IV

There was a pause. Stephen Lane cleared his throat and said with a trace of self-consciousness.

“I was interested, M. Poirot, in something you said just now. You said that there was evil doneeverywhere under the sun. It was almost a quotation¹ from Ecclesiastes.” He paused and thenquoted himself: “Yea, also the heart of the sons of men is full of evil, and madness is in their heartwhile they live.” His face lit up with an almost fanatical light. “I was glad to hear you say that.

Nowadays, no one believes in evil. It is considered, at most, a mere² negation³ of good. Evil, peoplesay, is done by those who know no better—who are undeveloped—who are to be pitied rather thanblamed. But M. Poirot, evil is real! It is a fact! I believe in Evil like I believe in Good. It exists! Itis powerful! It walks the earth!”

He stopped. His breath was coming fast. He wiped his forehead with his handkerchief andlooked suddenly apologetic.

“I’m sorry. I got carried away.”

Poirot said calmly:

“I understand your meaning. Up to a point I agree with you. Evil does walk the earth and can berecognized as such.”

Major Barry cleared his throat.

“Talking of that sort of thing, some of these fakir fellers in India—”

Major Barry had been long enough at the Jolly Roger for everyone to be on their guard againsthis fatal tendency to embark⁴ on long Indian stories. Both Miss Brewster and Mrs. Redfern burstinto speech.

“That’s your husband swimming in now, isn’t it, Mrs. Redfern? How magnificent his crawlstroke is. He’s an awfully⁵ good swimmer.”

At the same moment Mrs. Redfern said:

“Oh look! What a lovely little boat that is out there with the red sails. It’s Mr. Blatt’s, isn’t it?”

The sailing boat with the red sails was just crossing the end of the bay.

Major Barry grunted⁶:

“Fanciful idea, red sails,” but the menace of the story about the fakir was avoided.

Hercule Poirot looked with appreciation⁷ at the young man who had just swum to shore. PatrickRedfern was a good specimen⁸ of humanity. Lean, bronzed with broad shoulders and narrowthighs, there was about him a kind of infectious enjoyment⁹ and gaiety—a native simplicity¹⁰ thatendeared him to all women and most men.

He stood there shaking the water from him and raising a hand in gay salutation to his wife.

She waved back calling out:

“Come up here, Pat.”

“I’m coming.”

He went a little way along the beach to retrieve¹¹ the towel he had left there.

It was then that a woman came down past them from the hotel to the beach.

Her arrival had all the importance of a stage entrance.

Moreover, she walked as though she knew it. There was no self-consciousness apparent. Itwould seem that she was too used to the invariable effect her presence produced.

She was tall and slender. She wore a simple backless white bathing dress and every inch of herexposed body was tanned a beautiful even shade of bronze. She was as perfect as a statue. Her hairwas a rich flaming auburn curling richly and intimately into her neck. Her face had that slighthardness which is seen when thirty years have come and gone, but the whole effect of her was oneof youth—of superb and triumphant¹² vitality¹³. There was a Chinese immobility about her face, andan upward slant¹⁴ of the dark blue eyes. On her head she wore a fantastic Chinese hat of jade¹⁵ greencardboard.

There was that about her which made every other woman on the beach seem faded andinsignificant. And with equal inevitability¹⁶, the eye of every male present was drawn¹⁷ and riveted¹⁸ onher.

The eyes of Hercule Poirot opened, his moustache quivered appreciatively, Major Barry sat upand his protuberant¹⁹ eyes bulged²⁰ even farther with excitement; on Poirot’s left the ReverendStephen Lane drew in his breath with a little hiss²¹ and his figure stiffened²².

Major Barry said in a hoarse²³ whisper:

“Arlena Stuart (that’s who she was before she married Marshall)—I saw her in Come and Gobefore she left the stage. Something worth looking at, eh?”

Christine Redfern said slowly and her voice was cold: “She’s handsome—yes. I think—shelooks rather a beast!”

Emily Brewster said abruptly²⁴:

“You talked about evil just now, M. Poirot. Now to my mind that woman’s a personification ofevil! She’s a bad lot through and through. I happen to know a good deal about her.”

Major Barry said reminiscently:

“I remember a gal²⁵ out in Simla. She had red hair too. Wife of a subaltern. Did she set the placeby the ears? I’ll say she did! Men went mad about her! All the women, of course, would haveliked to gouge²⁶ her eyes out! She upset the apple cart in more homes than one.”

He chuckled²⁷ reminiscently.

“Husband was a nice quiet fellow. Worshipped the ground she walked on. Never saw a thing—or made out he didn’t.”

Stephen Lane said in a low voice full of intense feeling:

“Such women are a menace—a menace to—”

He stopped.

Arlena Stuart had come to the water’s edge. Two young men, little more than boys, had sprungup and come eagerly towards her. She stood smiling at them.

Her eyes slid past them to where Patrick Redfern was coming along the beach.

It was, Hercule Poirot thought, like watching the needle of a compass. Patrick Redfern wasdeflected, his feet changed their direction. The needle, do what it will, must obey the law ofmagnetism and turn to the north. Patrick Redfern’s feet brought him to Arlena Stuart.

She stood smiling at him. Then she moved slowly along the beach by the side of the waves.

Patrick Redfern went with her. She stretched herself out by a rock. Redfern dropped to the shinglebeside her.

Abruptly, Christine Redfern got up and went into the hotel.

 

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