Evil Under the Sun Read Online Free PDF Page B

Tintagel again where—where we had our honeymoon. You were bent on coming here.”
    â€œWell, why not? It’s a fascinating spot.”
    â€œPerhaps. But you wanted to come here because she was going to be here.”
    â€œShe? Who is she?”
    â€œMrs. Marshall. You—you’re infatuated with her.”
    â€œFor God’s sake, Christine, don’t make a fool of yourself. It’s not like you to be jealous.”
    His bluster was a little uncertain. He exaggerated it.
    She said:
    â€œWe’ve been so happy.”
    â€œHappy? Of course we’ve been happy! We are happy. But we shan’t go on being happy if I can’t even speak to another woman without you kicking up a row.”
    â€œIt’s not like that.”
    â€œYes, it is. In marriage one has got to have—well—friendships with other people. This suspicious attitude is all wrong. I—I can’t speak to a pretty woman without your jumping to the conclusion that I’m in love with her—”
    He stopped. He shrugged his shoulders.
    Christine Redfern said:
    â€œYou are in love with her….”
    â€œOh, don’t be a fool, Christine! I’ve—I’ve barely spoken to her.”
    â€œThat’s not true.”
    â€œDon’t for goodness” sake get into the habit of being jealous of every pretty woman we come across.”
    Christine Redfern said:
    â€œShe’s not just any pretty woman! She’s—she’s different! She’s a bad lot! Yes, she is. She’ll do you harm, Patrick, please, give it up. Let’s go away from here.”
    Patrick Redfern stuck out his chin mutinously. He looked, somehow, very young as he said defiantly:
    â€œDon’t be ridiculous, Christine. And—and don’t let’s quarrel about it.”
    â€œI don’t want to quarrel.”
    â€œThen behave like a reasonable human being. Come on, let’s go back to the hotel.”
    He got up. There was a pause, then Christine Redfern got up too.
    She said:
    â€œVery well….”
    In the recess adjoining, on the seat there, Hercule Poirot sat and shook his head sorrowfully.
    Some people might have scrupulously removed themselves from earshot of a private conversation. But not Hercule Poirot. He had no scruples of that kind.
    â€œBesides,” as he explained to his friend Hastings at a later date, “it was a question of murder.”
    Hastings said, staring:
    â€œBut the murder hadn’t happened, then.”
    Hercule Poirot sighed. He said:
    â€œBut already, mon cher, it was very clearly indicated.”
    â€œThen why didn’t you stop it?”
    And Hercule Poirot, with a sigh, said as he had said once before in Egypt, that if a person is determined to commit murder it is not easy to prevent them. He does not blame himself for what happened. It was, according to him, inevitable.

Three
    R osamund Darnley and Kenneth Marshall sat on the short springy turf of the cliff overlooking Gull Cove. This was on the east side of the island. People came here in the morning sometimes to bathe when they wanted to be peaceful.
    Rosamund said:
    â€œIt’s nice to get away from people.”
    Marshall murmured inaudibly:
    â€œM—m, yes.”
    He rolled over, sniffing at the short turf.
    â€œSmells good. Remember the downs at Shipley?”
    â€œRather.”
    â€œPretty good, those days.”
    â€œYes.”
    â€œYou’ve not changed much, Rosamund.”
    â€œYes, I have. I’ve changed enormously.”
    â€œYou’ve been very successful and you’re rich and all that, but you’re the same old Rosamund.”
    Rosamund murmured:
    â€œI wish I were.”
    â€œWhat’s that?”
    â€œNothing. It’s a pity, isn’t it, Kenneth, that we can’t keep the nice natures and high ideals that we had when we were young?”
    â€œI don’t know that your nature was ever particularly nice, my