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“What’s the point in denying it? Everyone seems to know!”

“It appears that you and your partner were here because you were going to make a new film together?” asked Christopoulos, lighting a cigarette.

“Yes, our producer asked us to come. He wants to make a sequel and suggested we come here to pick out suitable new sites.”

“Which is why you, your late husband, and friends were exploring the coves in the area by boat?”

“That’s right. But this morning George and I decided that we would seek the quiet of the cove, just the two of us. Which suited me, because I wanted to talk to him about Tony and me.”

“You were hoping for a divorce?”

“Yes. That’s what I was going to ask him for. But he took it very badly. He grabbed me by the shoulders and shook me to try and get me to change my mind. I fought back, as I’ve already told you several times.”

“But what happened after that?” asked Christopoulos sharply.

The actress broke down in tears, her head between her hands.

“I don’t know… I don’t know exactly. His sudden outburst shocked me. I didn’t know he could be like that. I ran away as fast as I could.”

“After having hit him with a rock?”

The actress took her glasses off, revealing red eyes wet with tears, and said, stressing each word: “No, Inspector, I didn’t kill him! Of that I am absolutely certain!”

“Then maybe you pushed him as you were leaving?”

“I just don’t know. At the time, I didn’t want to see him anymore; I just wanted to get away. Maybe I did want him dead at that moment, but I didn’t kill him… I didn’t kill him….”

Anthony Stamp was next after his partner. Dr. Twist found him to be much quieter than he had been at the end of the morning. His testimony corresponded exactly, point by point, with what he had seen and heard. The actor admitted having considered teaching Portman a lesson for his brutal conduct towards his wife, but what he had wanted most of all was to make his feelings for Rachel and the serious nature of their relationship clear to the fellow.

Rubbing the back of his neck and recalling his astonishment at what had happened, he said: “That’s why I was so surprised, do you see, at finding him lying there on the rocks. As soon as I got close I realized there was nothing to be done.”

“What time was it?” enquired Charles Cullen.

“I didn’t check my watch, but it must have been about quarter past ten.”

“That’s about right. You were seen leaving the hotel at ten past ten and you came back at ten twenty-five. It takes about five minutes to reach the cove.”

“At least that. It’s a winding path down the cliff face, going down steeply from the road to the beach.”

“So you must have spent five minutes contemplating the body.”

The observation seemed to catch the actor off guard.

“Well, yes, I suppose so. I was so shocked that I didn’t react straightaway.”

“What were your thoughts at the time, Mr. Stamp? That it was the work of your lover?”

The leading man suddenly appeared very uncomfortable.

“No, no. I was simply too stunned to think clearly.”

“You told us there was nobody else in the cove at the time.”

“No. The fellow who hires out the boats never arrives before half-past ten. All his customers know that. In any case, I didn’t see anyone.”

“The only access to the cove is via the stairs cut into the rock, as far as I can gather.”

“Right. All around there are nothing but cliffs with a sheer drop of a hundred feet straight down. There are bushes dotted here and there on the cliff faces but too far apart to offer a way down, even to the most experienced climber. The stairs lead down to the wooden landing stage where the boats are moored. From there, that damned slippery path goes as far as the diving board put there for tourists.”

“But you could swim to the spot?”

“Of course, but in that case you’d have to come in from the open sea like the boats because the coastline is littered with reefs. Only a really experienced swimmer would try it.”

“Do other boats ever stop there?”

“Occasionally. Amateur sailors who want to use the diving board or simply get away from the crowds. But why all these questions, gentlemen?”

“Why?” repeated Christopoulos with a forced smile. “Because we’d like to know who, apart from you and Rachel Syms, could have got close enough to George Portman to kill him. We can’t rule out the possibility that he was murdered, you see. In which case, you and your mistress would be far and away the most likely suspects. You have both motive and opportunity. However, I do concede that your partner is in an even trickier position than you are. If we look at the circumstances, at her attitude and her words on her return from the cove, one could easily imagine that she had just killed her husband in a fit of anger. Furthermore, I’ve just had another talk with the medical examiner, who finds the wound to the victim’s temple more and more suspicious. According to him, it was caused by a blunt instrument rather than sudden contact with a rock.”

Anthony went pale.

“But that’s not what I’d been led to believe! And there was no weapon anywhere near the body, was there? Unless your mysterious killer used a ball.”

“A ball? What ball?” enquired Dr. Twist, intrigued.

Charles Cullen clarified the matter with a shrug of the shoulder: “A kid’s ball was floating between the rocks close to the victim.”

“Would that be Nausicaa’s ball, Charles? Remember Nausicaa was playing with a ball when she noticed Ulysses on the shore? We spoke about it just this morning.”

Faced with bewildered looks from the three men, Twist added quickly: “Of course, it’s of no importance; it’s just a thought which crossed my mind.”

There was a knock on the door and an officer in uniform entered and saluted. He opened his dispatch bag, brought out a monkey wrench wrapped in nylon, and placed it carefully on the desk.

“The divers found this in the sea about thirty meters from the shore. As you can see, it’s almost new. The water has probably washed away the blood, but not the fingerprints. They are quite clear and belong to one person only. We immediately compared them with those we took of the suspects.”

The policeman turned slowly towards the actor and announced: “They’re yours, sir.”

Later that evening, under the subdued light of the lamps hanging from the trellis, Alan Twist and the superintendent dined together. The sun had just gone down and the air was marvelously soft and warm.

“He was so surprised I thought he was going to confess on the spot!” said the retired policeman after having finished his moussaka with evident gusto.

“Yes,” agreed his companion, “but he acquitted himself well. Particularly since we now have the testimony of the boat owner that the wrench was left in there at all times because it was used to set up the canopy. And since that was the boat that was hired regularly by our little group, Anthony Stamp would naturally have handled it quite a few times, as he confirmed. He doesn’t recall it falling into the water, but it’s perfectly possible that a slight swell could have caused it to happen without anyone on board noticing.”

Cullen shook his head, sceptically.

“That doesn’t prove his innocence. At the time, he looked just like a culprit faced with irrefutable evidence, and he only came up with that explanation some time later.”

“Don’t you feel that, in such circumstances, an innocent person would have reacted the same way?”