“Yes.”
“Did you see which direction she took?”
“She paddled round that point there to the right.”
“In the direction of Pixy’s Cove, that is?”
“Yes.”
“And the time then was—?”
“I should say she actually left the beach at a quarter past ten.”
Weston considered.
“That fits in well enough. How long should you say that it would take her to paddle round to the Cove?”
“Ah me, I am not an expert. I do not go in boats or expose myself on floats. Perhaps half an hour?”
“That’s about what I think,” said the Colonel. “She wouldn’t be hurrying, I presume. Well, if she arrived there at a quarter to eleven, that fits in well enough.”
“At what time does your doctor suggest she died?”
“Oh, Neasden doesn’t commit himself. He’s a cautious chap. A quarter to eleven is his earliest outside limit.”
Poirot nodded. He said:
“There is one other point that I must mention. As she left, Mrs. Marshall asked me not to say I had seen her.”
Weston stared.
He said:
“H’m, that’s rather suggestive, isn’t it?”
Poirot murmured.
“Yes. I thought so myself.”
Weston tugged at his moustache. He said:
“Look here, Poirot. You’re a man of the world. What sort of a woman was Mrs. Marshall?”
A faint smile came to Poirot’s lips.
He asked:
“Have you not already heard?”
The Chief Constable said dryly:
“I know what the women say of her. They would. How much truth is there in it? Was she having an affair with this fellow Redfern?”
“I should say undoubtedly yes.”
“He followed her down here, eh?”
“There is reason to suppose so.”