“What’s all this I hear?”

Dr. Neasden took the note from Marshall’s hand and handed it to the Chief Constable. The latter read it. He exclaimed incredulously:

“What? But this is nonsense—absolute nonsense! It’s impossible.” He repeated with assurance. “Impossible! Isn’t it, Poirot?”

Hercule Poirot moved for the first time. He said in a slow sad voice:

“No, I’m afraid it is not impossible.”

Christine Redfern said:

“But I was with her, M. Poirot. I was with her up to a quarter to twelve. I told the police so.”

Poirot said:

“Your evidence gave her an alibi—yes. But what was your evidence based on? It was based on Linda Marshall’s own wristwatch. You do not know of your own knowledge that it was a quarter to twelve when you left her—you only know that she told you so. You said yourself the time seemed to have gone very fast.”

She stared at him, stricken.

He said:

“Now, think, Madame, when you left the beach, did you walk back to the hotel fast or slow?”

“I—well, fairly slowly, I think.”

“Do you remember much about that walk back?”

“Not very much, I’m afraid. I—I was thinking.”

Poirot said:

“I am sorry to ask you this, but will you tell just what you were thinking about during that walk?”

Christine flushed.

“I suppose—if it is necessary… I was considering the question of—of leaving here. Just going away without telling my husband. I—I was very unhappy just then, you see.”

Patrick Redfern cried:

“Oh, Christine! I know… I know….”

Poirot’s precise voice cut in.

“Exactly. You were concerned over taking a step of some importance. You were, I should say, deaf and blind to your surroundings. You probably walked very slowly and occasionally stopped for some minutes whilst you puzzled things out.”

Christine nodded.

“How clever you are. It was just like that. I woke up from a kind of dream just outside the hotel and hurried in thinking I should be very late, but when I saw the clock in the lounge I realized I had plenty of time.”

Hercule Poirot said again:

“Exactly.”

He turned to Marshall.