Chapter 15 Chapter 15 Continuing to Explore

"Can we have a word with you, Mr. Kendall?" "Of course." Tim looked up from his desk.He pushed some papers away from the desk and made a chair for them.He is full of depression. "How's it going? Any progress? The end of the place is near. Customers are leaving, asking about flights. Business just picked up. Oh, God, you don't know I'm with Molly What a lot of thought went into this hotel. We put all our life savings into it." "It's a real blow, I understand," said Sheriff Weston. "We feel it well." "Just hope it all clears up as soon as possible," said Tim. "This hapless woman Victoria—oh! I shouldn't have said that about her. Victoria's a very nice woman. However, there must be an obvious reason——

She must have some secret, or caught up with another man.Perhaps her husband—” "Jim Ellis is not her husband, but the two of them seem to get along very well." "Just a quick end," Tim repeated. "Feel sorry. You want to talk to me.Please feel free to ask. " "Okay. It's about last night. According to the results of the autopsy, Victoria was killed between 10:30 p.m. and midnight. Judging from the situation here, alibi is not easy to catch Lived. The guests were running around, dancing, leaving the terrace and walking back. It was really difficult.”

"I understand. But are you sure that Victoria was killed by a guest here?" "We have to check out this possibility, Mr. Kendall. What I want to ask you in particular is what one of your cooks said." "Huh? Which one? What did he say?" "As far as I know, a Cuban." "We have two Cubans here, and a Puerto Rican." "This Enrique said that your wife went from the dining room through the kitchen into the garden with a knife in her hand." Tim glared at him. "Molly, have you got a knife? What's wrong with that? I mean—uh—

Don't you think—what the hell do you mean by that? " "I mean the period before the guests arrive in the restaurant. I think it was about half-past eight. You yourself, at that time, were talking to Fernand the head waiter." "Yeah," Tim recalled. "Yes, I do remember." "At that time, your wife came in from the terrace?" "Yeah, she's coming in," Tim said. "She's always going out on the patio to check on the tables. Sometimes the waiters make mistakes, forgetting knives and forks and things like that. It must be so.She must be rearranging the table.There must have been an extra knife or spoon, and she had it with her. "

"Did she speak to you after she entered the restaurant from the terrace?" "Yes, we had a few words." "What did she say? Do you remember?" "I think I asked who she was talking to outside. I heard her talking outside." "Who did she say she was talking to?" "Greg Dyson." "Oh, yes. That's what he said too." Tim added: "I know, he's after her. He's got this thing. I was so upset, I said, 'What the hell,' and Molly laughed, and said she'd show him something.Molly was shrewd in this regard.You also know that her job is not easy.Guests can't afford to offend, a beautiful woman like Molly can only take it lightly and laugh it off.Greg Dyson couldn't help getting his hands dirty when he saw a pretty woman. "

"Did the two of them ever quarrel?" "No, I don't think so. Didn't I say it, she usually just laughs it off." "You are not sure whether she has a knife in her hand?" "I can't remember--but I'm sure she didn't. In fact, she didn't take any at all." "But you just said..." "I mean, if she'd been in the dining room or the kitchen, she'd probably have picked up a knife, and I remember now that she came in from the dining room with nothing in her hand. There's nothing wrong with that." "Okay," said Weston.

"Tim looked at him nervously. "What the hell do you mean? What the hell did that goddam fool Enrique—Manuu—what the hell—say?" "He said your wife came into the kitchen with an angry face and a knife in her hand." "He's talking nonsense." "Did you ever talk to your wife again, at dinner or later?" "No, I don't think so. I was very busy then." "Is your wife in the dining room at dinner?" "I'm - er - here, and we've got to go around looking after the guests and see what they need." "Did you not say a word to her?"

"No, I don't think so . . . We're usually so busy that we don't pay attention to what each of us is doing, and of course we don't have time to talk." "So you don't remember talking to her until she found the body three hours later and walked up the steps?" "She was shocked. She was very upset." "I know. It was a tough experience. How did she end up on the path to the beach?" "After being busy serving the guests' meals, she often goes out for a walk, hiding from the guests, and getting some air." "It is said that you were talking to Mrs. Hillingdon when she came back?"

"That's right. Almost all the guests went to bed by then." "What were you talking about with Mrs. Hillingdon?" "Nothing special. Why? What did she say to you?" "She hasn't said anything so far. We haven't asked her yet." "We're just chatting. Molly's gone, running this restaurant and stuff." "Then—your wife came up the terrace steps and told you something was wrong?" "yes." "There's blood on her hands! Let me tell you, what's the plan in your heart? You have ulterior motives, don't you?"

"Please don't get excited," Devantry said. "I know, Tim, this is a hard blow for you, but we have to ask things clearly. As far as I understand, your wife seems to be not feeling well lately." it is good?" "Nonsense—she's fine. Of course she's saddened by Major Balgrave's death. She's a very sensitive woman." "As soon as she recovers, we'll have to ask her some questions," Weston said. "This, not now. The doctor injected her with a sedative to prevent anyone from disturbing her. I can't make her sad or scare her any more, you hear me clearly! "

"We're not going to scare her," Weston said. "We have to find out the facts. We won't disturb her now, but as long as the doctor says it's okay, we have to see her." Although his tone was very tactful, there was no room for negotiation. Tim glanced at him, opened his mouth, but said nothing. Evelyn Hillingden sat as poised and composed as ever in the chair pointed out to her.For the questions asked, she thought carefully before answering slowly.She watched Weston carefully with dark, intelligent eyes. "Yes," she said, "I was talking to Mr Kendall when his wife came up the steps to tell us that someone had been killed." "Is your husband not there?" "No, he's already asleep." "Have you any particular reason for wanting to speak to Mr. Kendal?" Evelyn raised her well-drawn eyebrows, her eyes clearly accusing. She said grimly: "That's a curious question of yours. No—there was nothing special about our conversation." "Have you spoken to him about his wife's health?" Evelyn thought about it for a moment. "I really don't remember," she finally answered. "Really?" "Are you saying that you really can't remember? How can you say that - people talk about many different things at different times." "As far as I know, Mrs. Kendall has been in poor health lately." "She looks all right—maybe a little tired. Of course, running a restaurant like this is a lot of work, and she's inexperienced. Naturally, she gets a little flustered at times." "Panic." Weston repeated casually. "Is that the word you use to describe her?" "Maybe it's an old-fashioned word, but it's no worse than some trendy word. When it gets a little hot, it's called 'filtering virus', and worrying about everyday life is called 'neurasthenic anxiety.' -" Her small smile made Weston feel a little embarrassed.He thought: Evelyn Hillingdon is a fine woman.He glanced at the expressionless Devontri, wondering what was going on in his heart. "Thank you, Mrs Hillingdon," said Weston. "We would have liked to trouble you, Mrs Kendall, but we must hear from you how you found that woman. Dr. Graham says you are much better now and can talk." "Oh, yes," said Molly, "I feel better." She smiled timidly at them. "I'm just terrified--terribly terrified, you know." "Yes, that's natural. It seems that after dinner you went for a walk." "Yes, I—I go often." Devantry noticed: her eyes flashed, and the fingers of both hands were twisted together and opened again. "What time is that, Mrs. Kendall?" asked Weston. Is the beat band still playing? " "Yes—at least, I think it's still playing. I can't really remember." "You walk—in which direction?" "Uh, towards the path to the beach." "Right or left?" "Oh! First one way, then the other. I—I—didn't notice." "Why haven't you been paying attention, Mrs Kendall?" She frowned. "I think, I'm probably thinking about something." "Thinking about something in particular?" "No. Nothing. Nothing special. Just something to do in a restaurant." Her fingers twisted and loosened nervously. "Then—I noticed a white mass—in a hibiscus bush—and I wanted to see what it was. I stopped—to pull—" She swallowed tremblingly. "She—Victoria—was lying curled up there, and I tried to lift her head up, but I got—blood—blood on both hands." She looked at her hands, dreaming of something completely impossible, and repeated in a sleepy voice: "Blood—the blood of both hands." "Yes—yes. Terrible indeed. You needn't tell us any more about that. How long do you think you were gone before you found her?" "I don't know—not at all." "An hour? Half an hour? Or more than an hour—" "I don't know." Molly replied with the same sentence. Devantry asked in a light and ordinary tone: "When you went for a walk, did you bring a knife?" "A knife?" Molly asked in surprise, "What am I doing with a knife?" "I ask because someone who works in the kitchen said that when you walked out of the kitchen into the garden, you had a knife in your hand." Molly frowned. "But I didn't come out of the kitchen—oh! You mean earlier—before supper. I—I don't think—" "Perhaps you used to set knives and forks on the table?" "It's unavoidable. Sometimes they put the cutlery in the wrong place, either there's an extra knife, or there's a missing one. Or there's an extra fork, a spoon, something like that." "Did something like this happen that night?" "Maybe there is. People don't take this kind of thing to heart, and they can't remember it." "Then it is also possible that you came out of the kitchen with a knife in your hand that night?" "I don't think so, I certainly didn't—" she added: "Tim was there that day—he'd know. You go ask him." "Do you like this woman—Victoria? Is she serious about her work?" Weston asked. "I like her—she's a nice person." "You didn't have a holiday with her, did you?" "Holiday? No!" "She didn't threaten you—in any way?" "Threatening me? What does that mean?" "It doesn't matter, don't you know who will murder her? Not at all?" "I don't know at all," she said emphatically. "Well, thank you, Mrs. Kendall." He smiled and said, "Look, isn't there nothing to be afraid of?" "That's it?" "That's it for now." Dai Wenchu ​​stood up, opened the door for her, and watched her go out of the house. "Tim should know," he repeated as he returned to his chair, "and Tim insisted she didn't have a knife." Weston said gravely, "I think any husband would say that if asked." "It's not very good to use a table knife to kill people." "But it's a steak knife, Mr Devantry. There was steak on the menu that evening. Steak knives are sharp." "I can't believe that the woman we've just questioned could be a ruthless murderer, Weston." "There's no need to believe it just yet. Maybe Mrs. Dow went out into the garden before dinner with an extra knife on the table. She probably didn't even notice that she was holding a knife in her hand." A knife. It could have been left somewhere, or dropped somewhere. Maybe someone picked it up and killed someone. I don't believe she could be a murderer either." "Anyway," Deventry said thoughtfully, "Anyway, I dare say she knows more than that. Her memory of time is very strange. Where the hell has she gone--and what is she doing outside again.So far, no one seems to have claimed to have noticed her in the restaurant that night. " "Mr. seems all right, but this lady—" "Do you think she's going to meet someone—Victoria Johnson?" "We know: he would have spoken to Victoria earlier. He may have made an appointment with her to meet at a later date. Don't forget, the guests came and went freely on the terrace - dancing, drinking It's—in and out of the bar." "It's not like that percussion band that can provide alibi." Devon Chui laughed at himself resignedly.