Linda Marshall came into the room clumsily, knocking against the doorpost. She was breathing quickly and the pupils of her eyes were dilated. She looked like a startled young colt. Colonel Weston felt a kindly impulse towards her.
He thought:
“Poor kid—she’s nothing but a kid after all. This must have been a pretty bad shock to her.”
He drew up a chair and said in a reassuring voice.
“Sorry to put you through this, Miss—Linda, isn’t it?”
“Yes, Linda.”
Her voice had that indrawn breathy quality that is often characteristic of schoolgirls. Her hands rested helplessly on the table in front of him—pathetic hands, big and red, with large bones and long wrists. Weston thought:
“A kid oughtn’t to be mixed up in this sort of thing.”
He said reassuringly.
“There’s nothing very alarming about all this. We just want you to tell us anything you know that might be useful, that’s all.”
Linda said:
“You mean—about Arlena?”
“Yes. Did you see her this morning at all?”
The girl shook her head.
“No. Arlena always gets down rather late. She has breakfast in bed.”
Hercule Poirot said:
“And you, Mademoiselle?”
“Oh, I get up. Breakfast in bed’s so stuffy.”
Weston said:
“Will you tell us what you did this morning?”
“Well, I had a bathe first and then breakfast, and then I went with Mrs. Redfern to Gull Cove.”
Weston said:
“What time did you and Mrs. Redfern start?”
“She said she’d be waiting for me in the hall at half-past ten. I was afraid I was going to be late, but it was all right. We started off at about three minutes to the half hour.”
Poirot said:
“And what did you do at Gull Cove?”
“Oh, I oiled myself and sunbathed and Mrs. Redfern sketched. Then, later, I went into the sea and Christine went back to the hotel to get changed for tennis.”
Weston said, keeping his voice quite casual:
“Do you remember what time that was?”
“When Mrs. Redfern went back to the hotel? Quarter to twelve.”