Mrs. Gardener paused triumphantly but neither Poirot nor Miss Emily Brewster felt moved to argue the point.

Poirot studied his white suède shoes ruefully.

Emily Brewster said:

“You been paddling with your shoes on, M. Poirot?”

Poirot murmured:

“Alas! I was precipitate.”

Emily Brewster lowered her voice. She said:

“Where’s our vamp this morning? She’s late.”

Mrs. Gardener, raising her eyes from her knitting to study Patrick Redfern, murmured:

“He looks just like a thundercloud. Oh dear, I do feel the whole thing is such a pity. I wonder what Captain Marshall thinks about it all. He’s such a nice quiet man—very British and unassuming. You just never know what he’s thinking about things.”

Patrick Redfern rose and began to pace up and down the beach.

Mrs. Gardener murmured:

“Just like a tiger.”

Three pairs of eyes watched his pacing. Their scrutiny seemed to make Patrick Redfern uncomfortable. He looked more than sulky now. He looked in a flaming temper.

In the stillness a faint chime from the mainland came to their ears.

Emily Brewster murmured:

“Wind’s from the east again. That’s a good sign when you can hear the church clock strike.”

Nobody said any more until Mr. Gardener returned with a skein of brilliant magenta wool.

“Why, Odell, what a long time you have been?”

“Sorry darling, but you see it wasn’t in your bureau at all. I found it on your wardrobe shelf.”

“Why, isn’t that too extraordinary? I could have declared I put it in that bureau drawer. I do think it’s fortunate that I’ve never had to give evidence in a court case. I’d just worry myself to death in case I wasn’t remembering a thing just right.”

Mr. Gardener said:

“Mrs. Gardener is very conscientious.”

V

It was some five minutes later that Patrick Redfern said:

“Going for your row this morning, Miss Brewster? Mind if I come with you?”

Miss Brewster said heartily:

“Delighted.”

“Let’s row right round the island,” proposed Redfern.

Miss Brewster consulted her watch.

“Shall we have time? Oh yes, it’s not half past eleven yet. Come on, then, let’s start.”

They went down the beach together.

Patrick Redfern took first turn at the oars. He rowed with a powerful stroke. The boat leapt forward.

Emily Brewster said approvingly:

“Good. We’ll see if you can keep that up.”

He laughed into her eyes. His spirits had improved.

“I shall probably have a fine crop of blisters by the time we get back.” He threw up his head, tossing back his black hair. “God, it’s a marvellous day! If you do get a real summer’s day in England there’s nothing to beat it.”

Emily Brewster said gruffly:

“Can’t beat England anyway in my opinion. Only place in the world to live in.”

“I’m with you.”

They rounded the point of the bay to the west and rowed under the cliffs. Patrick Redfern looked up.

“Any one on Sunny Ledge this morning? Yes, there’s a sunshade. Who is it, I wonder?”

Emily Brewster said: