“Let me put forward a solution, sir. Say that prior to meeting this Mr. Redfern the lady had had another affair with someone—call him X. She turns X down for Mr. Redfern. X is mad with rage and jealousy. He follows her down here, stays somewhere in the neighbourhood, comes over to the 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 a boat? The latter seems more likely. If so, he must have hired a boat somewhere. You’d better make 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. I cannot, 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….”

Six

Colonel Weston was poring over the hotel register.

He read aloud:

“Major and Mrs. Cowan,

Miss Pamela Cowan,

Master Robert Cowan,

Master Evan Cowan,

Rydal’s Mount, Leatherhead.

Mr. and Mrs. Masterman,

Mr. Edward Masterman,

Miss Jennifer Masterman,

Mr. Roy Masterman,

Master Frederick Masterman,

5 Marlborough Avenue, London, N.W.

Mr. and Mrs. Gardener,

New York.

Mr. and Mrs. Redfern,

Crossgates, Seldon, Princes Risborough.

Major Barry,

18 Cardon St., St. James, London, S.W.1.

Mr. Horace Blatt,

5 Pickersgill Street, London, E.C.2.

M. Hercule Poirot,

Whitehaven Mansions, London, W.1.

Miss Rosamund Darnley,

8 Cardigan Court, W.1.

Miss Emily Brewster,

Southgates, Sunbury-on-Thames.

Rev. Stephen Lane,

London.

Captain and Mrs. Marshall,

Miss Linda Marshall,

73 Upcott Mansions, London, S.W.7.”

He stopped.

Inspector Colgate said:

“I think, sir, that we can wash out the first two entries. Mrs. Castle tells me that the Mastermans and the Cowans come here regularly every summer with their children. This morning they went off on an all-day excursion sailing, taking lunch with them. They left just after nine o’clock. A man called Andrew Baston took them. We can check up from him, but I think we can put them right out of it.”

Weston nodded.

“I agree. Let’s eliminate everyone we can. Can you give us a pointer on any of the rest of them, Poirot?”

Poirot said:

“Superficially, that is easy. The Gardeners are a middle-aged married couple, pleasant, travelled. All the talking is done by the lady. The husband is acquiescent. He plays tennis and golf and has a form of dry humour that is attractive when one gets him to oneself.”

“Sounds quite O.K.”

“Next—the Redferns. Mr. Redfern is young, attractive to women, a magnificent swimmer, a good tennis player and accomplished dancer. His wife I have already spoken of to you. She is quiet, pretty in a washed-out way. She is, I think, devoted to her husband. She has something that Arlena Marshall did not have.”