‘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 tokill 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’tviolent, 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 round 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 completealibi 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 anyone. She is cold rather than warm blooded, capable of deep devotion and unswerving constancy, but not of hot blooded passion or rage. Moreover, her hands are far too small and delicate.’

Colgate said:

‘I agree with M. Poirot. She’s out of it. Dr Neasden says it was a full-sized pair of hands that 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 has told us 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-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’sreal. 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, amotive 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 dryly:

‘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 possiblehusband. 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 feeling 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.’