Evil Under the Sun by Agatha Christie Page A

to Poirot. “What do you think, Poirot?”
    Hercule Poirot raised his hands. He said: “What can one say? He is the closed box - the fastened oyster. He has chosen his role. He has heard nothing, he has seen nothing, he knows nothing!”
    “We've got a choice of motives,” said Colgate. “There's jealousy and there's the money motive. Of course, in a way, a husband's the obvious suspect. One naturally thinks of him first. If he knew his missus was carrying on with the other chap -”
    Poirot interrupted. He said: “I think he knew that.”
    “Why do you say so?”
    “Listen, my friend. Last night I had been talking with Mrs Redfern on Sunny Ledge. I came down from there to the hotel and on my way I saw those two together - Mrs Marshall and Patrick Redfern. And a moment or two after I met Captain Marshall. His face was very stiff. It says nothing - but nothing at all! It is almost too blank, if you understand me. Oh! He knew all right.”
    Colgate grunted doubtfully. He said: “Oh, well, if you think so -”
    “I am sure of it! But even then, what does that tell us? What did Kenneth Marshall feel about his wife?”
    Colonel Weston said: “Takes her death coolly enough.”
    Poirot shook his head in a dissatisfied manner. Inspector Colgate said: “Sometimes these quiet ones are the most violent underneath, so to speak. It's all bottled up. He may have been madly fond of her - and madly jealous. But he's not the kind to show it.”
    Poirot said slowly: “That is possible - yes. He is a very interesting character, this Captain Marshall. I interest myself in him greatly. And in his alibi.”
    “Alibi by typewriter,” said Weston with a short bark of a laugh. “What have you got to say about that, Colgate?”
    Inspector Colgate screwed up his eyes. He said: “Well, you know, sir, I rather fancy that alibi. It's not too good, if you know what I mean. It's - well, it's natural. And if we find the chambermaid was about, and did hear the typewriter going, well then, it seems to me that it's all right and that we'll have to look elsewhere.”
    “H'm,” said Colonel Weston. “Where are you going to look?”
    For a minute or two the three men pondered the question. Inspector Colgate spoke first. He said: “It boils down to this - was it an outsider, or a guest at the hotel? I'm not eliminating the servants entirely, mind, but I don't expect for a minute that we'll find any of them had a hand in it. No, it's a hotel guest, or it's some one from right outside. We've got to look at it this way. First of all - motive. There's gain. The only person to gain by her death was the lady's husband it seems. What other motives are there? First and foremost - jealousy. It seems to me - just looking at it - that if ever you've got a crime passionnel (he bowed to Poirot) this is one.”
    Poirot murmured as he looked up at the ceiling: “There are so many passions.”
    Inspector Colgate went on: “Her husband wouldn't allow that she had any enemies - real enemies, that is, but I don't believe for a minute that that's so! I should say that a lady like her would - well, would make some pretty bad enemies - eh, sir, what do you say?”
    Poirot responded. He said: “Mais oui, that is so. Arlena Marshall would make enemies. But in my opinion, the enemy theory is not tenable, for you see. Inspector, Arlena Marshall's enemies would, I think, as I said just now, always be women.”
    Colonel Weston grunted and said: “Something in that. It's the women who've got their knife into her here all right.”
    Poirot went on: “It seems to be hardly possible that the crime was committed by a woman. What does the medical evidence say?”
    Weston grunted again. He said: “Neasdon's pretty confident that she was strangled by a man. Big hands - powerful grip. It's just possible, of course, that an unusually athletic woman might have done it - but it's damned unlikely.”
    Poirot nodded. “Exactly. Arsenic in a cup of tea - a box of poisoned