Evil Under the Sun - Christie Agatha - Страница 38

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‘Yes, I was quite sure of that. Arlena Marshall was going to meet Patrick Redfern. But a minute later Patrick Redfern appeared on the beach and was obviously looking for her. So what then?’

Patrick Redfern said with subdued anger:

‘Some devil used my name.’

Poirot said:

‘You were very obviously upset and surprised by her non-appearance. Almost too obviously, perhaps. It ismy theory, Mr Redfern, that she went to Pixy Cove to meetyou, and that shedid meet you, and thatyou killed her there as you had planned to do.’

Patrick Redfern stared. He said in his high good-humoured Irish voice:

‘Is it daft you are? I was with you on the beach until I went round in the boat with Miss Brewster and found her dead.’

Hercule Poirot said:

‘You killed her after Miss Brewster had gone off in the boat to fetch the police. Arlena Marshall was not dead when you got to the beach. She was waiting hidden in the cave until the coast could be clear.’

‘But the body! Miss Brewster and I both saw the body.’

‘Abody-yes. But not adead body. Thelive body of the woman who helped you, her arms and legs stained with tan, her face hidden by a green cardboard hat. Christine, your wife (or possibly not your wife-but still your partner), helping you to commit this crime as she helped you to commit that crime in the past when she ‘discovered’ the body of Alice Corrigan at least twenty minutes before Alice Corrigan died-killed by her husband Edward Corrigan-you!’

Christine spoke. Her voice was sharp-cold. She said:

‘Be careful, Patrick, don’t lose your temper.’

Poirot said:

‘You will be interested to hear that both you and your wife Christine were easily recognized and picked out by the Surrey police from a group of people photographed here. They identified you both at once as Edward Corrigan and Christine Deverill, the young woman who found the body.’

Patrick Redfern had risen. His handsome face was transformed, suffused with blood, blind with rage. It was the face of a killer-of a tiger. He yelled:

‘You damned interfering murdering lousy little worm!’

He hurled himself forward, his fingers stretching and curling, his voice raving curses, as he fastened his fingers round Hercule Poirot’s throat…

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