“You can ask the solicitors. But I’m pretty certain she didn’t. As I tell you, she thought it unlucky.”

There was a pause then Marshall added:

“Is there anything further?”

Weston shook his head.

“Don’t think so—eh Colgate? No. Once more, Captain Marshall, let me offer you all my sympathy in your loss.”

Marshall blinked. He said jerkily:

“Oh—thanks.”

He went out.

V

The three men looked at each other.

Weston said:

“Cool customer. Not giving anything away, is he? What do you make of him, Colgate?”

The Inspector shook his head.

“It’s difficult to tell. He’s not the kind that shows anything. That sort makes a bad impression in the witness-box, and yet it’s a bit unfair on them really. Sometimes they’re as cut up as anything and yet can’t show it. That kind of manner made the jury bring in a verdict of Guilty against Wallace. It wasn’t the evidence. They just couldn’t believe that a man could lose his wife and talk and act so coolly about it.”

Weston turned to Poirot.

“What do you think, Poirot?”

Hercule Poirot raised his hands.

He said:

“What can one say? He is the closed box—the fastened oyster. He has chosen his rôle. He has heard nothing, he has seen nothing, he knows nothing!”

“We’ve got a choice of motives,” said Colgate. “There’s jealousy and there’s the money motive. Of course, in a way, a husband’s the obvious suspect. One naturally thinks of him first. If he knew his missus was carrying on with the other chap—”

Poirot interrupted.

He said:

“I think he knew that.”

“Why do you say so?”

“Listen, my friend. Last night I had been talking with Mrs. Redfern on Sunny Ledge. I came down from there to the hotel and on my way I saw those two together—Mrs. Marshall and Patrick Redfern. And a moment or two after I met Captain Marshall. His face was very stiff. It says nothing—but nothing at all! It is almost too blank, if you understand me. Oh! he knew all right.”

Colgate grunted doubtfully.

He said:

“Oh well, if you think so—”

“I am sure of it! But even then, what does that tell us? What did Kenneth Marshall feel about his wife?”

Colonel Weston said:

“Takes her death coolly enough.”

Poirot shook his head in a dissatisfied manner.

Inspector Colgate said:

“Sometimes these quiet ones are the most violent underneath, so to speak. It’s all bottled up. He may have been madly fond of her—and madly jealous. But he’s not the kind to show it.”

Poirot said slowly:

“That is possible—yes. He is a very interesting character this Captain Marshall. I interest myself in him greatly. And in his alibi.”

“Alibi by typewriter,” said Weston with a short bark of a laugh. “What have you got to say about that, Colgate?”

Inspector Colgate screwed up his eyes. He said:

“Well, you know, sir, I rather fancy that alibi. It’s not too good, if you know what I mean. It’s—well, it’s natural. And if we find the chambermaid was about, and did hear the typewriter going, well then, it seems to me that it’s all right and that we’ll have to look elsewhere.”