Hercule Poirot stroked his throat reminiscently.

‘What I did,’ he said with importance, ‘was exceedingly dangerous-but I do not regret it. I succeeded! I did not suffer in vain.’

There was a moment’s silence. Then Mrs Gardener gave a deep sigh.

‘Why, M. Poirot,’ she said. ‘It’s just been too wonderful-hearing just exactly how you got your results. It’s every bit as fascinating as a lecture on criminology-in fact itis a lecture on criminology. And to think my magenta wool and that sun-bathing conversation actually had something to do with it? That really makes me too excited for words, and I’m sure Mr Gardener feels the same, don’t you, Odell?’

‘Yes, darling,’ said Mr Gardener.

Hercule Poirot said:

‘Mr Gardener too was of assistance to me. I wanted the opinion of a sensible man about Mrs Marshall. I asked Mr Gardener what he thought of her.’

‘Is that so,’ said Mrs Gardener. ‘And what did you say about her, Odell?’

Mr Gardener coughed. He said:

‘Well, darling, I never did think very much of her, you know.’

‘That’s the kind of thing men always say to their wives,’ said Mrs Gardener. ‘And if you ask me, even M. Poirot here is what I should call a shade on the indulgent side about her, calling her a natural victim and all that. Of course it’s true that she wasn’t a cultured woman at all, and as Captain Marshall isn’t here I don’t mind saying that she always did seem to me kind of dumb. I said so to Mr Gardener, didn’t I, Odell?’

‘Yes, darling,’ said Mr Gardener.

Linda Marshall sat with Hercule Poirot on Gull Cove.

She said:

‘Of course I’m glad I didn’t die after all. But you know, M. Poirot, it’s just the same as if I’d killed her, isn’t it? I meant to.’

Hercule Poirot said energetically:

‘It is not at all the same thing. The wish to kill and the action of killing are two different things. If in your bedroom instead of a little wax figure you had had your stepmother bound and helpless and a dagger in your hand instead of a pin, you would not have pushed it into her heart! Something within you would have said “no”. It is the same with me. I enrage myself at an imbecile. I say, “I would like to kick him.” Instead, I kick the table. I say, “This table, it is the imbecile, I kick him so.” And then, if I have not hurt my toe too much, I feel much better and the table it is not usually damaged. But if the imbecile himself was there I should not kick him. To make the wax figures and stick in the pins, it is silly, yes, it is childish, yes-but it does something useful too. You took the hate out of yourself and put it into that little figure. And with the pin and the fire you destroyed-not your stepmother-but the hate you bore her. Afterwards, even before you heard of her death, you felt cleansed, did you not-you felt lighter-happier?’

Linda nodded. She said:

‘How did you know? That’s just how I did feel.’

Poirot said:

‘Then do not repeat to yourself the imbecilities. Just make up your mind not to hate your next stepmother.’

Linda said startled:

‘Do you think I’m going to have another? Oh, I see, you mean Rosamund. I don’t mind her.’ She hesitated a minute. ‘She’ssensible.’

It was not the adjective that Poirot himself would have selected for Rosamund Darnley, but he realized that it was Linda’s idea of high praise.

Kenneth Marshall said:

‘Rosamund, did you get some extraordinary idea into your head that I’d killed Arlena.’

Rosamund looked rather shamefaced. She said:

‘I suppose I was a damned fool.’

‘Of course you were.’

‘Yes, but Ken, you are such an oyster. I never knew what you really felt about Arlena. I didn’t know if you accepted her as she was and were just frightfully decent about her, or whether you-well, just believed in her blindly. And I thought if it was that, and you suddenly found out that she was letting you down you might go mad with rage. I’ve heard stories about you. You’re always very quiet but you’re rather frightening sometimes.’

‘So you thought I just took her by the throat and throttled the life out of her?’

‘Well-yes-that’s just exactly what I did think. And your alibi seemed a bit on the light side. That’s when I suddenly decided to take a hand, and made up that silly story about seeing you typing in your room. And when I heard that you said you’d seen me look in-well, that made me quite sure you’d done it. That, and Linda’s queerness.’

Kenneth Marshall said with a sigh:

‘Don’t you realize that I said I’d seen you in the mirror in order to back upyour story. I-I thought you needed it corroborated.’

Rosamund stared at him.

‘You don’t mean you thought that I killed your wife?’

Kenneth Marshall shifted uneasily. He mumbled:

‘Dash it all, Rosamund, don’t you remember how you nearly killed that boy about that dog once? How you hung on to his throat and wouldn’t let go.’ 

‘But that was years ago.’

‘Yes, I know-’

Rosamund said sharply:

‘What earthly motive do you think I had to kill Arlena?’

His glance shifted. He mumbled something again.

Rosamund cried:

‘Ken, you mass of conceit! You thought I killed her out of altruism on your behalf, did you? Or-did you think I killed her because I wanted you myself?’

‘Not at all,’ said Kenneth Marshall indignantly. ‘But you know what you said that day-about Linda and everything-and-and you seemed to care what happened to me.’

Rosamund said:

‘I’ve always cared about that.’

‘I believe you have. You know, Rosamund-I can’t usually talk about things-I’m not good at talking-but I’d like to get this clear. I didn’t care for Arlena-only just a little at first-and living with her day after day was a pretty nerve-racking business. In fact it was absolute hell, but Iwas awfully sorry for her. She was such a damned fool-crazy about men-she just couldn’t help it-and they always let her down and treated her rottenly. I simply felt I couldn’t be the one to give her the final push. I’d married her and it was up to me to look after her as best I could. I think she knew that and was grateful to me really. She was-she was a pathetic sort of creature really.’

Rosamund said gently:

‘It’s all right, Ken. I understand now.’

Without looking at her Kenneth Marshall carefully filled a pipe. He mumbled:

‘You’re-pretty good at understanding, Rosamund.’

A faint smile curved Rosamund’s ironic mouth. She said:

‘Are you going to ask me to marry you now, Ken, or are you determined to wait six months?’

Kenneth Marshall’s pipe dropped from his lips and crashed on the rocks below.

He said:

‘Damn, that’s the second pipe I’ve lost down here. And I haven’t got another with me. How the devil did you know I’d fixed six months as the proper time?’

‘I suppose because itis the proper time. But I’d rather have something definite now, please. Because in the intervening months you may come across some other persecuted female and rush to the rescue in chivalrous fashion again.’

He laughed.

‘You’re going to be the persecuted female this time, Rosamund. You’re going to give up that damned dress-making business of yours and we’re going to live in the country.’ 

‘Don’t you know that I make a very handsome income out of my business? Don’t you realize that it’smy business-that I created it and worked it up, and that I’m proud of it! And you’ve got the damned nerve to come along and say, “Give it all up, dear.” ’

‘I’ve got the damned nerve to say it, yes.’

‘And you think I care enough for you to do it?’

‘If you don’t,’ said Kenneth Marshall, ‘you’d be no good to me.’

Rosamund said softly:

‘Oh, my dear, I’ve wanted to live in the country with you all my life. Now-it’s going to come true…’