“Anyone could take a boat, though, I suppose, and row round and land on one of the coves? You couldn’t stop them doing that. There’s a right of access to the foreshore. You can’t stop people being on the beach between low and high watermark.”
But this, it seemed, very seldom happened. Boats could be obtained at Leathercombe Bay harbour, but from there it was a long row to the island, and there was also a strong current just outside Leathercombe Bay harbour.
There were notices, too, on both Gull Cove and Pixy Cove by the ladder. She added that George or William were always on the look out at the bathing beach proper which was the nearest to the mainland.
“Who are George and William?”
“George attends to the bathing beach. He sees to the costumes and the floats. William is the gardener. He keeps the paths and marks the tennis courts and all that.”
Colonel Weston said impatiently:
“Well, that seems clear enough. That’s not to say that nobody could have come from outside, but anyone who did so took a risk—the risk of being noticed. We’ll have a word with George and William presently.”
Mrs. Castle said:
“Ay do not care for trippers—a very noisy crowd, and they frequently leave orange peel and cigarette boxes on the causeway and down by the rocks, but all the same ay never thought one of them would turn out to be a murderer. Oh dear! it really is too terrible for words. A lady like Mrs. Marshall murdered and what’s so horrible, actually—er—strangled….”
Mrs. Castle could hardly bring herself to say the word. She brought it out with the utmost reluctance.
Inspector Colgate said soothingly:
“Yes, it’s a nasty business.”
“And the newspapers. My hotel in the newspapers!”
Colgate said, with a faint grin.
“Oh well, it’s advertisement, in a way.”
Mrs. Castle drew herself up. Her bust heaved and whalebone creaked. She said icily:
“That is not the kind of advertisement ay care about, Mr. Colgate.”
Colonel Weston broke in. He said:
“Now then, Mrs. Castle, you’ve got a list of the guests staying here, as I asked you?”
“Yes, sir.”
Colonel Weston pored over the hotel register. He looked over to Poirot who made the fourth member of the group assembled in the manageress’s office.
“This is where you’ll probably be able to help us presently.”
He read down the names.
“What about servants?”
Mrs. Castle produced a second list.
“There are four chambermaids, the head waiter and three under him and Henry in the bar. William does the boots and shoes. Then there’s the cook and two under her.”
“What about the waiters?”
“Well, sir, Albert, the Mater Dotel, came to me from the Vincent at Plymouth. He was there for some years. The three under him have been here for three years—one of them four. They are very naise lads and most respectable. Henry has been here since the hotel opened. He is quite an institution.”
Weston nodded. He said to Colgate:
“Seems all right. You’ll check up on them, of course. Thank you, Mrs. Castle.”