“What have you told us about your wife? Exactly nothing at all. You have told us only what everyone could see for themselves. That she was beautiful and admired. Nothing more.”
Kenneth Marshall shrugged his shoulders. He said simply:
“You’re crazy.”
He looked towards the Chief Constable and said with emphasis:
“Anything else, sir, that you’d like me to tell you?”
“Yes, Captain Marshall, your own movements this morning, please.”
Kenneth Marshall nodded. He had clearly expected this.
He said:
“I breakfasted downstairs about nine o’clock as usual and read the paper. As I told you I went up to my wife’s room afterwards and found she had gone out. I came down to the beach, saw M. Poirot and asked if he had seen her. Then I had a quick bathe and went up to the hotel again. It was then, let me see, about twenty to eleven—yes, just about that. I saw the clock in the lounge. It was just after twenty minutes to. I went up to my room, but the chambermaid hadn’t quite finished it. I asked her to finish as quickly as she could. I had some letters to type which I wanted to get off by the post. I went downstairs again and had a word or two with Henry in the bar. I went up again to my room at ten minutes to eleven. There I typed my letters. I typed until ten minutes to twelve. I then changed into tennis kit as I had a date to play tennis at twelve. We’d booked the court the day before.”
“Who was we?”
“Mrs. Redfern, Miss Darnley, Mr. Gardener and myself. I came down at twelve o’clock and went up to the court. Miss Darnley was there and Mr. Gardener. Mrs. Redfern arrived a few minutes later. We played tennis for an hour. Just as we came into the hotel afterwards I—I—got the news.”
“Thank you, Captain Marshall. Just as a matter of form, is there anyone who can corroborate the fact that you were typing in your room between—er—ten minutes to eleven and ten minutes to twelve?”
Kenneth Marshall said with a faint smile:
“Have you got some idea that I killed my own wife? Let me see now. The chambermaid was about doing the rooms. She must have heard the typewriter going. And then there are the letters themselves. With all this upset I haven’t posted them. I should imagine they are as good evidence as anything.”
He took three letters from his pocket. They were addressed, but not stamped. He said:
“Their contents, by the way, are strictly confidential. But when it’s a case of murder, one is forced to trust in the discretion of the police. They contain lists of figures and various financial statements. I think you will find that if you put one of your men on to type them out, he won’t do it in much under an hour.”
He paused.
“Satisfied, I hope?”
Weston said smoothly.
“It is no question of suspicion. Everyone on the island will be asked to account for his or her movements between a quarter to eleven and twenty minutes to twelve this morning.”
Kenneth Marshall said:
“Quite.”
Weston said:
“One more thing, Captain Marshall. Do you know anything about the way your wife was likely to have disposed of any property she had?”
“You mean a will? I don’t think she ever made a will.”
“But you are not sure?”
“Her solicitors are Barkett, Markett & Applegood, Bedford Square. They saw to all her contracts, etc. But I’m fairly certain she never made a will. She said once that doing a thing like that would give her the shivers.”
“In that case, if she has died intestate, you, as her husband, succeed to her property.”
“Yes, I suppose I do.”
“Had she any near relatives?”