。然后，就紧跟在这些念头后面，一个单一的名词在她所说的众多字句中突现出来，非常特别地引起了他的注意。他将身体朝前面俯了过来。说道：“雷德方太太，你在说到她的时候，为什么会提起‘勒索’这两个字呢？”


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Chapter 5

Inspector Colgate stood back by the cliff waiting for the police surgeon to finish with Arlena's body. Patrick Redfern and Emily Brewster stood a little to one side. Dr Neasdon rose from his knees with a quick deft movement. He said: "Strangled - and by a pretty powerful pair of hands. She doesn't seem to have put up much of a struggle. Taken by surprise. H'm - well - nasty business."

Emily Brewster had taken one look and then quickly averted her eyes from the dead woman's face. That horrible purple convulsed countenance. Inspector Colgate asked: "What about time of death?"

Neasdon said irritably: "Can't say definitely without knowing more about her. Lots of factors to take into account. Let's see, it's quarter to one now. What time was it when you found her?"

Patrick Redfern, to whom the question was addressed, said vaguely: "Some time before twelve. I don't know exactly."

Emily Brewster said: "It was exactly a quarter to twelve when we found she was dead."

"Ah, and you came here in the boat. What time was it when you caught sight of her lying here?"

Emily Brewster considered. "I should say we rounded the point about five or six minutes earlier." She turned to Redfern. "Do you agree?"

He said vaguely: "Yes - yes - about that, I should think."

Neasdon asked the Inspector in a low voice: "This the husband? Oh! I see, my mistake. Thought it might be. He seems rather done in over it." He raised his voice officially. "Let's put it at twenty minutes to twelve. She cannot have been killed very long before that. Say between then and eleven - quarter to eleven at the earliest outside limit."

The Inspector shut his notebook with a snap. "Thanks," he said. "That ought to help us considerably. Puts it within very narrow limits - less than an hour all told." He turned to Miss Brewster. "Now then, I think it's all clear so far. You're Miss Emily Brewster and this is Mr Patrick Redfern, both staying at the Jolly Roger Hotel. You identify this lady as a fellow guest of yours at the hotel - the wife of Captain Marshall?"

Emily Brewster nodded.

"Then, I think," said Inspector Colgate, "that we'll adjourn to the hotel." He beckoned to a constable. "Hawkes, you stay here and don't allow any one onto this cove. I'll be sending Phillips along later."

"Upon my soul!" said Colonel Weston. "This is a surprise finding you here!"

Hercule Poirot replied to the Chief Constable's greeting in a suitable manner. He murmured: "Ah, yes, many years have passed since that affair at St Loo."

"I haven't forgotten it, though," said Weston. "Biggest surprise of my life. The thing I've never got over, though, is the way you got round me about that funeral business. Absolutely unorthodox, the whole thing. Fantastic!"

"Tout de mкme, mon Colonel," said Poirot. "It produced the goods, did it not?"

"Er - well, possibly. I daresay we should have got there by more orthodox methods."

"It is possible," agreed Poirot diplomatically.

"And here you are in the thick of another murder," said the Chief Constable. "Any ideas about this one?"

Poirot said slowly: "Nothing definite - but it is interesting."

"Going to give us a hand?"

"You would permit it, yes?"

"My dear fellow, delighted to have you. Don't know enough yet to decide whether it's a case for Scotland Yard or not. Offhand it looks as though our murderer must be pretty well within a limited radius. On the other hand, all these people are strangers down here. To find out about them and their motives you've got to go to London."

Poirot said: "Yes, that is true."

"First of all," said Weston, "we've got to find out who last saw the dead woman alive. Chambermaid took her breakfast at nine. Girl in the bureau downstairs saw her pass through the lounge and go out about ten."

"My friend," said Poirot, "I suspect that I am the man you want."

"You saw her this morning? What time?"

"At five minutes past ten. I assisted her to launch her float from the bathing beach."

"And she went off on it?"

"Yes."

"Alone?"

"Yes."

"Did you see which direction she took?"

"She paddled round that point there to the right."

"In the direction of Pixy's Cove, that is?"

"Yes."

"And the time then was -"

"I should say she actually left the beach at a quarter past ten."

Weston considered. "That fits in well enough. How long should you say that it would take her to paddle round to the Cove?"

"Ah, me, I am not an expert. I do not go in boats or expose myself on floats. Perhaps half an hour?"

"That's about what I think," said the Colonel. "She wouldn't be hurrying, I presume. Well, if she arrived there at a quarter to eleven, that fits in well enough."

"At what time does your doctor suggest she died?"

"Oh, Neasdon doesn't commit himself. He's a cautious chap. A quarter to eleven is his earliest outside limit."

Poirot nodded. He said: "There is one other point that I must mention. As she left Mrs Marshall asked me not to say I had seen her."

Weston stared. He said: "H'm, that's rather suggestive, isn't it?"

Poirot murmured: "Yes, I thought so myself."

Weston tugged at his moustache. He said: "Look here, Poirot. You're a man of the world. What sort of a woman was Mrs Marshall?"

A faint smile came to Poirot's lips. He asked: "Have you not already heard?"

The Chief Constable said drily: "I know what the women say of her. They would. How much truth is there in it? Was she having an affair with this fellow Redfern?"

"I should say undoubtedly yes."

"He followed her down here, eh?"

"There is reason to suppose so."

"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."

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 nice 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 shuddered 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.

"Any one could take a boat, though, I suppose, and row round and land on one of the coves? You couldn't stop them doing that. There's a right of access to the foreshore. You can't stop people being on the between low and high watermark."

But this, it seemed, very seldom happened. Boats could be obtained at Leathercombe Bay harbour but from there it was a long row to the island and there was also a strong current just outside Leathercombe Bay harbour. There were notices, too, on both Gull Cove and Pixy Cove by the ladder. She added that George or William was always on the lookout at the bathing beach proper which was the nearest to the mainland.

"Who are George and William?"

"George attends to the bathing beach. He sees to the costumes and the floats. William is the gardener. He keeps the paths and marks the tennis courts and all that."

Colonel Weston said impatiently: "Well, that seems clear enough. That's not to say that nobody could have come from outside, but anyone who did so took a risk - the risk of being noticed. We'll have a word with George and William presently."

Mrs Castle said: "Ay do not care for trippers - a very noisy crowd and they frequently leave orange peel and cigarette boxes on the causeway and down by the rocks, but all the same Ay never thought one of them would turn out to be a murderer. Oh, dear! It really is too terrible for words. A lady like Mrs Marshall murdered and what's so horrible, actually - er - strangled..." Mrs Castle could hardly bring herself to say the word. She brought it out with the utmost reluctance.

Inspector Colgate said soothingly: "Yes, it's a nasty business."

"And the newspapers. My hotel in the newspapers!"

Colgate said, with a faint grin: "Oh, well, it's advertisement, in a way."

Mrs Castle drew herself up. Her bust heaved and whale-bone creaked. She said icily: "That is not the kind of advertisement Ay care about, Mr Colgate."

Colonel Weston broke in. He said: "Now then, Mrs Castle, you've got a list of the guests staying here, as I asked you?"

"Yes, sir."

Colonel Weston pored over the hotel register. He looked over to Poirot who made the forth member of the group assembled in the Manageress's office. "This is where you'll probably be able to help us presently." He read down the names. "What about servants?"

Mrs Castle produced a second list. "There are four chambermaids, the head waiter and three under him and Henry in the bar. William does the boots and shoes. Then there's the cook and two under her."

"What about the waiters?"

"Well, sir, Albert, the Mater Dotel, came to me from the Vincent at Plymouth. He was there for some years. The three under him have been here for three years - one of them four. They are very nice lads and most respectable. Henry has been here since the hotel opened. He is quite an institution."

Weston nodded. He said to Colgate: "Seems all right. You'll check up on them, of course. Thank you, Mrs Castle."

"That will be all you require?"

"For the moment, yes."

Mrs Castle creaked out of the room. Weston said: "First thing to do is to talk with Captain Marshall."

Kenneth Marshall sat quietly answering the questions put to him. Apart from a slight hardening of his features he was quite calm. Seen here, with the sunlight falling on him from the window, you realized that he was a handsome man. Those straight features, the steady blue eyes, the firm mouth. His voice was low and pleasant. Colonel Weston was saying: "I quite understand, Captain Marshall, what a terrible shock this must be to you. But you realize that I am anxious to get the fullest information as soon as possible."

Marshall nodded. He said: "I quite understand. Carry on."

"Mrs Marshall was your second wife?"

"Yes."

"And you have been married, how long?"

"Just over four years."

"And her name before she was married?"

"Helen Stuart. Her acting name was Arlena Stuart."

"She was an actress?"

"She appeared in Revue and musical shows."

"Did she give up the stage on her marriage?"

"No. She continued to appear. She actually retired only about a year and a half ago."

"Was there any special reason for her retirement?"

Kenneth Marshall appeared to consider. "No," he said. "She simply said that she was tired of it all."

"It was not - er - in obedience to your special wish?"

Marshall raised his eyebrows. "Oh, no."

"You were quite content for her to continue acting after your marriage?"

Marshall smiled very faintly. "I should have preferred her to give it up - that, yes. But I made no fuss about it."

"It caused no point of dissension between you?"

"Certainly not. My wife was free to please herself."

"And - the marriage was a happy one?"

Kenneth Marshall said coldly: "Certainly."

Colonel Weston paused a minute. Then he said: "Captain Marshall, have you any idea who could possibly have killed your wife?"

The answer came without the least hesitation. "None whatsoever."

"Had she any enemies?"

"Possibly."

"Ah?"

The other went on quickly. He said: "Don't misunderstand me, sir. My wife was an actress. She was also a very good-looking woman. In both capacities she aroused a certain amount of envy and jealousy. There were fusses over parts - there was rivalry from other women - there was a good deal, shall we say, of general envy, hatred, malice, and all uncharitableness! But that is not to say that there was any one who was capable of deliberately murdering her."

Hercule Poirot spoke for the first time. He said: "What you really mean. Monsieur, is that her enemies were mostly, or entirely, women?"

Kenneth Marshall looked across at him. "Yes," he said. "That is so."

The Chief Constable said: "You know of no man who had a grudge against her?"

"No."

"Was she previously acquainted with any one in this hotel?"

"I believe she had met Mr Redfern before - at some cocktail party. Nobody else to my knowledge."

Weston paused. He seemed to deliberate as to whether to pursue the subject. Then he decided against that course. He said: "We now come to this morning. When was the last time you saw your wife?"

Marshall paused a minute, then he said: "I looked in on my way down to breakfast -"

"Excuse me, you occupied separate rooms?"

"Yes."

"And what time was that?"

"It must have been about nine o'clock."

"What was she doing?"

"She was opening her letters."

"Did she say anything?"

"Nothing of any particular interest. Just good-morning - and that it was a nice day - that sort of thing."

"What was her manner? Unusual at all?"

"No, perfectly normal."

"She did not seem excited, or depressed, or upset in any way?"

"I certainly didn't notice it."

Hercule Poirot said: "Did she mention at all what were the contents of her letters?"

Again a faint smile appeared on Marshall's lips. He said: "As far as I can remember, she said they were all bills."

"Your wife breakfasted in bed?"

"Yes."

"Did she always do that?"

"Invariably."

Hercule Poirot said: "What time did she usually come downstairs?"

"Oh! between ten and eleven - usually nearer eleven."

Poirot went on: "If she were to descend at ten o'clock exactly, that would be rather surprising?"

"Yes. She wasn't often down as early as that."

"But she was this morning. Why do you think that was, Captain Marshall?"

Marshall said unemotionally: "Haven't the least idea. Might have been the weather - extra fine day and all that."

"You missed her?"

Kenneth Marshall shifted a little in his chair. He said: "Looked in on her again after breakfast. Room was empty. I was a bit surprised."

"And then you came down on the beach and asked me if I had seen her?"

"Er - yes." He added with a faint emphasis in his voice: "And you said you hadn't..."

The innocent eyes of Hercule Poirot did not falter. Gently, he caressed his large and flamboyant moustache.

Weston said: "Had you any special reason for wanting to find your wife this morning?"

Marshall shifted his glance amiably to the Chief Constable. He said: "No, just wondered where she was, that's all."

Weston paused. He moved his chair slightly. His voice fell into a different key. He said: "Just now, Captain Marshall, you mentioned that your wife had a previous acquaintance with Mr Patrick Redfern. How well did your wife know Mr Redfern?"

Kenneth Marshall said: "Mind if I smoke?" He felt through his pockets. "Dash! I've mislaid my pipe somewhere."

Poirot offered him a cigarette which he accepted. Lighting it, he said: "You were asking about Redfern. My wife told me she had come across him at some cocktail party or other."

"He was, then, just a casual acquaintance?"

"I believe so."

"Since then -" the Chief Constable paused. "I understand that that acquaintanceship has ripened into something rather closer."

Marshall said sharply: "You understand that, do you? Who told you so?"

"It is the common gossip of the hotel."

For a moment Marshall's eyes went to Hercule Poirot. They dwelt on him with a kind of cold anger. He said: "Hotel gossip is usually a tissue of lies!"

"Possibly. But I gather that Mr Redfern and your wife gave some grounds for the gossip."

"What grounds?"

"They were constantly in each other's company."

"Is that all?"

"You do not deny that that was so?"

"May have been. I really didn't notice."

"You did not - excuse me, Captain Marshall - object to your wife's friendship with Mr Redfern?"

"I wasn't in the habit of criticizing my wife's conduct."

"You did not protest or object in any way?"

"Certainly not."

"Not even though it was becoming a subject of scandal and an estrangement was growing up between Mr Redfern and his wife?"

Kenneth Marshall said coldly: "I mind my own business and I expect other people to mind theirs. I don't listen to gossip and tittle tattle."

"You won't deny that Mr Redfern admired your wife?"

"He probably did. Most men did. She was a very beautiful woman."

"But you yourself were persuaded that there was nothing serious in the affair?"

"I never thought about it, I tell you."

"And suppose we have a witness who can testify that they were on terms of the greatest intimacy?"

Again those blue eyes went to Hercule Poirot. Again an expression of dislike showed on that usually impassive face. Marshall said: "If you want to listen to tales, listen to 'em. My wife's dead and can't defend herself."

"You mean that you, personally, don't believe them?"

For the first time a faint dew of sweat was observable on Marshall's brow. He said: "I don't propose to believe anything of the kind." He went on: "Aren't you getting a good way from the essentials of this business? What I believe or don't believe is surely not relevant to the plain fact of murder?"

Hercule Poirot answered before either of the others could speak. He said: "You do not comprehend, Captain Marshall. There is no such thing as a plain fact of murder. Murder springs, nine times out of ten, out of the character and circumstances of the murdered person. Because the victim was the kind of person he or she was, therefore was he or she murdered! Until we can understand fully and completely exactly what kind of person Arlena Marshall was, we shall not be able to see clearly exactly the kind of person who murdered her. From that springs the necessity of our questions."

Marshall turned to the Chief Constable. He said: "That your view, too?"

Weston boggled a little. He said: "Well, up to a point - that is to say -"

Marshall gave a short laugh. He said: "Thought you wouldn't agree. This character stuff is M. Poirot's specialty, I believe."

Poirot said, smiling: "You can at least congratulate yourself on having done nothing to assist me!"

"What do you mean?"

"What have you told us about your wife? Exactly nothing at all. You have told us only what every one could see for themselves. That she was beautiful and admired. Nothing more."

Kenneth Marshall shrugged his shoulders. He said simply: "You're crazy." He looked towards the Chief Constable and said with emphasis: "Anything else, sir, that you'd like me to tell you?"

"Yes, Captain Marshall, your own movements this morning, please."

Kenneth Marshall nodded. He had clearly expected this. He said: "I breakfasted downstairs about nine o'clock as usual and read the paper. As I told you I went up to my wife's room afterwards and found she had gone out. I came down to the beach, saw M. Poirot and asked if he had seen her. Then I had a quick bathe and went up to the hotel again. It was then, let me see, about twenty to to eleven - yes, just about that. I saw the clock in the lounge. It was just after twenty minutes to. I went up to my room, but the chambermaid hadn't quite finished it. I asked her to finish as quickly as she could. I had some letters to type which I wanted to get off by the post. I went downstairs again and had a word or two with Henry in the bar. I went up again to my room at ten minutes to eleven. There I typed my letters. I typed until ten minutes to twelve. I then changed into tennis kit as I had a date to play tennis at twelve. We'd booked the court the day before."

"Who was we?"

"Mrs Redfern, Miss Darnley, Mr Gardener and myself. I came down at twelve o'clock and went up to the court. Miss Darnley was there and Mr Gardener. Mrs Redfern arrived a few minutes later. We played tennis for an hour. Just as we came into the hotel afterwards I - I - got the news."

"Thank you. Captain Marshall. Just as a matter of form, is there any one who can corroborate the fact that you were typing in your room between - er - ten minutes to eleven and ten minutes to twelve?"

Kenneth Marshall said with a faint smile: "Have you got some idea that I killed my own wife? Let me see now. The chambermaid was about doing the rooms. She must have heard the typewriter going. And then there are the letters themselves. With all this upset I haven't posted them. I should imagine they are as good evidence as anything."

He took three letters from his pocket. They were addressed, but not stamped. He said: "Their contents, by the way, are strictly confidential. But when it's a case of murder, one is forced to trust in the discretion of the police. They contain lists of figures and various financial statements. I think you will find that if you put one of your men on to type them out, he won't do it in much under an hour." He paused. "Satisfied, I hope?"

Weston said smoothly: "It is no question of suspicion. Every one on the island will be asked to account for his or her movements between a quarter to eleven and twenty minutes to twelve this morning."

Kenneth Marshall said: "Quite."

Weston said: "One more thing, Captain Marshall. Do you know anything about the way your wife was likely to have disposed of any property she had?"

"You mean a will? I don't think she ever made a will."

"Her solicitors are Barkett, Markett & Applegood, Bedford Square. They saw to all her contracts, etc. But I'm fairly certain she never made a will. She said once that doing a thing like that would give her the shivers."

"In that case, if she has died intestate, you, as her husband, succeed to her property."

"Yes, I suppose I do."

"Had she any near relatives?"

"I don't think so. If she had, she never mentioned them. I know that her father and mother died when she was a child and she had no brothers or sisters."

"In any case, I suppose, she had nothing very much to leave?"

Kenneth Marshall said coolly: "On the contrary. Only two years ago, Sir Robert Erskine, who was an old friend of hers, died and left her a good deal of his fortune. It amounted, I think, to about fifty thousand pounds."

Inspector Colgate looked up. An alertness came into his glance. Up to now he had been silent. Now he asked: "Then actually. Captain Marshall, your wife was a rich woman?"

Kenneth Marshall shrugged his shoulders. "I suppose she was really."

"And you still say she did not make a will?"

"You can ask the solicitors. But I'm pretty certain she didn't. As I tell you, she thought it unlucky." There was a pause, then Marshall added: "Is there anything further?"

Weston shook his head. "Don't think so - eh, Colgate? No. Once more, Captain Marshall, let me offer you all my sympathy in your loss."

Marshall blinked. He said jerkily: "Oh - thanks." He went out.

The three men looked at each other. Weston said: "Cool customer. Not giving anything away, is he? What do you make of him, Colgate?"

The Inspector shook his head. "It's difficult to tell. He's not the kind that shows anything. That sort makes a bad impression in the witness box, and yet it's a bit unfair on them really. Sometimes they're as cut up as anything and yet can't show it. That kind of manner made the jury bring in a verdict of Guilty against Wallace. It wasn't the evidence. They just couldn't believe that a man could lose his wife and talk and act so coolly about it."

Weston turned to Poirot. "What do you think, Poirot?"

Hercule Poirot raised his hands. He said: "What can one say? He is the closed box - the fastened oyster. He has chosen his role. He has heard nothing, he has seen nothing, he knows nothing!"

"We've got a choice of motives," said Colgate. "There's jealousy and there's the money motive. Of course, in a way, a husband's the obvious suspect. One naturally thinks of him first. If he knew his missus was carrying on with the other chap -"

Poirot interrupted. He said: "I think he knew that."

"Why do you say so?"

"Listen, my friend. Last night I had been talking with Mrs Redfern on Sunny Ledge. I came down from there to the hotel and on my way I saw those two together - Mrs Marshall and Patrick Redfern. And a moment or two after I met Captain Marshall. His face was very stiff. It says nothing - but nothing at all! It is almost too blank, if you understand me. Oh! He knew all right."

Colgate grunted doubtfully. He said: "Oh, well, if you think so -"

"I am sure of it! But even then, what does that tell us? What did Kenneth Marshall feel about his wife?"

Colonel Weston said: "Takes her death coolly enough."

Poirot shook his head in a dissatisfied manner. Inspector Colgate said: "Sometimes these quiet ones are the most violent underneath, so to speak. It's all bottled up. He may have been madly fond of her - and madly jealous. But he's not the kind to show it."

Poirot said slowly: "That is possible - yes. He is a very interesting character, this Captain Marshall. I interest myself in him greatly. And in his alibi."

"Alibi by typewriter," said Weston with a short bark of a laugh. "What have you got to say about that, Colgate?"

Inspector Colgate screwed up his eyes. He said: "Well, you know, sir, I rather fancy that alibi. It's not too good, if you know what I mean. It's - well, it's natural. And if we find the chambermaid was about, and did hear the typewriter going, well then, it seems to me that it's all right and that we'll have to look elsewhere."

"H'm," said Colonel Weston. "Where are you going to look?"

For a minute or two the three men pondered the question. Inspector Colgate spoke first. He said: "It boils down to this - was it an outsider, or a guest at the hotel? I'm not eliminating the servants entirely, mind, but I don't expect for a minute that we'll find any of them had a hand in it. No, it's a hotel guest, or it's some one from right outside. We've got to look at it this way. First of all - motive. There's gain. The only person to gain by her death was the lady's husband it seems. What other motives are there? First and foremost - jealousy. It seems to me - just looking at it - that if ever you've got a crime passionnel (he bowed to Poirot) this is one."

Poirot murmured as he looked up at the ceiling: "There are so many passions."

Inspector Colgate went on: "Her husband wouldn't allow that she had any enemies - real enemies, that is, but I don't believe for a minute that that's so! I should say that a lady like her would - well, would make some pretty bad enemies - eh, sir, what do you say?"

Poirot responded. He said: "Mais oui, that is so. Arlena Marshall would make enemies. But in my opinion, the enemy theory is not tenable, for you see. Inspector, Arlena Marshall's enemies would, I think, as I said just now, always be women."

Colonel Weston grunted and said: "Something in that. It's the women who've got their knife into her here all right."

Poirot went on: "It seems to be hardly possible that the crime was committed by a woman. What does the medical evidence say?"

Weston grunted again. He said: "Neasdon's pretty confident that she was strangled by a man. Big hands - powerful grip. It's just possible, of course, that an unusually athletic woman might have done it - but it's damned unlikely."

Poirot nodded. "Exactly. Arsenic in a cup of tea - a box of poisoned chocolates - a knife - even a pistol - but strangulation - no! It is a man we have to look for. And immediately," he went on, "it becomes more difficult. There are two people here in this hotel who have a motive for wishing Arlena Marshall out of the way - but both of them are women."

Colonel Weston asked: "Redfern's wife is one of them, I suppose?"

"Yes. Mrs Redfern might have made up her mind to kill Arlena Stuart. She had, let us say, ample cause. I think, too, that it would be possible for Mrs Redfern to commit a murder. But not this kind of murder. For all her unhappiness and jealousy, she is not, I should say, a woman of strong passions. In love, she would be devoted and loyal - not passionate. As I said just now - arsenic in the teacup - possibly - strangulation, no. I am sure, also, that she is physically incapable of committing this crime and her hands and feet are small below the average."

Weston nodded. He said: "This isn't a woman's crime. No, a man did this."

Inspector Colgate coughed. "Let me put forward a solution, sir. Say that prior to meeting this Mr Redfern the lady had had another affair with some one - call him X. She turns down X for Mr Redfern. X is mad with rage and jealousy. He follows her down here, stays somewhere in the neighborhood, comes over to the island and does her in. It's a possibility!"

Weston said: "It's possible, all right. And if it's true, it ought to be easy to prove. Did he come on foot or in a boat? The latter seems more likely. If so, he must have hired a boat somewhere. You'd better make inquiries."

He looked across at Poirot. "What do you think of Colgate's suggestion?"

Poirot said slowly: "It leaves, somehow, too much to chance. And besides - somewhere the picture is not true. I cannot, you see, imagine this man... the man who is mad with rage and jealousy."

Colgate said: "People did go potty about her, though, sir. Look at Redfern."

"Yes, yes... But all the same -" Colgate looked at him questioningly. Poirot shook his head. He said frowning: "Somewhere, there is something we have missed..."

第五章



　　柯根德巡官站在悬崖边，等着法医检查艾莲娜的尸体。派屈克·雷德方和艾蜜莉·布雷斯特站在另外一边，倪司敦大夫很灵巧地站直了身子，说道：“被扼死的——凶手的两手相当有力。她好像并没怎么挣扎，很意外地受到扼杀吧。嗯——呃——很残忍。”
　　艾蜜莉看了一眼，就把目光从那个已死女人的脸上转了开去，死者脸上发紫，十分可怕。柯根德巡官问道：“死亡的时间呢？”
　　倪司敦不乐地说：“不经过更详细的检查没法说得准，有很多因素需要考虑在内，我看看，现在是一点差一刻，你们是什么时候发现尸体的？”
　　被问到这个问题的派屈克·雷德方含糊地说：“十二点差几分吧。我不知道确切的时间。”
　　艾蜜莉·布雷斯特说，“我们发现她死了的时候，正好是十二点差一刻。”
　　“啊，你们是划船来的。你们什么时候看到她躺在这里的呢？”
　　艾蜜莉·布雷斯特想了一想：“我想我们绕过那边的岩岬，大约是五六分钟之前吧。”她转头问雷德方：“你说是不是？”
　　他含糊地说：“是——是——差不多吧，我想。”
　　倪司敦放低了声音问巡官说：“这位是死者的先生？哦！我明白了。是我弄错了，我还以为他就是呢。看起来他好像悲伤过度的样子。”他提高了声音，很正式地说：“我们可以说死亡时间是十二点差二十分。不会再早多少，大约是那时候到十一点——到十一点差一刻之间。十一点差一刻是最早的极限了。”
　　巡官把他的记事本用力合上：“谢谢，”他说：“这对我们应该大有帮助，上下时限相当短——加起来不到一个小时。”
　　他转头对布雷斯特小、姐说：“现在，我想一切到目前为止都很清楚了，你是艾蜜莉·布雷斯特小、姐，这位是派屈克·雷德方先生，两位都住在乐园旅馆。你们认定这位太太是你们同一个旅馆的客人——马歇尔先生的太太？”
　　艾蜜莉·布雷斯特点了点头。
　　“那，我想，”柯根德巡官说：“我们回旅馆去吧。”他招手叫来一名警员。“霍克斯，你守在这里，不准任何人进入海湾，我等下派菲力浦也来。”
　　“我的天！”温斯顿上校说：“真没想到你在这里！”
　　赫邱里·白罗以他惯有的态度回应了这位警察局长的招呼，他喃喃地说道：“啊，不错，从在圣卢镇的那件案子之后，已经有好多年了。”
　　“不过，我可没忘记那个案子。”温斯顿说。“真是我这辈子最意外的一件事，我再也想不通你怎么会在葬礼那件事上骗过我的，整个案子实在是太超乎常轨，太奇妙了。”
　　“上校，”白罗说：“结果还是很好，对不对？”
　　“呃——哎，也许吧。不过我敢说如果以正规的办法去查的话，也还是会得到那个结果的。”
　　“很可能。”白罗很委婉地表示同意。
　　“你现在又碰上了一宗谋杀案。”警察局长说：“对这个案子有什么想法没有呢？”
　　白罗慢慢地说道：“还没有什么确切的想法——不过这案子很有意思。”
　　“打算帮帮我们的忙吗？”
　　“看你答不答应了。”
　　“亲爱的朋友，能有你帮忙真叫人高兴呢。还不知道这个案子是不是要交给苏格兰场去办。就这样看起来，凶手很可能就在这有限的范围，不过从另一方面来说，所有这些人都是外地到这里来的，要知道他们的资料和动机，非得去伦敦不可。”
　　白罗说：“嗯。这倒是真的。”
　　“首先。”温斯顿说：“我们一定要找出来谁是最后一个还看到那位太太活着的人。女佣在九点的时候给她送了早餐去。楼下柜台的女该子看到她大约在十点左右穿过休息室出去。”
　　“我的朋友，”白罗说：“我想我就是你要找的那个人。”
　　“你今天早上看到她？什么时候？”
　　“大约是十点零五分的时候，我帮她在海水浴场那边把筏子推下了水。”
　　“然后她就乘着筏子走了？”
　　“是的。”
　　“一个人吗？”
　　“是的。”
　　“你有没看到她往那个方向去的？”
　　“她划过去绕过了右边的岩岬。”
　　“那就是往小妖湾那个方向了？”
　　“是的。”
　　“那时候的时间是——”
　　“我想她真正离开海滩的时候是十点一刻。”
　　温斯顿想了想。“时间很合，你想她把筏子划到小妖湾要多少时间？”
　　“啊，我，我不是这方面的专家。我既不上船，也不会上筏子。也许要半个钟点吧？”
　　“这跟我估算的差不多。”警察局长说：“我猜她不会很赶。呃，要是她在十一点差一刻左右到那里的话，时间又对了。”
　　“法医认为她死亡的时间是什么时候？”
　　“哦，倪司敦并没有确定，他是个很谨慎的人，他只说最早不会超过十一点差一刻。”
　　白罗点了点头。他说：“还有一点我必须要提的，马歇尔太太在离开的时候，要我不要跟别人说我看见了她。”
　　温斯顿瞪大了眼睛。他说：“啊，这倒很有点意思。是不是？”
　　白罗喃喃说道：“嗯，我也这么想。”
　　温斯顿捻着胡子，他说：“哎，白罗，你是个见多识广的人，马歇尔太太到底是个什么样的人呢？”
　　白罗的唇边浮现了一抹微笑。他问道：“你难道还没听说什么吗？”
　　警察局长冷冷地说：“我知道那些女人怎么说她，一定是会那样说的。那些话里到底有多少是真的呢？她跟那个叫雷德方的家伙到底有没有什么关系？”
　　“我毫无疑问地要说是有的。”
　　“他跟着她到这里来的吧，呃？”
　　“可以这样说。”
　　“那个做丈夫的呢？他知不知道这件事？他有什么感觉呢？”
　　白罗慢慢地说道：“要知道马歇尔先生有什么感觉，或是在想什么，都不是一件容易的事，他是一个喜怒不形于色的人。”
　　温斯顿很精明地说：“可是不管怎么样，他还是个有喜有怒的人吧。”
　　白罗点了点头。他说，“哦，不错，他还是有这些感觉的。”
　　这位警察局长在讯问康素太太时，也一样很有他的技巧。
　　康素太太是乐园旅馆的老板和所有人，她年约四十出头，胸部丰满，一头火红的头发，说起话来有点讲究得过分。她说：“这种事情怎么会发生在我的旅馆里！我一直觉得这里可是你所想得到最平静的地方了！到这里来的客人全都是再好不过的人，没有什么下三流的人——我想你懂我的意思。这里可不像是圣卢一带的大饭店。”
　　“一点也不错，康素太太，”温斯顿上校说：“可是就算是管理得再好的地方，也可能会有意外发生的。”
　　“我相信柯根德巡官可以帮我证明，”康素太太说着朝正经八本地坐在一边的巡官哀恳似地看了一眼。“至于说到各种法律规定，我特别注意，从来没有过任何违规的事情。”
　　“当然，当然。”温斯顿说：“我们并没有怪你什么啦，康素太太。”
　　“可是这对我们的声誉大有影响。”康素太太说，她那对大胸脯不住地起伏。“我一想到噪杂好奇的人会涌过来，就……当然，岛上只准住旅馆的客人来的——一可是还是一样，那些人想必会到岸边来指指点点。”她打了个寒战。
　　柯根德巡官看到这正是他把话题转一下的好机会，他说：“提到你刚说的这一点，不让闲杂人等到岛上来，你怎么管得住呢？”
　　“我在这一点上特别注意。”
　　“是呀，可是你用什么方法来做呢？怎么让他们不来？夏天的泳客到处都是，就像苍蝇一样呢。”
　　康素太太又打了个寒战。她说：“都是游览车的错。有次我在皮梳湾看到有十八人挤在码头上，十八个人哩！”
　　“就是啊，你怎么让他们不过来？”
　　“我们有告示，另外，当然，潮水涨的时候，岛跟陆地就不连在一起了。”
　　“不错，可是退潮的时候呢？”
　　康素太太解释道，在堤路近岛这端有一扇门，上面有告示说：“乐园旅馆为私有财产，非旅馆住客严禁入内。”至于两边全是矗立在海里的岩石，无法攀援的。
　　“不过，随便什么人都可以弄条小船吧。我想，绕过去在那个小海湾上岸的话怎么办呢？这点你可无法防止，人人都有权到岸的，潮涨潮落之间，没办法不让人来。”
　　可是这种事好像很少，在皮梳湾港口的确可以弄到小船，可是从那里划到岛上可远得很呢，而且在皮梳湾的港门外就有一股很大的洋流。在鸥湾和小妖湾也都在梯子附近贴有告示，她还说乔治或威廉经常会在靠近大陆这边的海水浴场上巡逻。
　　“谁又是乔治和威廉呢？”
　　“乔治是负责海水浴场的，他管人进出和筏子，戚廉是园丁，他负责所有的小路，标记，网球场什么的。”
　　温斯顿上校不耐烦地说：“唔，这样好像够清楚了，并不是说没有外人能进得来，不过来的人至少得冒很大的险——可能会被别人看见。我们等下要跟乔治和威廉谈谈。”
　　康素太太说：“我不喜欢那些来逛逛的人——他们很吵，常常把橘子皮和香烟盒丢在堤路上跟岩石下，可是我不相信他们之中会有杀人凶乎，哎呀！这事简直可怕得难以形容，像马歇尔太太这样的人会死于非命，而且更可怕的是——呃——给扼死的……”康素太太简直说不出最后几个字，非常勉强地讲了出来。
　　柯根德巡官安慰她道：“嗯，这实在是件很差劲的事。”
　　“还有报纸，我的旅馆会上报！”
　　柯根德微笑道：“哦，哎，这说起来，也算是一种广告吧。”
　　康素太太挺直了背脊，胸口起伏着，冷冷地说：“我才不在乎这种广告哩，柯根德先生。”
　　温斯顿上校插嘴道：“呃，康素太太，我请你准备的旅客名单准备好了没有？”
　　“好了，局长。”
　　温斯顿上校拿过旅馆旅客登记簿，他看了看也和他们一起在经理室的白罗。“你恐怕现在在这里可以帮上我们点忙。”
　　他把所有的名字看了一遍，“工作人员呢？”
　　康素太太拿出另外一张名单，“一共有四个女佣，侍者领班和他的三个手下，还有酒吧间的亨利，威廉管擦皮鞋，还有一个厨娘，带着两个手下。”
　　“侍者是那些人？”
　　“哦，领班叫安伯特，是由朴莱茅斯的文生大饭店来的，在这里做了好几年了，他三名手下也都来了三年——其中还有一个已经做了四年，都是很好的青年，非常可靠，亨利是打从旅馆开业就一直在这里做的，能干得很。”
　　温斯顿点了点头，他对柯根德说：“看起来都没问题，你当然要再查问他们一下的。谢谢你，康素太太。”
　　“没有别的事了吧？”
　　“暂时没有了。”
　　康素太太走出了房间，温斯顿说：“第一件要做的事就是跟马歇尔先生谈谈。”
　　甘逸世·马歇尔静坐着回答所有问他的问题，除了表情比较硬之外，他还算相当镇静，从这边看过去，由窗口透进来的阳光照在他的脸上，可以看得出他是个很英俊的男人。端正的五官，稳定的蓝眼，嘴唇饱满，他的声音低沉悦耳。温斯顿上校说：“马歇尔先生，我很理解，你一定感到非常震惊，可是你知道我希望能尽快得到所有的资料。”
　　马歇尔点了点头。他说：“我很了解，请问吧。”
　　“马歇尔太太是你第二任妻子？”
　　“是的。”
　　“你们结婚有多久呢？”
　　“刚满四年多。”
　　“她在婚前的闺名是什么？”
　　“海伦·史达特，她的艺名叫艾莲娜·史达特。”
　　“她是女演员吗？”
　　“她演喜歌剧和歌舞剧。”
　　“她是不是因为和你结婚而退出了舞台？”
　　“没有，她婚后还继续登台演出，她实际退休是大约一年半以前。”
　　“她退出舞台有没有什么特殊原因呢？”
　　甘逸世·马歇尔好像考虑了一下。“没有，”他说：“她只是说她觉得厌倦了。”
　　“不是——呃——因为顺从你的意思吧？”
　　马歇尔挑起眉毛，“啊，不是的。”
　　“你对她在婚后继续演出的事没有意见吗？”
　　马歇尔淡淡地笑了笑说：“我当然希望她放弃演出，不过我并没有要求什么。”
　　“这件事没有引起你们夫妻不和？”
　　“当然没有，我内人可以随心所欲。”
　　“你们的婚姻——很美满吗？”
　　甘逸世·马歇尔冷冷地说：“当然。”
　　温斯顿上校停了一分钟，然后说道：“马歇尔先生，你想不想得到可能是谁杀了你的太太？”
　　他毫不迟疑地回答道“一点也不知道。”
　　“她有没有仇人呢？”
　　“可能有。”
　　“怎么说？”
　　对方很快地继续说道：“不要误会我的意思，局长，我内人是个女演贝，她也是一个很好看的女人，在这两方面她都会引起相当程度的羡慕和嫉妒。有时为了争一个角色——其他的女人和她之间的竞争——我们可以说，一般对她都有点嫉妒、憎恨、恶意，而且都很无情。可是那并不是说会有什么人蓄意谋杀她。”
　　赫邱里·白罗这才第一次开口说道：“你的意思是说，她的仇人大部分，或者说完全都是女人？”
　　甘逸世·马歇尔看了他一眼。“是的，”他说：“正是如此。”
　　警察局长说道：“你不知道有那个男人对她怀有恨意的吗？”
　　“不知道。”
　　“这个旅馆的其他客人里，有没有她在来之前就认识的？”
　　“我记得她以前见过雷德方先生——在一个什么酒会的场合，其他的人我就不知道了。”
　　温斯顿又停了下来，他好像在考虑是不是该再就这个问题追问下去，最后他决定换个话题。他说：“我们现在谈一下今天早上的事，你最后见到你太太是在什么时候？”
　　马歇尔停了一分钟，然后说道：“我在下楼吃早饭的时候到她房间去看了一眼——”
　　“对不起，你们各人有自己的房间？”
　　“是的。”
　　“那时候是几点钟？”
　　“应该是九点左右。”
　　“她当时在做什么？”
　　“她正在拆信。”
　　“她有没有说什么呢？”
　　“没说什么，只说了声早——今天天气很好——这一类的话。”
　　“她的态度如何？有没有什么不寻常的地方呢？”
　　“没有，完全正常。”
　　“她看起来并没有兴奋，沮丧或是不安什么的吗？”
　　“我完全没有注意到。”
　　赫邱里·白罗说：“她有没有谈起她那几封信的内容？”
　　马歇尔嘴角又露出一丝淡淡的微笑。他说：“就我记忆所及，她说那些全是帐单。”
　　“你太太在床上吃的早餐吗？”
　　“是的。”
　　“她一向有这个习惯吗？”
　　“毫无例外。”
　　赫邱里·白罗说：“她通常几点钟下楼？”
　　“哦，十点到十一点之间——通常接近十一点。”
　　白罗继续问道：“要是她是十点正下楼来的，可是很出人意外的事了吧？”
　　“不错，她很少会那么早下楼的。”
　　“可是今早她却是如此，你想是怎么回事呢？马歇尔先生？”
　　马歇尔丝毫不动感情地说：“我一点也不知道，恐怕是天气的关系——今天天气特别好。”
　　“你后来有没有再找她？”
　　甘逸世·马歇尔在椅子上挪动了一下身子，他说：“吃过早饭之后我又去看了她一回，房间里没人，我觉得有点奇怪。”
　　“然后你到了下面海滩上，问我有没有看到她？”
　　“呃——是的。”然后他略略加重了点语气说：“你说你没有……”
　　赫邱里·白罗那对一副无辜表情的眼睛连眨也没眨一下，他很温柔地摸着他既大又翘的胡子。
　　温斯顿说：“你今早有没有任何特殊的原因一定要找到你太太呢？”
　　马歇尔把眼光转到这位局长脸上，他说：“没有，只是奇怪她到哪里去了而已。”
　　温斯顿又停了下来，他将椅子微微挪动了一下，换了个语调说：“马歇尔先生，你刚才提到你太太以前就认得派屈克·雷德方先生，你太太和雷德方先生到底有多熟？”
　　甘逸世·马歇尔说：“我可以抽烟吗？”他在口袋里摸索着。“该死！我又不知把烟斗放在哪里了。”
　　白罗递给他一支香烟，他接过去点上，说道：“你问到雷德方，我内人告诉我说，她是在一个鸡尾酒会上认得他的。”
　　“那么，只是点头之交了？”
　　“我想是的。”
　　“那以后——”局长停了一下，“据我了解他们之间的交往变得比以前亲密多了。”
　　马歇尔语气犀利地问道：“据你了解是这样？谁告诉你的？”
　　“旅馆里大家都这样说。”
　　马歇尔看了看赫邱里·白罗，眼光中带着冷冷的愤怒。他说：“旅馆里传的闲话大多都是假的。”
　　“可能是吧，不过我想雷德方先生和尊夫人也有些事情让人家说这种闲话。”
　　“什么事情？”
　　“他们一直在一起。”
　　“不过如此而已？”
　　“你并不否认有这种事吧？”
　　“可能有吧，我实在没有注意。”
　　“你并不——对不起，马歇尔先生——你并不反对你太太和雷德方先生交往？”
　　“我一向不批评我内人的事。”
　　“你既没有抗议，也没有反对？”
　　“当然没有。”
　　“甚至于在事情成为丑闻的话题，在雷德方先生和他太太之间造成失和之后，也没有任何表示吗？”
　　甘逸世·马歇尔冷冷地说：“我只管我自己的事，也希望别人只管他们自己的事，我是从来不听闲话和谣言的。”
　　“你并不否认雷德方先生很爱慕尊夫人吧？”
　　“他也许对她很爱慕，大部分男人都如此。她是个很美的女人。”
　　“可是你本人却觉得他们之间的交往并没有什么暧昧之处？”
　　“我跟你说过了，我从来没想到会有那种事。”
　　“假如说，我们有证人可以证明他们之间有很亲密的关系呢？”
　　那对蓝眼又转向赫邱里·白罗，在那张平素不大显露出感情的脸上，又露出了厌恶的表情。
　　马歇尔说：“要是你想听闲话就去听吧，我内人已经死了，她也不能再为自己辩白。”
　　“你的意思是说，你本人并不相信那些闲话？”
　　马歇尔的前额上第一次浮现了汗珠，他说：“我不会主动去相信这一类的事。”他继续说道：“你这不是离正题太远了吗？我相不相信和谋杀案这件很明显的事实都没有什么关系。”
　　赫邱里·白罗在他们两个都还没来得及开口之前就抢先说道：“你不了解，马歇尔先生，世界上没有所谓谋杀案的明显事实，十之八九，谋杀都是因为死者的性格和环境而引起的。因为被害者是这样的人，所以才会遭到谋杀！要不等到我们完全了解艾莲娜·马歇尔是怎么样一个人，我们就不能够很清楚而确实地看到凶手会是什么样的人。就因为这样，才有必要问这些问题。”
　　马歇尔转头向警察局长问道：“这也是你的看法吗？”
　　温斯顿犹豫了一下，他说：“呃，在某方面来说，我是同意的——也就是说……”
　　马歇尔短促地笑了一声，他说：“我想你是不会同意的，这套性格什么的说法，我相信是白罗先生的专长。”
　　白罗微笑道：“你至少可以恭喜你自己一点也没帮上我的忙。”
　　“你这话是什么意思？”
　　“你到底跟我们谈到尊夫人些什么呢？根本什么也没说，你所说的，每个人自己都看得见，她很漂亮，很受人爱慕，别的什么也没有。”
　　甘逸世·马歇尔耸了下肩膀，他很简单地说：“你是个疯子。”他望着警察局长，用很强调的语气问道：“你还有什么别的要问我吗？”
　　“还有，马歇尔先生，请你告诉我你本人今天早上的一切行动。”
　　甘逸世·马歇尔点了点头，显然他早想到会有此一问。他说；“我像平常一样大约在九点左右下楼吃早餐和看报纸。我刚才也跟你们说过，后来我又上楼到我内人房间去，发现她已经出去了。我下楼，到了外面的海滩上，看到了白罗先生，问他有没有看见她，然后我游了一会泳，又回到旅馆里，那时候是，我想想看，大约十一点差二十左右——不错，大概是那个时候，我看了下大厅里的钟，刚过十点四十。我回到自己的房间，但是女佣人还没完全打扫好，我有几封信要打字，想赶上邮班的，我又下了楼，在酒吧间里和亨利聊了一两句，在十一点差十分的时候再回到房间里，在那里打信，一直打到十二点差十分。然后换上网球装，因为我约好了十二点要去打网球，我们头一天订好了场地的。”
　　“你所谓的我们是那些人？”
　　“雷德方太太、戴礼小、姐、贾德纳先生和我。我十二点钟下楼，去了网球场，戴礼小、姐和贾德纳先生已经到了。雷德方太太迟到了几分钟，我们打了一小时的网球，打完之后回到旅馆的时候，我——我——就听到了这个消息。”
　　“谢谢你，马歇尔先生，只是照规矩要问一问，有没有人能证明你在你房间里打字，从——呃——十一点差十分到十二点差十分之间？”
　　甘逸世·马歇尔淡然一笑道：“你是不是认为我杀了我自己的老婆？我想想看，女佣人在附近的房间里整理，想必会听见打字机的声音，还有我所打的信可以做为证明，因为这些杂乱的事，我那几封信都还没寄出，我想这都是很好的证据吧。”
　　他从口袋里掏出三封信来，信封上都写了地址，但还没贴邮票。他说：“信里的内容都是机密性的，可是碰到的既是谋杀案，也只好被迫信任警方不致泄密了。里面有不少数字和财务上面的多种资料。我想如果你们派一个人照样打一份的话，就会发现不可能在一个小时不到的时间打完的。”他略停顿了一下，“我希望你们满意了吧？”
　　温斯顿说：“这不是说谁有没有嫌疑的问题。在岛上的每一个人都要说明今天早晨从十一点差一刻到十二点差二十这段时间里的行动。”
　　甘逸世·马歇尔说：“好。”
　　温斯顿说：“还有一件事，马歇尔先生，你知不知道你太太会怎么样处理她的遗产？”
　　“你是说她的遗嘱？我想她根本没有写遗嘱吧。”
　　“可是你并不能确定？”
　　“她的律师是在贝德福广场的三条法律事务所，他们负责她所有的合约等等。不过我很确定她从来没立过遗嘱，她有次就说过做这种事会让她感到不寒而栗。”
　　“在这个情形下，她既没有立遗嘱，身亡之后，你是她的丈夫，就能继承她的全部财产？”
　　“嗯，我想是这样的。”
　　“她还有别的近亲吗？”
　　“我想没有吧。就算有，她也从来没提起过。我知道她很小的时候就父母双亡，而且她没有兄弟姊妹。”
　　“这样说来，我想，她没有多少遗产了？”
　　甘逸世·马歇尔冷冷地道：“正好相反，两年前，罗吉·安思勤爵士，她的一个老朋友，把他的大部分财产都遗赠给她，我想，总数大约有五万镑。”
　　柯根德巡官抬起头来，眼里露出警醒的神色。到现在为止，他一直保持着沉默，这下他问道：“那，马歇尔先生，你太太实际上是个很富有的女人了？”
　　甘逸世·马歇尔耸了下肩膀说：“我想是吧。”
　　“你还是说她没有立过遗嘱？”
　　“你们可以去问她的律师，不过我相当确定她没有，我刚才说过，她觉得那样做会倒霉。”他略停了一下，然后说道：“还有什么别的事吗？”
　　温斯顿摇了摇头，“我想没有了——呃，柯根德？没有了，马歇尔先生，让我们再一次向你致哀悼之意。”
　　马歇尔眨了眨眼睛，有点唐突地道：“啊——谢谢。”他走了出去。
　　剩下的三个人彼此对望了一眼，温斯顿说：“此公真是冷静，什么也不肯说，你觉得他怎么样？柯根德？”
　　巡官摇了摇头说：“很难说，他是那种深藏不露的人，这种人出庭作证的时候给人的印象最坏，可是这样说法对他们实在有点不公平。有时候他们心里很痛苦，却不能表现出来，这种态度就会让陪审团作错误的判决，不是证据的问题，而是一般人不相信一个人在死了太太之后还能这样冷静地谈这个问题。”
　　温斯顿转头问白罗道：“你说呢？白罗。”
　　赫邱里·白罗把两手举了起来。他说：“还有什么好说的？他守口如瓶——像只合紧了的蛤蛎。他决定扮什么样的角色，什么也没听到，什么也没看到，什么也不知道。”
　　“我们知道了有好几种动机，”柯根德说：“有嫉妒，有金钱。当然，在某方面说来，做丈夫的是嫌疑最重的，很自然的第一个就会想到他，要是他知道他老婆跟别的男人有什么——”
　　白罗插嘴道：“我想他知道。”
　　“你为什么这样说呢？”
　　“哎，我的朋友，昨天晚上我和雷德方太太在阳光崖上谈了一会儿，然后从那里下来回旅馆去，在回来的路上我看到了那两个人在一起——马歇尔太太和派屈克·雷德方。过了一会儿之后，我又碰到了马歇尔，他绷紧了脸，脸上没有表情——可是太一点表情都没有了，几乎过分空白，我不知道你是不是懂我的意思，啊！他一定知道了。”
　　柯根德有点怀疑地哼了一声，他说：“啊，好吧，要是你认为是这样——”
　　“我很确定！可是，即使如此，又能表示什么呢？甘逸世·马歇尔到底对他的太太有什么感觉？”
　　温斯顿上校说：“能很冷静地把她杀掉。”
　　白罗不表满意地摇了摇头。柯根德巡官说：“有时候这些不说话的人骨子里却是最凶残的家伙，全藏在心底，他很可能爱她爱得发疯——也非常嫉妒，可是他却不是那种会把这些感情表现出来的人。”
　　白罗慢吞吞地说：“不错——有这种可能。这位马歇尔先生实在是个很有意思的人，我对他很有兴趣，也对他的不在场证明很有兴趣。”
　　“用打字机做不在场证明。”温斯顿发出了一声短促的笑声，“你对这一点有什么意见？柯根德？”
　　柯根德巡官把眼睛翻了上去，他说：“哎，你知道，局长，我有点服气他的这个不在场证明，那并不是个太好的证明，你懂我的意思吧，可是——呃，可是很自然，要是我们能找到在附近整理房间的女佣，而她又确实听到了打字的声音，那，我觉得就没问题了，我们得再往别的地方去查去。”
　　“嗯。”温斯顿上校说：“你打算到那里去查呢？”
　　这三个人考虑了一阵，柯根德巡官首先开口。他说：“先要决定一个基本的问题——凶手是外面来的？还是旅馆的客人？我并没有完全排除可能是旅馆职员的情形，可是我也不相信他们之中有那一个会牵扯在里面。哎，我想是一个旅馆里的客人，要不就是从外面来的什么人。我们得这样看，第一是——动机。有人可以因而获利，看起来因为这位太太过世而可以获利的就是她的丈夫。另外还有什么别的动机呢？最先也最重要的是——嫉妒。在我看来——就表面上来看——要说是有‘嫌犯’(他以法语说了这两个字，向白罗微一鞠躬)的话，就是这位老兄了。”
　　白罗两眼望着天花板，喃喃地说道：“热情有好多种。”
　　柯根德巡官继续说道：“她的丈夫不肯承认她有什么仇人——真正的仇人，可是我一点也不相信是这样！我认为像她这样的女人一定——呃，一定会有很恨她的仇人的——呃，白罗先生，你刚刚说什么来着？”
　　白罗回答道：“哦，不错，是这样的。艾莲娜应该会有仇人的，不过就我的意见来说，这个理论未见得有多少用处，因为你知道，巡官，我想艾莲娜·马歇尔的仇人会像我刚才说的那样，全是女人。”
　　温斯顿哼了一声说：“这话有道理，是那些女人干了她不错。”
　　白罗继续说道：“但这个案子的凶手不可能是个女人，法医是怎么说的？”
　　温斯顿又哼了一声。他说：“倪司敦断言说是一个男人扼死她的，很大的两手——握力很强。当然，也可能是一个会武有力的女人干的——可是，看来实在不像。”
　　白罗点了点头，“一点也不错，在一杯茶里下砒霜——在一盒巧克力糖里下毒——用刀甚至用手熗——可是要扼死人——不可能！我们要找的凶手是个男人。”他继续说道：“这样一来，事情就更困难了。在这个旅馆里有两个人有想把艾莲娜·马歇尔干掉的动机——可是两个都是女人。”
　　温斯顿上校问道：“我想，雷德方的太太是一个吧？”
　　“是的，雷德方太太很可能下定决心要杀艾莲娜·史达特。我们可以说，她有充分的理由。我想，雷德方太太也可能真正动手杀人。可是不是这种方式，因为她虽然很不快乐，又很嫉妒，然而我却认为她不是一个情感激烈的女人，在爱情上，她会很真诚——但不会很热情冲动。我刚刚也说过——在茶里下毒——有可能——用手扼杀，就不会了。我同时也能确定她在体力上来说，也不能做到这种犯罪行为。何况她的两手比一般人要小得多呢。”
　　温斯顿点了点头，他说：“这不是女人做得出的案子，凶手是个男人。”
　　柯根德巡官咳嗽一声道：“我先说说另外一个推理。比方说，在认得雷德方先生之前，死者已经和另外一个男人有什么关系，我们姑且称那个男人叫某甲，她为了雷德方而抛弃了某甲，某甲因此十分愤怒而又嫉妒，他跟着她到了这里，躲在附近的什么地方，然后到了岛上，把她干掉。这也有可能吧！”
　　温斯顿说：“有这可能不错，如果真是如此，也很容易证明。他是走来的？还是划船过来的，后面一种情况比较可能，如果真是这样的话，他想必要在什么地方租条船，你最好到处去查一下。”他看了看白罗。“你认为柯根德这个说法怎么样？”
　　白罗缓缓地道：“这种说法有太多要碰运气的地方，再说——有点地方也不大对，你知道，我很难想象出那个男人……你说的那种既愤怒又嫉妒的男人。”
　　柯根德说：“不过，的确有人为她神魂颠倒哩，你看看雷德方。”
　　“不错，不错……可是我总还是觉得——”柯根德疑问地望着他，白罗摇了摇头，皱起眉头说道：“在什么地方，有什么事情我们没有注意到……”


[ 此帖被喻然末年在2013-10-14 18:21重新编辑 ]
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这一段开心的日子请你勿忘
举报 只看该作者 板凳   发表于: 2013-10-14 0
Chapter 3

Rosamund Darnley and Kenneth Marshall sat on the short springy tuff of the cliff overlooking Gull Cove. This was on the east side of the island. People came here in the morning sometimes to bathe when they wanted to be peaceful. Rosamund said: "It's nice to get away from people."

Marshall murmured inaudibly: "Mm, yes." He rolled over sniffing at the short tuff. "Smells good. Remember the downs at Shipley?"

"Rather."

"Pretty good, those days."

"Yes."

"You're not changed much, Rosamund."

"Yes, I have. I've changed enormously."

"You've been very successful and you're rich and all that, but you're the same old Rosamund."

Rosamund murmured: "I wish I were."

"What's that?"

"Nothing. It's a pity, isn't it, Kenneth, that we can't keep the nice natures and high ideals that we had when we were young?"

"I don't know that your nature was ever particularly nice, my child. You used to get into the most frightful rages. You half choked me once when you flew at me in a temper."

Rosamund laughed. She said: "Do you remember the day that we took Toby down to get water rats?"

They spent some minutes in recalling old adventures. Then there came a pause. Rosamund's fingers played with the clasp of her bag. She said at last: "Kenneth?"

"Um." His reply was indistinct. He was still lying on his face on the tuff.

"If I say something to you that is probably outrageously impertinent, will you never speak to me again?"

He rolled over and sat up. "I don't think," he said seriously, "that I would ever regard anything you said as impertinent. You see, you belong."

She nodded in acceptance of all that last phrase meant. She concealed only the pleasure it gave her. "Kenneth, why don't you get a divorce from your wife?"

His face altered. It hardened - the happy expression died out of it. He took a pipe from his pocket and began filling it. Rosamund said: "I'm sorry if I've offended you."

He said quietly: "You haven't offended me."

"Well, then, why don't you?"

"You don't understand, my dear girl."

"Are you so frightfully fond of her?"

"It's not just a question of that. You see, I married her."

"I know. But she's pretty notorious."

He considered that for a moment, ramming in the tobacco carefully. "Is she? I suppose she is."

"You could divorce her, Ken."

"My dear girl, you've got no business to say a thing like that. Just because men lose their heads about her a bit isn't to say that she loses hers."

Rosamund bit off a rejoinder. Then she said: "You could fix it so that she divorced you - if you prefer it that way."

"I daresay I could."

"You ought to, Ken. Really, I mean it. There's the child."

"Linda?"

"Yes, Linda."

"What's Linda got to do with it?"

"Arlena's not good for Linda. She isn't really. Linda, I think, feels things a good deal."

Kenneth Marshall applied a match to his pipe. Between puffs he said: "Yes - there's something in that. I suppose Arlena and Linda aren't very good for each other. Not the right thing for a girl perhaps. It's a bit worrying."

Rosamund said: "I like Linda - very much. There's something - fine about her."

Kenneth said: "She's like her mother. She takes things hard like Ruth did."

Rosamund said: "Then don't you think - really - that you ought to get rid of Arlena?"

"Fix up a divorce?"

"Yes. People are doing that all the time."

Kenneth Marshall said with sudden vehemence: "Yes, and that's just what I hate."

"Hate?" She was startled.

"Yes. Sort of attitude to life there is nowadays. If you take on a thing and don't like it, then you get yourself out of it as quick as possible! Dash it all, there's got to be such a thing as good faith. If you marry a woman and engage yourself to look after her, well, it's up to you to do it. It's your show. You've taken it on. I'm sick of quick marriage and easy divorce. Arlena's my wife, that's all there is to it."

Rosamund leaned forward. She said in a low voice: "So it's like that with you? 'Till death do us part'?"

Kenneth Marshall nodded his head. He said: "That's just it."

Rosamund said: "I see."

Mr Horace Blatt, returning to Leathercombe Bay down a narrow twisting lane, nearly ran down Mrs Redfern at a corner. As she flattened herself into the hedge, Mr Blatt brought his Sunbeam to a halt by applying the brakes vigorously. "Hullo-ullo-ullo," said Mr Blatt cheerfully. He was a large man with a red face and a fringe of reddish hair round a shining bald spot. It was Mr Blatt's apparent ambition to be the life and soul of any place he happened to be in. The Jolly Roger Hotel, in his opinion, given somewhat loudly, needed brightening up. He was puzzled at the way people seemed to melt and disappear when he himself arrived on the scene. "Nearly made you into strawberry jam, didn't I?" said Mr Blatt gaily.

Christine Redfern said: "Yes, you did."

"Jump in," said Mr Blatt.

"Oh, thanks I think I'll walk."

"Nonsense," said Mr Blatt. "What's a car for?"

Yielding to necessity Christine Redfern got in. Mr Blatt restarted the engine which had stopped owing to the suddenness with which he had previously pulled up. Mr Blatt inquired: "And what are you doing walking about all alone? That's all wrong, a nice-looking girl like you."

Christine said hurriedly: "Oh! I like being alone."

Mr Blatt gave her a terrific dig with his elbow, nearly sending the car into the hedge at the same time. "Girls always say that," he said. "They don't mean it. You know, that place, the Jolly Roger, wants a bit of livening up. Nothing jolly about it. No life in it. Of course there's a good amount of duds staying there. A lot of kids, to begin with, and a lot of old fogeys too. There's that old Anglo-Indian bore and that athletic parson and those yapping Americans and that foreigner with the moustache makes me laugh that moustache of his! I should say he's a hair-dresser, something of that sort."

Christine shook her head. "Oh, no, he's a detective."

Mr Blatt nearly let the car go into the hedge again. "A detective? D'you mean he's in disguise?"

Christine smiled faintly. She said: "Oh, no, he really is like that. He's Hercule Poirot. You must have heard of him."

Mr Blatt said: "Didn't catch his name properly. Oh, yes, I've heard of him. But I thought he was dead... Dash it, he ought to be dead. What's he after down here?"

"He's not after anything - he's just on a holiday."

"Well, I suppose that might be so." Mr Blatt seemed doubtful about it. "Looks a bit of a bounder, doesn't he?"

"Well," said Christine and hesitated. "Perhaps a little peculiar."

"What I say is," said Mr Blatt, "what's wrong with Scotland Yard? Buy British every time for me." He reached the bottom of the hill and with a triumphant fanfare of the horn ran the car into the Jolly Roger's garage which was situated, for tidal reasons, on the mainland opposite the hotel.

Linda Marshall was in the small shop which catered to the wants of visitors to Leathercombe Bay. One side of it was devoted to shelves on which were books which could be borrowed for the sum of twopence. The newest of them was ten years old, some were twenty years old and others older still. Linda took first one and then another doubtfully from the shelf and glanced into it. She decided she couldn't possibly read The Four Feathers or Vice Versa. She took out a small squat volume in brown calf. The time passed... With a start Linda shoved the book back in the shelf as Christine Redfern's voice said: "What are you reading, Linda?"

Linda said hurriedly: "Nothing. I'm looking for a book." She pulled out The Marriage of William Ashe at random and advanced to the counter fumbling for twopence.

Christine said: "Mr Blatt just drove me home after nearly running over me first, I really felt I couldn't walk all across the causeway with him, so I said I had to buy some things."

Linda said: "He's awful, isn't he? Always saying how rich he is and making the most terrible jokes."

Christine said: "Poor man. One really feels rather sorry for him."

Linda didn't agree. She didn't see anything to be sorry for in Mr Blatt. She was young and ruthless. She walked with Christine Redfern out of the shop and down towards the causeway. She was busy with her own thoughts. She liked Christine Redfern. She and Rosamund Darnley were the only bearable people on the island in Linda's opinion. Neither of them talked much to her for one thing. Now, as they walked, Christine didn't say anything. That, Linda thought, was sensible. If you hadn't anything worth saying why go chattering all the time? She lost herself in her own perplexities.

She said suddenly: "Mrs Redfern, have you ever felt that everything's so awful - so terrible - that you'll, oh, burst..."

The words were almost comic, but Linda's face, drawn and anxious, was not. Christine Redfern, looking at her vaguely, with scarcely comprehending eyes, certainly saw nothing to laugh at... She caught her breath sharply. She said: "Yes - yes I have felt - just that..."

Mr Blatt said: "So you're the famous sleuth, eh?" They were in the cocktail bar, a favorite haunt of Mr Blatt's.

Hercule Poirot acknowledged the remark with his usual lack of modesty. Mr Blatt went on. "And what are you doing down here - on a job?"

"No, no. I repose myself. I take the holiday."

Mr Blatt winked. "You'd say that anyway, wouldn't you?"

Poirot replied: "Not necessarily."

Horace Blatt said: "Oh! come now. As a matter of fact you'd be safe enough with me. I don't repeat all I hear! Learnt to keep my mouth shut years ago. Shouldn't have got on the way I have if I hadn't known how to do that. But you know what most people are - yap, yap, yap, about everything they hear! Now you can't afford that in your trade! That's why you've got to keep it up that you're here holiday-making and nothing else."

Poirot asked: "And why should you suppose the contrary?"

Mr Blatt dosed one eye. He said: "I'm a man of the world. I know the cut of a fellow's jib. A man like you would be at Deauville or Le Touquet or down at Juan les Pins. That's your - what's the phrase? - spiritual home."

Poirot sighed. He looked out of the window. Rain was falling and mist encircled the island. He said: "It is possible that you are right! There, at least, in wet weather there are the distractions."

"Good old Casino!" said Mr Blatt. "You know, I've had to work pretty hard most of my life. No time for holidays or kickshaws. I meant to make good and I have made good. Now I can do what I please. My money's as good as any man's. I've seen a bit of life in the last few years, I can tell you."

Poirot murmured: "Ah, yes?"

"Don't know why I came to this place," Mr Blatt continued.

Poirot observed: "I, too, wondered."

"Eh, what's that?"

Poirot waved an eloquent hand. "I, too, am not without observation. I should have expected you most certainly to choose Deauville or Biarritz."

"Instead of which, we're both here, eh?" Mr Blatt gave a hoarse chuckle. "Don't really know why I came here," he mused. "I think, you know, it sounded romantic. Jolly Roger Hotel, Smugglers' Island. That kind of address tickles you up, you know. Makes you think of when you were a boy. Pirates, smuggling, all that." He laughed rather self-consciously. "I used to sail quite a bit as a boy. Not this part of the world. Off the East coast. Funny how a taste for that sort of thing never leaves you. I could have a tiptop yacht if I liked, but somehow I don't really fancy it. I like mucking about in that little yawl of mine. Redfern's keen on sailing, too. He's been out with me once or twice. Can't get hold of him now - always hanging round that red-haired wife of Marshall's." He paused, then lowering his voice, he went on. "Mostly a dried-up lot of sticks in this hotel! Mrs Marshall's about the only lively spot! I should think Marshall's got his hands full looking after her. All sorts of stories about her in her stage days - and after! Men go crazy after her. You'll see, there'll be a spot of trouble one of these days."

Poirot said: "What kind of trouble?"

Horace Blatt replied: "That depends. I'd say, looking at Marshall, that he's a man with a funny kind of temper. As a matter of fact, I know he is. Heard something about him. I've met that quiet sort. Never know where you are with that kind. Redfern had better look out -"

He broke off, as the subject of his words came into the bar. He went on speaking loudly and self-consciously. "And, as I say, sailing round this coast is good fun. Hullo, Redfern, have one with me? What'll you have? Dry Martini? Right. What about you, Mr Poirot?"

Poirot shook his head. Patrick Redfern sat down and said: "Sailing? It's the best fun in the world. Wish I could do more of it. Used to spend most of my time as a boy in a sailing dinghy round this coast."

Poirot said: "Then you know this part of the world well?"

"Rather! I knew this place before there was a hotel on it. There were just a few fishermen's cottages at Leathercombe Bay and a tumbledown old house, all shut up, on the island."

"There was a house here?"

"Oh, yes, but it hadn't been lived in for years. Was practically falling down. There used to be all sorts of stories of secret passages from the house to Pixy's Cave. We were always looking for that secret passage, I remember."

Horace Blatt spilt his drink. He cursed, mopped himself and asked: "What is this Pixy's Cave?"

Patrick said: "Oh, don't you know it? It's on Pixy Cove. You can't find the entrance to it easily. It's among a lot of piled-up boulders at one end. Just a long thin crack. You can just squeeze through it. Inside it widens out into quite a big cave. You can imagine what fun it was to a boy! An old fisherman showed it to me. Nowadays, even the fishermen don't know about it. I asked one the other day why the place was called Pixy Cove and he couldn't tell me."

Hercule Poirot said: "But I still do not understand. What is this Pixy?"

Patrick Redfern said: "Oh! that's typically Devonshire. There's a Pixy's Cave on Sheepstor on the Moor. You're supposed to leave a pin, you know, as a present for the Pixy. A Pixy is a kind of moor spirit."

Hercule Poirot said: "Ah! but it is interesting, that."

Patrick Redfern went on. "There's a lot of pixy lore on Dartmoor still. There are Tors that are said to be pixy-ridden, and I expect that farmers coming home after a thick night still complain of being pixy-led."

Horace Blatt said: "You mean when they've had a Couple?"

Patrick Redfern said with a smile: "That's certainly the commonsense explanation!"

Blatt looked at his watch. He said: "I'm going in to dinner. On the whole, Redfern, pirates are my favourites, not pixies."

Patrick Redfern said with a laugh as the other went out: "Faith, I'd like to see the old boy pixy-led himself!"

Poirot observed meditatively: "For a hard-bitten business man, M. Blatt seems to have a very romantic imagination."

Patrick Redfern said: "That's because he's only half educated. Or so my wife says. Look at what he reads! Nothing but thrillers or Wild West stories."

Poirot said: "You mean that he has still the mentality of a boy?"

"Well, don't you think so, sir?"

"Me, I have not seen very much of him."

"I haven't really, either. I've been out sailing with him once or twice, but he doesn't really like having any one with him. He prefers to be on his own."

Hercule Poirot said: "That is indeed curious. It is singularly unlike his practice on land."

Redfern laughed. He said: "I know. We all have a bit of trouble keeping out of his way. He'd like to turn this place into a cross between Margate and Le Touquet."

Poirot said nothing for a minute or two. He was studying the laughing face of his companion very attentively. He said suddenly and unexpectedly: "I think, Mr Redfern, that you enjoy living."

Patrick stared at him, surprised. "Indeed I do. Why not?"

"Why not indeed," agreed Poirot. "I make you my felicitation on the fact."

Smiling a little Patrick Redfern said: "Thank you, sir."

"That is why, as an older man, a very much older man, I venture to offer you a piece of advice."

"Yes, sir?"

"A very wise friend of mine in the Police Force said to me years ago: 'Hercule, my friend, if you would know tranquillity, avoid women.'"

Patrick Redfern said: "I'm afraid it's a bit late for that, sir. I'm married, you know."

"I do know. You wife is a very charming, a very accomplished woman. She is, I think, very fond of you."

Patrick Redfern said sharply: "I'm very fond of her."

"Ah," said Hercule Poirot, "I am delighted to hear it."

Patrick's brow was suddenly like thunder. "Look here, M. Poirot, what are you getting at?"

"Les femmes." Poirot leaned back and closed his eyes. "I know something of them. They are capable of complicating life unbearably. And the English, they conduct their affairs indescribably. If it was necessary for you to come here, M. Redfern, why, in the name of Heaven, did you bring your wife?"

Patrick Redfern said angrily: "I don't know what you mean."

Hercule Poirot said calmly: "You know perfectly. I am not so foolish as to argue with an infatuated man. I utter only the word of caution."

"You've been listening to these damned scandalmongers. Mrs Gardener, the Brewster woman - nothing to do but to clack their tongues all day. Just because a woman's good-looking they're down on her like a sack of coals."

Hercule Poirot got up. He murmured: "Are you really as young as all that?" Shaking his head, he left the bar. Patrick Redfern stared angrily after him.

Hercule Poirot paused in the hall on his way from the dining-room. The doors were open a breath of soft night air came in. The rain had stopped and the mist had dispersed. It was a fine night again. Hercule Poirot found Mrs Redfern in her favourite seat on the cliff ledge. He stopped by her and said: "This seat is damp. You should not sit here. You will catch the chill."

"No, I shan't. And what does it matter anyway."

"Tscha, tscha, you are not a child! You are an educated woman. You must look at things sensibly."

She said coldly: "I can assure you I never take cold."

Poirot said: "It has been a wet day. The wind blew, the rain came down, and the mist was everywhere so that one could not see through it. Eh bien, what is it like now? The mists have rolled away, the sky is clear and up above the stars shine. That is like life, Madame."

Christine said in a low fierce voice: "Do you know what I am most sick of in this place?"

"What, Madame?"

"Pity." She brought the word out like a flick of a whip. She went on: "Do you think I don't know? That I can't see? All the time people are saying: 'Poor Mrs Redfern - that poor little woman.' And anyway I'm not little, I'm tall. They say little because they are sorry for me. And I can't bear it!"

Cautiously Hercule Poirot spread his handkerchief on the seat and sat down. He said thoughtfully: "There is something in that."

She said: "That woman -" and stopped.

Poirot said gravely: "Will you allow me to tell you something, Madame? Something that is as true as the stars above us? The Arlena Smarts or Arlena Marshalls of this world - do not count."

Christine Redfern said: "Nonsense."

"I assure you, it is true. Their Empire is of the moment and for the moment. To count, really and truly to count a woman must have goodness or brains."

Christine said scornfully: "Do you think men care for goodness or brains?"

Poirot said gravely: "Fundamentally, yes."

Christine laughed shortly. She said: "I don't agree with you."

Poirot said: "Your husband loves you, Madame, I know it."

"You can't know it."

"Yes, yes. I know it. I have seen him looking at you."

Suddenly she broke down. She wept stormily and bitterly against Poirot's accommodating shoulder. She said: "I can't bear it... I can't bear it..."

Poirot patted her arm. He said soothingly: "Patience - only patience."

She sat up and pressed her handkerchief to her eyes. She said in a stifled voice: "It's all right. I'm better now. Leave me. I'd - I'd rather be alone."

He obeyed and left her sitting there while he himself followed the winding path down to the hotel. He was nearly there when he heard the murmur of voices. He turned a little aside from the path. There was a gap in the bushes. He saw Arlena Marshall and Patrick Redfern beside her. He heard the man's voice, with the throb in it of emotion. "I'm crazy about you - crazy - you've driven me mad... You do care a little - you do care?"

He saw Arlena Marshall's face - it was, he thought, like a sleek happy cat - it was animal, not human. She said softly: "Of course, Patrick darling, I adore you. You know that..."

For once Hercule Poirot cut his eavesdropping short. He went back to the path and on down to the hotel.

A figure joined him suddenly. It was Captain Marshall. Marshall said: "Remarkable night, what? After that foul day." He looked up at the sky. "Looks as though we should have fine weather tomorrow."

第三章



　　罗莎梦·戴礼和甘逸世·马歇尔坐在岩顶剪得短短的草坪上，下面就是鸥湾。这里位于岛的东侧，有些人在早上到这里来游泳，因为这里比较安静。罗莎梦说：“能离开人群真是好。”
　　马歇尔含糊地应道：“嗯，”他翻过身去，嗅着草皮，“气味真好，还记得家乡的草原吗？”
　　“当然。”
　　“那些日子真好。”
　　“嗯。”
　　“你没有变多少，罗莎梦。”
　　“变了，我变了好多。”
　　“你一直很成功，你也很有钱，可是你还是以前那个罗莎梦。”
　　罗莎梦喃喃地道：“我倒希望真是这样。”
　　“你说什么？”
　　“没什么，甘逸世，我们没法保持年轻时那些好的本性和很高的理想，实在是一件可惜的事，是不是？”
　　“我倒不知道你的本性有多好，孩子，你以前常常会大发脾气。有一次在发火的时候差点把我给扼死了。”
　　罗莎梦大声笑了起来。她说：“你还记得那天我们带托比去抓水老鼠的事吗？”
　　他们谈了一阵子往事，然后停顿下来，罗莎梦的手指玩弄着她皮包的搭扣。最后她终于开口说道：“甘逸世？”
　　“嗯。”他的回答似乎听不清楚，他还俯身躺在草坪上。
　　“要是我说几句实在不该说的话，你以后会不会从此不再和我说话了？”
　　他翻过身，坐了起来，很严肃地说道：“我想我绝不会认为你有什么话是不该说的。你知道，你是很有分寸的人。”
　　她点了点头，表示接受他最后那句话的意思，只掩饰了她因这句话而感到的高兴。“甘逸世，你为什么不跟你的太太离婚？”
　　他的脸上起了变化。表情变冷了——原先的快乐都消失不见。他将烟斗从口袋里掏了出来，开始装烟丝。罗莎梦说：
　　“要是我这话冒犯了你，请你原谅。”
　　他不动声色地说：“你没有冒犯我。”
　　“啊，那，你为什么不离婚呢？”
　　“你不了解。”
　　“难道你——那么喜欢她吗？”
　　“不只是这个问题而已，你知道，我娶了她呢。”
　　“我知道，可是她——声名相当狼藉。”
　　他想了想，仔细地将烟丝填装进去，“是吗？——我想也是。”
　　“你可以跟她离婚的，甘逸世。”
　　“亲爱的孩子，你实在不该说这种话，只因为别的男人对她会昏了头，并不表示她也会昏了头。”
　　罗莎梦忍住了要说出口的话，然后说道：“你可以安排得让她主动提出和你离婚——如果你情愿那样子的话。”
　　“当然是可以的。”
　　“你应该这样做。甘，真的，我不是开玩笑，你还要考虑孩子的事。”
　　“琳达？”
　　“是的，琳达。”
　　“琳达和这件事有什么关系？”
　　“艾莲娜对琳达不好，真的。我觉得琳达对很多事情有她的感觉。”
　　甘逸世·马歇尔划着了火柴去点烟斗。他吸了两口烟，说：“嗯——这是个问题，我想艾莲娜和琳达彼此并不好，也许对那个小女孩来说不是一件好事，这有点叫我担心。”
　　罗莎梦说：“我喜欢琳达——很喜欢，她有些——很好的地方。”
　　甘逸世说：“她就像她母亲，她对什么都很看重。”
　　罗莎梦说：“那难道你不觉得——真的——该摆脱艾莲娜吗？”
　　“安排离婚？”
　　“是呀，随时都有人这样做的嘛。”
　　甘逸世·马歇尔突然忿忿地说：“不错，我正是讨厌这一点。”
　　“讨厌？”她吃了一惊。
　　“不错，现代人的这种生活态度。要是你弄上一件你不喜欢的东西，马上就尽快摆脱掉。该死的，世界上总该有所谓信心这东西吧。要是你娶了一个女人，决心要照顾她，哎，那你就要做到，这是你的责任，是你自己找的，我实在讨厌结得快，离得也容易的婚姻，艾莲娜是我的妻子，事情就是这样子了。”
　　罗莎梦的身子俯向前去，她用低沉的声音说道：“你就是这样的想法？至死不离？”
　　甘逸世·马歇尔点了点头，他说：“正是如此。”
　　罗莎梦道：“啊。”
　　由一条曲折而又狭窄的小路回到皮梳湾来的贺雷士·卜拉特先生在一个拐弯的地方，差点撞倒了雷德方太太。她整个人贴靠在山壁上，卜拉特先生用力把车煞住。“你好——你好。”卜拉特先生很开心地招呼道。他的个子很大，一张脸通红，一圈红发围着秃顶，他的野心是所到之处都要成为团体的灵魂人物。乐园旅馆在他看来，很需要再添加些欢乐的气氛。他常常不解为什么他一到，就有很多人好像消失不见了。
　　“差点把你做成草莓酱了吧？”卜拉特先生得意地说。
　　克莉丝汀·雷德方说：“不错，真差一点。”
　　“上车吧，”卜拉特先生说。
　　“哦，谢谢你——我还是走路吧。”
　　“胡说，”卜拉特说：“那车子是做什么用的？”
　　在这种情形下，克莉丝汀·雷德方上了车。卜拉特先生重新发动引擎，因为他刚才猛地煞住车，引擎就停了。卜拉特先生问道：“你一个人走来走去干吗？像你这样漂亮的女孩子，这样是不对的。”
　　克莉丝汀急急地说：“哦，我喜欢一个人。”
　　卜拉特先生用手肘轻撞了她一下，差点因此让车子撞上了山岩。“女孩子老是喜欢这样说，”他说：“其实根本不是这个意思。你知道，这个地方，乐园旅馆，需要加进点活力，这里一点也不乐，没有活力。当然，有不少人住在这里，不少孩子，可是也有不少阿公阿婆，比方说那个去过印度的英国人，无聊透了，还有那个体育健将型的牧师，那对喋喋不休的美国夫妇，还有那个留了小胡子的外国人——他那两撇胡子真叫我觉得好笑！我想他一定是个理发师一类的人。”
　　克莉丝汀摇了摇头，“不是的，他是个侦探。”
　　卜拉特先生差点又把车撞上了山岩，“是个侦探？你是说，他化了妆？”
　　克莉丝汀·雷德方微微笑了笑说：“不是，他本来就是这个样子，他叫做赫邱里·白罗，你想必听说过他。”
　　卜拉特先生说：“没听清楚他的名字。啊，对了，我听说过他，可是我以为他早已经死了……妈的，他应该已经死了嘛，他到这里来查什么案的？”
　　“他不是来查案——只是来度假的。”
　　“嗯，我想也是。”卜拉特先生似乎很表怀疑，“看起来有点粗鲁，是不是？”
　　“呃，”克莉丝汀有点迟疑地说：“也许有点怪吧。”
　　“我的意思是说，”卡拉特先生说：“苏格兰场有什么不好？我随时还是支持英国的。”他们到了山脚下，他很得意地按了声喇叭，把车停放在旅馆的车房里。车房为了潮涨潮落的关系，设在旅馆对面的陆地上。
　　琳达·马歇尔在一家小店里，这里卖的全是给皮梳湾的游客买的东西。一边的架子上放满了两块钱租一次的书，其中最新的书也有十年了，有些是二十年前的旧书，还有些则更老。琳达先拿了一本，又很怀疑地从架子上抽下另外一本，翻了一下，她决定自己不可能看《四羽毛及其他》。她拿下一本用棕色软皮做封面的小书，看得忘记了时间……然后琳达陡然一惊，把书插回架上，因为克莉丝汀·雷德方的声音在她身边响起，说道：“你在看什么书呀，琳达？”
　　琳达急急地说：“没什么，我正在找一本书。”她信手抽出一本书来，走到柜台前，摸出两块钱来付租金。
　　克莉丝汀说：“卜拉特先生刚开车送我回来——起先差点把我给撞倒了，我实在没办法跟他一起走堤路回旅馆去，所以我说我得来买点东西。”
　　琳达说：“他真可怕，总在说他多有钱，说的英语又差劲得要命。”
　　克莉丝汀道：“可怜的家伙，我倒替他难过呢。”
　　琳达不表同意，她不觉得卜拉特先生有什么值得可怜的，她还年轻而不懂事。她陪着克莉丝汀·雷德方一起走出小店，向堤路走去。她一直忙着想心事，她喜欢克莉丝汀·雷德方，在琳达看起来，岛上只有克莉丝汀和罗莎梦·戴礼还可以叫人忍受，她们两个都不多嘴，比方现在走在一起的时候，克莉丝汀就什么也没说。琳达觉得这是很有道理的一件事，如果没什么值得一谈的事，又何必一直吱吱喳喳呢？她沉入了自己的思索中。
　　她突然说道：“雷德方太太，你有没有觉得这一切都好可怕——可怕得——叫你——呃，好像要爆炸一样……”
　　这几句话十分可笑，可是琳达绷紧了脸，表情充满了焦虑，却一点也不笑。克莉丝汀·雷德方起先有点不解地望着她，发现一点也没有可以取笑之处……她倒吸了一口气，说道：“有过——我曾经有过——正是这样的感觉……”
　　卜拉特先生说：“原来你就是那个有名的大侦探，呃？”他们坐在酒吧间里，那是卜拉特先生最喜欢去的地方。
　　赫邱里·白罗以他惯常那种毫不谦虚的态度认可了对方的话。卜拉特先生继续说道：“你到这里来干吗呢——查案子吗？”
　　“不是，不是，我来休闲的，我在度假。”
　　卜拉特先生眨了下眼睛，“你反正一定会那样说的，是不是？”
　　白罗回答说：“那倒不一定。”
　　贺雷士·卜拉特说：“啊！算了吧，说老实话，你跟我在一起绝对安全，我听到什么都不会说出去！多年前就学会守口如瓶了，要是我不知道该怎么做的话，就不会贸然去做的。可是你知道大部分人是什么样的——对听到的东西，不管是什么事，都叽叽喳喳地说个不停，你这一行可受不了这种事！所以你非坚持说你到这里来不是为了别的事，只是来度假的不可了。”
　　白罗问道：“你为什么会有相反的想法呢？”卜拉特先生闭起一只眼睛，他说：“我世面见多了，我了解各人的习性，像你这样的人，应该会去杜维里，或是托奎特，或是到法国的什么地方度假，那里才能让你——那该是怎么说来着？——得其所哉。”
　　白罗叹了口气，他望望窗外，雨正在落着，浓雾围着小岛，他说：“你说得可能很对！至少，那些地方在下雨时也会有很多娱乐消遣。”
　　“有赌场……”卜拉特先生说：“你知道，我这大半辈子都工作得很辛苦，没时间度假找乐子，我想要干得好，我也干得很好，现在我可以随心所欲了，我的钱不少，我告诉你，过去几年里，我可享受了不少。”
　　白罗喃喃地道：“哦，是吗？”
　　“不知道我怎么会到这个地方来的。”卜拉特先生继续说道。
　　白罗说：“我也觉得奇怪。”
　　“呃？你说什么？”
　　白罗摆了摆手，“我也不是一个没见过世面的人，我也觉得你该去杜维里或是比瑞市的。”
　　“可是我们没去那些地方，却都到了这里。”卜拉特先生发出沙哑的笑声。“真不知道我为什么到这里来，”他想了想说：“你知道，我想是私贩岛和乐园旅馆这个名字听起来很浪漫。你知道，这种地方会让你心动的，让你想起小时候，海盗、私贩之类的东西。”他有点尴尬地笑了起来，“我小时候常驾船出去，当然不是在这边，是在东岸，奇怪的是，这种事一旦尝到味道就再也丢不开了。如果我想要的话，就可以去弄一条相当好的游艇，可是我却又不这么想，我喜欢只驾着我那条小船逛逛，雷德方也好想驾船，他和我一起出去过一两次，现在可难找得到他了——一天到晚死缠着马歇尔那个红头发的老婆。”他停了一下，然后放低了声音继续说道：“这个旅馆里大部分全是些老柴棒子，马歇尔太太大概是唯一鲜蹦活跳的吧！我想马歇尔要盯着她就够他忙的了。关于她在舞台上——跟舞台下的故事一大堆，好多男人为她疯狂，你看着好了，总有一天会出事的。”
　　白罗问道：“出什么样的事？”
　　贺雷士·卜拉特说：“那就要看情形了，你看看马歇尔，我觉得他的脾气很怪。其实，我知道他是什么人，听过一些他的事，我以前也见过像他这样不说话的人，你根本不知道他会怎么样，雷德方最好还是小心点——”
　　他打住了话头，因为他说到的那位先生走进了酒吧间。他有点不自在地继续大声说道：“我说过，在这一带驾船实在很好玩。你好，雷德方，跟我一起喝一杯吧。你喝什么？马丁尼？好，你呢？白罗先生？”
　　白罗摇了摇头，派屈克·雷德方坐了下来，说道：“驾船？这是世界上最好玩的事，真希望我能多上几次船。我小时候经常在海边划小船的哩。”
　　白罗说：“那你对这一带很熟了？”
　　“当然！这里还没造这幢旅馆之前我就很熟了，以前在皮梳湾只有几座渔夫的小茅屋，和一座破旧的老房子，在岛上没别的了。”
　　“这里原来有一幢房子？”
　　“哦，不错，不过已经有多年没住人了，几乎都倒塌了。以前有很多传说，说是屋子里有几条秘密通道通到妖精洞。我还记得我们以前一直在找那条秘密通道。”
　　贺雷士·卜拉特的酒泼出来了。他咒骂一声，擦干净了之后问道：“妖精洞在那里？”
　　派屈克说：“啊，你不知道吗？就在小妖湾那边，很难找到入口，那在石头堆起的堤防后面，只有一条长长窄缝，人刚好可以挤过去，里面则开阔起来，成为一个相当大的山洞。你可以想象得到那对一个孩子来说，是多好玩的一个地方，一个老渔夫带我去的，现在，就连打鱼的也不知道那个地方了。那天我问一个渔夫，那个地方为什么叫小妖湾，他就答不上来。”
　　贺雷士·卜拉特说：“可是我还是不明白，这个小妖是什么？”
　　派屈克·雷德方说：“哦，这是本地的传说，在大德漠也有一个妖精洞。据说你在那里要留下一根针，算是送给妖精的礼物。这个妖精是沼泽里的精灵。”
　　贺雷士·卜拉特说：“啊，真有意思。”派屈克·雷德方继续说道：“这一带到现在还有很多关于妖精的传说，有人说妖精会骑在人背上，到现在还有农夫在半夜里回家后，会说给妖精骑了。”
　　贺雷士·卜拉特说：“你是说他们喝了一两杯老酒？”
　　派屈克·雷德方微微一笑道：“照一般常识判断，这是最好的解释。”
　　卜拉特看了看表。他说：“我要到餐厅去了。说起来，雷德方。我最喜欢的还是海盗，不是妖精。”
　　派屈克·雷德方望着他走出去，大笑着说：“真有信心，我倒想看看这个老小子碰上妖精。”
　　白罗沉吟地道：“以一个辛勤的生意人来说，卜拉特先生倒很有浪漫的想象力。”
　　派屈克·雷德方说：“那是因为他没受过多少教育的缘故，至少我内人是这样说的，你看他看的书，不是悬念侦探小说，就是西部拓荒的故事。”
　　白罗说：“你是说他的思想还像个孩子？”
　　“呃，难道你不以为然吗？”
　　“我，我跟他还不大熟。”
　　“我其实也跟他并不熟，我跟他一起驾船出去过一两次——可是他其实也不喜欢有别人跟他在一起，他情愿自己一个人。”
　　赫邱里·白罗说：“这真奇怪，跟他在陆地上的作风完全不一样。”
　　雷德方笑道：“我知道，我们都有点躲不开他似的，他真想把这个地方搞得很热闹。”
　　白罗沉默了一两分钟，他很专注地审视着对方的笑脸，突然很意外地开口说道：“我想，雷德方先生，你很会享受生活。”
　　派屈克吃惊地瞪着他。“的确如此，为什么不呢？”
　　“说得也是，”白罗同意道：“在这一点上，我倒要恭喜你。”
　　派屈克·雷德方微笑着应道：“谢谢你。”
　　“所以，我这个老头子，比你要老得多的人，想给你一点忠告。”
　　“是什么呢？”
　　“我在警方的一个很聪明的朋友在几年前对我说过：‘赫邱里，我的好朋友，如果你想过得安稳的话，就要躲开女人。’”
　　派屈克·雷德方说：“我怕这话说得太晚了。你知道，我已经结婚了。”
　　“这我知道，你的夫人是个很迷人、很好的女人，我想，她很喜欢你。”
　　派屈克·雷德方马上回嘴道：“我也很喜欢她。”
　　“啊，”赫邱里·白罗说：“我真高兴能听到这句话。”
　　派屈克的眉头突然皱了起来，一副雷雨将至的模样，“我说，白罗先生，你到底打算说什么？”
　　“女人呀，”白罗往后一靠，闭起眼睛，“我对她们也略知一二，她们有种叫生活变得无比复杂的本事，而英国人，他们在这方面又一点不懂得隐密。如果你一定要到这里来不可，雷德方先生，那你又何必把你夫人也带了来呢？”
　　派屈克·雷德方愤怒地道：“我不懂你这话是什么意思。”
　　赫邱里·白罗不动声色地说：“你懂得很清楚，我还不至于笨到和一个昏了头的人争辩，我只是劝劝你而已。”
　　“你听信那些该死的三姑六婆，贾德纳太太，还有姓布雷斯特的女人——她们整天无事可作，只有搬弄口舌，只因为一个女人长得好看——她们就对她这样欺负。”
　　赫邱里·白罗站了起来。他喃喃地说道：“你难道真的这么少不更事吗？”他摇着头，离开了酒吧间。派屈克·雷德方怒视着他的背影。
　　赫邱里·白罗在从餐厅回房间去时，在走廊里停了一下，门都开着——一阵夜风吹了进来，雨已经停住，雾也散了，夜色清朗。赫邱里·白罗发现雷德方太太坐在外面她最喜欢的椅子上，他走到她身边说：“椅子是湿的，你不该坐在这里，会着凉的。”
　　“不错，我不该坐在这里，可是管他去呢，反正没什么关系。”
　　“哎，哎，你又不是小孩子！你是个受过教育的女人，对事情要讲道理。”
　　她冷冷地说：“我可以向你保证，我绝对不会着凉的。”
　　白罗道：“今天天气潮湿，刮风下雨，雾大得叫人都看不穿。现在呢？雾气散了，天晴了，天上星星在闪亮，人生也是如此。”
　　克莉丝汀低声道：“你可知道我最讨厌这个地方的是什么吗？”
　　“是什么呢？”
　　“怜悯。”她这两个字说得好似一鞭子抽过来似的。她继续说道：“你以为我不知道吗？你以为我没看见？那些人整天都在说：‘可怜的雷德方太太——那个可怜的小女人。’可是我一点也不小，我个子很高，她们说我小，是因为他们替我难过，我可受不了！”
　　赫邱里·白罗很小心地将手帕铺在椅子上，坐了下来。他沉吟地道：“这话有点道理。”
　　她说：“那个女人——”她又停了下来。
　　白罗郁郁地说：“夫人，你肯让我告诉你一句话吗？这可是一句实话，真实得像我们头上的星星一样。世界上像艾莲娜·史达特——或者是艾莲娜·马歇尔这类的人——根本不作数的。”
　　克莉丝汀·雷德方说：“胡说。”
　　“我可以跟你担保，真的。她们的王国都只属于暂时性的。真正算数的女人一定要有好的德行和头脑。”
　　克莉丝汀不屑地说：“你以为男人在乎好的德行和头脑吗？”
　　白罗郑重地说：“基本上说来，确是如此。”
　　克莉丝汀笑了一声。她说：“我不同意你的话，”
　　白罗道：“你的丈夫很爱你，夫人，我知道的。”
　　“你不可能知道。”
　　“哎，我知道，我看过他望着你的神情。”
　　突然之间，她整个崩溃了，她靠在白罗宽厚的肩膀上大哭起来。她说：“我受不了……我受不了……”
　　白罗轻拍着她的手臂，安慰她道：“要忍耐——只有忍耐。”
　　她坐直身子，将手帕按了按眼睛，她用略带窒息的声音说：“没什么，我好多了，你走吧，我——我想一个人静一下。”
　　他遵命而行，让她坐在那里，自己沿着小路回到旅馆里。就在他快到旅馆时，却听见轻微的人声，他略转离了小路，树丛中有一块缺口。他看到艾莲娜·马歇尔，派屈克·雷德方在她身边，他听到那个男人用充满了感情的声音说：“我为你疯狂——你使我发疯——你也有一点喜欢我——有一点吧？”
　　他看到艾莲娜·马歇尔的脸——他想，就像一只快乐的猫——充满了兽性，不像是人类。她柔和地说：“当然啦，派屈克，亲爱的，我很爱慕你，你明明知道……”
　　赫邱里·白罗很难得地没有再偷听下去，他回到小路上，直接走回到旅馆里。
　　突然之间，有个人影走到他身边，原来是马歇尔。马歇尔说：“晚上天气真好，是吧？尤其是今天一天都阴沉沉的。”他抬头望了望天上。“看来明天还是好天气。”


Chapter 4

The morning of the 25th of August dawned bright and cloudless. It was a morning to tempt even an inveterate sluggard to rise early. Several people rose early that morning at the Jolly Roger.

It was eight o'clock when Linda, sitting at her dressing-table, turned a little thick calf-bound volume face downwards, sprawling it open, and looked at her own face in the mirror. Her lips were set tight together and the pupils of her eyes contracted. She said below her breath: "I'll do it..."

She slipped out of her pyjamas and into her bathing dress. Over it she flung on a bath-robe and laced espadrilles on her feet. She went out of her room and along the passage. At the end of it a door on to the balcony led to an outside staircase leading directly down to the rocks below the hotel. There was a small iron ladder clamped onto the rocks leading down into the water which was used by many of the hotel guests for a before breakfast dip as taking up less time than going down to the main bathing beach. As Linda started down from the balcony she met her father coming up. He said: "You're up early. Going to have a dip?"

Linda nodded. They passed each other. Instead of going on down the rocks, however, Linda skirted round the hotel to the left until she came to the path down to the causeway connecting the hotel with the mainland. The tide was high and the causeway under water, but the boat that took hotel guests across was tied to a little jetty. The man in charge of it was absent at the moment. Linda got in, untied it and rowed herself across.

She tied up the boat on the other side, walked up the slope past the hotel garage and along until she reached the general shop. The woman had just taken down the shutters and was engaged in sweeping the floor. She looked amazed at the sight of Linda. "Well, Miss, you are up early."

Linda put her hand in the pocket of her bath-wrap and brought out some money. She proceeded to make her purchases.

Christine Redfern was standing in Linda's room when the girl returned. "Oh, there you are," Christine exclaimed. "I thought you couldn't be really up yet."

Linda said: "No, I've been bathing."

Noticing the parcel in her hand, Christine said with surprise: "The post has come early today." Linda flushed. With her habitual nervous clumsiness the parcel slipped from her hand. The flimsy string broke and some of the contents rolled over the floor. Christine exclaimed: "What have you been buying candles for?" But to Linda's relief she did not wait for an answer, but went on, as she helped to pick the things up from the floor: "I came in to ask whether you would like to come with me to Gull Cove this morning. I want to sketch there."

Linda accepted with alacrity. In the last few days she had accompanied Christine Redfern more than once on sketching expeditions. Christine was a most indifferent artist but it was possible that she found the excuse of painting a help to her pride since her husband now spent most of his time with Arlena Marshall.

Linda Marshall had been increasingly morose and bad-tempered. She liked being with Christine who, intent on her work, spoke very little. It was, Linda felt, nearly as good as being by oneself, and in a curious way she craved for company of some kind. There was a subtle kind of sympathy between her and the elder woman, probably based on the fact of their mutual dislike of the same person. Christine said: "I'm playing tennis at twelve, so we'd better start fairly early. Half past ten?"

"Right. I'll be ready. Meet you in the hall."

Rosamund Darnley, strolling out of the dining-room after a very late breakfast, was cannoned into by Linda as the latter came tearing down the stairs. "Oh! Sorry, Miss Darnley."

Rosamund said: "Lovely morning, isn't it? One can hardly believe it after yesterday."

"I know. I'm going with Mrs Redfern to Gull Cove. I said I'd meet her at half past ten. I thought I was late."

"No, it's only twenty-five past."

"Oh! good."

She was panting a little and Rosamund looked at her curiously. "You're not feverish, are you, Linda?"

The girl's eyes were very bright and she had a vivid patch of colour in each cheek. "Oh! no. I'm never feverish."

Rosamund smiled and said: "It's such a lovely day I got up for breakfast. Usually I have it in bed. But today I came down and faced eggs and bacon like a man."

"I know - it's heavenly after yesterday. Gull Cove is nice in the morning. I shall put a lot of oil on and get really brown."

Rosamund said: "Yes, Gull Cove is nice in the morning. And it's more peaceful than the beach here."

Linda said, rather shyly: "Come too."

Rosamund shook her head. She said: "Not this morning. I've other fish to fry."

Christine Redfern came down the stairs. She was wearing beach pyjamas of a loose floppy pattern with long sleeves and wide legs. They were made of some green material with a yellow design. Rosamund's tongue itched to tell her that yellow and green were the most unbecoming colours possible for her fair, slightly anaemic complexion. It always annoyed Rosamund when people had no clothes sense. She thought: "If I dressed that girl, I'd soon make her husband sit up and take notice. However much of a fool Arlena is, she does know how to dress. This wretched girl looks just like a wilting lettuce." Aloud she said: "Have a nice time. I'm going to Sunny Ledge with a book."

Hercule Poirot breakfasted in his room as usual of coffee and rolls. The beauty of the morning, however, tempted him to leave the hotel earlier than usual. It was ten o'clock, at least half an hour before his usual appearance, when he descended to the bathing beach. The beach itself was empty save for one person.

That person was Arlena Marshall. Clad in her white bathing-dress, the green Chinese hat on her head, she was trying to launch a white wooden float. Poirot came gallantly to the rescue, completely immersing a pair of white suède shoes in doing so. She thanked him with one of those sideways glances of hers. Just as she was pushing off, she called him. "M. Poirot?"

Poirot leaped to the water's edge. "Madame?"

Arlena Marshall said: "Do something for me, will you?"

"Anything."

She smiled at him. She murmured: "Don't tell any one where I am." She made her glance appealing. "Every one will follow me about so. I just want for once to be alone." She paddled off vigorously.

Poirot walked up the beach. He murmured to himself: "Ah зa, jamais! That, par exemple, I do not believe."

He doubted if Arlena Smart, to give her stage name, had ever wanted to be alone in her life. Hercule Poirot, that man of the world, knew better. Arlena Marshall was doubtless keeping a rendezvous, and Poirot had a very good idea with whom. Or thought he had, but there he found himself proved wrong. For just as the float rounded the point of the bay and disappeared out of sight Patrick Redfern closely followed by Kenneth Marshall came striding down the beach from the hotel.

Marshall nodded to Poirot. "Morning, Poirot. Seen my wife anywhere about?"

Poirot's answer was diplomatic. "Has Madame then risen so early?"

Marshall said: "She's not in her room." He looked up at the sky. "Lovely day. I shall have a bathe right away. Got a lot of typing to do this morning."

Patrick Redfern, less openly, was looking up and down the beach. He sat down near Poirot and prepared to wait for the arrival of his lady. Poirot said: "And Madame Redfern? Has she too risen early?"

Patrick Redfern said: "Christine? Oh, she's going off sketching. She's rather keen on art just now." He spoke impatiently, his mind clearly elsewhere. As time passed he displayed his impatience for Arlena's arrival only too crudely. At every footstep he turned an eager head to see who it was coming down from the hotel.

Disappointment followed disappointment. First Mr and Mrs Gardener complete with knitting and book and then Miss Brewster arrived. Mrs Gardener, industrious as ever, settled herself in her chair, and began to knit vigorously and talk at the same time. "Well, M. Poirot. The beach seems very deserted this morning. Where is everybody?"

Poirot replied that the Mastermans and the Cowans, two families with young people in them, had gone off on an all-day sailing excursion.

"Why, that certainly does make all the difference, not having them around laughing and calling out. And only one person bathing, Captain Marshall."

Marshall had just finished his swim. He came up the beach swinging his towel. "Pretty good in the sea this morning," he said. "Unfortunately I've got a lot of work to do. Must go and get on with it."

"Why, if that isn't too bad, Captain Marshall. On a beautiful day like this, too. My, wasn't yesterday too terrible? I said to Mr Gardener that if the weather was going to continue like that, we'd just have to leave. It's so melancholy, you know, with the mist right up around the island. Gives you a kind of ghostly feeling, but then I've always been very susceptible to atmosphere ever since I was a child. Sometimes, you know, I'd feel I just had to scream and scream. And that, of course, was very trying to my parents. But my mother was a lovely woman and she said to my father, 'Sinclair, if the child feels like that, we must let her do it. Screaming is her way of expressing herself.' And of course my father agreed. He was devoted to my mother and just did everything she said. They were a perfectly lovely couple, as I'm sure Mr Gardener will agree. They were a very remarkable couple, weren't they, Odell?"

"Yes, darling," said Mr Gardener.

"And where's your girl this morning, Captain Marshall?"

"Linda? I don't know. I expect she's mooning round the island somewhere."

"You know, Captain Marshall, that girl looks kind of peaky to me. She needs feeding up and very, very sympathetic treatment."

Kenneth Marshall said curtly: "Linda's all right."

He went up to the hotel. Patrick Redfern did not go into the water. He sat about, frankly looking up towards the hotel. He was beginning to look a shade sulky. Miss Brewster was brisk and cheerful when she arrived.

The conversation was much as it had been on a previous morning. Gentle yapping from Mrs Gardener and short staccato barks from Miss Brewster. She remarked at last: "Beach seems a bit empty. Every one off on excursions?"

Mrs Gardener said: "I was saying to Mr Gardener only this morning that we simply must make an excursion to Dartmoor. It's quite near and the associations are all so romantic. And I'd like to see that convict prison - Princetown, isn't it? I think we'd better fix up right away and go there tomorrow, Odell."

Mr Gardener said: "Yes, darling."

Hercule Poirot said to Miss Brewster: "You are going to bathe, Mademoiselle?"

"Oh, I've had my morning dip before breakfast. Somebody nearly brained me with a bottle, too. Chucked it out of one of the hotel windows."

"Now that's a very dangerous thing to do," said Mrs Gardener. "I had a very dear friend who got concussion by a toothpaste tin falling on him in the street - thrown out of a thirty-fifth storey window it was. A most dangerous thing to do. He got very substantial damages." She began to hunt among her skeins of wool. "Why, Odell, I don't believe I've got that second shade of purple wool. It's in the second drawer of the bureau in our bedroom or it might be the third."

"Yes, darling."

Mr Gardener rose obediently and departed on his search. Mrs Gardener went on: "Sometimes, you know, I do think that maybe we're going a little too far nowadays. What with all our great discoveries and all the electrical waves there must be in the atmosphere, I do think it leads to a great deal of mental unrest and I just feel that maybe the time has come for a new message to humanity. I don't know, M. Poirot, if you've ever interested yourself in the prophecies from the Pyramids."

"I have not," said Poirot.

"Well, I do assure you that they're very, very interesting. What with Moscow being exactly a thousand miles due North of - now what was it? - Would it be Nineveh? - but anyway you take a circle and it just shows the most surprising things and one can just see that there must have been special guidance, and that those ancient Egyptians couldn't have thought of what they did all by themselves. And when you've gone into the theory of the numbers and their repetition, why, it's all just so clear that I can't see how any one can doubt the truth of it for a moment." Mrs Gardener paused triumphantly but neither Poirot nor Miss Emily Brewster felt moved to argue the point.

Poirot studied his white suede shoes ruefully. Emily Brewster said: "You been paddling with your shoes on, M. Poirot?"

Poirot murmured: "Alas! I was precipitate."

Emily Brewster lowered her voice. She said: "Where's our Vamp this morning? She's late."

Mrs Gardener, raising her eyes from her knitting to study Patrick Redfern, murmured: "He looks just like a thundercloud. Oh! Dear, I do feel the whole thing is such a pity. I wonder what Captain Marshall thinks about it all. He's such a nice quiet man - very British and unassuming. You just never know what he's thinking about things."

Patrick Redfern rose and began to pace up and down the beach. Mrs Gardener murmured: "Just like a tiger."

Three pairs of eyes watched his pacing. Their scrutiny seemed to make Patrick Redfern uncomfortable. He looked more than sulky now. He looked in a flaming temper. In the stillness a faint chime from the mainland came to their ears. Emily Brewster murmured: "Wind's from the East again. That's a good sign when you can hear the church clock strike."

Nobody said any more until Mr Gardener returned with a skein of brilliant magenta wool. "Why, Odell, what a long time you have been!"

"Sorry, darling, but you see it wasn't in your bureau at all. I found it on your wardrobe shelf."

"Why, isn't that too extraordinary? I could have declared I put it in that bureau drawer. I do think it's fortunate that I've never had to give evidence in a court case. I'd just worry myself to death in case I wasn't remembering a thing just right."

Mr Gardener said: "Mrs Gardener is very conscientious."

It was some five minutes later that Patrick Redfern said: "Going for your row this morning, Miss Brewster? Mind if I come with you?"

Miss Brewster said heartily: "Delighted."

"Let's row right round the island," proposed Redfern.

Miss Brewster consulted her watch. "Shall we have time? Oh, yes, it's not half past eleven yet. Come on then, let's start."

They went down the beach together. Patrick Redfern took first turn at the oars. He rowed with a powerful stroke. The boat leapt forward. Emily Brewster said approvingly: "Good. We'll see if you can keep that up."

He laughed into her eyes. His spirits had improved. "I shall probably have a fine crop of blisters by the time we get back." He threw up his head tossing back his black hair. "God, it's a marvellous day! If you do get a real summer's day in England there's nothing to beat it."

Emily Brewster said gruffly: "Can't beat England anyway in my opinion. Only place in the world to live in."

"I'm with you."

They rounded the point of the bay to the west and rowed under the cliffs. Patrick Redfern looked up. "Any one on Sunny Ledge this morning? Yes, there's a sunshade. Who is it, I wonder?"

Emily Brewster said: "It's Miss Darnley, I think. She's got one of those Japanese affairs."

They rowed up the coast. On their left was the open sea. Emily Brewster said: "We ought to have gone the other way round. This way we've got the current against us."

"There's very little current. I've swum out here and not noticed it. Anyway we couldn't go the other way. The causeway wouldn't be covered."

"Depends on the tide, of course. But they always say that bathing from Pixy Cove is dangerous if you swim out too far."

Patrick was rowing vigorously still. At the same time he was scanning the cliffs attentively. Emily Brewster thought suddenly: "He's looking for the Marshall woman. That's why he wanted to come with me. She hadn't shown up this morning and he's wondering what she's up to. Probably she's done it on purpose. Just a move in the game - to make him keener."

They rounded the jutting point of rock to the south of the little bay named Pixy's Cove. It was quite a small cove, with rocks dotted fantastically about the beach. It faced nearly northwest and the cliff overhung it a good deal. It was a favourite place for picnic teas. In the morning, when the sun was off it, it was not popular and there was seldom any one there. On this occasion, however, there was a figure on the beach. Patrick Redfern's stroke checked and recovered. He said in a would-be casual tone: "Hullo, who's that?"

Miss Brewster said drily: "It looks like Mrs Marshall."

Patrick Redfern said as though struck by the idea: "So it does."

He altered his course, rowing inshore. Emily Brewster protested. "We don't want to land here, do we?"

Patrick Redfern said quickly: "Oh, plenty of time."

His eyes looked into hers - something in them, a naпve pleading look rather like that of an importunate dog, silenced Emily Brewster. She thought to herself: "Poor boy, he's got it badly. Oh, well, it can't be helped. He'll get over it in time."

The boat was fast approaching the beach. Arlena Marshall was lying face downwards on the shingle her arms outstretched. The white float was drawn up near by. Something was puzzling to Emily Brewster. It was as though she was looking at something she knew quite well but which was in one respect quite wrong. It was a minute or two before it came to her. Arlena Marshall's attitude was the attitude of a sun-bather. So had she lain many a time on the beach by the hotel, her bronzed body outstretched and the green cardboard hat protecting her head and neck.

But there was no sun on Pixy's Beach and there would be none for some hours yet. The overhanging cliff protected the beach from the sun in the morning. A vague feeling of apprehension came over Emily Brewster.

The boat grounded on the shingle. Patrick Redfern called: "Hullo, Arlena."

And then Emily Brewster's foreboding took definite shape. For the recumbent figure did not move or answer.

Emily saw Patrick Redfern's face change. He jumped out of the boat and she followed him. They dragged the boat ashore, then set off up the beach to where that white figure lay so still and unresponsive near the bottom of the cliff. Patrick Redfern got there first but Emily Brewster was close behind him.

She saw, as one sees in a dream, the bronzed limbs, the white backless bathing dress - the red curl of hair escaping under the jade-green hat - saw something else too - the curious unnatural angle of the outspread arms. Felt, in that minute, that this body had not lain down but had been thrown... She heard Patrick's voice - a mere frightened whisper. He knelt down beside that still form - touched the hand - the arm... He said in a low shuddering whisper: "My God, she's dead..."

And then, as he lifted the hat a little, peered at the neck: "Oh, God, she's been strangled...murdered."

It was one of those moments when time stands still. With an odd feeling of unreality Emily Brewster heard herself saying: "We mustn't touch anything... Not until the police come."

Redfern's answer came mechanically: "No - no - of course not." And then in a deep agonized whisper: "Who? Who? Who could have done that to Arlena. She can't have - have been murdered. It can't be true!" Emily Brewster shook her head, not knowing quite what to answer. She heard him draw in his breath - heard the low controlled rage in his voice as he said: "My God, if I get my hands on the foul fiend who did this."

Emily Brewster shivered. Her imagination pictured a lurking murderer behind one of the boulders. Then she heard her voice saying: "Whoever did it wouldn't be hanging about. We must get the police. Perhaps -" she hesitated - "one of us ought to stay with - with the body."

Patrick Redfern said: "I'll stay."

Emily Brewster drew a little sigh of relief. She was not the kind of woman who would ever admit to feeling fear, but she was secretly thankful not to have to remain on the beach alone with the faint possibility of a homicidal maniac lingering close at hand. She said: "Good. I'll be as quick as I can. I'll go in the boat. Can't face that ladder. There's a constable at Leathercombe Bay."

Patrick Redfern murmured mechanically: "Yes - yes, whatever you think best."

As she rowed vigorously away from the shore, Emily Brewster saw Patrick drop down beside the dead woman and bury his head in his hands. There was something so forlorn about his attitude that she felt an unwilling sympathy. He looked like a dog watching by its dead master. Nevertheless her robust common sense was saying to her: "Best thing that could have happened for him and his wife - and for Marshall and the child - but I don't suppose he can see it that way, poor devil."

Emily Brewster was a woman who could always rise to an emergency.

第四章



　　八月二十五日清晨天气晴朗无云，这种天气会让再懒的人也想早起，乐园旅馆里这天有好几个人都起得很早。
　　八点钟的时候，琳达坐在梳妆台前，把一本有皮面的厚厚小书翻转来放在桌上，望着自己映照在镜子里的脸，她的嘴唇抿得很紧，两眼的瞳孔收缩，她咬牙切齿地说：“我一定会干的……”
　　她脱下睡衣，换上了泳装，再罩上一件浴袍，穿上一双凉鞋，就走出房间，顺着走廊走下去，走廊尽头有一道门，通往外面的阳台，然后是一道阶梯直通旅馆下面的岩石。岩石上又有一道铁梯通到下面的海水里，很多旅馆的客人都从这里下去，在吃早饭之前先游一会早泳，因为这比到前面的大海水浴场去花的时间少多了。在琳达从阳台上往下走的时候，碰到她父亲由底下上来，他说：“你起得好早，要下去泡泡水吗？”
　　琳达点了点头。他们擦身而过，但是琳达却没有往下走，反而绕过旅馆，到了左侧，一直走到通往连接旅馆和对面的堤路去的小径上。潮水涨得很高，把堤路淹没了，但将旅馆客人送过对岸去的小船却系在小小的码头上。管船的人正好不在。琳达上了船，解开缆绳，自己划了过去。
　　她在对岸将船系好，走上斜坡，经过旅馆的车房，一直走到那家小杂货店。女老板刚刚打开门，还正在擦地板，她看到琳达，吃了一惊。“哎，小、姐，你起得可真早。”
　　琳达把手插进她浴袍的口袋里，掏出一些钱来，开始选购她要买的东西。
　　等她回到旅馆的时候，克莉丝汀·雷德方正站在她房间里。“啊，原来你在这里，”克莉丝汀叫道：“我还以为你没起床哩。”
　　琳达说：“呃，我刚去游泳去了。”
　　克莉丝汀看到她手里拿的包裹，吃惊地说：“今早邮差来得可早。”琳达的脸红了。由于她习惯性的紧张和笨手笨脚，那个包裹从她手里滑落下去，细绳子绷断了，里面的一些东西滚落在地上。克莉丝汀叫道：“你买这么些蜡烛做什么？”可是让琳达松了口气的是，她并没有等着听回答的话，就一面帮忙把东西从地上捡起来，一面继续说道：“我是进来问你今早要不要和我一起到鸥湾去，我要到那里去写生。”
　　琳达很高兴地答应了，在过去几天里，她不止一次陪克莉丝汀去写生。克莉丝汀是她所见过最不专心的画家，可是很可能她是借此来维持她的自尊心，因为她的丈夫现在大部分时间都在陪着艾莲娜·马歇尔。
　　琳达·马歇尔越来越不高兴，脾气也越来越坏，她很喜欢和克莉丝汀在一起，因为她一旦注意画了起来，就很少说话。琳达觉得这就跟自己一个人差不多一样好，而她很奇怪地又希望能有个人陪着，在她和那个年纪比她大一点的女人之间似乎有种微妙的同情，也许是因为她们两个都讨厌同一个女人的缘故吧。克莉丝汀说：“我十二点要打网球，所以我们最好早点动身，十点半好吗？”
　　“好的，我会准备好，在大厅里跟你碰头。”
　　罗莎梦·戴礼在吃过很晚才开的早餐之后，走出了餐厅，正好给从楼梯上冲下来的琳达撞了个正着。“啊！对不起，戴礼小、姐。”
　　罗莎梦说：“今天早上天气真好，是不是？经过昨天那种天气之后，真叫人想不到。”
　　“我知道，我要和雷德方太太到鸥湾去，我说我十点半跟她碰头的，我以为已经迟到了。”
　　“没有，才十点二十五分。”
　　“啊，好极了。”
　　她有点喘，罗莎梦奇怪地看着她。“你没有发烧吧？琳达？”
　　那个女孩子的两眼特别亮，两颊红红的，“哦，没有，我从来不发烧的。”
　　罗莎梦微微一笑道：“今天天气真好，所以我起来吃早饭，平常我都是叫人送到床上来吃的，可是我今早却下楼来，像个大男人似地吃蛋和咸肉。”
　　“我知道，和昨天比起来，今天真像天堂一样。鸥湾在早上也好美，我要搽好多油在身上，晒成棕色。”
　　罗莎梦说：“嗯，鸥湾在早上很美，而且比这边的海滨要安静多了。”
　　琳达有点害羞地说：“你也来吧。”
　　罗莎梦摇了摇头说：“今天不行，我还有别的事要做。”
　　克莉丝汀·雷德方走下楼来，她穿了一套很宽大的海滩装，袖子很长，裤脚很宽，是用绿底黄花的料子做的。罗莎梦很想告诉她说黄色和绿色这两种颜色最不配她那纤弱而有点贫血的面孔。罗莎梦最不高兴看到人家对衣着没有观念，她想：“如果由我来给这个女孩子打扮的话，我就会让她丈夫坐直身子注意她了。不管艾莲娜有多傻，至少她还懂得穿衣服，这个女孩子看起来简直像一棵萎了的莴苣。”她大声说道：“好好开心地玩一玩，我要到阳光崖去看书了。”
　　赫邱里·白罗像平常一样在他房间里吃咖啡和面包卷当早餐。可是天气好得让他比平常早离开了旅馆，那时候才十点钟，至少比他平时早了半个小时，他走到底下的海滨浴场，海滩上只有一个人。
　　那个人就是艾莲娜·马歇尔，她穿着紧身的泳装，头上戴着那顶中国式的绿色帽子，正准备把一个白色的木头筏子推下水去。白罗很殷勤地赶去帮忙，因此而毁了他一双白色的小羊皮鞋，她斜眼瞥了他一下，向他道了谢。就在她把筏子撑开时，又叫道：“白罗先生。”
　　白罗跳到水边，“夫人，”
　　艾莲娜·马歇尔说，“帮我个忙，好吗？”
　　“随你吩咐。”
　　她向他徽微一笑，喃喃地道：“不要跟任何人说我在什么地方。”她眼光中露出恳求的神色。“每个人都到处跟着我，我只想一个人耽一阵子。”她很用力地划了开去。
　　白罗走上海滩，自言自语地说：“才怪哩，这话我就不相信。”
　　他很怀疑这位在舞台上艺名叫艾莲娜·史达特的女人这辈子里会想到一个人独处，像赫邱里·白罗这样见过世面的人就知道是怎么回事。艾莲娜·马歇尔毫无疑问地是去和人幽会去了，而白罗心里也很明白那个人会是谁。至少他以为自己知道会是谁，可是在这一点上却证明他错了。因为就在那个筏子绕过湾岬，消失不见之后不久，派屈克·雷德方和紧跟着他的甘逸世·马歇尔一起由旅馆那边走下了海滩。
　　马歇尔对白罗点了点头，“你早，白罗，有没有看到我内人？”
　　白罗避重就轻地回答道：“夫人起得这么早吗？”
　　马歇尔说：“她不在她房间里。”他抬头看了看天说：“天气真好，我应该现在就去游泳，今早还有好多字要打哩。”
　　派屈克·雷德方则暗地里在海滩上下搜寻，他在白罗身边坐下，假装在等着什么人。白罗说：“雷德方太太呢？她也起得很早吗？”
　　派屈克·雷德方说，“克利丝汀？哦，她出去画画去了，她最近对艺术大感兴趣。”他的语气很不耐烦，显然心不在焉。时间过了很久他也越来越不耐烦，很明显地表现出他在等艾莲娜出现，每次听到有脚步声，他就着急地回过头去看是谁从旅馆出来了。
　　他一次又一次地失望，先是贾德纳夫妇带着他们的编织物和书本，然后是布雷斯特小、姐来到。贾德纳太太像平常一样勤奋，坐进她那张椅子之后，就开始一面拼命编织，一面说了起来：“白罗先生，今早海滩上的人好像特别少，人都到那里去了？”
　　白罗回答说那两家有孩子的客人都驾船出海，要玩一整天去了。
　　“哎，难怪大不相同了，少了他们在这里笑笑闹闹呀。只有马歇尔先生一个人在游泳。”
　　马歇尔刚游完上岸，他摔着毛巾走上了海滩，“今早在海里很舒服，”他说：“不幸的是，我还有很多工作待做，得马上去做了。”
　　“哎呀，那真是太可惜了，马歇尔先生，尤其是今天的天气这么好，哎，昨天实在是太可怕了。我就跟贾德纳先生说了，要是天气还继续这么坏下去的话，那我们只好离开这里了。你知道，岛上到处都是浓雾的时候好怪异，叫人觉得鬼气森森的。不过，我从小就对周围的气氛特别敏感就是了，你知道，有时候我都会尖声叫了又叫，当然，这事叫我爹妈伤透脑筋。不过我妈是个可爱的女人，她跟我爹说：‘辛克莱，要是孩子想这样的话，我们就得让她这样做，尖叫是她自我表现的一种方式。’我爹当然同意她的说法，他很服我妈，对她唯命是从。他们是非常可爱的一对，这点我相信贾德纳先生也会同意的，他们真是一对很了不起的夫妇，对不对？欧帝尔？”
　　“对啦，亲爱的。”贾德纳先生说。
　　“令媛今天早上在那里呀？马歇尔先生？”
　　“琳达？我不知道，我想她大概是在岛上什么地方逛吧。”
　　“你知道，马歇尔先生，我觉得那个女孩子太瘦了，她需要好好喂一喂，而且很需要，很需要同情。”
　　甘逸世·马歇尔很唐突地说：“琳达很好。”
　　他往旅馆走了过去，派屈克·雷德方并没有下水，他还坐在那里，公然地朝旅馆那边望着。他看起来好像有点懊恼，布雷斯特小、姐来的时候倒很开心。
　　他们的谈话大致上和前一天差不多，贾德纳太太喋喋不休，布雷斯特小、姐则断续插入，最后她说道：“海滩上好像很空旷，大家都出海去了吗？”
　　贾德纳太太说：“我今天早上还跟贾德纳先生说，我们实在该乘船到大德漠去，那里离这很近，而且整个环境很有浪漫情调。我也很想看看那座监狱——王子县吧？是不是？我想我们最好马上安排一下明天就去，欧帝尔。”
　　贾德纳先生说，“好的，亲爱的。”
　　赫邱里·白罗对布雷斯特小、姐说：“你打算去游游泳吗？”
　　“哦，我吃早饭以前已经下过一次水了，有人从旅馆房间窗口丢了个瓶子下来，差点砸烂我的头。”
　　“哎，这种事实在是太危险了！”贾德纳太太说，“我有个很好的朋友，就是在路上走的时候给一罐牙膏打中了头，得了脑震荡——东西是从三十五楼的窗口丢下来的，这种事实在太危险了，他伤得很重呢。”她开始在她那一大堆羊毛线里翻找着。“哎，欧帝尔，我想我浅紫色的毛线没拿来。在我们睡房五斗柜的第二个还是第三个抽屉里。”
　　“好的，亲爱的。”
　　贾德纳先生很顺从地站起身来，去替她找东西。贾德纳太太继续说道：“你知道，有时候我真觉得现在我们太过分了点，好多伟大的发现，还有大气里的电波什么的，我想就因此才会使得很多人精神不安。我觉得该是叫我们重新认清人性的时候了，白罗先生，我不知道你对金字塔的预言有没有过兴趣。”
　　“没有。”白罗说。
　　“哎，我可以向你保证，那真是非常非常的有意思。比方说莫斯科以北正好一千英里的地方就是——哎，是什么地方来着？——会不会是尼日微？——反正你只要画一个圈，就可以看到最意想不到的事——你也可以看得出那些事想必有些特殊的指导，古时候的埃及人不可能以为那全是他们自己做出来的。要是你研究了数字和重现的理论，哎，那所有的一切都再清楚不过了，我简直不明白怎么还会有人会感到怀疑。”贾德纳太太很神气地停了下来，可是白罗和布雷斯特小、姐都没有表示任何异议。
　　白罗懊恼地打量着他那双白皮鞋。艾蜜莉·布雷斯特说：
　　“白罗先生，你穿着皮鞋去涉水了？”
　　白罗喃喃地道：“不幸得很，我也是不得已。”
　　艾蜜莉·布雷斯特放低了声音说：“我们那位女妖精今早怎么没见到？她比平常晚了。”
　　贾德纳太太抬起眼来打量了下派屈克·雷德方，喃喃地说道：“他看来就像是雷雨要来的满天乌云，啊呀！我真觉得这件事实在可耻，不知道马歇尔先生有什么样的想法，他实在是个很好、很沉静的人——非常英国派头，喜怒不形于色，你根本不知道他在想什么。”
　　派屈克·雷德方站了起来，开始在海滩上走来走去。贾德纳太太喃喃地道：“简直就像是一只老虎。”
　　三对眼睛看着他走来走去，他们的注视似乎使得派屈克·雷德方觉得很不自在。他看起来比先前更沮丧，好像脾气很坏似的，在寂静之中，一阵微微的钟声从对面那边传到他们的耳朵里，艾蜜莉·布雷斯特低声说道：“风又从东边吹过来了，能听到教堂的钟敲几点是个好现象。”
　　没有人再说什么。最后贾德纳先生拿了一束鲜紫色的毛线回来，“哎，欧帝尔，你怎么去了那么久。”
　　“对不起，亲爱的，可是毛线根本不在五斗柜里，我是在你衣柜的架子上找到的。”
　　“哎，那可真太奇怪了，我敢说我的确是放在五斗柜抽屉里的，我总说幸好我从来不需要到法庭里去作证，要是我什么事没记对的话，我真会急死。”
　　贾德纳先生说：“贾德纳太太是个很谨慎的人。”
　　大约过了五分钟之后，派屈克·雷德方说：“布雷斯特小、姐，你今早要不要去划船？我跟你一起去好不好？”
　　布雷斯特小、姐很开心地道：“好呀。”
　　“我们划船绕这个岛一圈。”雷德方建议道。
　　布雷斯特小、姐看了下表：“我们有时间吗？哦，可以的，现在还不到十一点半。那，来吧，现在就开始。”
　　他们一起走下海滩，派屈克·雷德方先扳过桨来，他划得十分有力，船直朝前射出去。布雷斯特小、姐很表赞赏地道：
　　“好极了，看你是不是能一直坚持下去。”
　　他对着她大声笑了起来，他的兴致提高了，“等我们回来的时候，我恐怕满手都是水泡了。”他一昂头，把黑发摔向后去。“老天，今天天气真好！在英国要是碰上一个真正大好的夏天日子，那真是什么也比不过呢。”
　　艾蜜莉·布雷斯特用很粗的声音说道：“在我看起来，英国的什么东西，别人都比不过，这个世界上只有这个地方可以住。”
　　“我完全同意。”
　　他们绕过湾岬，向西划去，船行在悬崖下面，派屈克·雷德方抬头看了看，“今天早上可有人在阳光崖上？呃，有个影子，不知道那会是谁？”
　　艾蜜莉·布雷斯特说：“是戴礼小、姐吧，我想，她才有那种日本阳伞。”
　　他们沿海岸划去，左边就是大海。艾蜜莉·布雷斯特说：“我们应该从那边走的，由这边走正好是逆流。”
　　“浪不大，我在这边游过泳，都没有注意到。反正也不能从那边走，堤路不会被海水淹过的。”
　　“当然，那要看潮水怎么样。可是他们都说在小妖湾那边要是游得太远的话，就很危险呢。”
　　派屈克仍然很用力地划着，同时一直不停地抬头搜寻着崖上。艾蜜莉·布雷斯特突然想到：“他是在找马歇尔的老婆，所以他才会要跟我一起出来划船，她今天早上一直没有出现，而他在猜不知她怎么了。也许她故意这样做，这是她玩这场游戏中的一招——欲擒故纵。”
　　他们绕过那个叫小妖湾的海湾南侧伸出的岩岬，那是一个相当小的海湾，在靠岸的海滨一带有不少嶙峋怪石，海湾朝向西北，大部分在高耸的悬崖之下。这是一个很受人欢迎的野宴地点。早晨太阳照不到这一带时，很少有人到这里来。不过现在却有一个人躺在海滩上。派屈克·雷德方的动作停了一下，然后又继续划船，他用强作镇定的声音说道：“喂，是什么人在那里？”
　　布雷斯特小、姐冷冷地说：“看起来很像马歇尔太太。”
　　派屈克·雷德方好像这才想到了似地说：“原来是她。”
　　他改变了航线，向岸边划去。艾蜜莉·布雷斯特抗议道：“我们不是要在这里上岸吧？”
　　派屈克·雷德方很快地说道：“哦，还有的是时间哩。”
　　他两眼正视着她——眼中有种很天真的哀求神色，就像一只乞食的小狗，使得艾蜜莉·布雷斯特沉默下来，她心里暗想道：“可怜的孩子，他真是给困住了，好吧，反正也没什么办法，他过一阵子就会好的。”
　　船很快地向海滩接近，艾莲娜·马歇尔脸朝下俯躺在沙石上，两手朝外伸开来。那具白色的木筏拉上了岸，放在旁边，艾蜜莉·布雷斯特感到一阵困惑，就好像她眼前所看到的是一件她很熟悉的东西，然而在某方面说来又完全不对劲似的。直到过了一两分钟之后，她才想到问题在哪里。艾莲娜·马歇尔的姿态是在晒日光浴的姿势。她在旅馆前面的海滩上这样躺过好多次，晒成古铜色的身子伸展着，那顶绿色的硬纸帽子遮着头和颈子。
　　可是小妖湾的海边没有太阳，而且这几个钟点阳光都还照不到这里来，矗立在后面的悬崖在早晨把太阳全都挡住了，艾蜜莉·布雷斯特不禁感到一阵不祥之感。
　　船搁浅在砂石上，派屈克·雷德方叫道：“喂，艾莲娜。”
　　紧接着艾蜜莉·布雷斯特果然感到事情不对了，因为那个躺着的人既没有动弹，也没有回应。
　　艾蜜莉看到派屈克·雷德方脸上的表情变了。他跳下船去，她也紧跟着他，他们把船拖上岸，然后向那个一动也不动地躺在悬崖下的白色人体走过去，派屈克·雷德方先赶到那里，但艾蜜莉·布雷斯特就紧跟在他后面。
　　她就像在梦中似地，看到晒成古铜色的四肢，白色的泳装——翠绿色的帽子底下露出一些红色的卷发——还看到了点别的——两只向外伸出的手臂，角度十分奇怪而异常。紧接着，她又感觉到那个身体不是躺下来，而是给丢成这个样子……她听到派屈克的声音——受到惊吓的低语，他跪在那一动也不动的身子边——伸手摸了下手——手臂……他用低弱而颤抖的声音说：“我的天，她死掉了……”
　　然后，他稍微将那顶帽子掀开了一点，看看她的颈部，“啊，我的天，她是被人扼死的……她被谋杀了。”
　　像这种时候，时间都好似停顿了，艾蜜莉·布雷斯特感到一种有如置身幻境的不真实感，听到她自己说：“我们什么也不能动……要等警察来。”
　　雷德方很机械的回答道：“不错——不错——当然应该这样。”然后十分苦恼地低声问道：“谁？是谁？谁会对艾莲娜下这种毒手？她不可能——被人谋杀的，不可能是真的！”艾蜜莉·布雷斯特摇了摇头，不知道该如何回答。她听见他深吸了一口气——听到他压抑着怒气说道：“我的天，要是我抓到是谁做的这种事……”
　　艾蜜莉·布雷斯特打了个寒战，她脑中浮现了凶手可能还躲在岩石后面的景象，她听到自己的声音说道：“凶手不会再留在这附近的，我们一定要赶快找警察来，也许——”她迟疑了一下——“我们之中应该有一个人守着——守着尸体。”
　　派屈克·雷德方说：“我留下来。”
　　艾蜜莉·布雷斯特放心地叹了口气，她不是那种肯承认自己害怕的女人，可是她私下却觉得最好不要一个人留在海滩上，说不定那个可怕的杀人凶手还就在附近呢。她说，“好，我会尽快赶去，我还是上船吧，我没法爬上那道直梯子。在皮梳湾就有警察局。”
　　派屈克·雷德方机械地喃喃应道：“好——好，你看着办吧。”
　　艾蜜莉·布雷斯特用力地将船划离了岸边时，她看见派屈克跌坐在那个已死的女人身边，将头埋进双手里，看来有如一只守着已死主人尸体的忠犬。但是她仍然忍不住想道：“对他和他太太来说，这可是再好也不过的事了——对马歇尔和他的孩子来说也是一样——可是，我想他是不可能这样想的，可怜的家伙！”
　　艾蜜莉·布雷斯特是一个很能应变的女人。
[ 此帖被喻然末年在2013-10-14 18:17重新编辑 ]
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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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