Part 14 (1/2)
”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 worthwhile 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 s.p.a.ce 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-violence-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?”
Seven.
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?”
Flus.h.i.+ng 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 anyone 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.”
II.
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 b.u.mping 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 in 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 anyone 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.”