“Don’t ask me for reasons. Since she was actually at the cove she was by far the most likely person. I’ve told you already I never left this place the whole morning.”
“Except for the time when you went into the hotel to Captain Marshall’s room.” Poirot reminded her.
“Yes, of course. I’d forgotten that.”
Poirot said:
“And you were wrong, Mademoiselle, when you thought that Captain Marshall did not see you.”
Rosamund said incredulously:
“Kenneth did see me? Did—did he say so?”
Poirot nodded.
“He saw you, Mademoiselle, in the mirror that hangs over the table.”
Rosamund caught her breath. She said:
“Oh! I see.”
Poirot was no longer looking out to sea. He was looking at Rosamund Darnley’s hands as they lay folded in her lap. They were well-shaped hands, beautifully moulded with very long fingers.
Rosamund, shooting a quick look at him, followed the direction of his eyes. She said sharply:
“What are you looking at my hands for? Do you think—do you think—?”
Poirot said:
“Do I think—what, Mademoiselle?”
Rosamund Darnley said:
“Nothing.”
VIII
It was perhaps an hour later that Hercule Poirot came to the top of the path leading to Gull Cove. There was someone sitting on the beach. A slight figure in a red shirt and dark blue shorts.
Poirot descended the path, stepping carefully in his tight smart shoes.
Linda Marshall turned her head sharply. He thought that she shrank a little.
Her eyes, as he came and lowered himself gingerly to the shingle beside her, rested on him with the suspicion and alertness of a trapped animal. He realized, with a pang, how young and vulnerable she was.
She said:
“What is it? What do you want?”
Hercule Poirot did not answer for a minute or two. Then he said:
“The other day you told the Chief Constable that you were fond of your stepmother and that she was kind to you.”
“Well?”
“That was not true, was it, Mademoiselle?”
“Yes, it was.”