Read Online Evil Under the Sun by Agatha Christie - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Agatha Christie
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reason to suppose so.”
“And the husband? Did he know about it? What did he feel?”
Poirot said slowly: “It is not easy to know what Captain Marshall feels or thinks. He is a man who does not display his emotions.”
Weston said sharply: “But he might have 'em, all the same.”
Poirot nodded. He said: “Oh, yes, he might have them.”
The Chief Constable was being as tactful as it was in his nature to be with Mrs Castle. Mrs Castle was the owner and proprietress of the Jolly Roger Hotel. She was a woman of forty odd with a large bust, rather violent henna-red hair, and an almost offensively refined manner of speech. She was saying: “That such a thing should happen in my Hotel! Ay am sure it has always been the quayettest place imaginable! The people who come here are such nice people. No rowdiness - if you know what Ay mean. Not like the big hotels in St Loo.”
“Quite so, Mrs Castle,” said Colonel Weston. “But accidents happen in the best-regulated - er - households.”
“Ay'm sure Inspector Colgate will bear me out,” said Mrs Castle, sending an appealing glance towards the Inspector who was sitting looking very official. “As to the laycensing laws. Ay am most particular. There has never been any irregularity!”
“Quite, quite,” said Weston. “We're not blaming you in any way, Mrs Castle.”
“But it does so reflect upon an establishment,” said Mrs Castle, her large bust heaving. “When Ay think of the noisy gaping crowds. Of course no one but hotel guests are allowed upon the island - but all the same they will no doubt come and point from the shore.” She shuddered.
Inspector Colgate saw his chance to turn the conversation to good account. He said: “In regard to that point you've just raised. Access to the island. How do you keep people off?”
“Ay am most particular about it.”
“Yes, but what measures do you take? What keeps 'em off? Holiday crowds in summer-time swarm everywhere like flies.”
Mrs Castle shuddered slightly again. She said: “That is the fault of the charabancs. Ay have seen eighteen at one time parked by the quay at Leathercombe Bay. Eighteen!”
“Just so. How do you stop them coming here?”
“There are notices. And then, of course, at high tide, we are cut off.”
“Yes, but at low tide?”
Mrs Castle explained. At the island end of the causeway there was a gate. This said, “Jolly Roger Hotel. Private. No entry except to Hotel.” The rocks rose sheer out of the sea on either side there and could not be climbed.
“Any one could take a boat, though, I suppose, and row round and land on one of the coves? You couldn't stop them doing that. There's a right of access to the foreshore. You can't stop people being on the between low and high watermark.”
But this, it seemed, very seldom happened. Boats could be obtained at Leathercombe Bay harbour but from there it was a long row to the island and there was also a strong current just outside Leathercombe Bay harbour. There were notices, too, on both Gull Cove and Pixy Cove by the ladder. She added that George or William was always on the lookout at the bathing beach proper which was the nearest to the mainland.
“Who are George and William?”
“George attends to the bathing beach. He sees to the costumes and the floats. William is the gardener. He keeps the paths and marks the tennis courts and all that.”
Colonel Weston said impatiently: “Well, that seems clear enough. That's not to say that nobody could have come from outside, but anyone who did so took a risk - the risk of being noticed. We'll have a word with George and William presently.”
Mrs Castle said: “Ay do not care for trippers - a very noisy crowd and they frequently leave orange peel and cigarette boxes on the causeway and down by the rocks, but all the same Ay never thought one of them would turn out to be a murderer. Oh, dear! It really is too terrible for words. A lady like Mrs Marshall murdered and what's so
“And the husband? Did he know about it? What did he feel?”
Poirot said slowly: “It is not easy to know what Captain Marshall feels or thinks. He is a man who does not display his emotions.”
Weston said sharply: “But he might have 'em, all the same.”
Poirot nodded. He said: “Oh, yes, he might have them.”
The Chief Constable was being as tactful as it was in his nature to be with Mrs Castle. Mrs Castle was the owner and proprietress of the Jolly Roger Hotel. She was a woman of forty odd with a large bust, rather violent henna-red hair, and an almost offensively refined manner of speech. She was saying: “That such a thing should happen in my Hotel! Ay am sure it has always been the quayettest place imaginable! The people who come here are such nice people. No rowdiness - if you know what Ay mean. Not like the big hotels in St Loo.”
“Quite so, Mrs Castle,” said Colonel Weston. “But accidents happen in the best-regulated - er - households.”
“Ay'm sure Inspector Colgate will bear me out,” said Mrs Castle, sending an appealing glance towards the Inspector who was sitting looking very official. “As to the laycensing laws. Ay am most particular. There has never been any irregularity!”
“Quite, quite,” said Weston. “We're not blaming you in any way, Mrs Castle.”
“But it does so reflect upon an establishment,” said Mrs Castle, her large bust heaving. “When Ay think of the noisy gaping crowds. Of course no one but hotel guests are allowed upon the island - but all the same they will no doubt come and point from the shore.” She shuddered.
Inspector Colgate saw his chance to turn the conversation to good account. He said: “In regard to that point you've just raised. Access to the island. How do you keep people off?”
“Ay am most particular about it.”
“Yes, but what measures do you take? What keeps 'em off? Holiday crowds in summer-time swarm everywhere like flies.”
Mrs Castle shuddered slightly again. She said: “That is the fault of the charabancs. Ay have seen eighteen at one time parked by the quay at Leathercombe Bay. Eighteen!”
“Just so. How do you stop them coming here?”
“There are notices. And then, of course, at high tide, we are cut off.”
“Yes, but at low tide?”
Mrs Castle explained. At the island end of the causeway there was a gate. This said, “Jolly Roger Hotel. Private. No entry except to Hotel.” The rocks rose sheer out of the sea on either side there and could not be climbed.
“Any one could take a boat, though, I suppose, and row round and land on one of the coves? You couldn't stop them doing that. There's a right of access to the foreshore. You can't stop people being on the between low and high watermark.”
But this, it seemed, very seldom happened. Boats could be obtained at Leathercombe Bay harbour but from there it was a long row to the island and there was also a strong current just outside Leathercombe Bay harbour. There were notices, too, on both Gull Cove and Pixy Cove by the ladder. She added that George or William was always on the lookout at the bathing beach proper which was the nearest to the mainland.
“Who are George and William?”
“George attends to the bathing beach. He sees to the costumes and the floats. William is the gardener. He keeps the paths and marks the tennis courts and all that.”
Colonel Weston said impatiently: “Well, that seems clear enough. That's not to say that nobody could have come from outside, but anyone who did so took a risk - the risk of being noticed. We'll have a word with George and William presently.”
Mrs Castle said: “Ay do not care for trippers - a very noisy crowd and they frequently leave orange peel and cigarette boxes on the causeway and down by the rocks, but all the same Ay never thought one of them would turn out to be a murderer. Oh, dear! It really is too terrible for words. A lady like Mrs Marshall murdered and what's so
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