Agatha Christie - Evil Under the Sun

‘We will go up and see.’

They hurried up the stairs and along the passage to Linda’s room.

One glance at her was enough to tell them both that something was very wrong. She was an odd colour and her breathing was hardly perceptible.

Poirot’s hand went to her pulse. At the same time he noticed an envelope stuck up against the lamp on the bedside table. It was addressed to himself.

Captain Marshall came quickly into the room. He said:

‘What’s this about Linda? What’s the matter with her?’

A small frightened sob came from Christine Redfern.

Hercule Poirot turned from the bed. He said to Marshall:

‘Get a doctor-as quick as you possibly can. But I’m afraid-very much afraid-it may be too late.’

He took the letter with his name on it and ripped open the envelope. Inside were a few lines of writing in Linda’s prim schoolgirl hand.

I think this is the best way out. Ask Father to try and forgive me. I killed Arlena. I thought I should be glad-but I’m not. I am very sorry for everything.

They were assembled in the lounge-Marshall, the Redferns, Rosamund Darnley and Hercule Poirot.

They sat there silent-waiting…

The door opened and Dr Neasden came in. He said curtly:

‘I’ve done all I can. She may pull through-but I’m bound to tell you that there’s not much hope.’

He paused. Marshall, his face stiff, his eyes a cold frosty blue, asked:

‘How did she get hold of the stuff?’

Neasden opened the door again and beckoned.

The chambermaid came into the room. She had been crying:

Neasden said:

‘Just tell us again what you saw.’

Sniffing, the girl said:

‘I never thought-I never thought for a minute there was anything wrong-though the young lady did seem rather strange about it.’ A slight gesture of impatience from the doctor started her off again. ‘She was in the other lady’s room. Mrs Redfern’s. Your room, Madam. Over at the washstand, and she took up a little bottle. She did give a bit of a jump when I came in, and I thought it was queer her taking things from your room, but then, of course, it might be something she’d lent you. She just said: “Oh, this is what I’m looking for-” and went out.’

Christine said almost in a whisper.

‘My sleeping tablets.’

The doctor said brusquely:

‘How did she know about them?’

Christine said:

‘I gave her one. The night after it happened. She told me she couldn’t sleep. She-I remember her saying-“Will one be enough?”-and I said, Oh yes, they were very strong-that I’d been cautioned never to take more than two at most.’ Neasden nodded: ‘She made pretty sure,’ he said. ‘Took six of them.’

Christine sobbed again.

‘Oh dear, I feel it’s my fault. I should have kept them locked up.’

The doctor shrugged his shoulders.

‘It might have been wiser, Mrs Redfern.’

Christine said despairingly:

‘She’s dying-and it’s my fault…’

Kenneth Marshall stirred in his chair. He said:

‘No, you can’t blame yourself. Linda knew what she was doing. She took them deliberately. Perhaps-perhaps it was best.’

He looked down at the crumpled note in his hand-the note that Poirot had silently handed to him.

Rosamund Darnley cried out.

‘I don’t believe it. I don’t believe Linda killed her. Surely it’s impossible-on the evidence!’

Christine said eagerly:

‘Yes, she can’t have done it! She must have got overwrought and imagined it all.’

The door opened and Colonel Weston came in. He said:

‘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.

‘I must now describe to you certain things I found in your daughter’s room after the murder. In the grate was a large blob of melted wax, some burnt hair, fragments of cardboard and paper and an ordinary household pin. The paper and the cardboard might not be relevant, but the other three things were suggestive-particularly when I found tucked away in the bookshelf a volume from the local library here dealing with witchcraft and magic. It opened very easily at a certain page. On that page were described various methods of causing death by moulding in wax a figure supposed to represent the victim. This was then slowly roasted till it melted away-or alternatively you would pierce the wax figure to the heart with a pin. Death of the victim would ensue. I later heard from Mrs Redfern that Linda Marshall had been out early that morning and had bought a packet of candles, and had seemed embarrassed when her purchase was revealed. I had no doubt what had happened after that. Linda had made a crude figure of the candle wax-possibly adorning it with a snip of Arlena’s red hair to give the magic force-had then stabbed it to the heart with a pin and finally melted the figure away by lighting strips of cardboard under it.

‘It was crude, childish, superstitious, but it revealed one thing: the desire to kill.

‘Was there any possibility that there had been more than a desire? Could Linda Marshall haveactually killed her stepmother?

‘At first sight it seemed as though she had a perfect alibi-but in actuality, as I have just pointed out, the time evidence was suppliedby Linda herself. She could easily have declared the time to be a quarter of an hour later than it really was.

‘It was quite possible once Mrs Redfern had left the beach for Linda to follow her up and then strike across the narrow neck of land to the ladder, hurry down it, meet her stepmother there, strangle her and return up the ladder before the boat containing Miss Brewster and Patrick Redfern came in sight. She could then return to Gull Cove, take her bathe and return to the hotel at her leisure.