“H’m,” said Colonel Weston. “Where are you going to look?”

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 the servants 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 of all—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’t believe for a minute that that’s so! I should say that a lady like her would—well, would make some 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 enemy theory is not tenable, for you see, Inspector, Arlena Marshall’s enemies would, I think, as I said just 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 the medical evidence say?”

Weston grunted again. He said:

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

Poirot nodded.

“Exactly. Arsenic in a cup of tea—a box of poisoned chocolates—a knife—even a pistol—but strangulation—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 this hotel who have a motive for wishing Arlena Marshall out of the way—but both of them are women.”

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 not this kind of murder. For all her unhappiness and jealousy, she is not, I should say, a woman of strong 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 incapable of 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.