“Now, the murderer’s need to pin the crime on someone reduced the field of suspects considerably, for it meant that it was necessary for the police to be handed a suspect. In other words, the killer was someone on whom suspicion would otherwise naturally fall.”
After a long pause, Rachel Syms fluttered her eyelashes and said: “Do you mean me?”
“Yes, Miss Syms, you, his wife, set to inherit a considerable fortune. I’m only guessing, but I suspect you took up with your previous costar for the sole purpose of using him; for, as I said, you needed a scapegoat. Everything was worked out in the most minute detaiclass="underline" the time and the place of the crime; your confession to your husband of your infidelity, simply to drive him into such a rage he would hit you; the bruises and scratches on your body when you came back to the hotel, so that your furious lover would be seen racing down to the beach to teach the fellow a lesson. It was all very cleverly done: to appear to be guilty at first, only to be proved innocent by surprise witnesses later!
“Yes, everything had been worked out and prepared in advance. You knew at exactly what time the Trents would anchor in the cove and you knew their testimony would save you and deal a fatal blow to your lover. From an artistic point of view, it was a remarkable murder. One cannot help but admire your ingenious plan, not to mention your acting, but nobody doubts your ability in that direction.”
After another stunned silence, the lovely Rachel threw her head back and laughed, but for once her amusement sounded strained.
“It’s — it’s grotesque,” she gasped. “But supposing everything you say about my motive is true, how the devil could I have done it, while I was in the hotel all the time? Didn’t you see me at the time the crime was committed?”
“Actually, it was slightly before. And I also heard you — as you intended, for you deliberately raised your voice and left your window open. It was ten-ten when your lover crossed the terrace.”
“Exactly, and I begged him to come back. How could I have got down before him without being seen. He was walking very fast.”
“Yes, but you had a few minutes in hand as he descended the cliff path. You went out of one of the side doors of the hotel and reached the cove before he did.”
“How? On a magic carpet?”
“No, there was nothing magic about it. You simply followed the ball… Nausicaa’s ball. Have you forgotten?”
The actress looked about her, then tapped her temple with a finger and sneered: “He’s completely out of his mind! He’ll say anything that comes into his head.”
A dangerous glint came into Dr. Twist’s eye.
“No, madam, I’m not mad. I still have all my faculties, unfortunately for you. You did follow, to within a few yards, the trajectory of the ball that fell from the top of the cliff yesterday. While your lover was making his way slowly and carefully down the cliff path, and just after the Trents left the cove — which you could see from where you were — you made a graceful dive from the top of the cliff into the only spot where the water is deep enough: by the diving board. A dive of a hundred feet: dangerous for an amateur, but nothing to a competitive swimmer of your class.
“You climbed swiftly out of the water, killed your husband — who was probably stupefied with shock — and planted the wrench, after which you rapidly climbed the sheer cliff face using the rope you had secured from the top that morning. Tony couldn’t see you because the view from the path was blocked by the promontory and you knew that nobody else would be around in the water. In any case, for an athlete like you it would only have taken a minute to climb a hundred feet, after which you hid the rope. You may even have had time to watch the scene down in the cove below and see how your lover would react. All you then had to do was get discreetly back to your room, swallow a few glasses of whiskey, and play out the comedy.”
Pure hatred flashed in the eyes of the actress as she hissed: “You miserable old wizard!”
“No, it’s you who are the witch, and let’s hope the jury sees it that way.”
“How did you work it out?” said the actress, still spitting with rage.
“Why, because of Nausicaa’s ball, of course. I suspected you as soon as I saw it. Purely by intuition, I must admit. I told myself it was a sign from the gods. Who could have played such a trick on poor Portman, if not the mischievous Nausicaa playing with her ball?”