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    Evil Under the Sun: A Hercule Poirot Mystery: The Official Authorized Edition
    Evil Under the Sun: A Hercule Poirot Mystery: The Official Authorized Edition
    Evil Under the Sun: A Hercule Poirot Mystery: The Official Authorized Edition
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    Evil Under the Sun: A Hercule Poirot Mystery: The Official Authorized Edition

    By Agatha Christie

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    The classic Evil Under the Sun, one of the most famous of Agatha Christie’s Poirot investigations, has the fastidious sleuth on the trail of the killer of a sun-bronzed beauty whose death brings some rather shocking secrets into the light.

    The beautiful bronzed body of Arlena Stuart lay face down on the beach. But strangely, there was no sun and Arlena was not sunbathing…she had been strangled.

    Ever since Arlena’s arrival the air had been thick with sexual tension. Each of the guests had a motive to kill her, including Arlena’s new husband. But Hercule Poirot suspects that this apparent “crime of passion” conceals something much more evil.

    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherHarperCollins
    Release dateOct 3, 2006
    ISBN9780061741937
    Author

    Agatha Christie

    Agatha Christie is known throughout the world as the Queen of Crime. Her books have sold over a billion copies in English with another billion in over 70 foreign languages. She is the most widely published author of all time and in any language, outsold only by the Bible and Shakespeare. She is the author of 80 crime novels and short story collections, 20 plays, and six novels written under the name of Mary Westmacott.

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    Reviews for Evil Under the Sun

    4/5

    163 ratings36 reviews

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    • 3/5
      I initially picked this book as I thought it was set in Egypt, it's actually set in Devon - not much difference.

      Having seen a tv adaptation I could remember who the victim was but no who committed the murder or why.
      A quick undemanding read that reinforces my belief that if you ever find yourself in the same place as Poirot then you should leave as quickly as possible.
    • 3/5
      In which a seaside holiday goes horribly wrong…

      "Evil Under the Sun" is a somewhat inconsequential little Christie, written on the heels of her most prolific decade as a novelist. The crime is ingeniously plotted, although the mystery itself is bog-standard, with a host of intertwined resort guests and a seemingly impossible murder. The characters are interesting, if not compelling, but the joy is in seeing Poirot’s reasoning, for this is one of those books where his little grey cells are put to such good use.

      "Evil" is no classic, but it’s a solid example of what made Christie Christie, and it’s not really a surprise that this was chosen to follow "Death on the Nile" in the Peter Ustinov series of films.

      Three-and-a-half stars.

      Poirot ranking: 20th out of 38.
    • 4/5
      Synopsis: Hercule, along with a group of people turn up at a seaside house to spend a few days in the sun. A woman is killed in a small cove with no one around to do the deed. Hercule has to sort out who had motive, and opportunity.Review: Like most of the Hercule Poirot mysteries, it was a bit tiresome in spots.
    • 3/5
      Didn't get in to ths one as much as I did with some others by her. Not bad nonetheless.
    • 3/5
      Hard to believe, with all the books I read, that I've never read an Agatha Christie before, but indeed, I have not. This was my first, and I can certainly see why Christie is the world's most-published novelist. If there's one thing Christie can do, it's tell a good story. And that's precisely what she does in Evil under the Sun. I can see why readers find Christie's work compelling; she draws her readers in quickly, with a large cast of thickly-described characters and a vivid sense of surroundings. Evil under the Sun brings us to a seaside resort, where a group of holiday-makers, including Christie's famous Inspector Poirot, find themselves attempting to deal with a broad range of personalities. Likely the most abrasive of all is the beautiful and capricious socialite Arlena Marshall. When she turns up dead in a remote part of the beach, it becomes Poirot's calling to determine her murderer. The resort's island location makes it unlikely that anyone outside the hotel could be responsible. Thus, Poirot must discover the murderer in his midst. Everyone, it seems, had a motive. Yet everyone too had an alibi. The answer turns out to be far more complicated than anyone had anticipated. Christie's gift is clearly to tell a gripping story. While there are no great lessons on morality or statements on the human condition within this it is certainly entertaining, enjoyable, and just a bit scary.
    • 4/5
      A great read (with a summer vacation theme) from Dame Christie. I thought I had figured out the murderer this time around... but I was wrong. Like most of Christie's work, though, I don't mind at all that I'm completely on the wrong track. It's just too interesting to see how it all works out.
      *side note: watched the taped episode of Doctor Who where he meets Agatha Christie right before she disappears for 2 weeks - it was very well done and if the Sci Fi channel repeats the Doctor Who series at all, I highly recommend.
    • 4/5
      Hercule Poirot is on vacation, but of course there's evil everywhere under the sun. As all of Agatha's work, it will keep you suspecting who the murderer is, and second guessing everyone until Poirot reveals the truth. There is no "twist" but the mechanics of the murder that set up the story are different than in other of Agatha's novels which was very fun to read.If you enjoy Christies's mysteries, you will enjoy this one for sure.
    • 5/5
      I look at this book as the other bookend to Death on the Nile, which is mentioned several times in this book. I can't say too much without going into spoilers, but it's a great book.
    • 4/5
      This is a fine piece of Christie's writing. The mystery unfolds in standard style with every person involved seeming to be a possible murderer except of course the one who actually did it.
    • 4/5
      Read this in one day as I was sick and my nose would not stop running long enough to allow me to do anything. Good escapist reading. Just ignore the old fashioned sexism and stereotyping.
    • 4/5
      Very entertaining until the terrible last page where a man proposes to one of the female characters and asks her to give up her business to 'live in the country', she passionately replies that it's her pride and joy and she won't give it up, only to fall into his arms two lines later. Christie's characterization can be such a disappointment sometimes. The plot is good, if a little convoluted.
    • 4/5
      From the inside flap: "Young actress Arlena Stuart Marshall is brutally strangled on the cliffs (beach) of a seaside resort. Each of the guests at the Jolly Roger Hotel has a compelling motive, including Arlena's brand new husband (Kenneth Marshall), who seems to be the only man on the island not utterly distracted by her beauty. It is obvious to all that Patrick Redfern was violently smitten, much to the the distress of his own wife (Christine). And the women hotel guests saw the frivolous and flirtatious starlet in a rather different light. Only Hercule Poirot, who has come to the Jolly Roger for some much needed relaxation can sift through the murderous secrets and macabre clues to unravel the mystery at this secluded playground by the sea."

      Included in the cast of characters are; Arlena's step-daughter Linda (whom she treats poorly & in return much hated), Rosamund Darnley (Arlena's husband's childhood friend whom still cares for him), Mr. & Mrs Gardner (American tourists), Major Barry (retired & gossip), Miss Emily Brewster (a curious but athletic spinster), Reverend Lane (an over zealous preacher, very much concerned with evil & women), and Horace Blatt (a self made man of dubious character).

      One fated morning Arlena takes off alone (asking M. Poirot to not tell anyone where she has gone...but he knows she is set to meet someone), Christine and Linda go off to sit on the beach & sketch..... Patrick sets off w/ Miss Brewster for a row about the island and they come across the strangled Arlena.

      Not only is there the murder down on the cove at the Jolly Roger (named for Captain Roger Angmering), there is blackmail, a boat w/ suspicious red sails, the smuggling of drugs, and the murder of a young woman a year previous.....

      All this ties up quite neatly at the end, as at the end is when most of the clues & red herrings are revealed.

    • 2/5
      Ugh... Having seen and loved almost every Agatha Christie movie, it comes as a major surprise that this book was so brain-numbingly boring to me. The only thing that enabled me to get through to the last page was imagining Peter Ustinov dubbing over Hercule Poirot's lines. I'm guessing that by the time this book came out, her writing had already become a brand and she didn't need to put much effort into actually making it a good read; her fans would devour it if it was written in pig latin. Perhaps an earlier work? Or perhaps not. I think I'll stick to the movies. One star for the book, but one bonus star just because she was so cool in real life.
    • 2/5
      My least favourite Christie/Poirot in the series thus far. Perhaps because I read it in between two instalments of the Game of Thrones series. :-)

      At the end of the book, when Poirot unfolds his findings and points out the murderer, I was of course surprised at the ingenuity of Christie (as always), but didn't feel excited or anything else about the story. The book reads more like a dry listing of facts for the detective to use in the last chapter than as a compelling narrative.
    • 4/5
      Hercule Poirot is always entertaining. This murder mystery is set at a beach resort which makes it a little different. Also, this audio book was read by David Suchet, who also plays the part of Poirot in the movies. He did an excellent job with all the accents! I enjoyed it very much.
    • 3/5
      Pretty good mystery, lots of indirection; Poirot as usual picks up on the little clues that the police ignore, and doesn't make the assumptions that they make. Numerous characters have somewhat plausible motives, and there are a couple of red herrings. The solution is quite convoluted and depends on information that Poirot obtained but we didn't see, which is a bit frustrating. The characters are quite dated. Enjoyable but not fantastic.
    • 4/5
      Popirot investigates the murder of a beutifu but supposedly evil actress at a seas8de resort in southwest England.
    • 4/5
      Vintage Poirot. When the man-eater Arlena Stuart is murdered the motive seems obvious, jealousy, revenge... but papa Poriot is on hand to reveal just who really did it...
    • 4/5
      It's hard to review classic authors such as Christie. To me, she's a master of creating suspicion and changing your mind, only to create suspicion again. I really enjoy these.
    • 3/5
      I didn't like this as much as the other Agatha Christie novels I have read. While I enjoyed the setting on a small island off the Devon coast with just a small hotel and an attractive coastline, the actual explanation for the crime struck me as unrealistically complex. Poirot's ratiocination is also suspect: he begins by identifying who he thinks is the most likely culprit, constructs a sequence of events that allows for that outcome, and it turns out to be true. This is no Sherlockian working up of evidence dispassionately to lead to a conclusion.
    • 5/5
      A story in which almost everyone has a motive and an alibi for the pre-meditated murder. Of course Poirot ferrets out the truth. Deservedly a classic.
    • 4/5
      It had been many years since I read Christie, though I think I read everything of hers at one time. Lately I've been picking up and re-reading one or two, and may do more of them. After so long, I remember little about the books, so they are like new discoveries, except that reading about Poirot or Miss Marple is like catching up with an old friend one hasn't seen in a while. What I discover is that there are reasons Christie is still so popular. Oh, sure, we can condemn her now for her occasional racist and imperialist stereotypes, but like all writers, she was a mirror of her times. What is so pleasurable about Christie are that her books are character-driven puzzles. You get to know the people in the books and that reveals the puzzle of who could do such a terrible thing as murder and why. And her characters are superbly ordinary people. In this book, for example, you've got the husband, stiff upper lip but inner fires type, the chattering Americans, the athletic spinster, a successful businesswoman, the coltish teenage girl, etc. Stereotypes in some ways, but the characters come alive. The victim in some ways isn't ordinary, an incredibly beautiful woman who attracts men, but in the end her character is shown to be a sad and rather pathetic one.One gets tired, in our television and movie culture, of the pretty people, and that's another thing that made Christie extraordinary. Poirot was a rotund egocentric eccentric, and Miss Marple an old spinster who looked entirely unremarkable, yet both were keen observers of humanity and the heroes of the works. It is a lesson that there is value in all of us.
    • 5/5
      Brilliant book. Not to be missed. The amazibg thing is Hercule Poirot is there right from the beginning - Harish Venugopalan from India.
    • 5/5
      Agatha Christie is thus far the only female author which I read, and indeed the only other woman besides my wife that I return to again and again for pleasure. Within Christie's writings—such as within "Evil Under the Sun"—we find such unique pleasantries of minutiae as the description of the quality of a man's briar pipe; of the tired old stories of a retired officer—Major Barry—who fought in India; of the dual nature of men; of waxed mustaches...I first saw, a while back, the Poirot made-for-TV episode, "Evil Under the Sun". The book was reminiscent, but I still was unsure who the murderer was until the end. I dislike viewing anything before I have read it, but in the case of Poirot, it was irresistible. My wife and I too have just acquired the Wii video game, "Evil Under the Sun".Let it not be said that I am without gripes however. The character of the Reverend Stephen Lane stands out as rather lame. The other characters are quite complex; the parson however, simply a fanatic—all too common a fallback in modern fiction, which reveals how misunderstood the Christian religion is. Then again, with what such real-life scandalous reverends that make the news each month, it is only to be expected, I suppose.My other gripe is that Captain Kenneth Marshall and Rosamund Darnley's morals are quite disturbing. The result of their amorality, at least in the case of Marshall's, manifests in his daughter Linda Marshall, who attempted to kill her stepmother by means of witchcraft, and then attempted suicide, believing she indeed succeeded in matricide. Rather than to face up to the consequences, rather than to talk it out with Poirot, she seeks to kill herself, ending her misery. Here is why I find Ken and Rosamund to be alarming: Each suspected the other of murder. Rather than seeking to allay their suspicions, each swallows them and each tries to protect the other, going to such lengths as to lie to the authorities. Not only this, but they each plan a future together, never mind each suspecting the other of being a murderer. Each is also willing to place the girl Linda in this horrid nightmare of a homicidal home. Evil under the sun, indeed.I found most fascinating the psychological profile of Arlena Stuart Marshall—the murdered woman— which Poirot propounds upon. I just happen to be reading C.S. Lewis' "Perelandra" at this time. Arlena is the Lady of Perelandra—tragically and totally transformed into a self-centered materialist. Indeed, Arlena was the victim. We offer ourselves as unknowing Andromeda; as perfumed Jezebels, loath, accursed creatures, blind to our destination of decrepitation. Reverend Lane here was a nutter—was unlearned, with bad theology—he mistook the Whore of Babylon for a literal person, rather than the personification of a materialist self-centered society.
    • 4/5
      While vacationing at a remote seaside hotel, Poirot is on the spot to investigate the murder of a fellow guest. In fact, Poirot seems to be the last person to have seen the victim alive – other than the murderer. The suspects with the strongest motives also appear to have the strongest alibis.The circumstances prior to the murder are similar to some of Poirot's other cases, particularly the short story “Triangle at Rhodes”. The similarity ends with the setting and characters. The method and the red herrings are different. Poirot's reasoning process seemed to be more like Miss Marple's in this book. His solution to this crime seems to rely less than usual on physical evidence and more on character and behavior. Maybe it's not a coincidence that it wasn't long before Miss Marple would make another appearance.
    • 4/5
      Evil Under the Sun by Agatha Christie is a Hercule Poirot mystery. The setting is a beach resort on the southern coast of England. The murder victim is Arlena Marshall, a woman whom the other guests have been gossiping about. Strangled and left lying on a deserted beach, this was a woman who was not liked and there are many suspects. Could the murderer be her husband, tired of watching her go off with other men, or perhaps it was Christine Redfern who was standing by quiety watching her husband being lured into an affair. Hercule Poirot is more than willing to give up his holiday and put his little grey cells to work on this puzzler. Although he is an insufferable little man with a very superior attitude, he does understand human nature and it’s weaknesses. I am a sucker for the scene that has the suspects gathered together for the big reveal and, in Evil Under the Sun, Hercule Poirot outdoes himself with accusations flying around the room making everyone seem capable of the deed until he finally zeros in on his actual suspect.This was a fun read, but although I thought this was my first time reading it, I couldn’t vanquish that niggling feeling that I had read it before. I also thought I knew who the murderer was and the motive behind the act. This made the final reveal all the more enjoyable when I realized I was quite wrong and perhaps had been thinking of a different Agatha Christie book. Evil Under the Sun was a quick, light, and agreeable read but not particularly outstanding in any way.
    • 5/5
      Is EVIL UNDER THE SUN the perfect holiday read? Or will it make you look askance as your fellow holiday makers? Certainly the Jolly Roger Hotel, Smugglers’ Island, Leathercombe Bay sounds attractive and the setting exudes a feeling of summer. Captain Roger Angmering had only one great love, the sea. So he built his house—a sturdy house too, as it needed to be, on the little windswept gull-haunted promontory—cut off from land at each high tide. The sturdy house was added to and embellished. A concrete causeway was laid down from the mainland to the island. ‘Walks’ and ‘Nooks’ were cut and devised all round the island. There were two tennis courts, sun-terraces leading down to a little bay embellished with rafts and diving boards. The Jolly Roger Hotel, Smugglers’ Island, Leathercombe Bay, came triumphantly into being. And from June till September (with a short season at Easter) the Jolly Roger Hotel was usually packed to the attics. It was enlarged and improved in 1934 by the addition of a cocktail bar, a bigger dining-room and some extra bathrooms. The prices went up. People said: ‘Ever been to Leathercombe Bay? Awfully jolly hotel there, on a sort of island. Very comfortable and no trippers or charabancs. Good cooking and all that. You ought to go.’ And people did go.Several of the holiday makers recognise Hercule Poirot. (who wouldn't?) resplendent in a white duck suit, with a panama hat tilted over his eyes, his moustaches magnificently befurled, lay back in an improved type of deck-chair and surveyed the bathing beach.and go as far as to ask if he is there on "business". He replies: let me assure you, Madame, that I am here simply in the same way that you are here yourselves—to enjoy myself—to spend the holiday. I do not think of crime even.There is some discussion about whether crime could ever happen in such an idyllic spot: ‘No, I don’t believe even Mrs Gardener would have believed in a crime staged here. This isn’t the sort of place you’d get a body!’ Hercule Poirot stirred a little in his chair. He protested. He said: ‘But why not, Mademoiselle? Why should there not be what you call a “body” here on Smugglers’ Island?’ Emily Brewster said: ‘I don’t know. I suppose some places are more unlikely than others. This isn’t the kind of spot—’ She broke off, finding it difficult to explain her meaning. ‘It is romantic, yes,’ agreed Hercule Poirot. ‘It is peaceful. The sun shines. The sea is blue. But you forget, Miss Brewster, there is evil everywhere under the sun.’Some even privately express a belief (a murderer amongst them) that if a crime does occur Poirot is probably "past it". He’s Hercule Poirot. You must have heard of him.’ Mr Blatt said: ‘Didn’t catch his name properly. Oh yes, I’ve heard of him. But I thought he was dead. Dash it, he ought to be dead. What’s he after down here?’ ...... ‘He’s pretty old. Probably more or less ga ga.’Well, the reader knows from the beginning (because of the publisher's blurb) that a murder will occur. Poirot knows it will too but can't see how he can prevent it. And we readers even know who the victim will be. What we don't know is when, how, and why.One of Poirot's problems is that, although he is pretty sure who one of the murderers is, he likes her. She has qualities he appreciates in the 'modern' young woman - plenty of resolution, courage and good sense - and so he is reluctant to place her in the picture until he gets irrefutable evidence of an earlier crime and then the penny drops. It is a dilemma that often crops up for Poirot - feminine wiles can get the better of him.For those who need it in their holiday reading, there is also romance, and a young life saved.EVIL UNDER THE SUN is an enjoyable read, well constructed, fairly complex plot, but I think quite a way from Christie's best. I was particularly exasperated by the final chapter in which Poirot lays everything out before us. This was one case where perhaps Christie could have left it to the reader to put it all together. (Kindle tells me the chapter is 5% of the total book.) Perhaps Christie could have finished when the murderer lunged to get his hands around Poirot's throat. The explanations of chapter 13 got a bit tedious.
    • 4/5
      Englands sydkyst, 1940'erne.Hercule Poirot er på ferie. Det er det unge ægtepar Patrick og Christine Redfern også. Og kaptajn Kenneth Marshall og hans kone Arlena, der er alt andet end en engel. Hun har en fantastisk tiltrækningskraft på mænd og leger med Patrick. Ken har en datter Linda på tolv fra et tidligere ægteskab, hvor konen døde. Linda er ikke begejstret for sin stedmor. Der er også en af Kenneth's gamle veninder Rosamund Darnley og nogle andre feriegæster på hotellet.Arlena bliver fundet kvalt på stranden og mistanken falder på skift på de forskellige. Hercule Poirot finder nogle små mærkelige tildragelser, som han ikke kan få til at passe, før han forfølger sin første mistanke om at Patrick Redfern er typen, der lever af andre kvinders penge.Patrick og Christine viser sig at have begået mordet for at dække over at Patrick bag om ryggen på Arlena's mand har franarret hende store beløb. Det er heller ikke første gang at de to har begået mord, for Poirot borer i deres fortid og finder at Patrick hedder Edward Corrigan og at hans første kone Alice Corrigan på samme måde som Arlena blev dræbt på et tidspunkt, hvor Christine gav et perfekt men falsk alibi for hans færden. Til sidst bliver det hele opklaret og Rosamund og Kenneth kan gifte sig. Inspektør Colgate og politimesteren Oberst Weston er mest bipersoner i opklaringen.Glimrende Poirot mysterie. Oversættelsen halter lidt.
    • 4/5
      This was my first Agatha Christie book, and I was very pleased with it. The book had so many plot twist and turns. It was hard to put down. It would be a great beach read! I will definitely read some more books by this author. Mrs. Christie does a great job of playing at each one of her characters’ personalities, and had a great way of throwing suspicion at everyone without knowing until the end how and who did it. Highly recommended!
    • 4/5
      Poirot just can’t take a vacation! Everytime he shows up anywhere, no business in mind, just relaxing, a dead body shows up! This time he is at a seaside hotel where the usual cross-section of British society is taking their holiday and, as seems to be usual in an Agatha Christie novel, there are a couple of Americans also.One of the guests is an actress known for collecting men. A young newlywed seems to be the man du jour. Unfortunately, her husband and the wife of the newlywed don’t seem too happy with the arrangement. When she turns up dead in a sheltered cove, the suspects are many. Poirot pulls together many obscure clues such as a bottle thrown out of a window and a pair of scissors found on the beach to capably assist the local police in apprehending the killer in a plot that feels somewhat familiar. The ending will surprise those who are not familiar with Agatha Christie’s style and will be satisfying but not surprising to those who are. After reading two Poirot novels in a row that do have Captain Hastings in them, I find that I am missing him. I think he humanizes Poirot in a way that is missing from this book. That being said, any Poirot book is better than a lot of what is being written today. If I were new to Poirot, I wouldn’t start with this one. I would start with The Mysterious Affair at Styles. If you are a fan of Poirot, you’ll enjoy this outing with the Belgian.

    Book preview

    Evil Under the Sun - Agatha Christie

    One

    When Captain Roger Angmering built himself a house in the year 1782 on the island off Leathercombe Bay, it was thought the height of eccentricity on his part. A man of good family such as he was should have had a decorous mansion set in wide meadows with, perhaps, a running stream and good pasture.

    But Captain Roger Angmering had only one great love, the sea. So he built his house—a sturdy house too, as it needed to be, on the little windswept gull-haunted promontory—cut off from land at each high tide.

    He did not marry, the sea was his first and last spouse, and at his death the house and island went to a distant cousin. That cousin and his descendants thought little of the bequest. Their own acres dwindled, and their heirs grew steadily poorer.

    In 1922 when the great cult of the Seaside for Holidays was finally established and the coast of Devon and Cornwall was no longer thought too hot in the summer, Arthur Angmering found his vast inconvenient late Georgian house unsaleable, but he got a good price for the odd bit of property acquired by the seafaring Captain Roger.

    The sturdy house was added to and embellished. A concrete causeway was laid down from the mainland to the island. Walks and Nooks were cut and devised all round the island. There were two tennis courts, sun terraces leading down to a little bay embellished with rafts and diving boards. The Jolly Roger Hotel, Smugglers’ Island, Leathercombe Bay, came triumphantly into being. And from June till September (with a short season at Easter) the Jolly Roger Hotel was usually packed to the attics. It was enlarged and improved in 1934 by the addition of a cocktail bar, a bigger dining room and some extra bathrooms. The prices went up.

    People said:

    Ever been to Leathercombe Bay? Awfully jolly hotel there, on a sort of island. Very comfortable and no trippers or charabancs. Good cooking and all that. You ought to go.

    And people did go.

    II

    There was one very important person (in his own estimation at least) staying at the Jolly Roger. Hercule Poirot, resplendent in a white duck suit, with a panama hat tilted over his eyes, his moustaches magnificently befurled, lay back in an improved type of deck chair and surveyed the bathing beach. A series of terraces led down to it from the hotel. On the beach itself were floats, lilos, rubber and canvas boats, balls and rubber toys. There was a long springboard and three rafts at varying distances from the shore.

    Of the bathers, some were in the sea, some were lying stretched out in the sun, and some were anointing themselves carefully with oil.

    On the terrace immediately above, the nonbathers sat and commented on the weather, the scene in front of them, the news in the morning papers and any other subject that appealed to them.

    On Poirot’s left a ceaseless flow of conversation poured in a gentle monotone from the lips of Mrs. Gardener while at the same time her needles clacked as she knitted vigorously. Beyond her, her husband, Odell C. Gardener, lay in a hammock chair, his hat tilted forward over his nose, and occasionally uttered a brief statement when called upon to do so.

    On Poirot’s right, Miss Brewster, a tough athletic woman with grizzled hair and a pleasant weather-beaten face, made gruff comments. The result sounded rather like a sheepdog whose short stentorian barks interrupted the ceaseless yapping of a Pomeranian.

    Mrs. Gardener was saying:

    "And so I said to Mr. Gardener, why, I said, sightseeing is all very well, and I do like to do a place thoroughly. But, after all, I said, we’ve done England pretty well and all I want now is to get to some quiet spot by the seaside and just relax. That’s what I said, wasn’t it, Odell? Just relax. I feel I must relax, I said. That’s so, isn’t it, Odell?"

    Mr. Gardener, from behind his hat, murmured:

    Yes, darling.

    Mrs. Gardener pursued the theme.

    "And so, when I mentioned it to Mr. Kelso, at Cook’s—He’s arranged all our itinerary for us and been most helpful in every way. I don’t really know what we’d have done without him!—well, as I say, when I mentioned it to him, Mr. Kelso said that we couldn’t do better than come here. A most picturesque spot, he said, quite out of the world, and at the same time very comfortable and most exclusive in every way. And, of course, Mr. Gardener, he chipped in there and said what about the sanitary arrangements? Because, if you’ll believe me, M. Poirot, a sister of Mr. Gardener’s went to stay at a guesthouse once, very exclusive they said it was, and in the heart of the moors, but would you believe me, nothing but an earth closet! So naturally that made Mr. Gardener suspicious of these out-of-the-world places, didn’t it, Odell?"

    Why, yes, darling, said Gardener.

    "But Mr. Kelso reassured us at once. The sanitation, he said, was absolutely the latest word, and the cooking was excellent. And I’m sure that’s so. And what I like about it is, it’s intime, if you know what I mean. Being a small place we all talk to each other and everybody knows everybody. If there is a fault about the British it is that they’re inclined to be a bit standoffish until they’ve known you a couple of years. After that nobody could be nicer. Mr. Kelso said that interesting people came here, and I see he was right. There’s you, M. Poirot and Miss Darnley. Oh! I was just tickled to death when I found out who you were, wasn’t I, Odell?"

    You were, darling.

    Ha! said Miss Brewster, breaking in explosively. What a thrill, eh, M. Poirot?

    Hercule Poirot raised his hands in deprecation. But it was no more than a polite gesture. Mrs. Gardener flowed smoothly on.

    You see, M. Poirot, I’d heard a lot about you from Cornelia Robson who was at Badenhof. Mr. Gardener and I were at Badenhof in May. And of course Cornelia told us all about that business in Egypt when Linnet Ridgeway was killed. She said you were wonderful and I’ve always been simply crazy to meet you, haven’t I, Odell?

    Yes, darling.

    "And then Miss Darnley, too. I get a lot of my things at Rose Mond’s and of course she is Rose Mond, isn’t she? I think her clothes are ever so clever. Such a marvellous line. That dress I had on last night was one of hers. She’s just a lovely woman in every way, I think."

    From beyond Miss Brewster, Major Barry, who had been sitting with protuberant eyes glued to the bathers, grunted out:

    Distinguished lookin’ gal!

    Mrs. Gardener clacked her needles.

    "I’ve just got to confess one thing, M. Poirot. It gave me a kind of a turn meeting you here—not that I wasn’t just thrilled to meet you, because I was. Mr. Gardener knows that. But it just came to me that you might be here—well, professionally. You know what I mean? Well, I’m just terribly sensitive, as Mr. Gardener will tell you, and I just couldn’t bear it if I was to be mixed up in crime of any kind. You see—"

    Mr. Gardener cleared his throat. He said:

    You see, M. Poirot, Mrs. Gardener is very sensitive.

    The hands of Hercule Poirot shot into the air.

    But let me assure you, Madame, that I am here simply in the same way that you are here yourselves—to enjoy myself—to spend the holiday. I do not think of crime even.

    Miss Brewster said again, giving her short gruff bark:

    No bodies on Smugglers’ Island.

    Hercule Poirot said:

    Ah! but that, it is not strictly true. He pointed downward. Regard them there, lying out in rows. What are they? They are not men and women. There is nothing personal about them. They are just—bodies!

    Major Barry said appreciatively:

    Good-looking fillies, some of ’em. Bit on the thin side, perhaps.

    Poirot cried:

    Yes, but what appeal is there? What mystery? I, I am old, of the old school, When I was young, one saw barely the ankle. The glimpse of a foamy petticoat, how alluring! The gentle swelling of the calf—a knee—a beribboned garter—

    Naughty, naughty! said Major Barry hoarsely.

    Much more sensible—the things we wear nowadays, said Miss Brewster.

    Why, yes, M. Poirot, said Mrs. Gardener. I do think, you know, that our girls and boys nowadays lead a much more natural healthy life. They just romp about together and they—well, they— Mrs. Gardener blushed slightly for she had a nice mind—"they think nothing of it, if you know what I mean?"

    I do know, said Hercule Poirot. It is deplorable!

    Deplorable? squeaked Mrs. Gardener.

    "To remove all the romance—all the mystery! Today everything is standardized! He waved a hand towards the recumbent figures. That reminds me very much of the Morgue in Paris."

    M. Poirot! Mrs. Gardener was scandalized.

    Bodies—arranged on slabs—like butcher’s meat!

    But M. Poirot, isn’t that too far-fetched for words?

    Hercule Poirot admitted:

    It may be, yes.

    All the same, Mrs. Gardener knitted with energy, I’m inclined to agree with you on one point. These girls that lie out like that in the sun will grow hair on their legs and arms. I’ve said so to Irene—that’s my daughter, M. Poirot. Irene, I said to her, if you lie out like that in the sun, you’ll have hair all over you, hair on your arms and hair on your legs and hair on your bosom, and what will you look like then? I said to her. Didn’t I, Odell?

    Yes, darling, said Mr. Gardener.

    Everyone was silent, perhaps making a mental picture of Irene when the worst had happened.

    Mrs. Gardener rolled up her knitting and said:

    I wonder now—

    Mr. Gardener said:

    Yes, darling?

    He struggled out of the hammock chair and took Mrs. Gardener’s knitting and her book. He asked:

    What about joining us for a drink, Miss Brewster?

    Not just now, thanks.

    The Gardeners went up to the hotel.

    Miss Brewster said:

    American husbands are wonderful!

    III

    Mrs. Gardener’s place was taken by the Reverend Stephen Lane.

    Mr. Lane was a tall vigorous clergyman of fifty odd. His face was tanned and his dark grey flannel trousers were holidayfied and disreputable.

    He said with enthusiasm:

    Marvellous country! I’ve been from Leathercombe Bay to Harford and back over the cliffs.

    Warm work walking today, said Major Barry who never walked.

    Good exercise, said Miss Brewster. I haven’t been for my row yet. Nothing like rowing for your stomach muscles.

    The eyes of Hercule Poirot dropped somewhat ruefully to a certain protuberance in his middle.

    Miss Brewster, noting the glance, said kindly:

    You’d soon get that off, M. Poirot, if you took a rowing boat out every day.

    "Merci, Mademoiselle. I detest boats!"

    You mean small boats?

    Boats of all sizes! He closed his eyes and shuddered. The movement of the sea, it is not pleasant.

    Bless the man, the sea is as calm as a mill pond today.

    Poirot replied with conviction:

    There is no such thing as a really calm sea. Always, always, there is motion.

    If you ask me, said Major Barry, seasickness is nine-tenths nerves.

    There, said the clergyman, smiling a little, speaks the good sailor—eh, Major?

    Only been ill once—and that was crossing the Channel! Don’t think about it, that’s my motto.

    Seasickness is really a very odd thing, mused Miss Brewster. Why should some people be subject to it and not others? It seems so unfair. And nothing to do with one’s ordinary health. Quite sickly people are good sailors. Someone told me once it was something to do with one’s spine. Then there’s the way some people can’t stand heights. I’m not very good myself, but Mrs. Redfern is far worse. The other day, on the cliff path to Harford, she turned quite giddy and simply clung to me. She told me she once got stuck halfway down that outside staircase on Milan Cathedral. She’d gone up without thinking but coming down did for her.

    She’d better not go down the ladder to Pixy Cove, then, observed Lane.

    Miss Brewster made a face.

    I funk that myself. It’s all right for the young. The Cowan boys and the young Mastermans, they run up and down and enjoy it.

    Lane said.

    Here comes Mrs. Redfern now, coming up from her bathe.

    Miss Brewster remarked:

    M. Poirot ought to approve of her. She’s no sunbather.

    Young Mrs. Redfern had taken off her rubber cap and was shaking out her hair. She was an ash blonde and her skin was of that dead fairness that goes with that colouring. Her legs and arms were very white.

    With a hoarse chuckle, Major Barry said:

    Looks a bit uncooked among the others, doesn’t she?

    Wrapping herself in a long bathrobe Christine Redfern came up the beach and mounted the steps towards them.

    She had a fair serious face, pretty in a negative way and small dainty hands and feet.

    She smiled at them and dropped down beside them, tucking her bath wrap round her.

    Miss Brewster said:

    You have earned M. Poirot’s good opinion. He doesn’t like the suntanning crowd. Says they’re like joints of butcher’s meat, or words to that effect.

    Christine Redfern smiled ruefully. She said:

    "I wish I could sunbathe! But I don’t go brown. I only blister and get the most frightful freckles all over my arms."

    Better than getting hair all over them like Mrs. Gardener’s Irene, said Miss Brewster. In answer to Christine’s inquiring glance she went on: Mrs. Gardener’s been in grand form this morning. Absolutely nonstop. ‘Isn’t that so, Odell?’ ‘Yes, darling.’ She paused and then said: I wish, though, M. Poirot, that you’d played up to her a bit. Why didn’t you? Why didn’t you tell her that you were down here investigating a particularly gruesome murder, and that the murderer, a homicidal maniac, was certainly to be found among the guests of the hotel?

    Hercule Poirot sighed. He said:

    I very much fear she would have believed me.

    Major Barry gave a wheezy chuckle. He said:

    She certainly would.

    Emily Brewster said:

    No, I don’t believe even Mrs. Gardener would have believed in a crime staged here. This isn’t the sort of place you’d get a body!

    Hercule Poirot stirred a little in his chair. He protested. He said:

    But why not, Mademoiselle? Why should there not be what you call a ‘body’ here on Smugglers’ Island?

    Emily Brewster said:

    "I don’t know. I suppose some places are more unlikely than others. This isn’t the kind of spot—" She broke off, finding it difficult to explain her meaning.

    It is romantic, yes, agreed Hercule Poirot. It is peaceful. The sun shines. The sea is blue. But you forget, Miss Brewster, there is evil everywhere under the sun.

    The clergyman stirred in his chair. He leaned forward. His intensely blue eyes lighted up.

    Miss Brewster shrugged her shoulders.

    Oh! of course I realize that, but all the same—

    But all the same this still seems to you an unlikely setting for crime? You forget one thing, Mademoiselle.

    Human nature, I suppose?

    That, yes. That, always. But that was not what I was going to say. I was going to point out to you that here everyone is on holiday.

    Emily Brewster turned a puzzled face to him.

    I don’t understand.

    Hercule Poirot beamed kindly at her. He made dabs in the air with an emphatic forefinger.

    "Let us say, you have an enemy. If you seek him out in his flat, in his office, in the street—eh bien, you must have a reason—you must account for yourself. But here at the seaside it is necessary for no one to account for himself. You are at Leathercombe Bay, why? Parbleu! it is August—one goes to the seaside in August—one is on one’s holiday. It is quite natural, you see, for you to be here and for Mr. Lane to be here and for Major Barry to be here and for Mrs. Redfern and her husband to be here. Because it is the custom in England to go to the seaside in August."

    Well, admitted Miss Brewster, that’s certainly a very ingenious idea. But what about the Gardeners? They’re American.

    Poirot smiled.

    "Even Mrs. Gardener, as she told us, feels the need to relax. Also, since she is ‘doing’ England, she must certainly spend a fortnight at the seaside—as a good tourist, if nothing else. She enjoys watching people."

    Mrs. Redfern murmured:

    You like watching the people too, I think?

    Madame, I will confess it. I do.

    She said thoughtfully: You see—a good deal.

    IV

    There was a pause. Stephen Lane cleared his throat and said with a trace of self-consciousness.

    I was interested, M. Poirot, in something you said just now. You said that there was evil done everywhere under the sun. It was almost a quotation from Ecclesiastes. He paused and then quoted himself: Yea, also the heart of the sons of men is full of evil, and madness is in their heart while they live. His face lit up with an almost fanatical light. "I was glad to hear you say that. Nowadays, no one believes in evil. It is considered, at most, a mere negation of good. Evil, people say, is done by those who know

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