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 Neasden 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?’

Neasden 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.’

Neasden 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 a 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 anyone on to 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 meme, mon Colonel,’ said Poirot. ‘It produced the goods, did it not?’

‘Er-well, possibly. I dare say 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. Off-hand 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 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, Neasden 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 dryly:

‘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 undoubtedlyyes.’

‘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 naice people. Norowdiness -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 ammost particular. There has never beenany 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 andpoint 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 ammost 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 shrugged 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.

‘Anyone 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 beach 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 were always on the look out 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…’