VI

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 theservants 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 someone from right outside. We’ve got to look at it this way. First ofall—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’tbelieve for a minute that that’s so! I should say that a lady like her would—well, would makesome 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 enemytheory is not tenable, for you see, Inspector, Arlena Marshall’s enemies would, I think, as I saidjust 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 this crime was committed by a woman. What does themedical evidence say?”

Weston grunted again. He said:

“Neasden’s pretty confident that she was strangled by a man. Big hands—powerful grip. It’sjust possible, of course, that an unusually athletic woman might have done it—but it’s damnedunlikely.”

Poirot nodded.

“Exactly. Arsenic in a cup of tea—a box of poisoned chocolates—a knife—even a pistol—butstrangulation—no! It is a man we have to look for.”

“And immediately,” he went on, “it becomes more difficult. There are two people here in thishotel who have a motive for wishing Arlena Marshall out of the way—but both of them arewomen.”

Colonel Weston asked:

“Redfern’s wife is one of them, I suppose?”

“Yes. Mrs. Redfern might have made up her mind to kill Arlena Stuart. She had, let us say,ample cause. I think, too, that it would be possible for Mrs. Redfern to commit a murder. But notthis kind of murder. For all her unhappiness and jealousy, she is not, I should say, a woman ofstrong passions. In love, she would be devoted and loyal—not passionate. As I said just now—arsenic in the teacup, possibly—strangulation, no. I am sure, also, that she is physically incapableof committing this crime, her hands and feet are small, below the average.”

Weston nodded. He said:

“This isn’t a woman’s crime. No, a man did this.”

Inspector Colgate coughed.

“Let me put forward a solution, sir. Say that prior to meeting this Mr. Redfern the lady had hadanother affair with someone—call him X. She turns X down for Mr. Redfern. X is mad with rageand jealousy. He follows her down here, stays somewhere in the neighbourhood, comes over tothe island, does her in. It’s a possibility!”

Weston said:

“It’s possible, all right. And if it’s true, it ought to be easy to prove. Did he come on foot or in aboat? The latter seems more likely. If so, he must have hired a boat somewhere. You’d bettermake inquiries.”

He looked across at Poirot.

“What do you think of Colgate’s suggestion?”

Poirot said slowly:

“It leaves, somehow, too much to chance. And besides—somewhere the picture is not true. Icannot, you see, imagine this man…the man who is mad with rage and jealousy.”

Colgate said:

“People did go potty about her, though, sir. Look at Redfern.”

“Yes, yes… But all the same—”

Colgate looked at him questioningly.

Poirot shook his head.

He said, frowning:

“Somewhere, there is something that we have missed….”