Evil Under the Sun by Agatha Christie Page B

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.
    â€œNo, I don’t know who could have wanted to kill Arlena.” She added: “Except, of course, Mrs. Redfern.”
    Weston said:
    â€œYou think Mrs. Redfern wanted to kill her? Why?”
    Linda said:
    â€œBecause her husband was in love with Arlena. But I don’t think she would really want to kill 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:
    â€œNo, it is not at all the same.”
    Linda nodded. A queer sort of spasm passed across her face. She said:
    â€œAnd anyway, Mrs. Redfern could never do a thing like that—kill anybody. She isn’t—she isn’t violent, if you know what I mean.”
    Weston and Poirot nodded. The latter said:
    â€œI 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:
    â€œCan I go now? Is that all?”
    Colonel Weston said:
    â€œYes, 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.
    â€œPhew,” 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:
    â€œYes, I thought you were.”
    Weston said with an embarrassed cough:
    â€œBy 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:
    â€œSo you thought I put ideas into her head?”
    â€œWell, didn’t you? Come now.”
    Poirot shook his head.
    Weston sheered away from the point. He said:
    â€œOn the whole we got very little useful stuff out of her. Except a more or less complete alibi 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:
    â€œThere 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:
    â€œI 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:
    â€œWell, I suppose we’d better see the Redferns next. I expect he’s recovered a bit from the shock now.”
    III
    Patrick Redfern had recovered full composure by now. He looked pale and haggard and suddenly very young, but his manner was quite composed.
    â€œYou are Mr. Patrick Redfern of Crossgates, Seldon, Princes Risborough?”
    â€œYes.”
    â€œHow long had you known Mrs. Marshall?”
    Patrick Redfern hesitated,