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 drily: “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 possible husband. 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 feelings 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.”
“What did you think?”
“Well, I didn't know what to think. I mean, all the time I thought she would be coming.”
“If she were keeping an appointment elsewhere you had no idea with whom that appointment might be?” Patrick Redfern merely stared and shook his head. “When you had a rendezvous with Mrs Marshall, where did you meet?”
“Well, sometimes I'd meet her in the afternoon down at Gull Cove. You see the sun is off Gull Cove in the afternoon and so there aren't usually many people there. We met there once or twice.”
“Never on the other cove? Pixy Cove?”
“No. You see Pixy Cove faces west and people go round there in boats or on floats in the afternoon. We never tried to meet in the morning. It would have been too noticeable. In the afternoon people go and have a sleep or mouch around and nobody knows much where any one else is.” Weston nodded. Patrick Redfern went on: “After dinner, of course, on the fine nights, we used to go off for a stroll together to different parts of the island.”
Hercule Poirot murmured: “Ah, yes!” and Patrick Redfern shot him an inquiring glance.
Weston said: “Then you can give us no help whatsoever as to the cause that took Mrs Marshall to Pixy Cove this morning?”
Redfern shook his head. He said, and his voice sounded honestly bewildered: “I haven't the faintest idea! It wasn't like Arlena.”
Weston said: “Had she any friends down here staying in the neighbourhood?”
“Not that I know of. Oh, I'm sure she hadn't.”
“Now, Mr Redfern, I want you to think very carefully. You knew Mrs Marshall in London. You must be acquainted with various members of her circle. Is there any one you know of who could have had a grudge against her? Some one, for instance, whom you may have supplanted in her fancy?”
Patrick Redfern thought for some minutes. Then he shook his head. “Honestly,” he said. “I can't think of any one.”
Colonel Weston drummed with his fingers on the table. He said at last: “Well,
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 drily: “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 possible husband. 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 feelings 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.”
“What did you think?”
“Well, I didn't know what to think. I mean, all the time I thought she would be coming.”
“If she were keeping an appointment elsewhere you had no idea with whom that appointment might be?” Patrick Redfern merely stared and shook his head. “When you had a rendezvous with Mrs Marshall, where did you meet?”
“Well, sometimes I'd meet her in the afternoon down at Gull Cove. You see the sun is off Gull Cove in the afternoon and so there aren't usually many people there. We met there once or twice.”
“Never on the other cove? Pixy Cove?”
“No. You see Pixy Cove faces west and people go round there in boats or on floats in the afternoon. We never tried to meet in the morning. It would have been too noticeable. In the afternoon people go and have a sleep or mouch around and nobody knows much where any one else is.” Weston nodded. Patrick Redfern went on: “After dinner, of course, on the fine nights, we used to go off for a stroll together to different parts of the island.”
Hercule Poirot murmured: “Ah, yes!” and Patrick Redfern shot him an inquiring glance.
Weston said: “Then you can give us no help whatsoever as to the cause that took Mrs Marshall to Pixy Cove this morning?”
Redfern shook his head. He said, and his voice sounded honestly bewildered: “I haven't the faintest idea! It wasn't like Arlena.”
Weston said: “Had she any friends down here staying in the neighbourhood?”
“Not that I know of. Oh, I'm sure she hadn't.”
“Now, Mr Redfern, I want you to think very carefully. You knew Mrs Marshall in London. You must be acquainted with various members of her circle. Is there any one you know of who could have had a grudge against her? Some one, for instance, whom you may have supplanted in her fancy?”
Patrick Redfern thought for some minutes. Then he shook his head. “Honestly,” he said. “I can't think of any one.”
Colonel Weston drummed with his fingers on the table. He said at last: “Well,
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