Evil Under the Sun by Agatha Christie Read Free Book Online Page B

Madame?”
    â€œPity.”
    She brought the word out like the flick of a whip.
    She went on:
    â€œDo 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:
    â€œThere is something in that.”
    â€œThat woman—” said Christine and stopped.
    Poirot said gravely:
    â€œWill you allow me to tell you something, Madame? Something that is as true as the stars above us? The Arlena Stuarts—or Arlena Marshalls—of this world—do not count.”
    Christine Redfern said:
    â€œNonsense.”
    â€œI 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:
    â€œDo you think men care for goodness or brains?”
    Poirot said gravely:
    â€œFundamentally, yes.”
    Christine laughed shortly.
    â€œI don’t agree with you.”
    Poirot said:
    â€œYour husband loves you, Madame. I know it.”
    â€œYou can’t know it.”
    â€œYes, 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:
    â€œI can’t bear it … I can’t bear it….”
    Poirot patted her arm. He said soothingly:
    â€œPatience—only patience.”
    She sat up and pressed her handkerchief to her eyes. She said in a stifled voice:
    â€œIt’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.
    â€œI’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:
    â€œOf 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:
    â€œRemarkable night, what? After that foul day.” He looked up at the sky. “Looks as though we should have fine weather tomorrow.”

Four
    T he 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:
    â€œI’ll do it….”
    She slipped out of her pyjamas and into her bathing dress. Over it she flung on a bathrobe 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 on to the rocks leading down into the water whichwas 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:
    â€œYou’re up