Madame?â
âPity.â
She brought the word out like the flick of a whip.
She went on:
âDo you think I donât know? That I canât see? All the time people are saying: âPoor Mrs. Redfernâthat poor little woman.â And anyway Iâm not little, Iâm tall. They say little because they are sorry for me. And I canât bear it!â
Cautiously, Hercule Poirot spread his handkerchief on the seat and sat down. He said thoughtfully:
âThere is something in that.â
âThat womanââ said Christine and stopped.
Poirot said gravely:
âWill you allow me to tell you something, Madame? Something that is as true as the stars above us? The Arlena Stuartsâor Arlena Marshallsâof this worldâdo not count.â
Christine Redfern said:
âNonsense.â
âI assure you, it is true. Their Empire is of the moment and for the moment. To countâreally and truly to countâa woman must have goodness or brains.â
Christine said scornfully:
âDo you think men care for goodness or brains?â
Poirot said gravely:
âFundamentally, yes.â
Christine laughed shortly.
âI donât agree with you.â
Poirot said:
âYour husband loves you, Madame. I know it.â
âYou canât know it.â
âYes, yes. I know it. I have seen him looking at you.â
Suddenly she broke down. She wept stormily and bitterly against Poirotâs accommodating shoulder.
She said:
âI canât bear it ⦠I canât bear itâ¦.â
Poirot patted her arm. He said soothingly:
âPatienceâonly patience.â
She sat up and pressed her handkerchief to her eyes. She said in a stifled voice:
âItâs all right. Iâm better now. Leave me. IâdâIâd rather be alone.â
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 manâs voice, with the throb in it of emotion.
âIâm crazy about youâcrazyâyouâve driven me mad⦠You do care a littleâyou do care?â
He saw Arlena Marshallâs faceâit was, he thought, like a sleek happy catâit was animal, not human. She said softly:
âOf course, Patrick darling, I adore you. You know thatâ¦.â
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:
âRemarkable night, what? After that foul day.â He looked up at the sky. âLooks as though we should have fine weather tomorrow.â
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 oâclock 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:
âIâll do itâ¦.â
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:
âYouâre up