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Authors: Agatha Christie
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down beside that still form - touched the hand - the arm... He said in a low shuddering whisper: “My God, she's dead...”
And then, as he lifted the hat a little, peered at the neck: “Oh, God, she's been strangled...murdered.”
It was one of those moments when time stands still. With an odd feeling of unreality Emily Brewster heard herself saying: “We mustn't touch anything... Not until the police come.”
Redfern's answer came mechanically: “No - no - of course not.” And then in a deep agonized whisper: “Who? Who? Who could have done that to Arlena. She can't have - have been murdered. It can't be true!” Emily Brewster shook her head, not knowing quite what to answer. She heard him draw in his breath - heard the low controlled rage in his voice as he said: “My God, if I get my hands on the foul fiend who did this.”
Emily Brewster shivered. Her imagination pictured a lurking murderer behind one of the boulders. Then she heard her voice saying: “Whoever did it wouldn't be hanging about. We must get the police. Perhaps -” she hesitated - “one of us ought to stay with - with the body.”
Patrick Redfern said: “I'll stay.”
Emily Brewster drew a little sigh of relief. She was not the kind of woman who would ever admit to feeling fear, but she was secretly thankful not to have to remain on the beach alone with the faint possibility of a homicidal maniac lingering close at hand. She said: “Good. I'll be as quick as I can. I'll go in the boat. Can't face that ladder. There's a constable at Leathercombe Bay.”
Patrick Redfern murmured mechanically: “Yes - yes, whatever you think best.”
As she rowed vigorously away from the shore, Emily Brewster saw Patrick drop down beside the dead woman and bury his head in his hands. There was something so forlorn about his attitude that she felt an unwilling sympathy. He looked like a dog watching by its dead master. Nevertheless her robust common sense was saying to her: “Best thing that could have happened for him and his wife - and for Marshall and the child - but I don't suppose he can see it that way, poor devil.”
Emily Brewster was a woman who could always rise to an emergency.
Evil Under the Sun
Chapter 5
Inspector Colgate stood back by the cliff waiting for the police surgeon to finish with Arlena's body. Patrick Redfern and Emily Brewster stood a little to one side. Dr Neasdon rose from his knees with a quick deft movement. He said: “Strangled - and by a pretty powerful pair of hands. She doesn't seem to have put up much of a struggle. Taken by surprise. H'm - well - nasty business.”
Emily Brewster had taken one look and then quickly averted her eyes from the dead woman's face. That horrible purple convulsed countenance. Inspector Colgate asked: “What about time of death?”
Neasdon said irritably: “Can't say definitely without knowing more about her. Lots of factors to take into account. Let's see, it's quarter to one now. What time was it when you found her?”
Patrick Redfern, to whom the question was addressed, said vaguely: “Some time before twelve. I don't know exactly.”
Emily Brewster said: “It was exactly a quarter to twelve when we found she was dead.”
“Ah, and you came here in the boat. What time was it when you caught sight of her lying here?”
Emily Brewster considered. “I should say we rounded the point about five or six minutes earlier.” She turned to Redfern. “Do you agree?”
He said vaguely: “Yes - yes - about that, I should think.”
Neasdon asked the Inspector in a low voice: “This the husband? Oh! I see, my mistake. Thought it might be. He seems rather done in over it.” He raised his voice officially. “Let's put it at twenty minutes to twelve. She cannot have been killed very long before that. Say between then and eleven - quarter to eleven at the earliest outside limit.”
The Inspector shut his notebook with a snap. “Thanks,” he said. “That ought to help us
And then, as he lifted the hat a little, peered at the neck: “Oh, God, she's been strangled...murdered.”
It was one of those moments when time stands still. With an odd feeling of unreality Emily Brewster heard herself saying: “We mustn't touch anything... Not until the police come.”
Redfern's answer came mechanically: “No - no - of course not.” And then in a deep agonized whisper: “Who? Who? Who could have done that to Arlena. She can't have - have been murdered. It can't be true!” Emily Brewster shook her head, not knowing quite what to answer. She heard him draw in his breath - heard the low controlled rage in his voice as he said: “My God, if I get my hands on the foul fiend who did this.”
Emily Brewster shivered. Her imagination pictured a lurking murderer behind one of the boulders. Then she heard her voice saying: “Whoever did it wouldn't be hanging about. We must get the police. Perhaps -” she hesitated - “one of us ought to stay with - with the body.”
Patrick Redfern said: “I'll stay.”
Emily Brewster drew a little sigh of relief. She was not the kind of woman who would ever admit to feeling fear, but she was secretly thankful not to have to remain on the beach alone with the faint possibility of a homicidal maniac lingering close at hand. She said: “Good. I'll be as quick as I can. I'll go in the boat. Can't face that ladder. There's a constable at Leathercombe Bay.”
Patrick Redfern murmured mechanically: “Yes - yes, whatever you think best.”
As she rowed vigorously away from the shore, Emily Brewster saw Patrick drop down beside the dead woman and bury his head in his hands. There was something so forlorn about his attitude that she felt an unwilling sympathy. He looked like a dog watching by its dead master. Nevertheless her robust common sense was saying to her: “Best thing that could have happened for him and his wife - and for Marshall and the child - but I don't suppose he can see it that way, poor devil.”
Emily Brewster was a woman who could always rise to an emergency.
Evil Under the Sun
Chapter 5
Inspector Colgate stood back by the cliff waiting for the police surgeon to finish with Arlena's body. Patrick Redfern and Emily Brewster stood a little to one side. Dr Neasdon rose from his knees with a quick deft movement. He said: “Strangled - and by a pretty powerful pair of hands. She doesn't seem to have put up much of a struggle. Taken by surprise. H'm - well - nasty business.”
Emily Brewster had taken one look and then quickly averted her eyes from the dead woman's face. That horrible purple convulsed countenance. Inspector Colgate asked: “What about time of death?”
Neasdon said irritably: “Can't say definitely without knowing more about her. Lots of factors to take into account. Let's see, it's quarter to one now. What time was it when you found her?”
Patrick Redfern, to whom the question was addressed, said vaguely: “Some time before twelve. I don't know exactly.”
Emily Brewster said: “It was exactly a quarter to twelve when we found she was dead.”
“Ah, and you came here in the boat. What time was it when you caught sight of her lying here?”
Emily Brewster considered. “I should say we rounded the point about five or six minutes earlier.” She turned to Redfern. “Do you agree?”
He said vaguely: “Yes - yes - about that, I should think.”
Neasdon asked the Inspector in a low voice: “This the husband? Oh! I see, my mistake. Thought it might be. He seems rather done in over it.” He raised his voice officially. “Let's put it at twenty minutes to twelve. She cannot have been killed very long before that. Say between then and eleven - quarter to eleven at the earliest outside limit.”
The Inspector shut his notebook with a snap. “Thanks,” he said. “That ought to help us
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