MissMarple’sFinalCases
Contents
AboutAgathaChristie
TheAgathaChristieCollection
E-BookExtras
1Sanctuary
2StrangeJest
3Tape-MeasureMurder
4TheCaseoftheCaretaker
5TheCaseofthePerfectMaid
6MissMarpleTellsaStory
7TheDressmaker’sDoll
8InAGlassDarkly
9Greenshaw’sFolly
Copyright
www.agathachristie.com
AboutthePublisher
Sanctuary
I
Thevicar’swifecameroundthecornerofthevicaragewithherarmsfullofchrysanthemums.Agooddealofrichgardensoilwasattachedtoherstrongbrogueshoesandafewfragmentsofearthwereadheringtohernose,butofthatfactshewasperfectlyunconscious.
Shehadaslightstruggleinopeningthevicaragegatewhichhung,rustily,halfoffitshinges.Apuffofwindcaughtatherbatteredfelthat,causingittositevenmorerakishlythanithaddonebefore.‘Bother!’saidBunch.
ChristenedbyheroptimisticparentsDiana,MrsHarmonhadbecomeBunchatanearlyageforsomewhatobviousreasonsandthenamehadstucktohereversince.Clutchingthechrysanthemums,shemadeherwaythroughthegatetothechurchyard,andsotothechurchdoor.
TheNovemberairwasmildanddamp.Cloudsscuddedacrosstheskywithpatchesofbluehereandthere.Inside,thechurchwasdarkandcold;itwasunheatedexceptatservicetimes.
‘Brrrrrh!’saidBunchexpressively.‘I’dbettergetonwiththisquickly.Idon’twanttodieofcold.’
Withthequicknessbornofpracticeshecollectedthenecessaryparaphernalia:vases,water,flower-holders.‘Iwishwehadlilies,’thoughtBunchtoherself.‘Igetsotiredofthesescraggychrysanthemums.’Hernimblefingersarrangedthebloomsintheirholders.
Therewasnothingparticularlyoriginalorartisticaboutthedecorations,forBunchHarmonherselfwasneitheroriginalnorartistic,butitwasahomelyandpleasantarrangement.Carryingthevasescarefully,Bunchsteppeduptheaisleandmadeherwaytowardsthealtar.Asshedidsothesuncameout.
Itshonethroughtheeastwindowofsomewhatcrudecolouredglass,mostlyblueandred—thegiftofawealthyVictorianchurchgoer.Theeffectwasalmoststartlinginitssuddenopulence.‘Likejewels,’thoughtBunch.Suddenlyshestopped,staringaheadofher.Onthechancelstepswasahuddleddarkform.
Puttingdowntheflowerscarefully,Bunchwentuptoitandbentoverit.Itwasamanlyingthere,huddledoveronhimself.Bunchkneltdownbyhimandslowly,carefully,sheturnedhimover.Herfingerswenttohispulse—apulsesofeebleandflutteringthatittolditsownstory,asdidthealmostgreenishpallorofhisface.Therewasnodoubt,Bunchthought,thatthemanwasdying.
Hewasamanofaboutforty-five,dressedinadark,shabbysuit.Shelaiddownthelimphandshehadpickedupandlookedathisotherhand.Thisseemedclenchedlikeafistonhisbreast.Lookingmorecloselyshesawthatthefingerswereclosedoverwhatseemedtobealargewadorhandkerchiefwhichhewasholdingtightlytohischest.Allroundtheclenchedhandthereweresplashesofadrybrownfluidwhich,Bunchguessed,wasdryblood.Bunchsatbackonherheels,frowning.
Uptillnowtheman’seyeshadbeenclosedbutatthispointtheysuddenlyopenedandfixedthemselvesonBunch’sface.Theywereneitherdazednorwandering.Theyseemedfullyaliveandintelligent.Hislipsmoved,andBunchbentforwardtocatchthewords,orrathertheword.Itwasonlyonewordthathesaid:
‘Sanctuary.’
Therewas,shethought,justaveryfaintsmileashebreathedoutthisword.Therewasnomistakingit,forafteramomenthesaiditagain,‘Sanctuary…’
Then,withafaint,long-drawn-outsigh,hiseyesclosedagain.OncemoreBunch’sfingerswenttohispulse.Itwasstillthere,butfainternowandmoreintermittent.Shegotupwithdecision.
‘Don’tmove,’shesaid,‘ortrytomove.I’mgoingforhelp.’
Theman’seyesopenedagainbutheseemednowtobefixinghisattentiononthecolouredlightthatcamethroughtheeastwindow.HemurmuredsomethingthatBunchcouldnotquitecatch.Shethought,startled,thatitmighthavebeenherhusband’sname.
‘Julian?’shesaid.‘DidyoucomeheretofindJulian?’Buttherewasnoanswer.Themanlaywitheyesclosed,hisbreathingcominginslow,shallowfashion.
Bunchturnedandleftthechurchrapidly.Sheglancedatherwatchandnoddedwithsomesatisfaction.DrGriffithswouldstillbeinhissurgery.Itwasonlyacoupleofminutes’walkfromthechurch.Shewentin,withoutwaitingtoknockorring,passingthroughthewaitingroomandintothedoctor’ssurgery
‘Youmustcomeatonce,’saidBunch.‘There’samandyinginthechurch.’
SomeminuteslaterDrGriffithsrosefromhiskneesafterabriefexamination.
‘Canwemovehimfromhereintothevicarage?Icanattendtohimbetterthere—notthatit’sanyuse.’
‘Ofcourse,’saidBunch.‘I’llgoalongandgetthingsready.I’llgetHarperandJones,shallI?Tohelpyoucarryhim.’
‘Thanks.Icantelephonefromthevicarageforanambulance,butI’mafraid—bythetimeitcomes…’Helefttheremarkunfinished.
Bunchsaid,‘Internalbleeding?’
DrGriffithsnodded.Hesaid,‘Howonearthdidhecomehere?’
‘Ithinkhemusthavebeenhereallnight,’saidBunch,considering.‘Harperunlocksthechurchinthemorningashegoestowork,buthedoesn’tusuallycomein.’
ItwasaboutfiveminuteslaterwhenDrGriffithsputdownthetelephonereceiverandcamebackintothemorning-roomwheretheinjuredmanwaslyingonquicklyarrangedblanketsonthesofa.Bunchwasmovingabasinofwaterandclearingupafterthedoctor’sexamination
‘Well,that’sthat,’saidGriffiths.‘I’vesentforanambulanceandI’venotifiedthepolice.’Hestood,frowning,lookingdownonthepatientwholaywithclosedeyes.Hislefthandwaspluckinginanervous,spasmodicwayathisside.
‘Hewasshot,’saidGriffiths.‘Shotatfairlyclosequarters.Herolledhishandkerchiefupintoaballandpluggedthewoundwithitsoastostopthebleeding.’
‘Couldhehavegonefarafterthathappened?’Bunchasked.
‘Oh,yes,it’squitepossible.Amortallywoundedmanhasbeenknowntopickhimselfupandwalkalongastreetasthoughnothinghadhappened,andthensuddenlycollapsefiveortenminuteslater.Soheneedn’thavebeenshotinthechurch.Ohno.Hemayhavebeenshotsomedistanceaway.Ofcourse,hemayhaveshothimselfandthendroppedtherevolverandstaggeredblindlytowardsthechurch.Idon’tquiteknowwhyhemadeforthechurchandnotforthevicarage.’
‘Oh,Iknowthat,’saidBunch.‘Hesaidit:“Sanctuary.”’
Thedoctorstaredather.‘Sanctuary?’
‘Here’sJulian,’saidBunch,turningherheadassheheardherhusband’sstepsinthehall.‘Julian!Comehere.’
TheReverendJulianHarmonenteredtheroom.Hisvague,scholarlymanneralwaysmadehimappearmucholderthanhereallywas.‘Dearme!’saidJulianHarmon,staringinamild,puzzledmanneratthesurgicalappliancesandthepronefigureonthesofa.
Bunchexplainedwithherusualeconomyofwords.‘Hewasinthechurch,dying.He’dbeenshot.Doyouknowhim,Julian?Ithoughthesaidyourname.’
Thevicarcameuptothesofaandlookeddownatthedyingman.‘Poorfellow,’hesaid,andshookhishead.‘No,Idon’tknowhim.I’malmostsureI’veneverseenhimbefore.’
Atthatmomentthedyingman’seyesopenedoncemore.TheywentfromthedoctortoJulianHarmonandfromhimtohiswife.Theeyesstayedthere,staringintoBunch’sface.Griffithssteppedforward.
‘Ifyoucouldtellus,’hesaidurgently.
ButwitheyesfixedonBunch,themansaidinaweakvoice,‘Please—please—’Andthen,withaslighttremor,hedied…
SergeantHayeslickedhispencilandturnedthepageofhisnotebook.
‘Sothat’sallyoucantellme,MrsHarmon?’
‘That’sall,’saidBunch.‘Thesearethethingsoutofhiscoatpockets.’
OnatableatSergeantHayes’selbowwasawallet,aratherbatteredoldwatchwiththeinitialsW.S.andthereturnhalfofatickettoLondon.Nothingmore.
‘You’vefoundoutwhoheis?’askedBunch.
‘AMrandMrsEcclesphonedupthestation.He’sherbrother,itseems.NameofSandbourne.Beeninalowstateofhealthandnervesforsometime.He’sbeengettingworselately.Thedaybeforeyesterdayhewalkedoutanddidn’tcomeback.Hetookarevolverwithhim.’
‘Andhecameouthereandshothimselfwithit?’saidBunch.‘Why?’
‘Well,yousee,he’dbeendepressed…’
Bunchinterruptedhim.‘Idon’tmeanthat.Imean,whyhere?’
SinceSergeantHayesobviouslydidnotknowtheanswertothatone,herepliedinanobliquefashion,‘Comeouthere,hedid,onthefive-tenbus.’
‘Yes,’saidBunchagain.‘Butwhy?’
‘Idon’tknow,MrsHarmon,’saidSergeantHayes.‘There’snoaccounting.Ifthebalanceofthemindisdisturbed—’
Bunchfinishedforhim.‘Theymaydoitanywhere.Butitstillseemstomeunnecessarytotakeabusouttoasmallcountryplacelikethis.Hedidn’tknowanyonehere,didhe?’
‘Notsofarascanbeascertained,’saidSergeantHayes.Hecoughedinanapologeticmannerandsaid,asherosetohisfeet,‘ItmaybeasMrandMrsEccleswillcomeoutandseeyou,ma’am—ifyoudon’tmind,thatis.’
‘OfcourseIdon’tmind,’saidBunch.‘It’sverynatural.IonlywishIhadsomethingtotellthem.’
‘I’llbegettingalong,’saidSergeantHayes.
‘I’monlysothankful,’saidBunch,goingwithhimtothefrontdoor,‘thatitwasn’tmurder.’
Acarhaddrivenupatthevicaragegate.SergeantHayes,glancingatit,remarked:‘Looksasthoughthat’sMrandMrsEcclescomeherenow,ma’am,totalkwithyou.’
Bunchbracedherselftoendurewhat,shefelt,mightberatheradifficultordeal.‘However,’shethought,‘IcanalwayscallJuliantohelpme.Aclergyman’sagreathelpwhenpeoplearebereaved.’
ExactlywhatshehadexpectedMrandMrsEcclestobelike,Bunchcouldnothavesaid,butshewasconscious,asshegreetedthem,ofafeelingofsurprise.MrEccleswasastoutfloridmanwhosenaturalmannerwouldhavebeencheerfulandfacetious.MrsEccleshadavaguelyflashylookabouther.Shehadasmall,mean,pursed-upmouth.Hervoicewasthinandreedy.
‘It’sbeenaterribleshock,MrsHarmon,asyoucanimagine,’shesaid.
‘Oh,Iknow,’saidBunch.‘Itmusthavebeen.Dositdown.CanIofferyou—well,perhapsit’salittleearlyfortea—’
MrEccleswavedapudgyhand.‘No,no,nothingforus,’hesaid.‘It’sverykindofyou,I’msure.Justwantedto…well…whatpoorWilliamsaidandallthat,youknow?’
‘He’sbeenabroadalongtime,’saidMrsEccles,‘andIthinkhemusthavehadsomeverynastyexperiences.Veryquietanddepressedhe’sbeen,eversincehecamehome.Saidtheworldwasn’tfittoliveinandtherewasnothingtolookforwardto.PoorBill,hewasalwaysmoody.’
Bunchstaredatthembothforamomentortwowithoutspeaking.
‘Pinchedmyhusband’srevolver,hedid,’wentonMrsEccles.‘Withoutourknowing.Thenitseemshecomeherebybus.Isupposethatwasnicefeelingonhispart.Hewouldn’thavelikedtodoitinourhouse.’
‘Poorfellow,poorfellow,’saidMrEccles,withasigh.‘Itdoesn’tdotojudge.’
Therewasanothershortpause,andMrEcclessaid,‘Didheleaveamessage?Anylastwords,nothinglikethat?’
Hisbright,ratherpig-likeeyeswatchedBunchclosely.MrsEccles,too,leanedforwardasthoughanxiousforthereply.
‘No,’saidBunchquietly.‘Hecameintothechurchwhenhewasdying,forsanctuary.’
MrsEcclessaidinapuzzledvoice.‘Sanctuary?Idon’tthinkIquite…’
MrEcclesinterrupted.‘Holyplace,mydear,’hesaidimpatiently.‘That’swhatthevicar’swifemeans.It’sasin—suicide,youknow.Iexpecthewantedtomakeamends.’
‘Hetriedtosaysomethingjustbeforehedied,’saidBunch.‘Hebegan,“Please,”butthat’sasfarashegot.’
MrsEcclesputherhandkerchieftohereyesandsniffed.‘Oh,dear,’shesaid.‘It’sterriblyupsetting,isn’tit?’
‘There,there,Pam,’saidherhusband.‘Don’ttakeon.Thesethingscan’tbehelped.PoorWillie.Still,he’satpeacenow.Well,thankyouverymuch,MrsHarmon.Ihopewehaven’tinterruptedyou.Avicar’swifeisabusylady,weknowthat.’
Theyshookhandswithher.ThenEcclesturnedbacksuddenlytosay,‘Ohyes,there’sjustoneotherthing.Ithinkyou’vegothiscoathere,haven’tyou?’
‘Hiscoat?’Bunchfrowned.
MrsEcclessaid,‘We’dlikeallhisthings,youknow.Sentimental-like.’
‘Hehadawatchandawalletandarailwayticketinthepockets,’saidBunch.‘IgavethemtoSergeantHayes.’
‘That’sallright,then,’saidMrEccles.‘He’llhandthemovertous,Iexpect.Hisprivatepaperswouldbeinthewallet.’
‘Therewasapoundnoteinthewallet,’saidBunch.‘Nothingelse.’
‘Noletters?Nothinglikethat?’
Bunchshookherhead.
‘Well,thankyouagain,MrsHarmon.Thecoathewaswearing—perhapsthesergeant’sgotthattoo,hashe?’
Bunchfrownedinaneffortofremembrance.
‘No,’shesaid.‘Idon’tthink…letmesee.ThedoctorandItookhiscoatofftoexaminehiswound.’Shelookedroundtheroomvaguely.‘Imusthavetakenitupstairswiththetowelsandbasin.’
‘Iwondernow,MrsHarmon,ifyoudon’tmind…We’dlikehiscoat,youknow,thelastthinghewore.Well,thewifefeelsrathersentimentalaboutit.’
‘Ofcourse,’saidBunch.‘Wouldyoulikemetohaveitcleanedfirst?I’mafraidit’srather—well—stained.’
‘Oh,no,no,no,thatdoesn’tmatter.’
Bunchfrowned.‘NowIwonderwhere…excusemeamoment.’Shewentupstairsanditwassomefewminutesbeforeshereturned.
‘I’msosorry,’shesaidbreathlessly,‘mydailywomanmusthaveputitasidewithotherclothesthatweregoingtothecleaners.It’stakenmequitealongtimetofindit.Hereitis.I’lldoitupforyouinbrownpaper.’
Disclaimingtheirprotestsshedidso;thenoncemoreeffusivelybiddingherfarewelltheEcclesesdeparted.
Bunchwentslowlybackacrossthehallandenteredthestudy.TheReverendJulianHarmonlookedupandhisbrowcleared.Hewascomposingasermonandwasfearingthathe’dbeenledastraybytheinterestofthepoliticalrelationsbetweenJudaeaandPersia,inthereignofCyrus.
‘Yes,dear?’hesaidhopefully.
‘Julian,’saidBunch.‘What’sSanctuaryexactly?’
JulianHarmongratefullyputasidehissermonpaper.
‘Well,’hesaid.‘SanctuaryinRomanandGreektemplesappliedtothecellainwhichstoodthestatueofagod.TheLatinwordforaltar“ara”alsomeansprotection.’Hecontinuedlearnedly:‘Inthreehundredandninety-nineA.D.therightofsanctuaryinChristianchurcheswasfinallyanddefinitelyrecognized.TheearliestmentionoftherightofsanctuaryinEnglandisintheCodeofLawsissuedbyEthelbertinA.D.sixhundred…’
Hecontinuedforsometimewithhisexpositionbutwas,asoften,disconcertedbyhiswife’sreceptionofhiseruditepronouncement.
‘Darling,’shesaid.‘Youaresweet.’
Bendingover,shekissedhimonthetipofhisnose.Julianfeltratherlikeadogwhohasbeencongratulatedonperformingaclevertrick.
‘TheEccleseshavebeenhere,’saidBunch.
Thevicarfrowned.‘TheEccleses?Idon’tseemtoremember…’
‘Youdon’tknowthem.They’rethesisterandherhusbandofthemaninthechurch.’
‘Mydear,yououghttohavecalledme.’
‘Therewasn’tanyneed,’saidBunch.‘Theywerenotinneedofconsolation.Iwondernow…’Shefrowned.‘IfIputacasseroleintheoventomorrow,canyoumanage,Julian?IthinkIshallgouptoLondonforthesales.’
‘Thesails?’Herhusbandlookedatherblankly.‘Doyoumeanayachtoraboatorsomething?’
Bunchlaughed.‘No,darling.There’saspecialwhitesaleatBurrowsandPortman’s.Youknow,sheets,tableclothsandtowelsandglass-cloths.Idon’tknowwhatwedowithourglass-cloths,thewaytheywearthrough.Besides,’sheaddedthoughtfully,‘IthinkIoughttogoandseeAuntJane.’
II
Thatsweetoldlady,MissJaneMarple,wasenjoyingthedelightsofthemetropolisforafortnight,comfortablyinstalledinhernephew’sstudioflat.
‘SokindofdearRaymond,’shemurmured.‘HeandJoanhavegonetoAmericaforafortnightandtheyinsistedIshouldcomeuphereandenjoymyself.Andnow,dearBunch,dotellmewhatitisthat’sworryingyou.’
BunchwasMissMarple’sfavouritegodchild,andtheoldladylookedatherwithgreataffectionasBunch,thrustingherbestfelthatfartheronthebackofherhead,startedherstory.
Bunch’srecitalwasconciseandclear.MissMarplenoddedherheadasBunchfinished.‘Isee,’shesaid.‘Yes,Isee.’
‘That’swhyIfeltIhadtoseeyou,’saidBunch.‘Yousee,notbeingclever—’
‘Butyouareclever,mydear.’
‘No,I’mnot.NotcleverlikeJulian.’
‘Julian,ofcourse,hasaverysolidintellect,’saidMissMarple.
‘That’sit,’saidBunch.‘Julian’sgottheintellect,butontheotherhand,I’vegotthesense.’
‘Youhavealotofcommonsense,Bunch,andyou’reveryintelligent.’
‘Yousee,Idon’treallyknowwhatIoughttodo.Ican’taskJulianbecause—well,Imean,Julian’ssofullofrectitude…’
ThisstatementappearedtobeperfectlyunderstoodbyMissMarple,whosaid,‘Iknowwhatyoumean,dear.Wewomen—well,it’sdifferent.’Shewenton.‘Youtoldmewhathappened,Bunch,butI’dliketoknowfirstexactlywhatyouthink.’
‘It’sallwrong,’saidBunch.‘Themanwhowasthereinthechurch,dying,knewallaboutSanctuary.HesaiditjustthewayJulianwouldhavesaidit.Imean,hewasawell-read,educatedman.Andifhe’dshothimself,hewouldn’tdraghimselftoachurchafterwardsandsay“sanctuary”.Sanctuarymeansthatyou’repursued,andwhenyougetintoachurchyou’resafe.Yourpursuerscan’ttouchyou.Atonetimeeventhelawcouldn’tgetatyou.’
ShelookedquestioninglyatMissMarple.Thelatternodded.Bunchwenton,‘Thosepeople,theEccleses,werequitedifferent.Ignorantandcoarse.Andthere’sanotherthing.Thatwatch—thedeadman’swatch.IthadtheinitialsW.S.onthebackofit.Butinside—Iopenedit—inverysmallletteringtherewas“ToWalterfromhisfather”andadate.Walter.ButtheEccleseskepttalkingofhimasWilliamorBill.’
MissMarpleseemedabouttospeakbutBunchrushedon.‘Oh,Iknowyou’renotalwayscalledthenameyou’rebaptizedby.Imean,IcanunderstandthatyoumightbechristenedWilliamandcalled“Porgy”or“Carrots”orsomething.Butyoursisterwouldn’tcallyouWilliamorBillifyournamewasWalter.’
‘Youmeanthatshewasn’thissister?’
‘I’mquitesureshewasn’thissister.Theywerehorrid—bothofthem.Theycametothevicaragetogethisthingsandtofindoutifhe’dsaidanythingbeforehedied.WhenIsaidhehadn’tIsawitintheirfaces—relief.Ithinkmyself,’finishedBunch,‘itwasEccleswhoshothim.’
‘Murder?’saidMissMarple.
‘Yes,’saidBunch.‘Murder.That’swhyIcametoyou,darling.’
Bunch’sremarkmighthaveseemedincongruoustoanignorantlistener,butincertainspheresMissMarplehadareputationfordealingwithmurder.
‘Hesaid“please”tomebeforehedied,’saidBunch.‘Hewantedmetodosomethingforhim.TheawfulthingisI’venoideawhat.’
MissMarpleconsideredforamomentortwo,andthenpouncedonthepointthathadalreadyoccurredtoBunch.‘Butwhywashethereatall?’sheasked.
‘Youmean,’saidBunch,‘ifyouwantedsanctuaryyoumightpopintoachurchanywhere.There’snoneedtotakeabusthatonlygoesfourtimesadayandcomeouttoalonelyspotlikeoursforit.’
‘Hemusthavecomethereforapurpose,’MissMarplethought.‘Hemusthavecometoseesomeone.ChippingCleghorn’snotabigplace,Bunch.Surelyyoumusthavesomeideaofwhoitwashecametosee?’
Bunchreviewedtheinhabitantsofhervillageinhermindbeforeratherdoubtfullyshakingherhead.‘Inaway,’shesaid,‘itcouldbeanybody.’
‘Henevermentionedaname?’
‘HesaidJulian,orIthoughthesaidJulian.ItmighthavebeenJulia,Isuppose.AsfarasIknow,thereisn’tanyJulialivinginChippingCleghorn.’
Shescreweduphereyesasshethoughtbacktothescene.Themanlyingthereonthechancelsteps,thelightcomingthroughthewindowwithitsjewelsofredandbluelight.
‘Jewels,’saidMissMarplethoughtfully.
‘I’mcomingnow,’saidBunch,‘tothemostimportantthingofall.ThereasonwhyI’vereallycomeheretoday.Yousee,theEcclesesmadeagreatfussabouthavinghiscoat.Wetookitoffwhenthedoctorwasseeinghim.Itwasanold,shabbysortofcoat—therewasnoreasontheyshouldhavewantedit.Theypretendeditwassentimental,butthatwasnonsense.
‘Anyway,Iwentuptofindit,andasIwasjustgoingupthestairsIrememberedhowhe’dmadeakindofpickinggesturewithhishand,asthoughhewasfumblingwiththecoat.SowhenIgotholdofthecoatIlookedatitverycarefullyandIsawthatinoneplacethelininghadbeensewnupagainwithadifferentthread.SoIunpickeditandIfoundalittlepieceofpaperinside.ItookitoutandIseweditupagainproperlywiththreadthatmatched.IwascarefulandIdon’treallythinkthattheEccleseswouldknowI’vedoneit.Idon’tthinkso,butIcan’tbesure.AndItookthecoatdowntothemandmadesomeexcuseforthedelay.’
‘Thepieceofpaper?’askedMissMarple.
Bunchopenedherhandbag.‘Ididn’tshowittoJulian,’shesaid,‘becausehewouldhavesaidthatIoughttohavegivenittotheEccleses.ButIthoughtI’dratherbringittoyouinstead.’
‘Acloakroomticket,’saidMissMarple,lookingatit.‘PaddingtonStation.’
‘HehadareturntickettoPaddingtoninhispocket,’saidBunch.
Theeyesofthetwowomenmet.
‘Thiscallsforaction,’saidMissMarplebriskly.‘Butitwouldbeadvisable,Ithink,tobecareful.Wouldyouhavenoticedatall,Bunchdear,whetheryouwerefollowedwhenyoucametoLondontoday?’
‘Followed!’exclaimedBunch.‘Youdon’tthink—’
‘Well,Ithinkit’spossible,’saidMissMarple.‘Whenanythingispossible,Ithinkweoughttotakeprecautions.’Sherosewithabriskmovement.‘Youcameuphereostensibly,mydear,togotothesales.Ithinktherightthingtodo,therefore,wouldbeforustogotothesales.Butbeforewesetout,wemightputoneortwolittlearrangementsinhand.Idon’tsuppose,’MissMarpleaddedobscurely,‘thatIshallneedtheoldspeckledtweedwiththebeavercollarjustatpresent.’
Itwasaboutanhourandahalflaterthatthetwoladies,rathertheworseforwearandbatteredinappearance,andbothclaspingparcelsofhardly-wonhouseholdlinen,satdownatasmallandsequesteredhostelrycalledtheAppleBoughtorestoretheirforceswithsteakandkidneypuddingfollowedbyappletartandcustard.
‘Reallyaprewarqualityfacetowel,’gaspedMissMarple,slightlyoutofbreath.‘WithaJonit,too.SofortunatethatRaymond’swife’snameisJoan.IshallputthemasideuntilIreallyneedthemandthentheywilldoforherifIpassonsoonerthanIexpect.’
‘Ireallydidneedtheglass-cloths,’saidBunch.‘Andtheywereverycheap,thoughnotascheapastheonesthatwomanwiththegingerhairmanagedtosnatchfromme.’
AsmartyoungwomanwithalavishapplicationofrougeandlipstickenteredtheAppleBoughatthatmoment.Afterlookingaroundvaguelyforamomentortwo,shehurriedtotheirtable.ShelaiddownanenvelopebyMissMarple’selbow.
‘Thereyouare,miss,’shesaidbriskly.
‘Oh,thankyou,Gladys,’saidMissMarple.‘Thankyouverymuch.Sokindofyou.’
‘Alwayspleasedtooblige,I’msure,’saidGladys.‘Erniealwayssaystome,“Everythingwhat’sgoodyoulearnedfromthatMissMarpleofyoursthatyouwereinservicewith,”andI’msureI’malwaysgladtoobligeyou,miss.’
‘Suchadeargirl,’saidMissMarpleasGladysdepartedagain.‘Alwayssowillingandsokind.’
ShelookedinsidetheenvelopeandthenpasseditontoBunch.‘Nowbeverycareful,dear,’shesaid.‘Bytheway,istherestillthatniceyounginspectoratMelchesterthatIremember?’
‘Idon’tknow,’saidBunch.‘Iexpectso.’
‘Well,ifnot,’saidMissMarplethoughtfully.‘IcanalwaysringuptheChiefConstable.Ithinkhewouldrememberme.’
‘Ofcoursehe’drememberyou,’saidBunch.‘Everybodywouldrememberyou.You’requiteunique.’Sherose.
ArrivedatPaddington,Bunchwenttotheluggageofficeandproducedthecloakroomticket.Amomentortwolaterarathershabbyoldsuitcasewaspassedacrosstoher,andcarryingthisshemadeherwaytotheplatform.
Thejourneyhomewasuneventful.BunchroseasthetrainapproachedChippingCleghornandpickeduptheoldsuitcase.Shehadjustlefthercarriagewhenaman,sprintingalongtheplatform,suddenlyseizedthesuitcasefromherhandandrushedoffwithit.
‘Stop!’Bunchyelled.‘Stophim,stophim.He’stakenmysuitcase.’
Theticketcollectorwho,atthisruralstation,wasamanofsomewhatslowprocesses,hadjustbeguntosay,‘Now,lookhere,youcan’tdothat—’whenasmartblowonthechestpushedhimaside,andthemanwiththesuitcaserushedoutfromthestation.Hemadehiswaytowardsawaitingcar.Tossingthesuitcasein,hewasabouttoclimbafterit,butbeforehecouldmoveahandfellonhisshoulder,andthevoiceofPoliceConstableAbelsaid,‘Nowthen,what’sallthis?’
Buncharrived,panting,fromthestation.‘Hesnatchedmysuitcase.Ijustgotoutofthetrainwithit.’
‘Nonsense,’saidtheman.‘Idon’tknowwhatthisladymeans.It’smysuitcase.Ijustgotoutofthetrainwithit.’
HelookedatBunchwithabovineandimpartialstare.NobodywouldhaveguessedthatPoliceConstableAbelandMrsHarmonspentlonghalf-hoursinPoliceConstableAbel’soff-timediscussingtherespectivemeritsofmanureandbonemealforrosebushes.
‘Yousay,madam,thatthisisyoursuitcase?’saidPoliceConstableAbel.
‘Yes,’saidBunch.‘Definitely.’
‘Andyou,sir?’
‘Isaythissuitcaseismine.’
Themanwastall,darkandwelldressed,withadrawlingvoiceandasuperiormanner.Afemininevoicefrominsidethecarsaid,‘Ofcourseit’syoursuitcase,Edwin.Idon’tknowwhatthiswomanmeans.’
‘We’llhavetogetthisclear,’saidPoliceConstableAbel.‘Ifit’syoursuitcase,madam,whatdoyousayisinsideit?’
‘Clothes,’saidBunch.‘Alongspeckledcoatwithabeavercollar,twowooljumpersandapairofshoes.’
‘Well,that’sclearenough,’saidPoliceConstableAbel.Heturnedtotheother.
‘Iamatheatricalcostumer,’saidthedarkmanimportantly.‘ThissuitcasecontainstheatricalpropertieswhichIbroughtdownhereforanamateurperformance.’
‘Right,sir,’saidPoliceConstableAbel.‘Well,we’lljustlookinside,shallwe,andsee?Wecangoalongtothepolicestation,orifyou’reinahurrywe’lltakethesuitcasebacktothestationandopenitthere.’
‘It’llsuitme,’saidthedarkman.‘MynameisMoss,bytheway,EdwinMoss.’
Thepoliceconstable,holdingthesuitcase,wentbackintothestation.‘Justtakingthisintotheparcelsoffice,George,’hesaidtotheticketcollector.
PoliceConstableAbellaidthesuitcaseonthecounteroftheparcelsofficeandpushedbacktheclasp.Thecasewasnotlocked.BunchandMrEdwinMossstoodoneithersideofhim,theireyesregardingeachothervengefully.
‘Ah!’saidPoliceConstableAbel,ashepushedupthelid.
Inside,neatlyfolded,wasalongrathershabbytweedcoatwithabeaverfurcollar.Therewerealsotwowooljumpersandapairofcountryshoes.
‘Exactlyasyousay,madam,’saidPoliceConstableAbel,turningtoBunch.
NobodycouldhavesaidthatMrEdwinMossunder-didthings.Hisdismayandcompunctionweremagnificent.
‘Idoapologize,’hesaid.‘Ireallydoapologize.Pleasebelieveme,dearlady,whenItellyouhowvery,verysorryIam.Unpardonable—quiteunpardonable—mybehaviourhasbeen.’Helookedathiswatch.‘Imustrushnow.Probablymysuitcasehasgoneonthetrain.’Raisinghishatoncemore,hesaidmeltinglytoBunch,‘Do,doforgiveme,’andrushedhurriedlyoutoftheparcelsoffice.
‘Areyougoingtolethimgetaway?’askedBunchinaconspiratorialwhispertoPoliceConstableAbel.
Thelatterslowlyclosedabovineeyeinawink.
‘Hewon’tgettoofar,ma’am,’hesaid.‘That’stosayhewon’tgetfarunobserved,ifyoutakemymeaning.’
‘Oh,’saidBunch,relieved.
‘Thatoldlady’sbeenonthephone,’saidPoliceConstableAbel,‘theoneaswasdownhereafewyearsago.Brightsheis,isn’tshe?Butthere’sbeenalotcookingupalltoday.Shouldn’twonderiftheinspectororsergeantwasouttoseeyouaboutittomorrowmorning.’
III
Itwastheinspectorwhocame,theInspectorCraddockwhomMissMarpleremembered.HegreetedBunchwithasmileasanoldfriend.
‘CrimeinChippingCleghornagain,’hesaidcheerfully.‘Youdon’tlackforsensationhere,doyou,MrsHarmon?’
‘Icoulddowithratherless,’saidBunch.‘Haveyoucometoaskmequestionsorareyougoingtotellmethingsforachange?’
‘I’lltellyousomethingsfirst,’saidtheinspector.‘Tobeginwith,MrandMrsEccleshavebeenhavinganeyekeptonthemforsometime.There’sreasontobelievethey’vebeenconnectedwithseveralrobberiesinthispartoftheworld.Foranotherthing,althoughMrsEccleshasabrothercalledSandbournewhohasrecentlycomebackfromabroad,themanyoufounddyinginthechurchyesterdaywasdefinitelynotSandbourne.’
‘Iknewthathewasn’t,’saidBunch.‘HisnamewasWalter,tobeginwith,notWilliam.’
Theinspectornodded.‘HisnamewasWalterStJohn,andheescapedforty-eighthoursagofromCharringtonPrison.’
‘Ofcourse,’saidBunchsoftlytoherself,‘hewasbeinghunteddownbythelaw,andhetooksanctuary.’Thensheasked,‘Whathadhedone?’
‘I’llhavetogobackratheralongway.It’sacomplicatedstory.Severalyearsagotherewasacertaindancerdoingturnsatthemusichalls.Idon’texpectyou’llhaveeverheardofher,butshespecializedinanArabianNightturn,“AladdinintheCaveofJewels”itwascalled.Sheworebitsofrhinestoneandnotmuchelse.
‘Shewasn’tmuchofadancer,Ibelieve,butshewas—well—attractive.Anyway,acertainAsiaticroyaltyfellforherinabigway.Amongstotherthingshegaveheraverymagnificentemeraldnecklace.’
‘ThehistoricjewelsofaRajah?’murmuredBunchecstatically.
InspectorCraddockcoughed.‘Well,arathermoremodernversion,MrsHarmon.Theaffairdidn’tlastverylong,brokeupwhenourpotentate’sattentionwascapturedbyacertainfilmstarwhosedemandswerenotquitesomodest.
‘Zobeida,togivethedancerherstagename,hungontothenecklace,andinduecourseitwasstolen.Itdisappearedfromherdressing-roomatthetheatre,andtherewasalingeringsuspicioninthemindsoftheauthoritiesthatsheherselfmighthaveengineereditsdisappearance.Suchthingshavebeenknownasapublicitystunt,orindeedfrommoredishonestmotives.
‘Thenecklacewasneverrecovered,butduringthecourseoftheinvestigationtheattentionofthepolicewasdrawntothisman,WalterStJohn.Hewasamanofeducationandbreedingwhohadcomedownintheworld,andwhowasemployedasaworkingjewellerwitharatherobscurefirmwhichwassuspectedofactingasafenceforjewelrobberies.
‘Therewasevidencethatthisnecklacehadpassedthroughhishands.Itwas,however,inconnectionwiththetheftofsomeotherjewellerythathewasfinallybroughttotrialandconvictedandsenttoprison.Hehadnotverymuchlongertoserve,sohisescapewasratherasurprise.’
‘Butwhydidhecomehere?’askedBunch.
‘We’dliketoknowthatverymuch,MrsHarmon.Followinguphistrial,itseemsthathewentfirsttoLondon.Hedidn’tvisitanyofhisoldassociatesbuthevisitedanelderlywoman,aMrsJacobswhohadformerlybeenatheatricaldresser.Shewon’tsayawordofwhathecamefor,butaccordingtootherlodgersinthehouseheleftcarryingasuitcase.’
‘Isee,’saidBunch.‘HeleftitinthecloakroomatPaddingtonandthenhecamedownhere.’
‘Bythattime,’saidInspectorCraddock,‘EcclesandthemanwhocallshimselfEdwinMosswereonhistrail.Theywantedthatsuitcase.Theysawhimgetonthebus.Theymusthavedrivenoutinacaraheadofhimandbeenwaitingforhimwhenheleftthebus.’
‘Andhewasmurdered?’saidBunch.
‘Yes,’saidCraddock.‘Hewasshot.ItwasEccles’srevolver,butIratherfancyitwasMosswhodidtheshooting.Now,MrsHarmon,whatwewanttoknowis,whereisthesuitcasethatWalterStJohnactuallydepositedatPaddingtonStation?’
Bunchgrinned.‘IexpectAuntJane’sgotitbynow,’shesaid.‘MissMarple,Imean.Thatwasherplan.ShesentaformermaidofherswithasuitcasepackedwithherthingstothecloakroomatPaddingtonandweexchangedtickets.Icollectedhersuitcaseandbroughtitdownbytrain.Sheseemedtoexpectthatanattemptwouldbemadetogetitfromme.’
ItwasInspectorCraddock’sturntogrin.‘Soshesaidwhensherangup.I’mdrivinguptoLondontoseeher.Doyouwanttocome,too,MrsHarmon?’
‘Wel-l,’saidBunch,considering.‘Wel-l,asamatteroffact,it’sveryfortunate.IhadatoothachelastnightsoIreallyoughttogotoLondontoseethedentist,oughtn’tI?’
‘Definitely,’saidInspectorCraddock…
MissMarplelookedfromInspectorCraddock’sfacetotheeagerfaceofBunchHarmon.Thesuitcaselayonthetable.‘Ofcourse,Ihaven’topenedit,’theoldladysaid.‘Iwouldn’tdreamofdoingsuchathingtillsomebodyofficialarrived.Besides,’sheadded,withademurelymischievousVictoriansmile,‘it’slocked.’
‘Liketomakeaguessatwhat’sinside,MissMarple?’askedtheinspector.
‘Ishouldimagine,youknow,’saidMissMarple,‘thatitwouldbeZobeida’stheatricalcostumes.Wouldyoulikeachisel,Inspector?’
Thechiselsoondiditswork.Bothwomengaveaslightgaspasthelidflewup.Thesunlightcomingthroughthewindowlitupwhatseemedlikeaninexhaustibletreasureofsparklingjewels,red,blue,green,orange.
‘Aladdin’sCave,’saidMissMarple.‘Theflashingjewelsthegirlworetodance.’
‘Ah,’saidInspectorCraddock.‘Now,what’ssopreciousaboutit,doyouthink,thatamanwasmurderedtogetholdofit?’
‘Shewasashrewdgirl,Iexpect,’saidMissMarplethoughtfully.‘She’sdead,isn’tshe,Inspector?’
‘Yes,diedthreeyearsago.’
‘Shehadthisvaluableemeraldnecklace,’saidMissMarple,musingly.‘Hadthestonestakenoutoftheirsettingandfastenedhereandthereonhertheatricalcostume,whereeveryonewouldtakethemformerelycolouredrhinestones.Thenshehadareplicamadeoftherealnecklace,andthat,ofcourse,waswhatwasstolen.Nowonderitnevercameonthemarket.Thethiefsoondiscoveredthestoneswerefalse.’
‘Hereisanenvelope,’saidBunch,pullingasidesomeoftheglitteringstones.
InspectorCraddocktookitfromherandextractedtwoofficial-lookingpapersfromit.Hereadaloud,‘“MarriageCertificatebetweenWalterEdmundStJohnandMaryMoss.”ThatwasZobeida’srealname.’
‘Sotheyweremarried,’saidMissMarple.‘Isee.’
‘What’stheother?’askedBunch.
‘Abirthcertificateofadaughter,Jewel.’
‘Jewel?’criedBunch.‘Why,ofcourse.Jewel!Jill!That’sit.IseenowwhyhecametoChippingCleghorn.That’swhathewastryingtosaytome.Jewel.TheMundys,youknow.LaburnumCottage.Theylookafteralittlegirlforsomeone.They’redevotedtoher.She’sbeenliketheirowngranddaughter.Yes,Iremembernow,hernamewasJewel,only,ofcourse,theycallherJill.
‘MrsMundyhadastrokeaboutaweekago,andtheoldman’sbeenveryillwithpneumonia.Theywerebothgoingtogototheinfirmary.I’vebeentryinghardtofindagoodhomeforJillsomewhere.Ididn’twanthertakenawaytoaninstitution.
‘Isupposeherfatherheardaboutitinprisonandhemanagedtobreakawayandgetholdofthissuitcasefromtheolddresserheorhiswifeleftitwith.Isupposeifthejewelsreallybelongedtohermother,theycanbeusedforthechildnow.’
‘Ishouldimagineso,MrsHarmon.Ifthey’rehere.’
‘Oh,they’llbehereallright,’saidMissMarplecheerfully…
IV
‘Thankgoodnessyou’reback,dear,’saidtheReverendJulianHarmon,greetinghiswifewithaffectionandasighofcontent.‘MrsBurtalwaystriestodoherbestwhenyou’reaway,butshereallygavemesomeverypeculiarfish-cakesforlunch.Ididn’twanttohurtherfeelingssoIgavethemtoTiglathPileser,butevenhewouldn’teatthemsoIhadtothrowthemoutofthewindow.’
‘TiglathPileser,’saidBunch,strokingthevicaragecat,whowaspurringagainstherknee,‘isveryparticularaboutwhatfishheeats.Ioftentellhimhe’sgotaproudstomach!’
‘Andyourtooth,dear?Didyouhaveitseento?’
‘Yes,’saidBunch.‘Itdidn’thurtmuch,andIwenttoseeAuntJaneagain,too…’
‘Dearoldthing,’saidJulian.‘Ihopeshe’snotfailingatall.’
‘Notintheleast,’saidBunch,withagrin.
ThefollowingmorningBunchtookafreshsupplyofchrysanthemumstothechurch.Thesunwasoncemorepouringthroughtheeastwindow,andBunchstoodinthejewelledlightonthechancelsteps.Shesaidverysoftlyunderherbreath,‘Yourlittlegirlwillbeallright.I’llseethatsheis.Ipromise.’
Thenshetidiedupthechurch,slippedintoapewandkneltforafewmomentstosayherprayersbeforereturningtothevicaragetoattackthepiled-upchoresoftwoneglecteddays.
StrangeJest
I
‘Andthis,’saidJaneHelier,completingherintroductions,‘isMissMarple!’
Beinganactress,shewasabletomakeherpoint.Itwasclearlytheclimax,thetriumphantfinale!Hertonewasequallycompoundedofreverentaweandtriumph.
Theoddpartofitwasthattheobjectthusproudlyproclaimedwasmerelyagentle,fussy-looking,elderlyspinster.Intheeyesofthetwoyoungpeoplewhohadjust,byJane’sgoodoffices,madeheracquaintance,thereshowedincredulityandatingeofdismay.Theywerenice-lookingpeople;thegirl,CharmianStroud,slimanddark—theman,Edward
Charmiansaidalittlebreathlessly.‘Oh!We’reawfullypleasedtomeetyou.’Buttherewasdoubtinhereyes.Sheflungaquick,questioningglanceatJaneHelier.
‘Darling,’saidJane,answeringtheglance,‘she’sabsolutelymarvellous.Leaveitalltoher.ItoldyouI’dgetherhereandIhave.’SheaddedtoMissMarple,‘You’llfixitforthem,Iknow.Itwillbeeasyforyou.’
MissMarpleturnedherplacid,china-blueeyestowardsMrRossiter.‘Won’tyoutellme,’shesaid,‘whatallthisisabout?’
‘Jane’safriendofours,’Charmianbrokeinimpatiently.‘EdwardandIareinratherafix.Janesaidifwewouldcometoherparty,she’dintroduceustosomeonewhowas—whowould—whocould—’
Edwardcametotherescue.‘Janetellsusyou’rethelastwordinsleuths,MissMarple!’
Theoldlady’seyestwinkled,butsheprotestedmodestly.‘Oh,no,no!Nothingofthekind.It’sjustthatlivinginavillageasIdo,onegetstoknowsomuchabouthumannature.Butreallyyouhavemademequitecurious.Dotellmeyourproblem.’
‘I’mafraidit’sterriblyhackneyed—justburiedtreasure,’saidEdward.
‘Indeed?Butthatsoundsmostexciting!’
‘Iknow.LikeTreasureIsland.Butourproblemlackstheusualromantictouches.Nopointonachartindicatedbyaskullandcrossbones,nodirectionslike“fourpacestotheleft,westbynorth”.It’shorriblyprosaic—justwhereweoughttodig.’
‘Haveyoutriedatall?’
‘Ishouldsaywe’ddugabouttwosolidsquareacres!Thewholeplaceisreadytobeturnedintoamarketgarden.We’rejustdiscussingwhethertogrowvegetablemarrowsorpotatoes.’
Charmiansaidratherabruptly,‘Maywereallytellyouallaboutit?’
‘But,ofcourse,mydear.’
‘Thenlet’sfindapeacefulspot.Comeon,Edward.’Sheledthewayoutoftheovercrowdedandsmoke-ladenroom,andtheywentupthestairs,toasmallsitting-roomonthesecondfloor.
Whentheywereseated,Charmianbeganabruptly.‘Well,heregoes!ThestorystartswithUncleMathew,uncle—orrather,great-great-uncle—tobothofus.Hewasincrediblyancient.EdwardandIwerehisonlyrelations.Hewasfondofusandalwaysdeclaredthatwhenhediedhewouldleavehismoneybetweenus.Well,hediedlastMarchandlefteverythinghehadtobedividedequallybetweenEdwardandmyself.WhatI’vejustsaidsoundsrathercallous—Idon’tmeanthatitwasrightthathedied—actuallywewereveryfondofhim.Buthe’dbeenillforsometime.
‘Thepointisthatthe“everything”heleftturnedouttobepracticallynothingatall.Andthat,frankly,wasabitofablowtousboth,wasn’tit,Edward?’
TheamiableEdwardagreed.‘Yousee,’hesaid,‘we’dcountedonitabit.Imean,whenyouknowagoodbitofmoneyiscomingtoyou,youdon’t—well—buckledownandtrytomakeityourself.I’minthearmy—notgotanythingtospeakofoutsidemypay—andCharmianherselfhasn’tgotabean.Sheworksasastagemanagerinarepertorytheatre—quiteinteresting,andsheenjoysit—butnomoneyinit.We’dcountedongettingmarried,butweren’tworriedaboutthemoneysideofitbecausewebothknewwe’dbejollywelloffsomeday.’
‘Andnow,yousee,we’renot!’saidCharmian.‘What’smore,Ansteys—that’sthefamilyplace,andEdwardandIbothloveit—willprobablyhavetobesold.AndEdwardandIfeelwejustcan’tbearthat!Butifwedon’tfindUncleMathew’smoney,weshallhavetosell.’
Edwardsaid,‘Youknow,Charmian,westillhaven’tcometothevitalpoint.’
‘Well,youtalk,then.’
EdwardturnedtoMissMarple.‘It’slikethis,yousee.AsUncleMathewgrewolder,hegotmoreandmoresuspicious.Hedidn’ttrustanybody.’
‘Verywiseofhim,’saidMissMarple.‘Thedepravityofhumannatureisunbelievable.’
‘Well,youmayberight.Anyway,UncleMathewthoughtso.Hehadafriendwholosthismoneyinabank,andanotherfriendwhowasruinedbyanabscondingsolicitor,andhelostsomemoneyhimselfinafraudulentcompany.Hegotsothatheusedtoholdforthatgreatlengththattheonlysafeandsanethingtodowastoconvertyourmoneyintosolidbullionandburyit.’
‘Ah,’saidMissMarple.‘Ibegintosee.’
‘Yes.Friendsarguedwithhim,pointedoutthathe’dgetnointerestthatway,butheheldthatthatdidn’treallymatter.Thebulkofyourmoney,hesaid,shouldbe“keptinaboxunderthebedorburiedinthegarden”.Thosewerehiswords.’
Charmianwenton.‘Andwhenhedied,helefthardlyanythingatallinsecurities,thoughhewasveryrich.Sowethinkthatthat’swhathemusthavedone.’
Edwardexplained.‘Wefoundthathehadsoldsecuritiesanddrawnoutlargesumsofmoneyfromtimetotime,andnobodyknowswhathedidwiththem.Butitseemsprobablethatheliveduptohisprinciples,andthathedidbuygoldandburyit.’
‘Hedidn’tsayanythingbeforehedied?Leaveanypaper?Noletter?’
‘That’sthemaddeningpartofit.Hedidn’t.He’dbeenunconsciousforsomedays,butheralliedbeforehedied.Helookedatusbothandchuckled—afaint,weaklittlechuckle.Hesaid,“You’llbeallright,myprettypairofdoves.”Andthenhetappedhiseye—hisrighteye—andwinkedatus.Andthen—hedied.PooroldUncleMathew.’
‘Hetappedhiseye,’saidMissMarplethoughtfully.
Edwardsaideagerly.‘Doesthatconveyanythingtoyou?ItmademethinkofanArseneLupinstorywheretherewassomethinghiddeninaman’sglasseye.ButUncleMathewdidn’thaveaglasseye.’
MissMarpleshookherhead.‘No—Ican’tthinkofanythingatthemoment.’
Charmiansaiddisappointedly,‘Janetoldusyou’dsayatoncewheretodig!’
MissMarplesmiled.‘I’mnotquiteaconjurer,youknow.Ididn’tknowyouruncle,orwhatsortofmanhewas,andIdon’tknowthehouseorthegrounds.’
Charmiansaid,‘Ifyoudidknowthem?’
‘Well,itmustbequitesimple,really,mustn’tit?’saidMissMarple.
‘Simple!’saidCharmian.‘YoucomedowntoAnsteysandseeifit’ssimple!’
Itispossiblethatshedidnotmeantheinvitationtobetakenseriously,butMissMarplesaidbriskly,‘Well,really,mydear,that’sverykindofyou.I’vealwayswantedtohavethechanceoflookingforburiedtreasure.And,’sheadded,lookingatthemwithabeaming,late-Victoriansmile,‘withaloveinterest,too!’
II
‘Yousee!’saidCharmian,gesturingdramatically.
TheyhadjustcompletedagrandtourofAnsteys.Theyhadbeenroundthekitchengarden—heavilytrenched.Theyhadbeenthroughthelittlewoods,whereeveryimportanttreehadbeenduground,andhadgazedsadlyonthepittedsurfaceoftheoncesmoothlawn.Theyhadbeenuptotheattic,whereoldtrunksandchestshadbeenrifledoftheircontents.Theyhadbeendowntothecellars,whereflagstoneshadbeenheavedunwillinglyfromtheirsockets.Theyhadmeasuredandtappedwalls,andMissMarplehadbeenshowneveryantiquepieceoffurniturethatcontainedorcouldbesuspectedofcontainingasecretdrawer.
Onatableinthemorning-roomtherewasaheapofpapers—allthepapersthatthelateMathewStroudhadleft.Notonehadbeendestroyed,andCharmianandEdwardwerewonttoreturntothemagainandagain,earnestlyperusingbills,invitations,andbusinesscorrespondenceinthehopeofspottingahithertounnoticedclue.
‘Canyouthinkofanywherewehaven’tlooked?’demandedCharmianhopefully.
MissMarpleshookherhead.‘Youseemtohavebeenverythorough,mydear.Perhaps,ifImaysayso,justalittletoothorough.Ialwaysthink,youknow,thatoneshouldhaveaplan.It’slikemyfriend,MrsEldritch,shehadsuchanicelittlemaid,polishedlinoleumbeautifully,butshewassothoroughthatshepolishedthebathroomfloortoomuch,andasMrsEldritchwassteppingoutofthebaththecorkmatslippedfromunderher,andshehadaverynastyfallandactuallybrokeherleg!Mostawkward,becausethebathroomdoorwaslocked,ofcourse,andthegardenerhadtogetaladderandcomeinthroughthewindow—terriblydistressingtoMrsEldritch,whohadalwaysbeenaverymodestwoman.’
Edwardmovedrestlessly.
MissMarplesaidquickly,‘Pleaseforgiveme.Soapt,Iknow,toflyoffatatangent.Butonethingdoesremindoneofanother.Andsometimesthatishelpful.AllIwastryingtosaywasthatperhapsifwetriedtosharpenourwitsandthinkofalikelyplace—’
Edwardsaidcrossly,‘Youthinkofone,MissMarple.Charmian’sbrainsandminearenowonlybeautifulblanks!’
‘Dear,dear.Ofcourse—mosttiringforyou.Ifyoudon’tmindI’lljustlookthroughallthis.’Sheindicatedthepapersonthetable.‘Thatis,ifthere’snothingprivate—Idon’twanttoappeartopry.’
‘Oh,that’sallright.ButI’mafraidyouwon’tfindanything.’
Shesatdownbythetableandmethodicallyworkedthroughthesheafofdocuments.Asshereplacedeachone,shesortedthemautomaticallyintotidylittleheaps.Whenshehadfinishedshesatstaringinfrontofherforsomeminutes.
Edwardasked,notwithoutatouchofmalice,‘Well,MissMarple?’
MissMarplecametoherselfwithalittlestart.‘Ibegyourpardon.Mosthelpful.’
‘You’vefoundsomethingrelevant?’
‘Oh,no,nothinglikethat,butIdobelieveIknowwhatsortofmanyourUncleMathewwas.RatherlikemyownUncleHenry,Ithink.Fondofratherobviousjokes.Abachelor,evidently—Iwonderwhy—perhapsanearlydisappointment?Methodicaluptoapoint,butnotveryfondofbeingtiedup—sofewbachelorsare!’
BehindMissMarple’sback,CharmianmadeasigntoEdward.Itsaid,She’sga-ga
MissMarplewascontinuinghappilytotalkofherdeceasedUncleHenry.‘Veryfondofpuns,hewas.Andtosomepeople,punsaremostannoying.Amereplayuponwordsmaybeveryirritating.Hewasasuspiciousman,too.Alwayswasconvincedtheservantswererobbinghim.Andsometimes,ofcourse,theywere,butnotalways.Itgrewuponhim,poorman.Towardstheendhesuspectedthemoftamperingwithhisfood,andfinallyrefusedtoeatanythingbutboiledeggs!Saidnobodycouldtamperwiththeinsideofaboiledegg.DearUncleHenry,heusedtobesuchamerrysoulatonetime—veryfondofhiscoffeeafterdinner.Healwaysusedtosay,“ThiscoffeeisveryMoorish,”meaning,youknow,thathe’dlikealittlemore.’
EdwardfeltthatifheheardanymoreaboutUncleHenryhe’dgomad.
‘Fondofyoungpeople,too,’wentonMissMarple,‘butinclinedtoteasethemalittle,ifyouknowwhatImean.Usedtoputbagsofsweetswhereachildjustcouldn’treachthem.’
Castingpolitenessaside,Charmiansaid,‘Ithinkhesoundshorrible!’
‘Oh,no,dear,justanoldbachelor,youknow,andnotusedtochildren.Andhewasn’tatallstupid,really.Heusedtokeepagooddealofmoneyinthehouse,andhehadasafeputin.Madeagreatfussaboutit—andhowverysecureitwas.Asaresultofhistalkingsomuch,burglarsbrokeinonenightandactuallycutaholeinthesafewithachemicaldevice.’
‘Servedhimright,’saidEdward.
‘Oh,buttherewasnothinginthesafe,’saidMissMarple.‘Yousee,hereallykeptthemoneysomewhereelse—behindsomevolumesofsermonsinthelibrary,asamatteroffact.Hesaidpeoplenevertookabookofthatkindoutoftheshelf!’
Edwardinterruptedexcitedly.‘Isay,that’sanidea.Whataboutthelibrary?’
ButCharmianshookascornfulhead.‘DoyouthinkIhadn’tthoughtofthat?IwentthroughallthebooksTuesdayoflastweek,whenyouwentofftoPortsmouth.Tookthemallout,shookthem.Nothingthere.’
Edwardsighed.Then,rousinghimself,heendeavouredtoridhimselftactfullyoftheirdisappointingguest.‘It’sbeenawfullygoodofyoutocomedownasyouhaveandtrytohelpus.Sorryit’sbeenallawash-out.Feelwetrespassedalotonyourtime.However—I’llgetthecarout,andyou’llbeabletocatchthethree-thirty—’
‘Oh,’saidMissMarple,‘butwe’vegottofindthemoney,haven’twe?Youmustn’tgiveup,MrRossiter.“Ifatfirstyoudon’tsucceed,try,try,tryagain.”’
‘Youmeanyou’regoingto—goontrying?’
‘Strictlyspeaking,’saidMissMarple,‘Ihaven’tbegunyet.“Firstcatchyourhare—”asMrsBeatonsaysinhercookerybook—awonderfulbookbutterriblyexpensive;mostoftherecipesbegin,“Takeaquartofcreamandadozeneggs.”Letmesee,wherewasI?Oh,yes.Well,wehave,sotospeak,caughtourhare—theharebeing,ofcourse,yourUncleMathew,andwe’veonlygottodecidenowwherehewouldhavehiddenthemoney.Itoughttobequitesimple.’
‘Simple?’demandedCharmian.
‘Oh,yes,dear.I’msurehewouldhavedonetheobviousthing.Asecretdrawer—that’smysolution.’
Edwardsaiddryly,‘Youcouldn’tputbarsofgoldinasecretdrawer.’
‘No,no,ofcoursenot.Butthere’snoreasontobelievethemoneyisingold.’
‘Healwaysusedtosay—’
‘SodidmyUncleHenryabouthissafe!SoIshouldstronglysuspectthatthatwasjustablind.Diamonds—nowtheycouldbeinasecretdrawerquiteeasily.’
‘Butwe’velookedinallthesecretdrawers.Wehadacabinetmakerovertoexaminethefurniture.’
‘Didyou,dear?Thatwascleverofyou.Ishouldsuggestyouruncle’sowndeskwouldbethemostlikely.Wasitthetallescritoireagainstthewallthere?’
‘Yes.AndI’llshowyou.’Charmianwentovertoit.Shetookdowntheflap.Insidewerepigeonholesandlittledrawers.Sheopenedasmalldoorinthecentreandtouchedaspringinsidetheleft-handdrawer.Thebottomofthecentrerecessclickedandslidforward.Charmiandrewitout,revealingashallowwellbeneath.Itwasempty.
‘Nowisn’tthatacoincidence?’exclaimedMissMarple.‘UncleHenryhadadeskjustlikethis,onlyhiswasburrwalnutandthisismahogany.’
‘Atanyrate,’saidCharmian,‘there’snothingthere,asyoucansee.’
‘Iexpect,’saidMissMarple,‘yourcabinetmakerwasayoungman.Hedidn’tknoweverything.Peoplewereveryartfulwhentheymadehiding-placesinthosedays.There’ssuchathingasasecretinsideasecret.’
Sheextractedahairpinfromherneatbunofgreyhair.Straighteningitout,shestuckthepointintowhatappearedtobeatinywormholeinonesideofthesecretrecess.Withalittledifficultyshepulledoutasmalldrawer.Initwasabundleoffadedlettersandafoldedpaper.
EdwardandCharmianpouncedonthefindtogether.WithtremblingfingersEdwardunfoldedthepaper.Hedroppeditwithanexclamationofdisgust.
‘Adamnedcookeryrecipe.Bakedham!’
Charmianwasuntyingaribbonthatheldtheletterstogether.Shedrewoneoutandglancedatit.‘Loveletters!’
MissMarplereactedwithVictoriangusto.‘Howinteresting!Perhapsthereasonyourunclenevermarried.’
Charmianreadaloud:
‘“MyeverdearMathew,ImustconfessthatthetimeseemslongindeedsinceIreceivedyourlastletter.Itrytooccupymyselfwiththevarioustasksallottedtome,andoftensaytomyselfthatIamindeedfortunatetoseesomuchoftheglobe,thoughlittledidIthinkwhenIwenttoAmericathatIshouldvoyageofftothesefarislands!??’
Charmainbrokeoff.‘Whereisitfrom?Oh!Hawaii!’Shewenton:
‘“Alas,thesenativesarestillfarfromseeingthelight.Theyareinanunclothedandsavagestateandspendmostoftheirtimeswimminganddancing,adorningthemselveswithgarlandsofflowers.MrGrayhasmadesomeconvertsbutitisuphillwork,andheandMrsGraygetsadlydiscouraged.ItrytodoallIcantocheerandencouragehim,butI,too,amoftensadforareasonyoucanguess,dearMathew.Alas,absenceisaseveretrialforalovingheart.Yourrenewedvowsandprotestationsofaffectioncheeredmegreatly.Nowandalwaysyouhavemyfaithfulanddevotedheart,dearMathew,andIremain—Yourtruelove,BettyMartin.‘“PS—Iaddressmyletterundercovertoourmutualfriend,MatildaGraves,asusual.Ihopeheavenwillpardonthislittlesubterfuge.”’
Edwardwhistled.‘Afemalemissionary!SothatwasUncleMathew’sromance.Iwonderwhytheynevermarried?’
‘Sheseemstohavegoneallovertheworld,’saidCharmian,lookingthroughtheletters.‘Mauritius—allsortsofplaces.Probablydiedofyellowfeverorsomething.’
Agentlechucklemadethemstart.MissMarplewasapparentlymuchamused.‘Well,well,’shesaid.‘Fancythat,now!’
Shewasreadingtherecipeforbakedham.Seeingtheirenquiringglances,shereadout:‘“Bakedhamwithspinach.Takeanicepieceofgammon,stuffwithcloves,andcoverwithbrownsugar.Bakeinaslowoven.Servewithaborderofpureedspinach.”Whatdoyouthinkofthat,now?’
‘Ithinkitsoundsfilthy,’saidEdward.
‘No,no,actuallyitwouldbeverygood—butwhatdoyouthinkofthewholething?’
AsuddenrayoflightilluminatedEdward’sface.‘Doyouthinkit’sacode—cryptogramofsomekind?’Heseizedit.‘Lookhere,Charmian,itmightbe,youknow!Noreasontoputacooking-recipeinasecretdrawerotherwise.’
‘Exactly,’saidMissMarple.‘Very,verysignificant.’
Charmiansaid,‘Iknowwhatitmightbe—invisibleink!Let’sheatit.Turnontheelectricfire.’
Edwarddidso,butnosignsofwritingappearedunderthetreatment.
MissMarplecoughed.‘Ireallythink,youknow,thatyou’remakingitrathertoodifficult.Therecipeisonlyanindication,sotospeak.Itis,Ithink,thelettersthataresignificant.’
‘Theletters?’
‘Especially,’saidMissMarple,‘thesignature.’
ButEdwardhardlyheardher.Hecalledexcitedly,‘Charmian!Comehere!She’sright.See—theenvelopesareold,rightenough,butthelettersthemselveswerewrittenmuchlater.’
‘Exactly,’saidMissMarple.
‘They’reonlyfakeold.IbetanythingoldUncleMatfakedthemhimself—’
‘Precisely,’saidMissMarple.
‘Thewholething’sasell.Thereneverwasafemalemissionary.Itmustbeacode.’
‘Mydear,dearchildren—there’sreallynoneedtomakeitallsodifficult.Yourunclewasreallyaverysimpleman.Hehadtohavehislittlejoke,thatwasall.’
Forthefirsttimetheygavehertheirfullattention.
‘Justexactlywhatdoyoumean,MissMarple?’askedCharmian.
‘Imean,dear,thatyou’reactuallyholdingthemoneyinyourhandthisminute.’
Charmianstareddown.
‘Thesignature,dear.Thatgivesthewholethingaway.Therecipeisjustanindication.Shornofalltheclovesandbrownsugarandtherestofit,whatisitactually?Why,gammonandspinachtobesure!Gammonandspinach!Meaning—nonsense!Soit’sclearthatit’sthelettersthatareimportant.Andthen,ifyoutakeintoconsiderationwhatyouruncledidjustbeforehedied.Hetappedhiseye,yousaid.Well,thereyouare—thatgivesyoutheclue,yousee.’
Charmiansaid,‘Arewemad,orareyou?’
‘Surely,mydear,youmusthaveheardtheexpressionmeaningthatsomethingisnotatruepicture,orhasitquitediedoutnowadays?“AllmyeyeandBettyMartin.”’
Edwardgasped,hiseyesfallingtotheletterinhishand.‘BettyMartin—’
‘Ofcourse,MrRossiter.Asyouhavejustsaid,thereisn’t—therewasn’tanysuchperson.Theletterswerewrittenbyyouruncle,andIdaresayhegotalotoffunoutofwritingthem!Asyousay,thewritingontheenvelopesismucholder—infact,theenvelopecouldn’tbelongtotheletters,anyway,becausethepostmarkofoneyouareholdingiseighteenfifty-one.’
Shepaused.Shemadeitveryemphatic.‘Eighteenfifty-one.Andthatexplainseverything,doesn’tit?’
‘Nottome,’saidEdward.
‘Well,ofcourse,’saidMissMarple,‘Idaresayitwouldn’ttomeifitweren’tformygreat-nephewLionel.Suchadearlittleboyandapassionatestampcollector.Knowsallaboutstamps.Itwashewhotoldmeabouttherareandexpensivestampsandthatawonderfulnewfindhadcomeupforauction.AndIactuallyrememberhismentioningonestamp—aneighteenfifty-onebluetwo-cent.Itrealizedsomethingliketwenty-fivethousanddollars,Ibelieve.Fancy!Ishouldimaginethattheotherstampsaresomethingalsorareandexpensive.Nodoubtyouruncleboughtthroughdealersandwascarefulto“coverhistracks”,astheysayindetectivestories.’
Edwardgroaned.Hesatdownandburiedhisfaceinhishands.
‘What’sthematter?’demandedCharmian.
‘Nothing.It’sonlytheawfulthoughtthat,butforMissMarple,wemighthaveburnedtheselettersinadecent,gentlemanlyway!’
‘Ah,’saidMissMarple,‘that’sjustwhattheseoldgentlemenwhoarefondoftheirjokesneverrealize.UncleHenry,Iremember,sentafavouritenieceafive-poundnoteforaChristmaspresent.HeputitinaChristmascard,gummedthecardtogether,andwroteonit,“Loveandbestwishes.AfraidthisisallIcanmanagethisyear.”’
‘She,poorgirl,wasannoyedatwhatshethoughtwashismeannessandthrewitallstraightintothefire;then,ofcourse,hehadtogiveheranother.’
Edward’sfeelingstowardsUncleHenryhadsufferedanabruptandcompletechange.
‘MissMarple,’hesaid,‘I’mgoingtogetabottleofchampagne.We’llalldrinkthehealthofyourUncleHenry.’
Tape-MeasureMurder
I
MissPolitttookholdoftheknockerandrappedpolitelyonthecottagedoor.Afteradiscreetintervalsheknockedagain.Theparcelunderherleftarmshiftedalittleasshedidso,andshereadjustedit.InsidetheparcelwasMrsSpenlow’snewgreenwinterdress,readyforfitting.FromMissPolitt’slefthanddangledabagofblacksilk,containingatapemeasure,apincushion,andalarge,practicalpairofscissors.
MissPolittwastallandgaunt,withasharpnose,pursedlips,andmeagreiron-greyhair.Shehesitatedbeforeusingtheknockerforthethirdtime.Glancingdownthestreet,shesawafigurerapidlyapproaching.MissHartnell,jolly,weather-beaten,fifty-five,shoutedoutinherusualloudbassvoice,‘Goodafternoon,MissPolitt!’
Thedressmakeranswered,‘Goodafternoon,MissHartnell.’Hervoicewasexcessivelythinandgenteelinitsaccents.Shehadstartedlifeasalady’smaid.‘Excuseme,’shewenton,‘butdoyouhappentoknowifbyanychanceMrsSpenlowisn’tathome?’
‘Nottheleastidea,’saidMissHartnell.
‘It’sratherawkward,yousee.IwastofitonMrsSpenlow’snewdressthisafternoon.Three-thirty,shesaid.’
MissHartnellconsultedherwristwatch.‘It’salittlepastthehalf-hournow.’
‘Yes.Ihaveknockedthreetimes,buttheredoesn’tseemtobeanyanswer,soIwaswonderingifperhapsMrsSpenlowmighthavegoneoutandforgotten.Shedoesn’tforgetappointmentsasarule,andshewantsthedresstowearthedayaftertomorrow.’
MissHartnellenteredthegateandwalkedupthepathtojoinMissPolittoutsidethedoorofLaburnumCottage.
‘Whydoesn’tGladysanswerthedoor?’shedemanded.‘Oh,no,ofcourse,it’sThursday—Gladys’sdayout.IexpectMrsSpenlowhasfallenasleep.Idon’texpectyou’vemadeenoughnoisewiththisthing.’
Seizingtheknocker,sheexecutedadeafeningrat-a-tat-tat,andinadditionthumpeduponthepanelsofthedoor.Shealsocalledoutinastentorianvoice,‘Whatho,withinthere!’
Therewasnoresponse.
MissPolittmurmured,‘Oh,IthinkMrsSpenlowmusthaveforgottenandgoneout,I’llcallroundsomeothertime.’Shebeganedgingawaydownthepath.
‘Nonsense,’saidMissHartnellfirmly.‘Shecan’thavegoneout.I’dhavemether.I’lljusttakealookthroughthewindowsandseeifIcanfindanysignsoflife.’
Shelaughedinherusualheartymanner,toindicatethatitwasajoke,andappliedaperfunctoryglancetothenearestwindow-pane—perfunctorybecausesheknewquitewellthatthefrontroomwasseldomused,MrandMrsSpenlowpreferringthesmallbacksitting-room.
Perfunctoryasitwas,though,itsucceededinitsobject.MissHartnell,itistrue,sawnosignsoflife.Onthecontrary,shesaw,throughthewindow,MrsSpenlowlyingonthehearthrug—dead.
‘Ofcourse,’saidMissHartnell,tellingthestoryafterwards,‘Imanagedtokeepmyhead.ThatPolittcreaturewouldn’thavehadtheleastideaofwhattodo.“Gottokeepourheads,”Isaidtoher.“Youstayhere,andI’llgoforConstablePalk.”Shesaidsomethingaboutnotwantingtobeleft,butIpaidnoattentionatall.Onehastobefirmwiththatsortofperson.I’vealwaysfoundtheyenjoymakingafuss.SoIwasjustgoingoffwhen,atthatverymoment,MrSpenlowcameroundthecornerofthehouse.’
HereMissHartnellmadeasignificantpause.Itenabledheraudiencetoaskbreathlessly,‘Tellme,howdidhelook?’
MissHartnellwouldthengoon,‘Frankly,Isuspectedsomethingatonce!Hewasfartoocalm.Hedidn’tseemsurprisedintheleast.Andyoumaysaywhatyoulike,itisn’tnaturalforamantohearthathiswifeisdeadanddisplaynoemotionwhatever.’
Everybodyagreedwiththisstatement.
Thepoliceagreedwithit,too.SosuspiciousdidtheyconsiderMrSpenlow’sdetachment,thattheylostnotimeinascertaininghowthatgentlemanwassituatedasaresultofhiswife’sdeath.WhentheydiscoveredthatMrsSpenlowhadbeenthemoniedpartner,andthathermoneywenttoherhusbandunderawillmadesoonaftertheirmarriage,theyweremoresuspiciousthanever.
MissMarple,thatsweet-faced—and,somesaid,vinegar-tongued—elderlyspinsterwholivedinthehousenexttotherectory,wasinterviewedveryearly—withinhalfanhourofthediscoveryofthecrime.ShewasapproachedbyPoliceConstablePalk,importantlythumbinganotebook.‘Ifyoudon’tmind,ma’am,I’veafewquestionstoaskyou.’
MissMarplesaid,‘InconnectionwiththemurderofMrsSpenlow?’
Palkwasstartled.‘MayIask,madam,howyougottoknowofit?’
‘Thefish,’saidMissMarple.
ThereplywasperfectlyintelligibletoConstablePalk.Heassumedcorrectlythatthefishmonger’sboyhadbroughtit,togetherwithMissMarple’seveningmeal.
MissMarplecontinuedgently.‘Lyingonthefloorinthesitting-room,strangled—possiblybyaverynarrowbelt.Butwhateveritwas,itwastakenaway.’
Palk’sfacewaswrathful.‘HowthatyoungFredgetstoknoweverything—’
MissMarplecuthimshortadroitly.Shesaid,‘There’sapininyourtunic.’
ConstablePalklookeddown,startled.Hesaid,‘Theydosay,“Seeapinandpickitup,allthedayyou’llhavegoodluck.”’
‘Ihopethatwillcometrue.Nowwhatisityouwantmetotellyou?’
ConstablePalkclearedhisthroat,lookedimportant,andconsultedhisnotebook.‘StatementwasmadetomebyMrArthurSpenlow,husbandofthedeceased.MrSpenlowsaysthatattwo-thirty,asfarashecansay,hewasrungupbyMissMarple,andaskedifhewouldcomeoverataquarterpastthreeasshewasanxioustoconsulthimaboutsomething.Now,ma’am,isthattrue?’
‘Certainlynot,’saidMissMarple.
‘YoudidnotringupMrSpenlowattwo-thirty?’
‘Neitherattwo-thirtynoranyothertime.’
‘Ah,’saidConstablePalk,andsuckedhismoustachewithagooddealofsatisfaction.
‘WhatelsedidMrSpenlowsay?’
‘MrSpenlow’sstatementwasthathecameoverhereasrequested,leavinghisownhouseattenminutespastthree;thatonarrivalherehewasinformedbythemaid-servantthatMissMarplewas“notat’ome”.’
‘Thatpartofitistrue,’saidMissMarple.‘Hedidcomehere,butIwasatameetingattheWomen’sInstitute.’
‘Ah,’saidConstablePalkagain.
MissMarpleexclaimed,‘Dotellme,Constable,doyoususpectMrSpenlow?’
‘It’snotformetosayatthisstage,butitlookstomeasthoughsomebody,namingnonames,hasbeentryingtobeartful.’
MissMarplesaidthoughtfully,‘MrSpenlow?’
ShelikedMrSpenlow.Hewasasmall,spareman,stiffandconventionalinspeech,theacmeofrespectability.Itseemedoddthatheshouldhavecometoliveinthecountry,hehadsoclearlylivedintownsallhislife.ToMissMarpleheconfidedthereason.Hesaid,‘Ihavealwaysintended,eversinceIwasasmallboy,toliveinthecountrysomedayandhaveagardenofmyown.Ihavealwaysbeenverymuchattachedtoflowers.Mywife,youknow,keptaflowershop.That’swhereIsawherfirst.’
Adrystatement,butitopenedupavistaofromance.Ayounger,prettierMrsSpenlow,seenagainstabackgroundofflowers.
MrSpenlow,however,reallyknewnothingaboutflowers.Hehadnoideaofseeds,ofcuttings,ofbeddingout,ofannualsorperennials.Hehadonlyavision—avisionofasmallcottagegardenthicklyplantedwithsweet-smelling,brightlycolouredblossoms.Hehadasked,almostpathetically,forinstruction,andhadnoteddownMissMarple’sreplies
Hewasamanofquietmethod.Itwas,perhaps,becauseofthistrait,thatthepolicewereinterestedinhimwhenhiswifewasfoundmurdered.WithpatienceandperseverancetheylearnedagooddealaboutthelateMrsSpenlow—andsoonallStMaryMeadknewit,too.
ThelateMrsSpenlowhadbegunlifeasabetween-maidinalargehouse.Shehadleftthatpositiontomarrythesecondgardener,andwithhimhadstartedaflowershopinLondon.Theshophadprospered.Notsothegardener,whobeforelonghadsickenedanddied.
Hiswidowcarriedontheshopandenlargeditinanambitiousway.Shehadcontinuedtoprosper.Thenshehadsoldthebusinessatahandsomepriceandembarkeduponmatrimonyforthesecondtime—withMrSpenlow,amiddle-agedjewellerwhohadinheritedasmallandstrugglingbusiness.Notlongafterwards,theyhadsoldthebusinessandcamedowntoStMaryMead.
MrsSpenlowwasawell-to-dowoman.Theprofitsfromherflorist’sestablishmentshehadinvested—‘underspiritguidance’,assheexplainedtoallandsundry.Thespiritshadadvisedherwithunexpectedacumen.
Allherinvestmentshadprospered,someinquiteasensationalfashion.Instead,however,ofthisincreasingherbeliefinspiritualism,MrsSpenlowbaselydesertedmediumsandsittings,andmadeabriefbutwholeheartedplungeintoanobscurereligionwithIndianaffinitieswhichwasbasedonvariousformsofdeepbreathing.When,however,shearrivedatStMaryMead,shehadrelapsedintoaperiodoforthodoxChurch-of-Englandbeliefs.Shewasagooddealatthevicarage,andattendedchurchserviceswithassiduity.Shepatronizedthevillageshops,tookaninterestinthelocalhappenings,andplayedvillagebridge.
Ahumdrum,everydaylife.And—suddenly—murder.
II
ColonelMelchett,thechiefconstable,hadsummonedInspectorSlack.
Slackwasapositivetypeofman.Whenhehadmadeuphismind,hewassure.Hewasquitesurenow.‘Husbanddidit,sir,’hesaid.
‘Youthinkso?’
‘Quitesureofit.You’veonlygottolookathim.Guiltyashell.Nevershowedasignofgrieforemotion.Hecamebacktothehouseknowingshewasdead.’
‘Wouldn’theatleasthavetriedtoactthepartofthedistractedhusband?’
‘Nothim,sir.Toopleasedwithhimself.Somegentlemencan’tact.Toostiff.’
‘Anyotherwomaninhislife?’ColonelMelchettasked.
‘Haven’tbeenabletofindanytraceofone.Ofcourse,he’stheartfulkind.He’dcoverhistracks.AsIseeit,hewasjustfedupwithhiswife.She’dgotthemoney,andIshouldsaywasatryingwomantolivewith—alwaystakingupwithsome“ism”orother.Hecold-bloodedlydecidedtodoawaywithherandlivecomfortablyonhisown.’
‘Yes,thatcouldbethecase,Isuppose.’
‘Dependuponit,thatwasit.Madehisplanscareful.Pretendedtogetaphonecall—’
Melchettinterruptedhim.‘Nocallbeentraced?’
‘No,sir.Thatmeanseitherthathelied,orthatthecallwasputthroughfromapublictelephonebooth.Theonlytwopublicphonesinthevillageareatthestationandthepostoffice.Postofficeitcertainlywasn’t.MrsBladeseeseveryonewhocomesin.Stationitmightbe.Trainarrivesattwotwenty-sevenandthere’sabitofabustlethenhesaysitwasMissMarplewhocalledhimup,andthatcertainlyisn’ttrue.Thecalldidn’tcomefromherhouse,andsheherselfwasawayattheInstitute.’
‘You’renotoverlookingthepossibilitythatthehusbandwasdeliberatelygotoutoftheway—bysomeonewhowantedtomurderMrsSpenlow?’
‘You’rethinkingofyoungTedGerard,aren’tyou,sir?I’vebeenworkingonhim—whatwe’reupagainstthereislackofmotive.Hedoesn’tstandtogainanything.’
‘He’sanundesirablecharacter,though.Quiteaprettylittlespotofembezzlementtohiscredit.’
‘I’mnotsayingheisn’tawrong’un.Still,hedidgotohisbossandownuptothatembezzlement.Andhisemployersweren’twisetoit.’
‘AnOxfordGrouper,’saidMelchett.
‘Yes,sir.Becameaconvertandwentofftodothestraightthingandownuptohavingpinchedmoney.I’mnotsaying,mindyou,thatitmayn’thavebeenastuteness.Hemayhavethoughthewassuspectedanddecidedtogambleonhonestrepentance.’
‘Youhaveascepticalmind,Slack,’saidColonelMelchett.‘Bytheway,haveyoutalkedtoMissMarpleatall?’
‘What’sshegottodowithit,sir?’
‘Oh,nothing.Butshehearsthings,youknow.Whydon’tyougoandhaveachatwithher?She’saverysharpoldlady.’
Slackchangedthesubject.‘OnethingI’vebeenmeaningtoaskyou,sir.Thatdomestic-servicejobwherethedeceasedstartedhercareer—SirRobertAbercrombie’splace.That’swherethatjewelrobberywas—emeralds—worthapacket.Nevergotthem.I’vebeenlookingitup—musthavehappenedwhentheSpenlowwomanwasthere,thoughshe’dhavebeenquiteagirlatthetime.Don’tthinkshewasmixedupinit,doyou,sir?Spenlow,youknow,wasoneofthoselittletuppenny-ha’pennyjewellers—justthechapforafence.’
Melchettshookhishead.‘Don’tthinkthere’sanythinginthat.Shedidn’tevenknowSpenlowatthetime.Irememberthecase.Opinioninpolicecircleswasthatasonofthehousewasmixedupinit—JimAbercrombie—awfulyoungwaster.Hadapileofdebts,andjustaftertherobberytheywereallpaidoff—somerichwoman,sotheysaid,butIdon’tknow—OldAbercrombiehedgedabitaboutthecase—triedtocallthepoliceoff.’
‘Itwasjustanidea,sir,’saidSlack.
III
MissMarplereceivedInspectorSlackwithgratification,especiallywhensheheardthathehadbeensentbyColonelMelchett.
‘Now,really,thatisverykindofColonelMelchett.Ididn’tknowherememberedme.’
‘Heremembersyou,allright.Toldmethatwhatyoudidn’tknowofwhatgoesoninStMaryMeadisn’tworthknowing.’
‘Tookindofhim,butreallyIdon’tknowanythingatall.Aboutthismurder,Imean.’
‘Youknowwhatthetalkaboutitis.’
‘Oh,ofcourse—butitwouldn’tdo,wouldit,torepeatjustidletalk?’
Slacksaid,withanattemptatgeniality,‘Thisisn’tanofficialconversation,youknow.It’sinconfidence,sotospeak.’
‘Youmeanyoureallywanttoknowwhatpeoplearesaying?Whetherthere’sanytruthinitornot?’
‘That’stheidea.’
‘Well,ofcourse,there’sbeenagreatdealoftalkandspeculation.Andtherearereallytwodistinctcamps,ifyouunderstandme.Tobeginwith,therearethepeoplewhothinkthatthehusbanddidit.Ahusbandorawifeis,inaway,thenaturalpersontosuspect,don’tyouthinkso?’
‘Maybe,’saidtheinspectorcautiously.
‘Suchclosequarters,youknow.Then,sooften,themoneyangle.IhearthatitwasMrsSpenlowwhohadthemoney,andthereforeMrSpenlowdoesbenefitbyherdeath.InthiswickedworldI’mafraidthemostuncharitableassumptionsareoftenjustified.’
‘Hecomesintoatidysum,allright.’
‘Justso.Itwouldseemquiteplausible,wouldn’tit,forhimtostrangleher,leavethehousebytheback,comeacrossthefieldstomyhouse,askformeandpretendhe’dhadatelephonecallfromme,thengobackandfindhiswifemurderedinhisabsence—hoping,ofcourse,thatthecrimewouldbeputdowntosometramporburglar.’
Theinspectornodded.‘Whatwiththemoneyangle—andifthey’dbeenonbadtermslately—’
ButMissMarpleinterruptedhim.‘Oh,buttheyhadn’t.’
‘Youknowthatforafact?’
‘Everyonewouldhaveknownifthey’dquarrelled!Themaid,GladysBrent—she’dhavesoonspreaditroundthevillage.’
Theinspectorsaidfeebly,‘Shemightn’thaveknown—’andreceivedapityingsmileinreply.
MissMarplewenton.‘Andthenthere’stheotherschoolofthought.TedGerard.Agood-lookingyoungman.I’mafraid,youknow,thatgoodlooksareinclinedtoinfluenceonemorethantheyshould.Ourlastcuratebutone—quiteamagicaleffect!Allthegirlscametochurch—eveningserviceaswellasmorning.Andmanyolderwomenbecameunusuallyactiveinparishwork—andtheslippersandscarfsthatweremadeforhim!Quiteembarrassingforthepooryoungman.
‘Butletmesee,wherewasI?Oh,yes,thisyoungman,TedGerard.Ofcourse,therehasbeentalkabouthim.He’scomedowntoseehersooften.ThoughMrsSpenlowtoldmeherselfthathewasamemberofwhatIthinktheycalltheOxfordGroup.Areligiousmovement.Theyarequitesincereandveryearnest,Ibelieve,andMrsSpenlowwasimpressedbyitall.’
MissMarpletookabreathandwenton.‘AndI’msuretherewasnoreasontobelievethattherewasanythingmoreinitthanthat,butyouknowwhatpeopleare.QuitealotofpeopleareconvincedthatMrsSpenlowwasinfatuatedwiththeyoungman,andthatshe’dlenthimquitealotofmoney.Andit’sperfectlytruethathewasactuallyseenatthestationthatday.Inthetrain—thetwotwenty-sevendowntrain.Butofcourseitwouldbequiteeasy,wouldn’tit,toslipoutoftheothersideofthetrainandgothroughthecuttingandoverthefenceandroundbythehedgeandnevercomeoutofthestationentranceatall.Sothatheneednothavebeenseengoingtothecottage.And,ofcourse,peopledothinkthatwhatMrsSpenlowwaswearingwasratherpeculiar.’
‘Peculiar?’
‘Akimono.Notadress.’MissMarpleblushed.‘Thatsortofthing,youknow,is,perhaps,rathersuggestivetosomepeople.’
‘Youthinkitwassuggestive?’
‘Oh,no,Idon’tthinkso,Ithinkitwasperfectlynatural.’
‘Youthinkitwasnatural?’
‘Underthecircumstances,yes.’MissMarple’sglancewascoolandreflective.
InspectorSlacksaid,‘Itmightgiveusanothermotiveforthehusband.Jealousy.’
‘Oh,no,MrSpenlowwouldneverbejealous.He’snotthesortofmanwhonoticesthings.Ifhiswifehadgoneawayandleftanoteonthepincushion,itwouldbethefirsthe’dknowofanythingofthatkind.’
InspectorSlackwaspuzzledbytheintentwayshewaslookingathim.Hehadanideathatallherconversationwasintendedtohintatsomethinghedidn’tunderstand.Shesaidnow,withsomeemphasis,‘Didn’tyoufindanyclues,Inspector—onthespot?’
‘Peopledon’tleavefingerprintsandcigaretteashnowadays,MissMarple.’
‘Butthis,Ithink,’shesuggested,‘wasanold-fashionedcrime—’
Slacksaidsharply,‘Nowwhatdoyoumeanbythat?’
MissMarpleremarkedslowly,‘Ithink,youknow,thatConstablePalkcouldhelpyou.Hewasthefirstpersononthe—onthe“sceneofthecrime”,astheysay.’
IV
MrSpenlowwassittinginadeckchair.Helookedbewildered.Hesaid,inhisthin,precisevoice,‘Imay,ofcourse,beimaginingwhatoccurred.Myhearingisnotasgoodasitwas.ButIdistinctlythinkIheardasmallboycallafterme,“Yah,who’saCrippen?”It—itconveyedtheimpressiontomethathewasoftheopinionthatIhad—hadkilledmydearwife.’
MissMarple,gentlysnippingoffadeadrosehead,said,‘Thatwastheimpressionhemeanttoconvey,nodoubt.’
‘Butwhatcouldpossiblyhaveputsuchanideaintoachild’shead?’
MissMarplecoughed.‘Listening,nodoubt,totheopinionsofhiselders.’
‘You—youreallymeanthatotherpeoplethinkthat,also?’
‘QuitehalfthepeopleinStMaryMead.’
‘But—mydearlady—whatcanpossiblyhavegivenrisetosuchanidea?Iwassincerelyattachedtomywife.Shedidnot,alas,taketolivinginthecountryasmuchasIhadhopedshewoulddo,butperfectagreementoneverysubjectisanimpossibleidea.IassureyouIfeelherlossverykeenly.’
‘Probably.Butifyouwillexcusemysayingso,youdon’tsoundasthoughyoudo.’
MrSpenlowdrewhismeagreframeuptoitsfullheight.‘Mydearlady,manyyearsagoIreadofacertainChinesephilosopherwho,whenhisdearlylovedwifewastakenfromhim,continuedcalmlytobeatagonginthestreet—acustomaryChinesepastime,Ipresume—exactlyasusual.Thepeopleofthecityweremuchimpressedbyhisfortitude.’
‘But,’saidMissMarple,‘thepeopleofStMaryMeadreactratherdifferently.Chinesephilosophydoesnotappealtothem.’
‘Butyouunderstand?’
MissMarplenodded.‘MyUncleHenry,’sheexplained,‘wasamanofunusualself-control.Hismottowas“Neverdisplayemotion”.He,too,wasveryfondofflowers.’
‘Iwasthinking,’saidMrSpenlowwithsomethinglikeeagerness,‘thatImight,perhaps,haveapergolaonthewestsideofthecottage.Pinkrosesand,perhaps,wisteria.Andthereisawhitestarryflower,whosenameforthemomentescapesme—’
Inthetoneinwhichshespoketohergrandnephew,agedthree,MissMarplesaid,‘Ihaveaverynicecataloguehere,withpictures.Perhapsyouwouldliketolookthroughit—Ihavetogouptothevillage.’
LeavingMrSpenlowsittinghappilyinthegardenwithhiscatalogue,MissMarplewentuptoherroom,hastilyrolledupadressinapieceofbrownpaper,and,leavingthehouse,walkedbrisklyuptothepostoffice.MissPolitt,thedressmaker,livedintheroomsoverthepostoffice.
ButMissMarpledidnotatoncegothroughthedoorandupthestairs.Itwasjusttwo-thirty,and,aminutelate,theMuchBenhambusdrewupoutsidethepostofficedoor.ItwasoneoftheeventsofthedayinStMaryMead.Thepostmistresshurriedoutwithparcels,parcelsconnectedwiththeshopsideofherbusiness,forthepostofficealsodealtinsweets,cheapbooks,andchildren’stoys.
ForsomefourminutesMissMarplewasaloneinthepostoffice.
NottillthepostmistressreturnedtoherpostdidMissMarplegoupstairsandexplaintoMissPolittthatshewantedheroldgreycrepealteredandmademorefashionableifthatwerepossible.MissPolittpromisedtoseewhatshecoulddo.
V
ThechiefconstablewasratherastonishedwhenMissMarple’snamewasbroughttohim.Shecameinwithmanyapologies.‘Sosorry—soverysorrytodisturbyou.Youaresobusy,Iknow,butthenyouhavealwaysbeensoverykind,ColonelMelchett,andIfeltIwouldrathercometoyouinsteadofInspectorSlack.Foronething,youknow,IshouldhateConstablePalktogetintoanytrouble.Strictlyspeaking,Isupposeheshouldn’thavetouchedanythingatall.’
ColonelMelchettwasslightlybewildered.Hesaid,‘Palk?That’stheStMaryMeadconstable,isn’tit?Whathashebeendoing?’
‘Hepickedupapin,youknow.Itwasinhistunic.AnditoccurredtomeatthetimethatitwasquiteprobablehehadactuallypickeditupinMrsSpenlow’shouse.’
‘Quite,quite.Butafterall,youknow,what’sapin?MatteroffacthedidpickthepinupjustbyMrsSpenlow’sbody.CameandtoldSlackaboutityesterday—youputhimuptothat,Igather?Oughtn’ttohavetouchedanything,ofcourse,butasIsaid,what’sapin?Itwasonlyacommonpin.Sortofthinganywomanmightuse.’
‘Oh,no,ColonelMelchett,that’swhereyou’rewrong.Toaman’seye,perhaps,itlookedlikeanordinarypin,butitwasn’t.Itwasaspecialpin,averythinpin,thekindyoubuybythebox,thekindusedmostlybydressmakers.’
Melchettstaredather,afaintlightofcomprehensionbreakinginonhim.MissMarplenoddedherheadseveraltimes,eagerly.
‘Yes,ofcourse.Itseemstomesoobvious.Shewasinherkimonobecauseshewasgoingtotryonhernewdress,andshewentintothefrontroom,andMissPolittjustsaidsomethingaboutmeasurementsandputthetapemeasureroundherneck—andthenallshe’dhavetodowastocrossitandpull—quiteeasy,soI’veheard.Andthen,ofcourse,she’dgooutsideandpullthedoortoandstandthereknockingasthoughshe’djustarrived.Butthepinshowsshe’dalreadybeeninthehouse.’
‘AnditwasMissPolittwhotelephonedtoSpenlow?’
‘Yes.Fromthepostofficeattwo-thirty—justwhenthebuscomesandthepostofficewouldbeempty.’
ColonelMelchettsaid,‘ButmydearMissMarple,why?Inheaven’sname,why?Youcan’thaveamurderwithoutamotive.’
‘Well,Ithink,youknow,ColonelMelchett,fromallI’veheard,thatthecrimedatesfromalongtimeback.Itremindsme,youknow,ofmytwocousins,AntonyandGordon.WhateverAntonydidalwayswentrightforhim,andwithpoorGordonitwasjusttheotherwayabout.Racehorseswentlame,andstockswentdown,andpropertydepreciated.AsIseeit,thetwowomenwereinittogether.’
‘Inwhat?’
‘Therobbery.Longago.Veryvaluableemeralds,soI’veheard.Thelady’smaidandthetweeny.Becauseonethinghasn’tbeenexplained—how,whenthetweenymarriedthegardener,didtheyhaveenoughmoneytosetupaflowershop?
‘Theansweris,itwashershareofthe—theswag,Ithinkistherightexpression.Everythingshedidturnedoutwell.Moneymademoney.Buttheotherone,thelady’smaid,musthavebeenunlucky.Shecamedowntobeingjustavillagedressmaker.Thentheymetagain.Quiteallrightatfirst,Iexpect,untilMrTedGerardcameonthescene.
‘MrsSpenlow,yousee,wasalreadysufferingfromconscience,andwasinclinedtobeemotionallyreligious.Thisyoungmannodoubturgedherto“faceup”andto“comeclean”andIdaresayshewasstrunguptodoit.ButMissPolittdidn’tseeitthatway.Allshesawwasthatshemightgotoprisonforarobberyshehadcommittedyearsago.Soshemadeuphermindtoputastoptoitall.I’mafraid,youknow,thatshewasalwaysratherawickedwoman.Idon’tbelieveshe’dhaveturnedahairifthatnice,stupidMrSpenlowhadbeenhanged.’
ColonelMelchettsaidslowly,‘Wecan—er—verifyyourtheory—uptoapoint.TheidentityofthePolittwomanwiththelady’smaidattheAbercrombies’,but—’
MissMarplereassuredhim.‘Itwillbeallquiteeasy.She’sthekindofwomanwhowillbreakdownatoncewhenshe’staxedwiththetruth.Andthen,yousee,I’vegothertapemeasure.I—er—abstractedityesterdaywhenIwastryingon.Whenshemissesitandthinksthepolicehavegotit—well,she’squiteanignorantwomanandshe’llthinkitwillprovethecaseagainstherinsomeway.’
Shesmiledathimencouragingly.‘You’llhavenotrouble,Icanassureyou.’ItwasthetoneinwhichhisfavouriteaunthadonceassuredhimthathecouldnotfailtopasshisentranceexaminationintoSandhurst.
Andhehadpassed.
TheCaseoftheCaretaker
I
‘Well,’demandedDoctorHaydockofhispatient.‘Andhowgoesittoday?’
MissMarplesmiledathimwanlyfrompillows.
‘Isuppose,really,thatI’mbetter,’sheadmitted,‘butIfeelsoterriblydepressed.Ican’thelpfeelinghowmuchbetteritwouldhavebeenifIhaddied.Afterall,I’manoldwoman.Nobodywantsmeorcaresaboutme.’
DoctorHaydockinterruptedwithhisusualbrusqueness.‘Yes,yes,typicalafter-reactionofthistypeofflu.Whatyouneedissomethingtotakeyououtofyourself.Amentaltonic.’
MissMarplesighedandshookherhead.
‘Andwhat’smore,’continuedDoctorHaydock,‘I’vebroughtmymedicinewithme!’
Hetossedalongenvelopeontothebed
‘Justthethingforyou.Thekindofpuzzlethatisrightupyourstreet.’
‘Apuzzle?’MissMarplelookedinterested.
‘Literaryeffortofmine,’saidthedoctor,blushingalittle.‘Triedtomakearegularstoryofit.“Hesaid,”“shesaid,”“thegirlthought,”etc.Factsofthestoryaretrue.’
‘Butwhyapuzzle?’askedMissMarple
DoctorHaydockgrinned.‘Becausetheinterpretationisuptoyou.Iwanttoseeifyou’reascleverasyoualwaysmakeout.’
WiththatParthianshothedeparted.
MissMarplepickedupthemanuscriptandbegantoread.
‘Andwhereisthebride?’askedMissHarmongenially.ThevillagewasallagogtoseetherichandbeautifulyoungwifethatHarryLaxtonhadbroughtbackfromabroad.TherewasageneralindulgentfeelingthatHarry—wickedyoungscapegrace—hadhadalltheluck.EveryonehadalwaysfeltindulgenttowardsHarry.EventheownersofwindowsthathadsufferedfromhisindiscriminateuseofacatapulthadfoundtheirindignationdissipatedbyyoungHarry’sabjectexpressionofregret.Hehadbrokenwindows,robbedorchards,poachedrabbits,andlaterhadrunintodebt,gotentangledwiththelocaltobacconist’sdaughter—beendisentangledandsentofftoAfrica—andthevillageasrepresentedbyvariousageingspinstershadmurmuredindulgently.‘Ah,well!Wildoats!He’llsettledown!’Andnow,sureenough,theprodigalhadreturned—notinaffliction,butintriumph.HarryLaxtonhad‘madegood’asthesayinggoes.Hehadpulledhimselftogether,workedhard,andhadfinallymetandsuccessfullywooedayoungAnglo-FrenchgirlwhowasthepossessorofaconsiderablefortuneHarrymighthavelivedinLondon,orpurchasedanestateinsomefashionablehuntingcounty,buthepreferredtocomebacktothepartoftheworldthatwashometohim.Andthere,inthemostromanticway,hepurchasedthederelictestateinthedowerhouseofwhichhehadpassedhischildhood.KingsdeanHousehadbeenunoccupiedfornearlyseventyyears.Ithadgraduallyfallenintodecayandabandon.Anelderlycaretakerandhiswifelivedintheonehabitablecornerofit.Itwasavast,unprepossessinggrandiosemansion,thegardensovergrownwithrankvegetationandthetreeshemmingitinlikesomegloomyenchanter’sden.Thedowerhousewasapleasant,unpretentioushouseandhadbeenletforalongtermofyearstoMajorLaxton,Harry’sfather.Asaboy,HarryhadroamedovertheKingsdeanestateandkneweveryinchofthetangledwoods,andtheoldhouseitselfhadalwaysfascinatedhim.MajorLaxtonhaddiedsomeyearsago,soitmighthavebeenthoughtthatHarrywouldhavehadnotiestobringhimback—neverthelessitwastothehomeofhisboyhoodthatHarrybroughthisbride.TheruinedoldKingsdeanHousewaspulleddown.Anarmyofbuildersandcontractorsswoopeddownupontheplace,andinalmostamiraculouslyshortspaceoftime—somarvellouslydoeswealthtell—thenewhouserosewhiteandgleamingamongthetrees.Nextcameaposseofgardenersandafterthemaprocessionoffurniturevans.Thehousewasready.Servantsarrived.Lastly,acostlylimousinedepositedHarryandMrsHarryatthefrontdoor.Thevillagerushedtocall,andMrsPrice,whoownedthelargesthouse,andwhoconsideredherselftoleadsocietyintheplace,sentoutcardsofinvitationforaparty‘tomeetthebride’.Itwasagreatevent.Severalladieshadnewfrocksfortheoccasion.Everyonewasexcited,curious,anxioustoseethisfabulouscreature.Theysaiditwasallsolikeafairystory!MissHarmon,weather-beaten,heartyspinster,threwoutherquestionasshesqueezedherwaythroughthecrowdeddrawing-roomdoor.LittleMissBrent,athin,acidulatedspinster,flutteredoutinformation.‘Oh,mydear,quitecharming.Suchprettymanners.Andquiteyoung.Really,youknow,itmakesonefeelquiteenvioustoseesomeonewhohaseverythinglikethat.Goodlooksandmoneyandbreeding—mostdistinguished,nothingintheleastcommonabouther—anddearHarrysodevoted!’‘Ah,’saidMissHarmon,‘it’searlydaysyet!’MissBrent’sthinnosequiveredappreciatively.‘Oh,mydear,doyoureallythink—’‘WeallknowwhatHarryis,’saidMissHarmon.‘Weknowwhathewas!ButIexpectnow—’‘Ah,’saidMissHarmon,‘menarealwaysthesame.Onceagaydeceiver,alwaysagaydeceiver.Iknowthem.’‘Dear,dear.Pooryoungthing.’MissBrentlookedmuchhappier.‘Yes,Iexpectshe’llhavetroublewithhim.Someoneoughtreallytowarnher.Iwonderifshe’sheardanythingoftheoldstory?’‘Itseemssoveryunfair,’saidMissBrent,‘thatsheshouldknownothing.Soawkward.Especiallywithonlytheonechemist’sshopinthevillage.’Fortheerstwhiletobacconist’sdaughterwasnowmarriedtoMrEdge,thechemist.‘Itwouldbesomuchnicer,’saidMissBrent,‘ifMrsLaxtonweretodealwithBootsinMuchBenham.’‘Idaresay,’saidMissHarmon,‘thatHarryLaxtonwillsuggestthathimself.’Andagainasignificantlookpassedbetweenthem.‘ButIcertainlythink,’saidMissHarmon,‘thatsheoughttoknow.’II‘Beasts!’saidClariceVaneindignantlytoheruncle,DoctorHaydock.‘Absolutebeastssomepeopleare.’Helookedathercuriously.Shewasatall,darkgirl,handsome,warm-heartedandimpulsive.Herbigbrowneyeswerealightnowwithindignationasshesaid,‘Allthesecats—sayingthings—hintingthings.’‘AboutHarryLaxton?’‘Yes,abouthisaffairwiththetobacconist’sdaughter.’‘Oh,that!’Thedoctorshruggedhisshoulders.‘Agreatmanyyoungmenhaveaffairsofthatkind.’‘Ofcoursetheydo.Andit’sallover.Sowhyharponit?Andbringitupyearsafter?It’slikeghoulsfeastingondeadbodies.’‘Idaresay,mydear,itdoesseemlikethattoyou.Butyousee,theyhaveverylittletotalkaboutdownhere,andsoI’mafraidtheydotendtodwelluponpastscandals.ButI’mcurioustoknowwhyitupsetsyousomuch?’ClariceVanebitherlipandflushed.Shesaid,inacuriouslymuffledvoice.‘They—theylooksohappy.TheLaxtons,Imean.They’reyoungandinlove,andit’sallsolovelyforthem.Ihatetothinkofitbeingspoiledbywhispersandhintsandinnuendoesandgeneralbeastliness.’‘H’m.Isee.’Claricewenton.‘Hewastalkingtomejustnow.He’ssohappyandeagerandexcitedand—yes,thrilled—athavinggothisheart’sdesireandrebuiltKingsdean.He’slikeachildaboutitall.Andshe—well,Idon’tsupposeanythinghasevergonewronginherwholelife.She’salwayshadeverything.You’veseenher.Whatdidyouthinkofher?’Thedoctordidnotansweratonce.Forotherpeople,LouiseLaxtonmightbeanobjectofenvy.Aspoileddarlingoffortune.Tohimshehadbroughtonlytherefrainofapopularsongheardmanyyearsago,Poorlittlerichgirl—Asmall,delicatefigure,withflaxenhaircurledratherstifflyroundherfaceandbig,wistfulblueeyes.Louisewasdroopingalittle.Thelongstreamofcongratulationshadtiredher.Shewashopingitmightsoonbetimetogo.Perhaps,evennow,Harrymightsayso.Shelookedathimsideways.Sotallandbroad-shoulderedwithhiseagerpleasureinthishorrible,dullparty.Poorlittlerichgirl—
III‘Ooph!’Itwasasighofrelief.Harryturnedtolookathiswifeamusedly.Theyweredrivingawayfromtheparty.Shesaid,‘Darling,whatafrightfulparty!’Harrylaughed.‘Yes,prettyterrible.Nevermind,mysweet.Ithadtobedone,youknow.AlltheseoldpussiesknewmewhenIlivedhereasaboy.They’dhavebeenterriblydisappointednottohavegotalookatyoucloseup.’Louisemadeagrimace.Shesaid,‘Shallwehavetoseealotofthem?’‘What?Oh,no.They’llcomeandmakeceremoniouscallswithcardcases,andyou’llreturnthecallsandthenyouneedn’tbotheranymore.Youcanhaveyourownfriendsdownorwhateveryoulike.’Louisesaid,afteraminuteortwo,‘Isn’tthereanyoneamusinglivingdownhere?’‘Oh,yes.There’stheCounty,youknow.Thoughyoumayfindthemabitdull,too.Mostlyinterestedinbulbsanddogsandhorses.You’llride,ofcourse.You’llenjoythat.There’sahorseoveratEglintonI’dlikeyoutosee.Abeautifulanimal,perfectlytrained,noviceinhimbutplentyofspirit.’ThecarsloweddowntotaketheturnintothegatesofKingsdean.Harrywrenchedthewheelandsworeasagrotesquefiguresprangupinthemiddleoftheroadandheonlyjustmanagedtoavoidit.Itstoodthere,shakingafistandshoutingafterthem.Louiseclutchedhisarm.‘Who’sthat—thathorribleoldwoman?’Harry’sbrowwasblack.‘That’soldMurgatroyd.Sheandherhusbandwerecaretakersintheoldhouse.Theyweretherefornearlythirtyyears.’‘Whydoessheshakeherfistatyou?’Harry’sfacegotred.‘She—well,sheresentedthehousebeingpulleddown.Andshegotthesack,ofcourse.Herhusband’sbeendeadtwoyears.Theysayshegotabitqueerafterhedied.’‘Isshe—sheisn’t—starving?’Louise’sideaswerevagueandsomewhatmelodramatic.Richespreventedyoucomingintocontactwithreality.Harrywasoutraged.‘GoodLord,Louise,whatanidea!Ipensionedheroff,ofcourse—andhandsomely,too!Foundheranewcottageandeverything.’Louiseasked,bewildered,‘Thenwhydoesshemind?’Harrywasfrowning,hisbrowsdrawntogether.‘Oh,howshouldIknow?Craziness!Shelovedthehouse.’‘Butitwasaruin,wasn’tit?’‘Ofcourseitwas—crumblingtopieces—roofleaking—moreorlessunsafe.AllthesameIsupposeitmeantsomethingtoher.She’dbeentherealongtime.Oh,Idon’tknow!Theolddevil’scracked,Ithink.’Louisesaiduneasily,‘She—Ithinkshecursedus.Oh,Harry,Iwishshehadn’t.’IVItseemedtoLouisethathernewhomewastaintedandpoisonedbythemalevolentfigureofonecrazyoldwoman.Whenshewentoutinthecar,whensherode,whenshewalkedoutwiththedogs,therewasalwaysthesamefigurewaiting.Croucheddownonherself,abatteredhatoverwispsofiron-greyhair,andtheslowmutteringofimprecations.LouisecametobelievethatHarrywasright—theoldwomanwasmad.Neverthelessthatdidnotmakethingseasier.MrsMurgatroydneveractuallycametothehouse,nordidsheusedefinitethreats,norofferviolence.Hersquattingfigureremainedalwaysjustoutsidethegates.Toappealtothepolicewouldhavebeenuselessand,inanycase,HarryLaxtonwasaversetothatcourseofaction.Itwould,hesaid,arouselocalsympathyfortheoldbrute.HetookthemattermoreeasilythanLouisedid.‘Don’tworryaboutit,darling.She’llgettiredofthissillycursingbusiness.Probablyshe’sonlytryingiton.’‘Sheisn’t,Harry.She—shehatesus!Icanfeelit.She—she’sill-wishingus.’‘She’snotawitch,darling,althoughshemaylooklikeone!Don’tbemorbidaboutitall.’Louisewassilent.Nowthatthefirstexcitementofsettlinginwasover,shefeltcuriouslylonelyandatalooseend.ShehadbeenusedtolifeinLondonandtheRiviera.ShehadnoknowledgeofortasteforEnglishcountrylife.Shewasignorantofgardening,exceptforthefinalactof‘doingtheflowers’.Shedidnotreallycarefordogs.Shewasboredbysuchneighboursasshemet.Sheenjoyedridingbest,sometimeswithHarry,sometimes,whenhewasbusyabouttheestate,byherself.Shehackedthroughthewoodsandlanes,enjoyingtheeasypacesofthebeautifulhorsethatHarryhadboughtforher.YetevenPrinceHal,mostsensitiveofchestnutsteeds,waswonttoshyandsnortashecarriedhismistresspastthehuddledfigureofamalevolentoldwoman.OnedayLouisetookhercourageinbothhands.Shewasoutwalking.ShehadpassedMrsMurgatroyd,pretendingnottonoticeher,butsuddenlysheswervedbackandwentrightuptoher.Shesaid,alittlebreathlessly,‘Whatisit?What’sthematter?Whatdoyouwant?’Theoldwomanblinkedather.Shehadacunning,darkgypsyface,withwispsofiron-greyhair,andbleared,suspiciouseyes.Louisewonderedifshedrank.Shespokeinawhiningandyetthreateningvoice.‘WhatdoIwant,youask?What,indeed!Thatwhichhasbeentookawayfromme.WhoturnedmeoutofKingsdeanHouse?I’dlivedthere,girlandwoman,fornearonfortyyears.Itwasablackdeedtoturnmeoutandit’sblackbadluckit’llbringtoyouandhim!’Louisesaid,‘You’vegotaverynicecottageand—’Shebrokeoff.Theoldwoman’sarmsflewup.Shescreamed,‘What’sthegoodofthattome?It’smyownplaceIwantandmyownfireasIsatbesideallthemyears.Andasforyouandhim,I’mtellingyoutherewillbenohappinessforyouinyournewfinehouse.It’stheblacksorrowwillbeuponyou!Sorrowanddeathandmycurse.Mayyourfairfacerot.’Louiseturnedawayandbrokeintoalittlestumblingrun.Shethought,Imustgetawayfromhere!Wemustsellthehouse!Wemustgoaway.Atthemoment,suchasolutionseemedeasytoher.ButHarry’sutterincomprehensiontookherback.Heexclaimed,‘Leavehere?Sellthehouse?Becauseofacrazyoldwoman’sthreats?Youmustbemad.’‘No,I’mnot.Butshe—shefrightensme,Iknowsomethingwillhappen.’HarryLaxtonsaidgrimly,‘LeaveMrsMurgatroydtome.I’llsettleher!’
VAfriendshiphadsprungupbetweenClariceVaneandyoungMrsLaxton.Thetwogirlsweremuchofanage,thoughdissimilarbothincharacterandintastes.InClarice’scompany,Louisefoundreassurance.Claricewassoself-reliant,sosureofherself.LouisementionedthematterofMrsMurgatroydandherthreats,butClariceseemedtoregardthematterasmoreannoyingthanfrightening.‘It’ssostupid,thatsortofthing,’shesaid.‘Andreallyveryannoyingforyou.’‘Youknow,Clarice,I—Ifeelquitefrightenedsometimes.Myheartgivesthemostawfuljumps.’‘Nonsense,youmustn’tletasillythinglikethatgetyoudown.She’llsoontireofit.’Shewassilentforaminuteortwo.Claricesaid,‘What’sthematter?’Louisepausedforaminute,thenheranswercamewitharush.‘Ihatethisplace!Ihatebeinghere.Thewoodsandthishouse,andtheawfulsilenceatnight,andthequeernoiseowlsmake.Oh,andthepeopleandeverything.’‘Thepeople.Whatpeople?’‘Thepeopleinthevillage.Thoseprying,gossipingoldmaids.’Claricesaidsharply,‘Whathavetheybeensaying?’‘Idon’tknow.Nothingparticular.Butthey’vegotnastyminds.Whenyou’vetalkedtothemyoufeelyouwouldn’ttrustanybody—notanybodyatall.’Claricesaidharshly,‘Forgetthem.They’venothingtodobutgossip.Andmostofthemucktheytalktheyjustinvent.’Louisesaid,‘Iwishwe’dnevercomehere.ButHarryadoresitso.’Hervoicesoftened.Claricethought,Howsheadoreshim.Shesaidabruptly,‘Imustgonow.’‘I’llsendyoubackinthecar.Comeagainsoon.’Claricenodded.Louisefeltcomfortedbyhernewfriend’svisit.HarrywaspleasedtofindhermorecheerfulandfromthenonurgedhertohaveClariceoftentothehouse.Thenonedayhesaid,‘Goodnewsforyou,darling.’‘Oh,what?’‘I’vefixedtheMurgatroyd.She’sgotasoninAmerica,youknow.Well,I’vearrangedforhertogooutandjoinhim.I’llpayherpassage.’‘Oh,Harry,howwonderful.IbelieveImightgettolikeKingsdeanafterall.’‘Gettolikeit?Why,it’sthemostwonderfulplaceintheworld!’Louisegavealittleshiver.Shecouldnotridherselfofhersuperstitiousfearsoeasily.
VIIftheladiesofStMaryMeadhadhopedforthepleasureofimpartinginformationaboutherhusband’spasttothebride,thispleasurewasdeniedthembyHarryLaxton’sownpromptaction.MissHarmonandClariceVanewerebothinMrEdge’sshop,theonebuyingmothballsandtheotherapacketofboracic,whenHarryLaxtonandhiswifecamein.Aftergreetingthetwoladies,Harryturnedtothecounterandwasjustdemandingatoothbrushwhenhestoppedinmid-speechandexclaimedheartily,‘Well,well,justseewho’shere!Bella,Idodeclare.’MrsEdge,whohadhurriedoutfromthebackparlourtoattendtothecongestionofbusiness,beamedbackcheerfullyathim,showingherbigwhiteteeth.Shehadbeenadark,handsomegirlandwasstillareasonablyhandsomewoman,thoughshehadputonweight,andthelinesofherfacehadcoarsened;butherlargebrowneyeswerefullofwarmthassheanswered,‘Bella,itis,MrHarry,andpleasedtoseeyouafteralltheseyears.’Harryturnedtohiswife.‘Bella’sanoldflameofmine,Louise,’hesaid.‘Head-over-heelsinlovewithher,wasn’tI,Bella?’‘That’swhatyousay,’saidMrsEdge.Louiselaughed.Shesaid,‘Myhusband’sveryhappyseeingallhisoldfriendsagain.’‘Ah,’saidMrsEdge,‘wehaven’tforgottenyou,MrHarry.SeemslikeafairytaletothinkofyoumarriedandbuildingupanewhouseinsteadofthatruinedoldKingsdeanHouse.’‘Youlookverywellandblooming,’saidHarry,andMrsEdgelaughedandsaidtherewasnothingwrongwithherandwhataboutthattoothbrush?Clarice,watchingthebaffledlookonMissHarmon’sface,saidtoherselfexultantly,Oh,welldone,Harry.You’vespikedtheirguns.VIIDoctorHaydocksaidabruptlytohisniece,‘What’sallthisnonsenseaboutoldMrsMurgatroydhangingaboutKingsdeanandshakingherfistandcursingthenewregime?’‘Itisn’tnonsense.It’squitetrue.It’supsetLouiseagooddeal.’‘Tellhersheneedn’tworry—whentheMurgatroydswerecaretakerstheyneverstoppedgrumblingabouttheplace—theyonlystayedbecauseMurgatroyddrankandcouldn’tgetanotherjob.’‘I’lltellher,’saidClaricedoubtfully,‘butIdon’tthinkshe’llbelieveyou.Theoldwomanfairlyscreamswithrage.’‘AlwaysusedtobefondofHarryasaboy.Ican’tunderstandit.’Claricesaid,‘Oh,well—they’llberidofhersoon.Harry’spayingherpassagetoAmerica.’Threedayslater,Louisewasthrownfromherhorseandkilled.Twomeninabaker’svanwerewitnessesoftheaccident.TheysawLouiserideoutofthegates,sawtheoldwomanspringupandstandintheroadwavingherarmsandshouting,sawthehorsestart,swerve,andthenboltmadlydowntheroad,flingingLouiseLaxtonoverhishead.Oneofthemstoodovertheunconsciousfigure,notknowingwhattodo,whiletheotherrushedtothehousetogethelp.HarryLaxtoncamerunningout,hisfaceghastly.Theytookoffadoorofthevanandcarriedheronittothehouse.Shediedwithoutregainingconsciousnessandbeforethedoctorarrived.(EndofDoctorHaydock’smanuscript.)
VIII
WhenDoctorHaydockarrivedthefollowingday,hewaspleasedtonotethattherewasapinkflushinMissMarple’scheekanddecidedlymoreanimationinhermanner.
‘Well,’hesaid,‘what’stheverdict?’
‘What’stheproblem,DoctorHaydock?’counteredMissMarple.
‘Oh,mydearlady,doIhavetotellyouthat?’
‘Isuppose,’saidMissMarple,‘thatit’sthecuriousconductofthecaretaker.Whydidshebehaveinthatveryoddway?Peopledomindbeingturnedoutoftheiroldhomes.Butitwasn’therhome.Infact,sheusedtocomplainandgrumblewhileshewasthere.Yes,itcertainlylooksveryfishy.Whatbecameofher,bytheway?’
‘DidabunktoLiverpool.Theaccidentscaredher.Thoughtshe’dwaitthereforherboat.’
‘Allveryconvenientforsomebody,’saidMissMarple.‘Yes,Ithinkthe“ProblemoftheCaretaker’sConduct”canbesolvedeasilyenough.Bribery,wasitnot?’
‘That’syoursolution?’
‘Well,ifitwasn’tnaturalforhertobehaveinthatway,shemusthavebeen“puttingonanact”aspeoplesay,andthatmeansthatsomebodypaidhertodowhatshedid.’
‘Andyouknowwhothatsomebodywas?’
‘Oh,Ithinkso.Moneyagain,I’mafraid.AndI’vealwaysnoticedthatgentlemenalwaystendtoadmirethesametype.’
‘NowI’moutofmydepth.’
‘No,no,itallhangstogether.HarryLaxtonadmiredBellaEdge,adark,vivacioustype.YournieceClaricewasthesame.Butthepoorlittlewifewasquiteadifferenttype—fair-hairedandclinging—nothistypeatall.Sohemusthavemarriedherforhermoney.Andmurderedherforhermoney,too!’
‘Youusetheword“murder”?’
‘Well,hesoundstherighttype.Attractivetowomenandquiteunscrupulous.Isupposehewantedtokeephiswife’smoneyandmarryyourniece.HemayhavebeenseentalkingtoMrsEdge.ButIdon’tfancyhewasattachedtoheranymore.ThoughIdaresayhemadethepoorwomanthinkhewas,forendsofhisown.Hesoonhadherwellunderhisthumb,Ifancy.’
‘Howexactlydidhemurderher,doyouthink?’
MissMarplestaredaheadofherforsomeminuteswithdreamyblueeyes.
‘Itwasverywelltimed—withthebaker’svanaswitness.Theycouldseetheoldwomanand,ofcourse,they’dputdownthehorse’sfrighttothat.ButIshouldimagine,myself,thatanairgun,orperhapsacatapult.Yes,justasthehorsecamethroughthegates.Thehorsebolted,ofcourse,andMrsLaxtonwasthrown.’
Shepaused,frowning.
‘Thefallmighthavekilledher.Buthecouldn’tbesureofthat.Andheseemsthesortofmanwhowouldlayhisplanscarefullyandleavenothingtochance.Afterall,MrsEdgecouldgethimsomethingsuitablewithoutherhusbandknowing.Otherwise,whywouldHarrybotherwithher?Yes,Ithinkhehadsomepowerfuldrughandy,thatcouldbeadministeredbeforeyouarrived.Afterall,ifawomanisthrownfromherhorseandhasseriousinjuriesanddieswithoutrecoveringconsciousness,well—adoctorwouldn’tnormallybesuspicious,wouldhe?He’dputitdowntoshockorsomething.’
DoctorHaydocknodded.
‘Whydidyoususpect?’askedMissMarple.
‘Itwasn’tanyparticularclevernessonmypart,’saidDoctorHaydock.‘Itwasjustthetrite,well-knownfactthatamurdererissopleasedwithhisclevernessthathedoesn’ttakeproperprecautions.Iwasjustsayingafewconsolatorywordstothebereavedhusband—andfeelingdamnedsorryforthefellow,too—whenheflunghimselfdownonthesetteetodoabitofplay-actingandahypodermicsyringefelloutofhispocket.
‘HesnatcheditupandlookedsoscaredthatIbegantothink.HarryLaxtondidn’tdrug;hewasinperfecthealth;whatwashedoingwithahypodermicsyringe?Ididtheautopsywithaviewtocertainpossibilities.Ifoundstrophanthin.Therestwaseasy.TherewasstrophanthininLaxton’spossession,andBellaEdge,questionedbythepolice,brokedownandadmittedtohavinggotitforhim.AndfinallyoldMrsMurgatroydconfessedthatitwasHarryLaxtonwhohadputheruptothecursingstunt.’
‘Andyourniecegotoverit?’
‘Yes,shewasattractedbythefellow,butithadn’tgonefar.’
Thedoctorpickeduphismanuscript.
‘Fullmarkstoyou,MissMarple—andfullmarkstomeformyprescription.You’relookingalmostyourselfagain.’
TheCaseofthePerfectMaid
I
‘Oh,ifyouplease,madam,couldIspeaktoyouamoment?’
Itmightbethoughtthatthisrequestwasinthenatureofanabsurdity,sinceEdna,MissMarple’slittlemaid,wasactuallyspeakingtohermistressatthemoment.
Recognizingtheidiom,however,MissMarplesaidpromptly,‘Certainly,Edna,comeinandshutthedoor.Whatisit?’
Obedientlyshuttingthedoor,Ednaadvancedintotheroom,pleatedthecornerofherapronbetweenherfingers,andswallowedonceortwice.
‘Yes,Edna?’saidMissMarpleencouragingly.
‘Oh,please,ma’am,it’smycousin,Gladdie.’
‘Dearme,’saidMissMarple,hermindleapingtotheworst—and,alas,themostusualconclusion.‘Not—notintrouble?’
Ednahastenedtoreassureher.‘Oh,no,ma’am,nothingofthatkind.Gladdie’snotthatkindofgirl.It’sjustthatshe’supset.Yousee,she’slostherplace.’
‘Dearme,Iamsorrytohearthat.ShewasatOldHall,wasn’tshe,withtheMiss—Misses—Skinner?’
‘Yes,ma’am,that’sright,ma’am.AndGladdie’sveryupsetaboutit—veryupsetindeed.’
‘Gladyshaschangedplacesratheroftenbefore,though,hasn’tshe?’
‘Oh,yes,ma’am.She’salwaysoneforachange,Gladdieis.Sheneverseemstogetreallysettled,ifyouknowwhatImean.Butshe’salwaysbeentheonetogivethenotice,yousee!’
‘Andthistimeit’stheotherwayround?’askedMissMarpledryly.
‘Yes,ma’am,andit’supsetGladdiesomethingawful.’
MissMarplelookedslightlysurprised.HerrecollectionofGladys,whohadoccasionallycometodrinkteainthekitchenonher‘daysout’,wasastout,gigglinggirlofunshakablyequabletemperament.
Ednawenton.‘Yousee,ma’am,it’sthewayithappened—thewayMissSkinnerlooked.’
‘How,’enquiredMissMarplepatiently,‘didMissSkinnerlook?’
ThistimeEdnagotwellawaywithhernewsbulletin.
‘Oh,ma’am,itwaseversuchashocktoGladdie.Yousee,oneofMissEmily’sbroocheswasmissing,andsuchahueandcryforitasneverwas,andofcoursenobodylikesathinglikethattohappen;it’supsetting,ma’am,ifyouknowwhatImean.AndGladdie’shelpedsearcheverywhere,andtherewasMissLaviniasayingshewasgoingtothepoliceaboutit,andthenitturnedupagain,pushedrighttothebackofadrawerinthedressing-table,andverythankfulGladdiewas.
‘Andtheverynextdayaseverwasaplategotbroken,andMissLaviniashebouncedoutrightawayandtoldGladdietotakeamonth’snotice.AndwhatGladdiefeelsisitcouldn’thavebeentheplateandthatMissLaviniawasjustmakinganexcuseofthat,andthatitmustbebecauseofthebroochandtheythinkasshetookitandputitbackwhenthepolicewasmentioned,andGladdiewouldn’tdosuchathing,notnevershewouldn’t,andwhatshefeelsisasitwillgetroundandtellagainstherandit’saveryseriousthingforagirl,asyouknow,ma’am.’
MissMarplenodded.Thoughhavingnoparticularlikingforthebouncing,self-opinionatedGladys,shewasquitesureofthegirl’sintrinsichonestyandcouldwellimaginethattheaffairmusthaveupsether.
Ednasaidwistfully,‘Isuppose,ma’am,thereisn’tanythingyoucoulddoaboutit?Gladdie’sineversuchataking.’
‘Tellhernottobesilly,’saidMissMarplecrisply.‘Ifshedidn’ttakethebrooch—whichI’msureshedidn’t—thenshehasnocausetobeupset.’
‘It’llgetabout,’saidEdnadismally.
MissMarplesaid,‘I—er—amgoingupthatwaythisafternoon.I’llhaveawordwiththeMissesSkinner.’
‘Oh,thankyou,madam,’saidEdna.
II
OldHallwasabigVictorianhousesurroundedbywoodsandparkland.Sinceithadbeenprovedunlettableandunsaleableasitwas,anenterprisingspeculatorhaddivideditintofourflatswithacentralhot-watersystem,andtheuseof‘thegrounds’tobeheldincommonbythetenants.Theexperimenthadbeensatisfactory.Arichandeccentricoldladyandhermaidoccupiedoneflat.Theoldladyhadapassionforbirdsandentertainedafeatheredgatheringtomealseveryday.AretiredIndianjudgeandhiswiferentedasecond.Averyyoungcouple,recentlymarried,occupiedthethird,andthefourthhadbeentakenonlytwomonthsagobytwomaidenladiesofthenameofSkinner.Thefoursetsoftenantswereonlyonthemostdistanttermswitheachother,sincenoneofthemhadanythingincommon.Thelandlordhadbeenheardtosaythatthiswasanexcellentthing.Whathedreadedwerefriendshipsfollowedbyestrangementsandsubsequentcomplaintstohim.
MissMarplewasacquaintedwithallthetenants,thoughsheknewnoneofthemwell.TheelderMissSkinner,MissLavinia,waswhatmightbetermedtheworkingmemberofthefirm,MissEmily,theyounger,spentmostofhertimeinbedsufferingfromvariouscomplaintswhich,intheopinionofStMaryMead,werelargelyimaginary.OnlyMissLaviniabelieveddevoutlyinhersister’smartyrdomandpatienceunderaffliction,andwillinglyranerrandsandtrottedupanddowntothevillageforthingsthat‘mysisterhadsuddenlyfancied’.
ItwastheviewofStMaryMeadthatifMissEmilysufferedhalfasmuchasshesaidshedid,shewouldhavesentforDoctorHaydocklongago.ButMissEmily,whenthiswashintedtoher,shuthereyesinasuperiorwayandmurmuredthathercasewasnotasimpleone—thebestspecialistsinLondonhadbeenbaffledbyit—andthatawonderfulnewmanhadputheronamostrevolutionarycourseoftreatmentandthatshereallyhopedherhealthwouldimproveunderit.NohumdrumGPcouldpossiblyunderstandhercase.
‘Andit’smyopinion,’saidtheoutspokenMissHartnell,‘thatshe’sverywisenottosendforhim.DearDoctorHaydock,inthatbreezymannerofhis,wouldtellherthattherewasnothingthematterwithherandtogetupandnotmakeafuss!Doheralotofgood!’
Failingsucharbitrarytreatment,however,MissEmilycontinuedtolieonsofas,tosurroundherselfwithstrangelittlepillboxes,andtorejectnearlyeverythingthathadbeencookedforherandaskforsomethingelse—usuallysomethingdifficultandinconvenienttoget
III
ThedoorwasopenedtoMissMarpleby‘Gladdie’,lookingmoredepressedthanMissMarplehadeverthoughtpossible.Inthesitting-room(aquarterofthelatedrawing-room,whichhadbeenpartitionedintoadining-room,drawing-room,bathroom,andhousemaid’scupboard),MissLaviniarosetogreetMissMarple.
LaviniaSkinnerwasatall,gaunt,bonyfemaleoffifty.Shehadagruffvoiceandanabruptmanner.
‘Nicetoseeyou,’shesaid.‘Emily’slyingdown—feelinglowtoday,poordear.Hopeshe’llseeyou,itwouldcheerherup,buttherearetimeswhenshedoesn’tfeeluptoseeinganybody.Poordear,she’swonderfullypatient.’
MissMarplerespondedpolitely.ServantswerethemaintopicofconversationinStMaryMead,soitwasnotdifficulttoleadtheconversationinthatdirection.MissMarplesaidshehadheardthatthatnicegirl,GladysHolmes,wasleaving.
MissLavinianodded.‘Wednesdayweek.Brokethings,youknow.Can’thavethat.’
MissMarplesighedandsaidweallhadtoputupwiththingsnowadays.Itwassodifficulttogetgirlstocometothecountry.DidMissSkinnerreallythinkitwaswisetopartwithGladys?
‘Knowit’sdifficulttogetservants,’admittedMissLavinia.‘TheDevereuxshaven’tgotanybody—butthen,Idon’twonder—alwaysquarrelling,jazzonallnight—mealsanytime—thatgirlknowsnothingofhousekeeping.Ipityherhusband!ThentheLarkinshavejustlosttheirmaid.Ofcourse,whatwiththejudge’sIndiantemperandhiswantingchotahazri,ashecallsit,atsixinthemorningandMrsLarkinalwaysfussing,Idon’twonderatthat,either.MrsCarmichael’sJanetisafixtureofcourse—thoughinmyopinionshe’sthemostdisagreeablewoman,andabsolutelybulliestheoldlady.’
‘Thendon’tyouthinkyoumightreconsideryourdecisionaboutGladys?Shereallyisanicegirl.Iknowallherfamily;veryhonestandsuperior.’
MissLaviniashookherhead.
‘I’vegotmyreasons,’shesaidimportantly.
MissMarplemurmured,‘Youmissedabrooch,Iunderstand—’
‘Now,whohasbeentalking?Isupposethegirlhas.Quitefrankly,I’malmostcertainshetookit.Andthengotfrightenedandputitback—but,ofcourse,onecan’tsayanythingunlessoneissure.’Shechangedthesubject.‘DocomeandseeEmily,MissMarple.I’msureitwoulddohergood.’
MissMarplefollowedmeeklytowhereMissLaviniaknockedonadoor,wasbiddenenter,andusheredherguestintothebestroomintheflat,mostofthelightofwhichwasexcludedbyhalf-drawnblinds.MissEmilywaslyinginbed,apparentlyenjoyingthehalf-gloomandherownindefinitesufferings.
Thedimlightshowedhertobeathin,indecisive-lookingcreature,withagooddealofgreyish-yellowhairuntidilywoundaroundherheadanderuptingintocurls,thewholethinglookinglikeabird’snestofwhichnoself-respectingbirdcouldbeproud.TherewasasmellintheroomofEaudeCologne,stalebiscuits,andcamphor.
Withhalf-closedeyesandathin,weakvoice,EmilySkinnerexplainedthatthiswas‘oneofherbaddays’.
‘Theworstofillhealthis,’saidMissEmilyinamelancholytone,‘thatoneknowswhataburdenoneistoeveryonearoundone.
‘Laviniaisverygoodtome.Lavviedear,Idosohategivingtroublebutifmyhot-waterbottlecouldonlybefilledinthewayIlikeit—toofullitweighsonmeso—ontheotherhand,ifitisnotsufficientlyfilled,itgetscoldimmediately!’
‘I’msorry,dear.Giveittome.Iwillemptyalittleout.’
‘Perhaps,ifyou’redoingthat,itmightberefilled.Therearenorusksinthehouse,Isuppose—no,no,itdoesn’tmatter.Icandowithout.Someweakteaandasliceoflemon—nolemons?No,really,Icouldn’tdrinkteawithoutlemon.Ithinkthemilkwasslightlyturnedthismorning.Ithasputmeagainstmilkinmytea.Itdoesn’tmatter.Icandowithoutmytea.OnlyIdofeelsoweak.Oysters,theysay,arenourishing.IwonderifIcouldfancyafew?No,no,toomuchbothertogetholdofthemsolateintheday.Icanfastuntiltomorrow.’
Lavinialefttheroommurmuringsomethingincoherentaboutbicyclingdowntothevillage.
MissEmilysmiledfeeblyatherguestandremarkedthatshedidhategivinganyoneanytrouble.
MissMarpletoldEdnathateveningthatshewasafraidherembassyhadmetwithnosuccess.
ShewasrathertroubledtofindthatrumoursastoGladys’sdishonestywerealreadygoingaroundthevillage.
Inthepostoffice,MissWetherbytackledher.‘MydearJane,theygaveherawrittenreferencesayingshewaswillingandsoberandrespectable,butsayingnothingabouthonesty.Thatseemstomemostsignificant!Iheartherewassometroubleaboutabrooch.Ithinktheremustbesomethinginit,youknow,becauseonedoesn’tletaservantgonowadaysunlessit’ssomethingrathergrave.They’llfinditmostdifficulttogetanyoneelse.GirlssimplywillnotgotoOldHall.They’renervouscominghomeontheirdaysout.You’llsee,theSkinnerswon’tfindanyoneelse,andthen,perhaps,thatdreadfulhypochondriacsisterwillhavetogetupanddosomething!’
GreatwasthechagrinofthevillagewhenitwasmadeknownthattheMissesSkinnerhadengaged,fromanagency,anewmaidwho,byallaccounts,wasaperfectparagon.
‘Athree-years’referencerecommendinghermostwarmly,sheprefersthecountry,andactuallyaskslesswagesthanGladys.Ireallyfeelwehavebeenmostfortunate.’
‘Well,really,’saidMissMarple,towhomthesedetailswereimpartedbyMissLaviniainthefishmonger’sshop.‘Itdoesseemtoogoodtobetrue.’
ItthenbecametheopinionofStMaryMeadthattheparagonwouldcryoffatthelastminuteandfailtoarrive.
Noneoftheseprognosticationscametrue,however,andthevillagewasabletoobservethedomestictreasure,byname,MaryHiggins,drivingthroughthevillageinReed’staxitoOldHall.Ithadtobeadmittedthatherappearancewasgood.Amostrespectable-lookingwoman,veryneatlydressed.
WhenMissMarplenextvisitedOldHall,ontheoccasionofrecruitingstall-holdersforthevicaragefete,MaryHigginsopenedthedoor.Shewascertainlyamostsuperior-lookingmaid,ataguessfortyyearsofage,withneatblackhair,rosycheeks,aplumpfigurediscreetlyarrayedinblackwithawhiteapronandcap—‘quitethegood,old-fashionedtypeofservant,’asMissMarpleexplainedafterwards,andwiththeproper,inaudiblerespectfulvoice,sodifferentfromtheloudbutadenoidalaccentsofGladys.
MissLaviniawaslookingfarlessharassedthanusualand,althoughsheregrettedthatshecouldnottakeastallowingtoherpreoccupationwithhersister,sheneverthelesstenderedahandsomemonetarycontribution,andpromisedtoproduceaconsignmentofpen-wipersandbabies’socks.
MissMarplecommentedonherairofwell-being.
‘IreallyfeelIoweagreatdealtoMary,IamsothankfulIhadtheresolutiontogetridofthatothergirl.Maryisreallyinvaluable.Cooksnicelyandwaitsbeautifullyandkeepsourlittleflatscrupulouslyclean—mattressesturnedovereveryday.AndsheisreallywonderfulwithEmily!’
MissMarplehastilyenquiredafterEmily.
‘Oh,poordear,shehasbeenverymuchundertheweatherlately.Shecan’thelpit,ofcourse,butitreallymakesthingsalittledifficultsometimes.Wantingcertainthingscookedandthen,whentheycome,sayingshecan’teatnow—andthenwantingthemagainhalfanhourlaterandeverythingspoiledandhavingtobedoneagain.Itmakes,ofcourse,alotofwork—butfortunatelyMarydoesnotseemtomindatall.She’susedtowaitingoninvalids,shesays,andunderstandsthem.Itissuchacomfort.’
‘Dearme,’saidMissMarple.‘Youarefortunate.’
‘Yes,indeed.IreallyfeelMaryhasbeensenttousasananswertoprayer.’
‘Shesoundstome,’saidMissMarple,‘almosttoogoodtobetrue.Ishould—well,IshouldbealittlecarefulifIwereyou.’
LaviniaSkinnerfailedtoperceivethepointofthisremark.Shesaid,‘Oh!IassureyouIdoallIcantomakehercomfortable.Idon’tknowwhatIshoulddoifsheleft.’
‘Idon’texpectshe’llleaveuntilshe’sreadytoleave,’saidMissMarpleandstaredveryhardatherhostess.
MissLaviniasaid,‘Ifonehasnodomesticworries,ittakessuchaloadoffone’smind,doesn’tit?HowisyourlittleEdnashaping?’
‘She’sdoingquitenicely.Notmuchhead,ofcourse.NotlikeyourMary.Still,IdoknowallaboutEdnabecauseshe’savillagegirl.’
Asshewentoutintothehallsheheardtheinvalid’svoicefretfullyraised.‘Thiscompresshasbeenallowedtogetquitedry—DoctorAllertonparticularlysaidmoisturecontinuallyrenewed.There,there,leaveit.Iwantacupofteaandaboiledegg—boiledonlythreeminutesandahalf,remember,andsendMissLaviniatome.’
TheefficientMaryemergedfromthebedroomand,sayingtoLavinia,‘MissEmilyisaskingforyou,madam,’proceededtoopenthedoorforMissMarple,helpingherintohercoatandhandingherherumbrellainthemostirreproachablefashion.
MissMarpletooktheumbrella,droppedit,triedtopickitup,anddroppedherbag,whichflewopen.Marypolitelyretrievedvariousoddsandends—ahandkerchief,anengagementbook,anold-fashionedleatherpurse,twoshillings,threepennies,andastripedpieceofpeppermintrock.
MissMarplereceivedthelastwithsomesignsofconfusion.
‘Oh,dear,thatmusthavebeenMrsClement’slittleboy.Hewassuckingit,Iremember,andhetookmybagtoplaywith.Hemusthaveputitinside.It’sterriblysticky,isn’tit?’
‘ShallItakeit,madam?’
‘Oh,wouldyou?Thankyousomuch.’
Marystoopedtoretrievethelastitem,asmallmirror,uponrecoveringwhichMissMarpleexclaimedfervently,‘Howlucky,now,thatthatisn’tbroken.’
Shethereupondeparted,Marystandingpolitelybythedoorholdingapieceofstripedrockwithacompletelyexpressionlessface.
IV
FortendayslongerStMaryMeadhadtoendurehearingoftheexcellenciesofMissLavinia’sandMissEmily’streasure.
Ontheeleventhday,thevillageawoketoitsbigthrill.
Mary,theparagon,wasmissing!Herbedhadnotbeensleptin,andthefrontdoorwasfoundajar.Shehadslippedoutquietlyduringthenight.
AndnotMaryalonewasmissing!TwobroochesandfiveringsofMissLavinia’s;threerings,apendant,abracelet,andfourbroochesofMissEmily’sweremissing,also!
Itwasthebeginningofachapterofcatastrophe.
YoungMrsDevereuxhadlostherdiamondswhichshekeptinanunlockeddrawerandalsosomevaluablefursgiventoherasaweddingpresent.Thejudgeandhiswifealsohadhadjewellerytakenandacertainamountofmoney.MrsCarmichaelwasthegreatestsufferer.Notonlyhadshesomeveryvaluablejewelsbutshealsokeptintheflatalargesumofmoneywhichhadgone.IthadbeenJanet’seveningout,andhermistresswasinthehabitofwalkingroundthegardensatduskcallingtothebirdsandscatteringcrumbs.ItseemedclearthatMary,theperfectmaid,hadhadkeystofitalltheflats!
Therewas,itmustbeconfessed,acertainamountofill-naturedpleasureinStMaryMead.MissLaviniahadboastedsomuchofhermarvellousMary.
‘Andallthetime,mydear,justacommonthief!’
Interestingrevelationsfollowed.NotonlyhadMarydisappearedintotheblue,buttheagencywhohadprovidedherandvouchedforhercredentialswasalarmedtofindthattheMaryHigginswhohadappliedtothemandwhosereferencestheyhadtakenuphad,toallintentsandpurposes,neverexisted.Itwasthenameofabonafideservantwhohadlivedwiththebonafidesisterofadean,buttherealMaryHigginswasexistingpeacefullyinaplaceinCornwall.
‘Damnedclever,thewholething,’InspectorSlackwasforcedtoadmit.‘And,ifyouaskme,thatwomanworkswithagang.TherewasacaseofmuchthesamekindinNorthumberlandayearago.Stuffwasnevertraced,andtheynevercaughther.However,we’lldobetterthanthatinMuchBenham!’
InspectorSlackwasalwaysaconfidentman.
Nevertheless,weekspassed,andMaryHigginsremainedtriumphantlyatlarge.InvainInspectorSlackredoubledthatenergythatsobeliedhisname.
MissLaviniaremainedtearful.MissEmilywassoupset,andfeltsoalarmedbyherconditionthatsheactuallysentforDoctorHaydock.
ThewholeofthevillagewasterriblyanxioustoknowwhathethoughtofMissEmily’sclaimstoillhealth,butnaturallycouldnotaskhim.Satisfactorydatacametohandonthesubject,however,throughMrMeek,thechemist’sassistant,whowaswalkingoutwithClara,MrsPrice-Ridley’smaid.ItwasthenknownthatDoctorHaydockhadprescribedamixtureofasafoetidaandvalerianwhich,accordingtoMrMeek,wasthestockremedyformalingerersinthearmy!
SoonafterwardsitwaslearnedthatMissEmily,notrelishingthemedicalattentionshehadhad,wasdeclaringthatinthestateofherhealthshefeltitherdutytobenearthespecialistinLondonwhounderstoodhercase.Itwas,shesaid,onlyfairtoLavinia.
Theflatwasputupforsubletting.
V
ItwasafewdaysafterthatthatMissMarple,ratherpinkandflustered,calledatthepolicestationinMuchBenhamandaskedforInspectorSlack.
InspectorSlackdidnotlikeMissMarple.ButhewasawarethattheChiefConstable,ColonelMelchett,didnotsharethatopinion.Rathergrudgingly,therefore,hereceivedher.
‘Goodafternoon,MissMarple,whatcanIdoforyou?’
‘Oh,dear,’saidMissMarple,‘I’mafraidyou’reinahurry.’
‘Lotsofworkon,’saidInspectorSlack,‘butIcanspareafewmoments.’
‘Ohdear,’saidMissMarple.‘IhopeIshallbeabletoputwhatIsayproperly.Sodifficult,youknow,toexplainoneself,don’tyouthink?No,perhapsyoudon’t.Butyousee,nothavingbeeneducatedinthemodernstyle—justagoverness,youknow,whotaughtonethedatesofthekingsofEnglandandgeneralknowledge—DoctorBrewer—threekindsofdiseasesofwheat—blight,mildew—nowwhatwasthethird—wasitsmut?’
‘Doyouwanttotalkaboutsmut?’askedInspectorSlackandthenblushed.
‘Oh,no,no.’MissMarplehastilydisclaimedanywishtotalkaboutsmut.‘Justanillustration,youknow.Andhowneedlesaremade,andallthat.Discursive,youknow,butnotteachingonetokeeptothepoint.WhichiswhatIwanttodo.It’saboutMissSkinner’smaid,Gladys,youknow.’
‘MaryHiggins,’saidInspectorSlack.
‘Oh,yes,thesecondmaid.Butit’sGladysHolmesImean—ratheranimpertinentgirlandfartoopleasedwithherselfbutreallystrictlyhonest,andit’ssoimportantthatthatshouldberecognized.’
‘NochargeagainsthersofarasIknow,’saidtheinspector.
‘No,Iknowthereisn’tacharge—butthatmakesitworse.Because,yousee,peoplegoonthinkingthings.Oh,dear—IknewIshouldexplainthingsbadly.WhatIreallymeanisthattheimportantthingistofindMaryHiggins.’
‘Certainly,’saidInspectorSlack.‘Haveyouanyideasonthesubject?’
‘Well,asamatteroffact,Ihave,’saidMissMarple.‘MayIaskyouaquestion?Arefingerprintsofnousetoyou?’
‘Ah,’saidInspectorSlack,‘that’swhereshewasabittooartfulforus.Didmostofherworkinrubberglovesorhousemaid’sgloves,itseems.Andshe’dbeencareful—wipedoffeverythinginherbedroomandonthesink.Couldn’tfindasinglefingerprintintheplace!’
‘Ifyoudidhavefingerprints,wouldithelp?’
‘Itmight,madam.TheymaybeknownattheYard.Thisisn’therfirstjob,I’dsay!’
MissMarplenoddedbrightly.Sheopenedherbagandextractedasmallcardboardbox.Insideit,wedgedincottonwool,wasasmallmirror.
‘Frommyhandbag,’saidMissMarple.‘Themaid’sprintsareonit.Ithinktheyshouldbesatisfactory—shetouchedanextremelystickysubstanceamomentpreviously.’
InspectorSlackstared.‘Didyougetherfingerprintsonpurpose?’
‘Ofcourse.’
‘Yoususpectedherthen?’
‘Well,youknow,itdidstrikemethatshewasalittletoogoodtobetrue.IpracticallytoldMissLaviniaso.Butshesimplywouldn’ttakethehint!I’mafraid,youknow,Inspector,thatIdon’tbelieveinparagons.Mostofushaveourfaults—anddomesticserviceshowsthemupveryquickly!’
‘Well,’saidInspectorSlack,recoveringhisbalance,‘I’mobligedtoyou,I’msure.We’llsendtheseuptotheYardandseewhattheyhavetosay.’
Hestopped.MissMarplehadputherheadalittleononesideandwasregardinghimwithagooddealofmeaning.
‘Youwouldn’tconsider,Isuppose,Inspector,lookingalittlenearerhome?’
‘Whatdoyoumean,MissMarple?’
‘It’sverydifficulttoexplain,butwhenyoucomeacrossapeculiarthingyounoticeit.Although,often,peculiarthingsmaybethemeresttrifles.I’vefeltthatallalong,youknow;ImeanaboutGladysandthebrooch.She’sanhonestgirl;shedidn’ttakethatbrooch.ThenwhydidMissSkinnerthinkshedid?MissSkinner’snotafool;farfromit!Whywasshesoanxioustoletagirlgowhowasagoodservantwhenservantsarehardtoget?Itwaspeculiar,youknow.SoIwondered.Iwonderedagooddeal.AndInoticedanotherpeculiarthing!MissEmily’sahypochondriac,butshe’sthefirsthypochondriacwhohasn’tsentforsomedoctororotheratonce.Hypochondriacslovedoctors,MissEmilydidn’t!’
‘Whatareyousuggesting,MissMarple?’
‘Well,I’msuggesting,youknow,thatMissLaviniaandMissEmilyarepeculiarpeople.MissEmilyspendsnearlyallhertimeinadarkroom.Andifthathairofhersisn’tawigI—I’lleatmyownbackswitch!AndwhatIsayisthis—it’sperfectlypossibleforathin,pale,grey-haired,whiningwomantobethesameasablack-haired,rosy-cheeked,plumpwoman.AndnobodythatIcanfindeversawMissEmilyandMaryHigginsatoneandthesametime.
‘Plentyoftimetogetimpressionsofallthekeys,plentyoftimetofindoutallabouttheothertenants,andthen—getridofthelocalgirl.MissEmilytakesabriskwalkacrosscountryonenightandarrivesatthestationasMaryHigginsnextday.Andthen,attherightmoment,MaryHigginsdisappears,andoffgoesthehueandcryafterher.I’lltellyouwhereyou’llfindher,Inspector.OnMissEmilySkinner’ssofa!Getherfingerprintsifyoudon’tbelieveme,butyou’llfindI’mright!Acoupleofcleverthieves,that’swhattheSkinnersare—andnodoubtinleaguewithacleverpostandrailsorfenceorwhateveryoucallit.Buttheywon’tgetawaywithitthistime!I’mnotgoingtohaveoneofourvillagegirls’characterforhonestytakenawaylikethat!GladysHolmesisashonestastheday,andeverybody’sgoingtoknowit!Goodafternoon!’
MissMarplehadstalkedoutbeforeInspectorSlackhadrecovered.
‘Whew?’hemuttered.‘Iwonderifshe’sright?’
HesoonfoundoutthatMissMarplewasrightagain.
ColonelMelchettcongratulatedSlackonhisefficiency,andMissMarplehadGladyscometoteawithEdnaandspoketoherseriouslyonsettlingdowninagoodsituationwhenshegotone.
MissMarpleTellsaStory
Idon’tthinkI’veevertoldyou,mydears—you,Raymond,andyou,Joan,abouttherathercuriouslittlebusinessthathappenedsomeyearsagonow.Idon’twanttoseemvaininanyway—ofcourseIknowthatincomparisonwithyouyoungpeopleI’mnotcleveratall—Raymondwritesthoseverymodernbooksallaboutratherunpleasantyoungmenandwomen—andJoanpaintsthoseveryremarkablepicturesofsquarepeoplewithcuriousbulgesonthem—verycleverofyou,mydear,butasRaymondalwayssays(onlyquitekindly,becauseheisthekindestofnephews)IamhopelesslyVictorian.IadmireMrAlma-TademaandMrFredericLeightonandIsupposetoyoutheyseemhopelesslyvieuxjeu.Nowletmesee,whatwasIsaying?Oh,yes—thatIdidn’twanttoappearvain—butIcouldn’thelpbeingjustateenyweenybitpleasedwithmyself,because,justbyapplyingalittlecommonsense,IbelieveIreallydidsolveaproblemthathadbaffledclevererheadsthanmine.ThoughreallyIshouldhavethoughtthewholethingwasobviousfromthebeginning…
Well,I’lltellyoumylittlestory,andifyouthinkI’minclinedtobeconceitedaboutit,youmustrememberthatIdidatleasthelpafellowcreaturewhowasinverygravedistress.
ThefirstIknewofthisbusinesswasoneeveningaboutnineo’clockwhenGwen—(yourememberGwen?Mylittlemaidwithredhair)well—GwencameinandtoldmethatMrPetherickandagentlemanhadcalledtoseeme.Gwenhadshownthemintothedrawing-room—quiterightly.Iwassittinginthedining-roombecauseinearlyspringIthinkitissowastefultohavetwofiresgoing.
IdirectedGwentobringinthecherrybrandyandsomeglassesandIhurriedintothedrawing-room.Idon’tknowwhetheryourememberMrPetherick?Hediedtwoyearsago,buthehadbeenafriendofmineformanyyearsaswellasattendingtoallmylegalbusiness.Averyshrewdmanandareallycleversolicitor.Hissondoesmybusinessformenow—averyniceladandveryuptodate—butsomehowIdon’tfeelquitetheconfidenceIhadwithMrPetherick.
IexplainedtoMrPetherickaboutthefiresandhesaidatoncethatheandhisfriendwouldcomeintothedining-room—andthenheintroducedhisfriend—aMrRhodes.Hewasayoungishman—notmuchoverforty—andIsawatoncetherewassomethingverywrong.Hismannerwasmostpeculiar.Onemighthavecalleditrudeifonehadn’trealizedthatthepoorfellowwassufferingfromstrain
Whenweweresettledinthedining-roomandGwenhadbroughtthecherrybrandy,MrPetherickexplainedthereasonforhisvisit.
‘MissMarple,’hesaid,‘youmustforgiveanoldfriendfortakingaliberty.WhatIhavecomehereforisaconsultation.’
Icouldn’tunderstandatallwhathemeant,andhewenton:
‘Inacaseofillnessonelikestwopointsofview—thatofthespecialistandthatofthefamilyphysician.Itisthefashiontoregardtheformerasofmorevalue,butIamnotsurethatIagree.Thespecialisthasexperienceonlyinhisownsubject—thefamilydoctorhas,perhaps,lessknowledge—butawiderexperience.’
Iknewjustwhathemeant,becauseayoungnieceofminenotlongbeforehadhurriedherchildofftoaverywell-knownspecialistinskindiseaseswithoutconsultingherowndoctorwhomsheconsideredanolddodderer,andthespecialisthadorderedsomeveryexpensivetreatment,andlaterfoundthatallthechildwassufferingfromwasaratherunusualformofmeasles.
Ijustmentionthis—thoughIhaveahorrorofdigressing—toshowthatIappreciateMrPetherick’spoint—butIstillhadn’tanyideawhathewasdrivingat.
‘IfMrRhodesisill—’Isaid,andstopped—becausethepoormangaveamostdreadfullaugh.
Hesaid:‘Iexpecttodieofabrokenneckinafewmonths’time.’
Andthenitallcameout.TherehadbeenacaseofmurderlatelyinBarnchester—atownabouttwentymilesaway.I’mafraidIhadn’tpaidmuchattentiontoitatthetime,becausewehadbeenhavingalotofexcitementinthevillageaboutourdistrictnurse,andoutsideoccurrenceslikeanearthquakeinIndiaandamurderinBarnchester,althoughofcoursefarmoreimportantreally—hadgivenwaytoourownlittlelocalexcitements.I’mafraidvillagesarelikethat.Still,Ididrememberhavingreadaboutawomanhavingbeenstabbedinahotel,thoughIhadn’trememberedhername.ButnowitseemedthatthiswomanhadbeenMrRhodes’swife—andasifthatwasn’tbadenough—hewasactuallyundersuspicionofhavingmurderedherhimself.
AllthisMrPetherickexplainedtomeveryclearly,sayingthat,althoughtheCoronor’sjuryhadbroughtinaverdictofmurderbyapersonorpersonsunknown,MrRhodeshadreasontobelievethathewouldprobablybearrestedwithinadayortwo,andthathehadcometoMrPetherickandplacedhimselfinhishands.MrPetherickwentontosaythattheyhadthatafternoonconsultedSirMalcolmOlde,K.C.,andthatintheeventofthecasecomingtotrialSirMalcolmhadbeenbriefedtodefendMrRhodes.
SirMalcolmwasayoungman,MrPethericksaid,veryuptodateinhismethods,andhehadindicatedacertainlineofdefence.ButwiththatlineofdefenceMrPetherickwasnotentirelysatisfied.
‘Yousee,mydearlady,’hesaid,‘itistaintedwithwhatIcallthespecialist’spointofview.GiveSirMalcolmacaseandheseesonlyonepoint—themostlikelylineofdefence.Buteventhebestlineofdefencemayignorecompletelywhatis,tomymind,thevitalpoint.Ittakesnoaccountofwhatactuallyhappened.’
Thenhewentontosaysomeverykindandflatteringthingsaboutmyacumenandjudgementandmyknowledgeofhumannature,andaskedpermissiontotellmethestoryofthecaseinthehopesthatImightbeabletosuggestsomeexplanation.
IcouldseethatMrRhodeswashighlyscepticalofmybeingofanyuseandhewasannoyedatbeingbroughthere.ButMrPethericktooknonoticeandproceededtogivemethefactsofwhatoccurredonthenightofMarch8th.
MrandMrsRhodeshadbeenstayingattheCrownHotelinBarnchester.MrsRhodeswho(soIgatheredfromMrPetherick’scarefullanguage)wasperhapsjustashadeofahypochondriac,hadretiredtobedimmediatelyafterdinner.Sheandherhusbandoccupiedadjoiningroomswithaconnectingdoor.MrRhodes,whoiswritingabookonprehistoricflints,settleddowntoworkintheadjoiningroom.Ateleveno’clockhetidieduphispapersandpreparedtogotobed.Beforedoingso,hejustglancedintohiswife’sroomtomakesurethattherewasnothingshewanted.Hediscoveredtheelectriclightonandhiswifelyinginbedstabbedthroughtheheart.Shehadbeendeadatleastanhour—probablylonger.Thefollowingwerethepointsmade.TherewasanotherdoorinMrsRhodes’sroomleadingintothecorridor.Thisdoorwaslockedandboltedontheinside.Theonlywindowintheroomwasclosedandlatched.AccordingtoMrRhodesnobodyhadpassedthroughtheroominwhichhewassittingexceptachambermaidbringinghot-waterbottles.TheweaponfoundinthewoundwasastilettodaggerwhichhadbeenlyingonMrsRhodes’sdressing-table.Shewasinthehabitofusingitasapaperknife.Therewerenofingerprintsonit.
Thesituationboileddowntothis—noonebutMrRhodesandthechambermaidhadenteredthevictim’sroom.
Ienquiredaboutthechambermaid.
‘Thatwasourfirstlineofenquiry,’saidMrPetherick.‘MaryHillisalocalwoman.ShehadbeenchambermaidattheCrownfortenyears.Thereseemsabsolutelynoreasonwhysheshouldcommitasuddenassaultonaguest.Sheis,inanycase,extraordinarilystupid,almosthalf-witted.Herstoryhasnevervaried.ShebroughtMrsRhodesherhot-waterbottleandsaystheladywasdrowsy—justdroppingofftosleep.Frankly,Icannotbelieve,andIamsurenojurywouldbelieve,thatshecommittedthecrime.’
MrPetherickwentontomentionafewadditionaldetails.AttheheadofthestaircaseintheCrownHotelisakindofminiatureloungewherepeoplesometimessitandhavecoffee.ApassagegoesofftotherightandthelastdoorinitisthedoorintotheroomoccupiedbyMrRhodes.ThepassagethenturnssharplytotherightagainandthefirstdoorroundthecorneristhedoorintoMrsRhodes’sroom.Asithappened,boththesedoorscouldbeseenbywitnesses.Thefirstdoor—thatintoMrRhodes’sroom,whichIwillcallA,couldbeseenbyfourpeople,twocommercialtravellersandanelderlymarriedcouplewhowerehavingcoffee.AccordingtothemnobodywentinoroutofdoorAexceptMrRhodesandthechambermaid.AstotheotherdoorinthepassageB,therewasanelectricianatworkthereandhealsoswearsthatnobodyenteredorleftdoorBexceptthechambermaid.
Itwascertainlyaverycuriousandinterestingcase.Onthefaceofit,itlookedasthoughMrRhodesmusthavemurderedhiswife.ButIcouldseethatMrPetherickwasquiteconvincedofhisclient’sinnocenceandMrPetherickwasaveryshrewdman.
AttheinquestMrRhodeshadtoldahesitatingandramblingstoryaboutsomewomanwhohadwrittenthreateningletterstohiswife.Hisstory,Igathered,hadbeenunconvincingintheextreme.AppealedtobyMrPetherick,heexplainedhimself.
‘Frankly,’hesaid,‘Ineverbelievedit.IthoughtAmyhadmademostofitup.’
MrsRhodes,Igathered,wasoneofthoseromanticliarswhogothroughlifeembroideringeverythingthathappenstothem.Theamountofadventuresthat,accordingtoherownaccount,happenedtoherinayearwassimplyincredible.Ifsheslippedonabitofbananapeelitwasacaseofnearescapefromdeath.Ifalampshadecaughtfireshewasrescuedfromaburningbuildingatthehazardofherlife.Herhusbandgotintothehabitofdiscountingherstatements.Hertaleastosomewomanwhosechildshehadinjuredinamotoraccidentandwhohadvowedvengeanceonher—well—MrRhodeshadsimplynottakenanynoticeofit.Theincidenthadhappenedbeforehemarriedhiswifeandalthoughshehadreadhimletterscouchedincrazylanguage,hehadsuspectedherofcomposingthemherself.Shehadactuallydonesuchathingonceortwicebefore.Shewasawomanofhystericaltendencieswhocravedceaselesslyforexcitement.
Now,allthatseemedtomeverynatural—indeed,wehaveayoungwomaninthevillagewhodoesmuchthesamething.Thedangerwithsuchpeopleisthatwhenanythingatallextraordinaryreallydoeshappentothem,nobodybelievestheyarespeakingthetruth.Itseemedtomethatthatwaswhathadhappenedinthiscase.Thepolice,Igathered,merelybelievedthatMrRhodeswasmakingupthisunconvincingtaleinordertoavertsuspicionfromhimself.
Iaskediftherehadbeenanywomenstayingbythemselvesinthehotel.Itseemedthereweretwo—aMrsGranby,anAnglo-Indianwidow,andaMissCarruthers,ratherahorseyspinsterwhodroppedherg’s.MrPetherickaddedthatthemostminuteenquirieshadfailedtoelicitanyonewhohadseeneitherofthemnearthesceneofthecrimeandtherewasnothingtoconnecteitherofthemwithitinanyway.Iaskedhimtodescribetheirpersonalappearance.HesaidthatMrsGranbyhadreddishhairratheruntidilydone,wassallow-facedandaboutfiftyyearsofage.Herclotheswereratherpicturesque,beingmademostlyofnativesilk,etc.MissCarrutherswasaboutforty,worepince-nez,hadclose-croppedhairlikeamanandworemannishcoatsandskirts.
‘Dearme,’Isaid,‘thatmakesitverydifficult.’
MrPethericklookedenquiringlyatme,butIdidn’twanttosayanymorejustthen,soIaskedwhatSirMalcolmOldehadsaid.
SirMalcolmwasconfidentofbeingabletocallconflictingmedicaltestimonyandtosuggestsomewayofgettingoverthefingerprintdifficulty.IaskedMrRhodeswhathethoughtandhesaidalldoctorswerefoolsbuthehimselfcouldn’treallybelievethathiswifehadkilledherself.‘Shewasn’tthatkindofwoman,’hesaidsimply—andIbelievedhim.Hystericalpeopledon’tusuallycommitsuicide.
IthoughtaminuteandthenIaskedifthedoorfromMrsRhodes’sroomledstraightintothecorridor.MrRhodessaidno—therewasalittlehallwaywithabathroomandlavatory.Itwasthedoorfromthebedroomtothehallwaythatwaslockedandboltedontheinside.
‘Inthatcase,’Isaid,‘thewholethingseemsremarkablysimple.’
Andreally,youknow,itdid…thesimplestthingintheworld.Andyetnooneseemedtohaveseenitthatway.
BothMrPetherickandMrRhodeswerestaringatmesothatIfeltquiteembarrassed.
‘Perhaps,’saidMrRhodes,‘MissMarplehasn’tquiteappreciatedthedifficulties.’
‘Yes,’Isaid,‘IthinkIhave.Therearefourpossibilities.EitherMrsRhodeswaskilledbyherhusband,orbythechambermaid,orshecommittedsuicide,orshewaskilledbyanoutsiderwhomnobodysawenterorleave.’
‘Andthat’simpossible,’MrRhodesbrokein.‘Nobodycouldcomeinorgooutthroughmyroomwithoutmyseeingthem,andevenifanyonedidmanagetocomeinthroughmywife’sroomwithouttheelectricianseeingthem,howthedevilcouldtheygetoutagainleavingthedoorlockedandboltedontheinside?’
MrPethericklookedatmeandsaid:‘Well,MissMarple?’inanencouragingmanner.
‘Ishouldlike,’Isaid,‘toaskaquestion.MrRhodes,whatdidthechambermaidlooklike?’
Hesaidhewasn’tsure—shewastallish,hethought—hedidn’trememberifshewasfairordark.IturnedtoMrPetherickandaskedthesamequestion.
Hesaidshewasofmediumheight,hadfairishhairandblueeyesandratherahighcolour.
MrRhodessaid:‘YouareabetterobserverthanIam,Petherick.’
Iventuredtodisagree.IthenaskedMrRhodesifhecoulddescribethemaidinmyhouse.NeitherhenorMrPetherickcoulddoso.
‘Don’tyouseewhatthatmeans?’Isaid.‘Youbothcameherefullofyourownaffairsandthepersonwholetyouinwasonlyaparlourmaid.ThesameappliestoMrRhodesatthehotel.Hesawheruniformandherapron.Hewasengrossedbyhiswork.ButMrPetherickhasinterviewedthesamewomaninadifferentcapacity.Hehaslookedatherasaperson
‘That’swhatthewomanwhodidthemurdercountedupon.’
Astheystilldidn’tsee,Ihadtoexplain.
‘Ithink,’Isaid,‘thatthisishowitwent.ThechambermaidcameinbydoorA,passedthroughMrRhodes’sroomintoMrsRhodes’sroomwiththehot-waterbottleandwentoutthroughthehallwayintopassageB.X—asIwillcallourmurderess—cameinbydoorBintothelittlehallway,concealedherselfin—well,inacertainapartment,ahem—andwaiteduntilthechambermaidhadpassedout.ThensheenteredMrsRhodes’sroom,tookthestilettofromthedressingtable(shehaddoubtlessexploredtheroomearlierintheday),wentuptothebed,stabbedthedozingwoman,wipedthehandleofthestiletto,lockedandboltedthedoorbywhichshehadentered,andthenpassedoutthroughtheroomwhereMrRhodeswasworking.’
MrRhodescriedout:‘ButIshouldhaveseenher.Theelectricianwouldhaveseenhergoin.’
‘No,’Isaid.‘That’swhereyou’rewrong.Youwouldn’tseeher—notifsheweredressedasachambermaid.’Iletitsinkin,thenIwenton,‘Youwereengrossedinyourwork—outofthetailofyoureyeyousawachambermaidcomein,gointoyourwife’sroom,comebackandgoout.Itwasthesamedress—butnotthesamewoman.That’swhatthepeoplehavingcoffeesaw—achambermaidgoinandachambermaidcomeout.Theelectriciandidthesame.Idaresayifachambermaidwereveryprettyagentlemanmightnoticeherface—humannaturebeingwhatitis—butifshewerejustanordinarymiddle-agedwoman—well—itwouldbethechambermaid’sdressyouwouldsee—notthewomanherself.’
MrRhodescried:‘Whowasshe?’
‘Well,’Isaid,‘thatisgoingtobealittledifficult.ItmustbeeitherMrsGranbyorMissCarruthers.MrsGranbysoundsasthoughshemightwearawignormally—soshecouldwearherownhairasachambermaid.Ontheotherhand,MissCarrutherswithherclose-croppedmannishheadmighteasilyputonawigtoplayherpart.Idaresayyouwillfindouteasilyenoughwhichofthemitis.Personally,IinclinemyselftothinkitwillbeMissCarruthers.’
Andreally,mydears,thatistheendofthestory.Carrutherswasafalsename,butshewasthewomanallright.Therewasinsanityinherfamily.MrsRhodes,whowasamostrecklessanddangerousdriver,hadrunoverherlittlegirl,andithaddriventhepoorwomanoffherhead.Sheconcealedhermadnessverycunninglyexceptforwritingdistinctlyinsanelatterstoherintendedvictim.Shehadbeenfollowingheraboutforsometime,andshelaidherplansverycleverly.Thefalsehairandmaid’sdressshepostedinaparcelfirstthingthenextmorning.Whentaxedwiththetruthshebrokedownandconfessedatonce.ThepoorthingisinBroadmoornow.Completelyunbalancedofcourse,butaverycleverlyplannedcrime.
MrPetherickcametomeafterwardsandbroughtmeaveryniceletterfromMrRhodes—really,itmademeblush.Thenmyoldfriendsaidtome:‘Justonething—whydidyouthinkitwasmorelikelytobeCarruthersthanGranby?You’dneverseeneitherofthem.’
‘Well,’Isaid.‘Itwastheg’s.Yousaidshedroppedherg’s.Now,that’sdonebyalotofhuntingpeopleinbooks,butIdon’tknowmanypeoplewhodoitinreality—andcertainlynooneundersixty.Yousaidthiswomanwasforty.Thosedroppedg’ssoundedtomelikeawomanwhowasplayingapartandover-doingit.’
Ishan’ttellyouwhatMrPethericksaidtothat—buthewasverycomplimentary—andIreallycouldn’thelpfeelingjustateenyweenybitpleasedwithmyself.
Andit’sextraordinaryhowthingsturnoutforthebestinthisworld.MrRhodeshasmarriedagain—suchanice,sensiblegirl—andthey’vegotadearlittlebabyand—whatdoyouthink?—theyaskedmetobegodmother.Wasn’titniceofthem?
NowIdohopeyoudon’tthinkI’vebeenrunningontoolong…
TheDressmaker’sDoll
I
Thedolllayinthebigvelvet-coveredchair.Therewasnotmuchlightintheroom;theLondonskiesweredark.Inthegentle,greyish-greengloom,thesage-greencoveringsandthecurtainsandtherugsallblendedwitheachother.Thedollblended,too.Shelaylongandlimpandsprawledinhergreen-velvetclothesandhervelvetcapandthepaintedmaskofherface.ShewasthePuppetDoll,thewhimofRichWomen,thedollwholollsbesidethetelephone,oramongthecushionsofthedivan.Shesprawledthere,eternallylimpandyetstrangelyalive.Shelookedadecadentproductofthetwentiethcentury.
SybilFox,hurryinginwithsomepatternsandasketch,lookedatthedollwithafaintfeelingofsurpriseandbewilderment.Shewondered—butwhatevershewondereddidnotgettothefrontofhermind.Instead,shethoughttoherself,‘Now,what’shappenedtothepatternofthebluevelvet?WhereverhaveIputit?I’msureIhaditherejustnow.’Shewentoutonthelandingandcalleduptotheworkroom.
‘Elspeth,Elspeth,haveyouthebluepatternupthere?MrsFellows-Brownwillbehereanyminutenow.’
Shewentinagain,switchingonthelights.Againsheglancedatthedoll.‘Nowwhereonearth—ah,thereitis.’Shepickedthepatternupfromwhereithadfallenfromherhand.TherewastheusualcreakoutsideonthelandingastheelevatorcametoahaltandinaminuteortwoMrsFellows-Brown,accompaniedbyherPekinese,camepuffingintotheroomratherlikeafussylocaltrainarrivingatawaysidestation.
‘It’sgoingtopour,’shesaid,‘simplypour!’
Shethrewoffherglovesandafur.AliciaCoombecamein.Shedidn’talwayscomeinnowadays,onlywhenspecialcustomersarrived,andMrsFellows-Brownwassuchacustomer.
Elspeth,theforewomanoftheworkroom,camedownwiththefrockandSybilpulleditoverMrsFellows-Brown’shead.
‘There,’shesaid,‘Ithinkit’sgood.Yes,it’sdefinitelyasuccess.’
MrsFellows-Brownturnedsidewaysandlookedinthemirror.
‘Imustsay,’shesaid,‘yourclothesdodosomethingtomybehind.’
‘You’remuchthinnerthanyouwerethreemonthsago,’Sybilassuredher.
‘I’mreallynot,’saidMrsFellows-Brown,‘thoughImustsayIlookitinthis.There’ssomethingaboutthewayyoucut,itreallydoesminimizemybehind.IalmostlookasthoughIhadn’tgotone—Imeanonlytheusualkindthatmostpeoplehave.’Shesighedandgingerlysmoothedthetroublesomeportionofheranatomy.‘It’salwaysbeenabitofatrialtome,’shesaid.‘Ofcourse,foryearsIcouldpullitin,youknow,bystickingoutmyfront.Well,Ican’tdothatanylongerbecauseI’vegotastomachnowaswellasabehind.AndImean—well,youcan’tpullitinbothways,canyou?’
AliciaCoombesaid,‘Youshouldseesomeofmycustomers!’
MrsFellows-Brownexperimentedtoandfro.
‘Astomachisworsethanabehind,’shesaid.‘Itshowsmore.Orperhapsyouthinkitdoes,because,Imean,whenyou’retalkingtopeopleyou’refacingthemandthat’sthemomenttheycan’tseeyourbehindbuttheycannoticeyourstomach.Anyway,I’vemadeitaruletopullinmystomachandletmybehindlookafteritself.’Shecranedherneckroundstillfarther,thensaidsuddenly,‘Oh,thatdollofyours!Shegivesmethecreeps.Howlonghaveyouhadher?’
SybilglanceduncertainlyatAliciaCoombe,wholookedpuzzledbutvaguelydistressed.
‘Idon’tknowexactly…sometimeIthink—Inevercanrememberthings.It’sawfulnowadays—Isimplycannotremember.Sybil,howlonghavewehadher?’
Sybilsaidshortly,‘Idon’tknow.’
‘Well,’saidMrsFellows-Brown,‘shegivesmethecreeps.Uncanny!Shelooks,youknow,asthoughshewaswatchingusall,andperhapslaughinginthatvelvetsleeveofhers.I’dgetridofherifIwereyou.’Shegavealittleshiver,thensheplungedoncemoreintodress-makingdetails.Shouldsheorshouldshenothavethesleevesaninchshorter?Andwhataboutthelength?Whenalltheseimportantpointsweresettledsatisfactorily,MrsFellows-Brownresumedherowngarmentsandpreparedtoleave.Asshepassedthedoll,sheturnedherheadagain.
‘No,’shesaid,‘Idon’tlikethatdoll.Shelookstoomuchasthoughshebelongedhere.Itisn’thealthy.’
‘Nowwhatdidshemeanbythat?’demandedSybil,asMrsFellows-Browndeparteddownthestairs.
BeforeAliciaCoombecouldanswer,MrsFellows-Brownreturned,pokingherheadroundthedoor.
‘Goodgracious,IforgotallaboutFou-Ling.Whereareyou,ducksie?Well,Inever!’
Shestaredandtheothertwowomenstared,too.ThePekinesewassittingbythegreen-velvetchair,staringupatthelimpdollsprawledonit.Therewasnoexpression,eitherofpleasureorresentment,onhissmall,pop-eyedface.Hewasmerelylooking.
‘Comealong,mum’sdarling,’saidMrsFellows-Brown.
Mum’sdarlingpaidnoattentionwhatever.
‘Hegetsmoredisobedienteveryday,’saidMrsFellows-Brown,withtheairofonecataloguingavirtue.‘Comeon,Fou-Ling.Dindins.Lufflyliver.’
Fou-Lingturnedhisheadaboutaninchandahalftowardshismistress,thenwithdisdainresumedhisappraisalofthedoll.
‘She’scertainlymadeanimpressiononhim,’saidMrsFellows-Brown.‘Idon’tthinkhe’severnoticedherbefore.Ihaven’teither.WassheherelasttimeIcame?’
Theothertwowomenlookedateachother.Sybilnowhadafrownonherface,andAliciaCoombesaid,wrinklingupherforehead,‘Itoldyou—Isimplycan’trememberanythingnowadays.Howlonghavewehadher,Sybil?’
‘Wheredidshecomefrom?’demandedMrsFellows-Brown.‘Didyoubuyher?’
‘Ohno.’SomehowAliciaCoombewasshockedattheidea.‘Ohno.Isuppose—Isupposesomeonegavehertome.’Sheshookherhead.‘Maddening!’sheexclaimed.‘Absolutelymaddening,wheneverythinggoesoutofyourheadtheverymomentafterit’shappened.’
‘Nowdon’tbestupid,Fou-Ling,’saidMrsFellows-Brownsharply.‘Comeon.I’llhavetopickyouup.’
Shepickedhimup.Fou-Lingutteredashortbarkofagonizedprotest.TheywentoutoftheroomwithFou-Ling’spop-eyedfaceturnedoverhisfluffyshoulder,stillstaringwithenormousattentionatthedollonthechair…
‘Thattheredoll,’saidMrsGroves,‘fairgivesmethecreeps,itdoes.’
MrsGroveswasthecleaner.Shehadjustfinishedacrablikeprogressbackwardsalongthefloor.Nowshewasstandingupandworkingslowlyroundtheroomwithaduster.
‘Funnything,’saidMrsGroves,‘nevernoticeditreallyuntilyesterday.Andthenithitmeallofasudden,asyoumightsay.’
‘Youdon’tlikeit?’askedSybil.
‘Itellyou,MrsFox,itgivesmethecreeps,’saidthecleaningwoman.‘Itain’tnatural,ifyouknowwhatImean.Allthoselonghanginglegsandthewayshe’ssloucheddownthereandthecunninglookshehasinhereye.Itdoesn’tlookhealthy,that’swhatIsay.’
‘You’veneversaidanythingaboutherbefore,’saidSybil.
‘Itellyou,Inevernoticedher—nottillthismorning…OfcourseIknowshe’sbeenheresometimebut—’Shestoppedandapuzzledexpressionflittedacrossherface.‘Sortofthingyoumightdreamofatnight,’shesaid,andgatheringupvariouscleaningimplementsshedepartedfromthefitting-roomandwalkedacrossthelandingtotheroomontheotherside.
Sybilstaredattherelaxeddoll.Anexpressionofbewildermentwasgrowingonherface.AliciaCoombeenteredandSybilturnedsharply.
‘MissCoombe,howlonghaveyouhadthiscreature?’
‘What,thedoll?Mydear,youknowIcan’trememberthings.Yesterday—why,it’stoosilly!—IwasgoingouttothatlectureandIhadn’tgonehalfwaydownthestreetwhenIsuddenlyfoundIcouldn’trememberwhereIwasgoing.IthoughtandIthought.FinallyItoldmyselfitmustbeFortnums.IknewtherewassomethingIwantedtogetatFortnums.Well,youwon’tbelieveme,itwasn’ttillIactuallygothomeandwashavingsometeathatIrememberedaboutthelecture.Ofcourse,I’vealwaysheardthatpeoplegogagaastheygetoninlife,butit’shappeningtomemuchtoofast.I’veforgottennowwhereI’veputmyhandbag—andmyspectacles,too.WheredidIputthosespectacles?Ihadthemjustnow—IwasreadingsomethinginTheTimes.’
‘Thespectaclesareonthemantelpiecehere,’saidSybil,handingthemtoher.‘Howdidyougetthedoll?Whogavehertoyou?’
‘That’sablank,too,’saidAliciaCoombe.‘Somebodygavehertomeorsenthertome,Isuppose…However,shedoesseemtomatchtheroomverywell,doesn’tshe?’
‘Rathertoowell,Ithink,’saidSybil.‘Funnythingis,Ican’trememberwhenIfirstnoticedherhere.’
‘Nowdon’tyougetthesamewayasIam,’AliciaCoombeadmonishedher.‘Afterall,you’reyoungstill.’
‘Butreally,MissCoombe,Idon’tremember.Imean,Ilookedatheryesterdayandthoughttherewassomething—well,MrsGrovesisquiteright—somethingcreepyabouther.AndthenIthoughtI’dalreadythoughtso,andthenItriedtorememberwhenIfirstthoughtso,and—well,Ijustcouldn’trememberanything!Inaway,itwasasifI’dneverseenherbefore—onlyitdidn’tfeellikethat.Itfeltasthoughshe’dbeenherealongtimebutI’donlyjustnoticedher.’
‘Perhapssheflewinthroughthewindowonedayonabroomstick,’saidAliciaCoombe.‘Anyway,shebelongsherenowallright.’Shelookedround.‘Youcouldhardlyimaginetheroomwithouther,couldyou?’
‘No,’saidSybil,withaslightshiver,‘butIratherwishIcould.’
‘Couldwhat?’
‘Imaginetheroomwithouther.’
‘Areweallgoingbarmyaboutthisdoll?’demandedAliciaCoombeimpatiently.‘What’swrongwiththepoorthing?Lookslikeadecayedcabbagetome,butperhaps,’sheadded,‘that’sbecauseIhaven’tgotspectacleson.’Sheputthemonhernoseandlookedfirmlyatthedoll.‘Yes,’shesaid,‘Iseewhatyoumean.Sheisalittlecreepy…Sad-lookingbut—well,slyandratherdetermined,too.’
‘Funny,’saidSybil,‘MrsFellows-Browntakingsuchaviolentdisliketoher.’
‘She’sonewhonevermindsspeakinghermind,’saidAliciaCoombe.
‘Butit’sodd,’persistedSybil,‘thatthisdollshouldmakesuchanimpressiononher.’
‘Well,peopledotakedislikesverysuddenlysometimes.’
‘Perhaps,’saidSybilwithalittlelaugh,‘thatdollneverwashereuntilyesterday…Perhapsshejust—flewinthroughthewindow,asyousay,andsettledherselfhere.’‘No,’saidAliciaCoombe,‘I’msureshe’sbeenheresometime.Perhapssheonlybecamevisibleyesterday.’
‘That’swhatIfeel,too,’saidSybil,‘thatshe’sbeenheresometime…butallthesameIdon’trememberreallyseeinghertillyesterday.’
‘Now,dear,’saidAliciaCoombebriskly,‘dostopit.You’remakingmefeelquitepeculiarwithshiversrunningupanddownmyspine.You’renotgoingtoworkupagreatdealofsupernaturalhoo-hahaboutthatcreature,areyou?’Shepickedupthedoll,shookitout,rearrangeditsshoulders,andsatitdownagainonanotherchair.Immediatelythedollfloppedslightlyandrelaxed
‘It’snotabitlifelike,’saidAliciaCoombe,staringatthedoll.‘Andyet,inafunnyway,shedoesseemalive,doesn’tshe?’
II
‘Oo,itdidgivemeaturn,’saidMrsGroves,asshewentroundtheshowroom,dusting.‘SuchaturnasIhardlyliketogointothefitting-roomanymore.’
‘What’sgivenyouaturn?’demandedMissCoombewhowassittingatawriting-tableinthecorner,busywithvariousaccounts.‘Thiswoman,’sheaddedmoreforherownbenefitthanthatofMrsGroves,‘thinksshecanhavetwoeveningdresses,threecocktaildresses,andasuiteveryyearwithouteverpayingmeapennyforthem!Really,somepeople!’
‘It’sthatdoll,’saidMrsGroves.
‘What,ourdollagain?’
‘Yes,sittingupthereatthedesk,likeahuman.Oo,itdidn’thalfgivemeaturn!’
‘Whatareyoutalkingabout?’
AliciaCoombegotup,strodeacrosstheroom,acrossthelandingoutside,andintotheroomopposite—thefitting-room.TherewasasmallSheratondeskinonecornerofit,andthere,sittinginachairdrawnuptoit,herlongfloppyarmsonthedesk,satthedoll.
‘Sombodyseemstohavebeenhavingfun,’saidAliciaCoombe.‘Fancysittingheruplikethat.Really,shelooksquitenatural.’
SybilFoxcamedownthestairsatthismoment,carryingadressthatwastobetriedonthatmorning.
‘Comehere,Sybil.Lookatourdollsittingatmyprivatedeskandwritinglettersnow.’
Thetwowomenlooked.
‘Really,’saidAliciaCoombe,‘it’stooridiculous!Iwonderwhoproppedherupthere.Didyou?’
‘No,Ididn’t,’saidSybil.‘Itmusthavebeenoneofthegirlsfromupstairs.’
‘Asillysortofjoke,really,’saidAliciaCoombe.Shepickedupthedollfromthedeskandthrewherbackonthesofa.
Sybillaidthedressoverachaircarefully,thenshewentoutandupthestairstotheworkroom.
‘Youknowthedoll,’shesaid,‘thevelvetdollinMissCoombe’sroomdownstairs—inthefittingroom?’
Theforewomanandthreegirlslookedup
‘Yes,miss,ofcourseweknow.’
‘Whosatherupatthedeskthismorningforajoke?’
Thethreegirlslookedather,thenElspeth,theforewoman,said,‘Satherupatthedesk?Ididn’t.’
‘NordidI,’saidoneofthegirls.‘Didyou,Marlene?’Marleneshookherhead.
‘Thisyourbitoffun,Elspeth?’
‘No,indeed,’saidElspeth,asternwomanwholookedasthoughhermouthshouldalwaysbefilledwithpins.‘I’vemoretodothangoingaboutplayingwithdollsandsittingthemupatdesks.’
‘Lookhere,’saidSybil,andtohersurprisehervoiceshookslightly.‘Itwas—itwasquiteagoodjoke,onlyI’djustliketoknowwhodidit.’
Thethreegirlsbristled.
‘We’vetoldyou,MrsFox.Noneofusdidit,didwe,Marlene?’
‘Ididn’t,’saidMarlene,‘andifNellieandMargaretsaytheydidn’t,wellthen,noneofusdid.’
‘You’veheardwhatIhadtosay,’saidElspeth.‘What’sthisallaboutanyway,MrsFox?’
‘PerhapsitwasMrsGroves?’saidMarlene.
Sybilshookherhead.‘Itwouldn’tbeMrsGroves.Itgaveherquiteaturn.’
‘I’llcomedownandseeformyself,’saidElspeth.
‘She’snottherenow,’saidSybil.‘MissCoombetookherawayfromthedeskandthrewherbackonthesofa.Well—’shepaused—‘whatImeanis,someonemusthavestuckherupthereinthechairatthewriting-desk—thinkingitwasfunny.Isuppose.And—andIdon’tseewhytheywon’tsayso.’
‘I’vetoldyoutwice,MrsFox,’saidMargaret.‘Idon’tseewhyyoushouldgoonaccusingusoftellinglies.Noneofuswoulddoasillythinglikethat.’
‘I’msorry,’saidSybil,‘Ididn’tmeantoupsetyou.But—butwhoelsecouldpossiblyhavedoneit?’
‘Perhapsshegotupandwalkedthereherself,’saidMarlene,andgiggled.
ForsomereasonSybildidn’tlikethesuggestion.
‘Oh,it’sallalotofnonsense,anyway,’shesaid,andwentdownthestairsagain.
AliciaCoombewashummingquitecheerfully.Shelookedroundtheroom.
‘I’velostmyspectaclesagain,’shesaid,‘butitdoesn’treallymatter.Idon’twanttoseeanythingthismoment.Thetroubleis,ofcourse,whenyou’reasblindasIam,thatwhenyouhavelostyourspectacles,unlessyou’vegotanotherpairtoputonandfindthemwith,well,thenyoucan’tfindthembecauseyoucan’tseetofindthem.’
‘I’lllookroundforyou,’saidSybil.‘Youhadthemjustnow.’
‘Iwentintotheotherroomwhenyouwentupstairs.IexpectItookthembackinthere.’
Shewentacrosstotheotherroom.
‘It’ssuchabother,’saidAliciaCoombe.‘Iwanttogetonwiththeseaccounts.HowcanIifIhaven’tmyspectacles?’
‘I’llgoupandgetyoursecondpairfromthebedroom,’saidSybil.
‘Ihaven’tasecondpairatpresent,’saidAliciaCoombe.
‘Why,what’shappenedtothem?’
‘Well,IthinkIleftthemyesterdaywhenIwasoutatlunch.I’verungupthere,andI’verungupthetwoshopsIwentinto,too.’
‘Oh,dear,’saidSybil,‘you’llhavetogetthreepairs,Isuppose.’
‘IfIhadthreepairsofspectacles,’saidAliciaCoombe,‘Ishouldspendmywholelifelookingforoneortheotherofthem.Ireallythinkit’sbesttohaveonlyone.Thenyou’vegottolooktillyoufindit.’
‘Well,theymustbesomewhere,’saidSybil.‘Youhaven’tbeenoutofthesetworooms.They’recertainlynothere,soyoumusthavelaidthemdowninthefitting-room.’
Shewentback,walkinground,lookingquiteclosely.Finally,asalastidea,shetookupthedollfromthesofa.
‘I’vegotthem,’shecalled.
‘Oh,wherewerethey,Sybil?’
‘Underourpreciousdoll.Isupposeyoumusthavethrownthemdownwhenyouputherbackonthesofa.’
‘Ididn’t.I’msureIdidn’t.’
‘Oh,’saidSybilwithexasperation.‘ThenIsupposethedolltookthemandwashidingthemfromyou!’
‘Really,youknow,’saidAlicia,lookingthoughtfullyatthedoll,‘Iwouldn’tputitpasther.Shelooksveryintelligent,don’tyouthink,Sybil?’
‘Idon’tthinkIlikeherface,’saidSybil.‘Shelooksasthoughsheknewsomethingthatwedidn’t.’
‘Youdon’tthinkshelookssortofsadandsweet?’saidAliciaCoombepleadingly,butwithoutconviction.
‘Idon’tthinkshe’sintheleastsweet,’saidSybil.
‘No…perhapsyou’reright…Oh,well,let’sgetonwiththings.LadyLeewillbehereinanothertenminutes.Ijustwanttogettheseinvoicesdoneandposted.’
III
‘MrsFox.MrsFox?’
‘Yes,Margaret?’saidSybil.‘Whatisit?’
Sybilwasbusyleaningoveratable,cuttingapieceofsatinmaterial.
‘Oh,MrsFox,it’sthatdollagain.Itookdownthebrowndresslikeyousaid,andthere’sthatdollsittingupatthedeskagain.Anditwasn’tme—itwasn’tanyofus.Please,MrsFox,wereallywouldn’tdosuchathing.’
Sybil’sscissorsslidalittle.
‘There,’shesaidangrily,‘lookwhatyou’vemademedo.Oh,well,it’llbeallright,Isuppose.Now,what’sthisaboutthedoll?’
‘She’ssittingatthedeskagain.’
Sybilwentdownandwalkedintothefitting-room.Thedollwassittingatthedeskexactlyasshehadsattherebefore.
‘You’reverydetermined,aren’tyou?’saidSybil,speakingtothedoll.
Shepickedherupunceremoniouslyandputherbackonthesofa.
‘That’syourplace,mygirl,’shesaid.‘Youstaythere.’
Shewalkedacrosstotheotherroom.
‘MissCoombe.’
‘Yes,Sybil?’
‘Somebodyishavingagamewithus,youknow.Thatdollwassittingatthedeskagain.’
‘Whodoyouthinkitis?’
‘Itmustbeoneofthosethreeupstairs,’saidSybil.‘Thinksit’sfunny,Isuppose.Ofcoursetheyallsweartohighheavenitwasn’tthem.’
‘Whodoyouthinkitis—Margaret?’
‘No,Idon’tthinkit’sMargaret.Shelookedquitequeerwhenshecameinandtoldme.Iexpectit’sthatgigglingMarlene.’
‘Anyway,it’saverysillythingtodo.’
‘Ofcourseitis—idiotic,’saidSybil.‘However,’sheaddedgrimly,‘I’mgoingtoputastoptoit.’
‘Whatareyougoingtodo?’
‘You’llsee,’saidSybil.
Thatnightwhensheleft,shelockedthefitting-roomfromtheoutside.
‘I’mlockingthisdoor,’shesaid,‘andI’mtakingthekeywithme.’
‘Oh,Isee,’saidAliciaCoombe,withafaintairofamusement.‘You’rebeginningtothinkit’sme,areyou?YouthinkI’msoabsent-mindedthatIgointhereandthinkI’llwriteatthedesk,butinsteadIpickthedollupandputhertheretowriteforme.Isthattheidea?AndthenIforgetallaboutit?’
‘Well,it’sapossibility,’Sybiladmitted.‘Anyway,I’mgoingtobequitesurethatnosillypracticaljokeisplayedtonight.’
Thefollowingmorning,herlipssetgrimly,thefirstthingSybildidonarrivalwastounlockthedoorofthefitting-roomandmarchin.MrsGroves,withanaggrievedexpressionandmopanddusterinhand,hadbeenwaitingonthelanding.
‘Nowwe’llsee!’saidSybil.
Thenshedrewbackwithaslightgasp.
Thedollwassittingatthedesk.
‘Coo!’saidMrsGrovesbehindher.‘It’suncanny!That’swhatitis.Oh,there,MrsFox,youlookquitepale,asthoughyou’vecomeoverqueer.Youneedalittledropofsomething.HasMissCoombegotadropupstairs,doyouknow?’
‘I’mquiteallright,’saidSybil.
Shewalkedovertothedoll,liftedhercarefully,andcrossedtheroomwithher.
‘Somebody’sbeenplayingatrickonyouagain,’saidMrsGroves.
‘Idon’tseehowtheycouldhaveplayedatrickonmethistime,’saidSybilslowly.‘Ilockedthatdoorlastnight.Youknowyourselfthatnoonecouldgetin.’
‘Somebody’sgotanotherkey,maybe,’saidMrsGroveshelpfully.
‘Idon’tthinkso,’saidSybil.‘We’veneverbotheredtolockthisdoorbefore.It’soneofthoseold-fashionedkeysandthere’sonlyoneofthem.’
‘Perhapstheotherkeyfitsit—theonetothedooropposite.’
Induecoursetheytriedallthekeysintheshop,butnonefittedthedoorofthefitting-room.
‘Itisodd,MissCoombe,’saidSybillater,astheywerehavinglunchtogether.
AliciaCoombewaslookingratherpleased.
‘Mydear,’shesaid.‘Ithinkit’ssimplyextraordinary.Ithinkweoughttowritetothepsychicalresearchpeopleaboutit.Youknow,theymightsendaninvestigator—amediumorsomeone—toseeifthere’sanythingpeculiarabouttheroom.’
‘Youdon’tseemtomindatall,’saidSybil.
‘Well,Iratherenjoyitinaway,’saidAliciaCoombe.‘Imean,atmyage,it’sratherfunwhenthingshappen!Allthesame—no,’sheaddedthoughtfully.‘Idon’tthinkIdoquitelikeit.Imean,thatdoll’sgettingratheraboveherself,isn’tshe?’
OnthateveningSybilandAliciaCoombelockedthedooroncemoreontheoutside.
‘Istillthink,’saidSybil,‘thatsomebodymightbeplayingapracticaljoke,though,really,Idon’tseewhy…’
‘Doyouthinkshe’llbeatthedeskagaintomorrowmorning?’demandedAlicia.
‘Yes,’saidSybil,‘Ido.’
Buttheywerewrong.Thedollwasnotatthedesk.Instead,shewasonthewindowsill,lookingoutintothestreet.Andagaintherewasanextraordinarynaturalnessaboutherposition.
‘It’sallfrightfullysilly,isn’tit?’saidAliciaCoombe,astheyweresnatchingaquickcupofteathatafternoon.Bycommonconsenttheywerenothavingitinthefitting-room,astheyusuallydid,butinAliciaCoombe’sownroomopposite.
‘Sillyinwhatway?’
‘Well,Imean,there’snothingyoucangetholdof.Justadollthat’salwaysinadifferentplace.’
Asdayfolloweddayitseemedamoreandmoreaptobservation.Itwasnotonlyatnightthatthedollnowmoved.Atanymomentwhentheycameintothefitting-room,aftertheyhadbeenabsentevenafewminutes,theymightfindthedollinadifferentplace.Theycouldhaveleftheronthesofaandfindheronachair.Thenshe’dbeonadifferentchair.Sometimesshe’dbeinthewindowseat,sometimesatthedeskagain.
‘Shejustmovesaboutasshelikes,’saidAliciaCoombe.‘AndIthink,Sybil,Ithinkit’samusingher.’
Thetwowomenstoodlookingdownattheinertsprawlingfigureinitslimp,softvelvet,withitspaintedsilkface.
‘Someoldbitsofvelvetandsilkandalickofpaint,that’sallitis,’saidAliciaCoombe.Hervoicewasstrained.‘Isuppose,youknow,wecould—er—wecoulddisposeofher.’
‘Whatdoyoumean,disposeofher?’askedSybil.Hervoicesoundedalmostshocked.
‘Well,’saidAliciaCoombe,‘wecouldputherinthefire,iftherewasafire.Burnher,Imean,likeawitch…Orofcourse,’sheaddedmatter-of-factly,‘wecouldjustputherinthedustbin.’
‘Idon’tthinkthatwoulddo,’saidSybil.‘Somebodywouldprobablytakeheroutofthedustbinandbringherbacktous.’
‘Orwecouldsendhersomewhere,’saidAliciaCoombe.‘Youknow,tooneofthosesocietieswhoarealwayswritingandaskingforsomething—forasaleorabazaar.Ithinkthat’sthebestidea.’
‘Idon’tknow…’saidSybil.‘I’dbealmostafraidtodothat.’
‘Afraid?’
‘Well,Ithinkshe’dcomeback,’saidSybil.
‘Youmean,she’dcomebackhere?’
‘Yes.’
‘Likeahomingpigeon?’
‘Yes,that’swhatImean.’
‘Isupposewe’renotgoingoffourheads,arewe?’saidAliciaCoombe.‘PerhapsI’vereallygonegagaandperhapsyou’rejusthumouringme,isthatit?’
‘No,’saidSybil.‘ButI’vegotanastyfrighteningfeeling—ahorridfeelingthatshe’stoostrongforus.’
‘What?Thatmessofrags?’
‘Yes,thathorriblelimpmessofrags.Because,yousee,she’ssodetermined.’
‘Determined?’
‘Tohaveherownway!Imean,thisisherroomnow!’
‘Yes,’saidAliciaCoombe,lookinground,‘itis,isn’tit?Ofcourse,italwayswas,whenyoucometothinkofit—thecoloursandeverything…Ithoughtshefittedinhere,butit’stheroomthatfitsher.Imustsay,’addedthedressmaker,withatouchofbrisknessinhervoice,‘it’sratherabsurdwhenadollcomesandtakespossessionofthingslikethis.Youknow,MrsGroveswon’tcomeinhereanylongerandclean.’
‘Doesshesayshe’sfrightenedofthedoll?’
‘No.Shejustmakesexcusesofsomekindorother.’ThenAliciaaddedwithahintofpanic,‘Whatarewegoingtodo,Sybil?It’sgettingmedown,youknow.Ihaven’tbeenabletodesignanythingforweeks.’
‘Ican’tkeepmymindoncuttingoutproperly,’Sybilconfessed.‘Imakeallsortsofsillymistakes.Perhaps,’shesaiduncertainly,‘yourideaofwritingtothepsychicalresearchpeoplemightdosomegood.’
‘Justmakeuslooklikeacoupleoffools,’saidAliciaCoombe.‘Ididn’tseriouslymeanit.No,Isupposewe’lljusthavetogoonuntil—’
‘Untilwhat?’
‘Oh,Idon’tknow,’saidAlicia,andshelaugheduncertainly.
OnthefollowingdaySybil,whenshearrived,foundthedoorofthefitting-roomlocked.
‘MissCoombe,haveyougotthekey?Didyoulockthislastnight?’
‘Yes,’saidAliciaCoombe,‘Ilockeditandit’sgoingtostaylocked.’
‘Whatdoyoumean?’
‘IjustmeanI’vegivenuptheroom.Thedollcanhaveit.Wedon’tneedtworooms.Wecanfitinhere.’
‘Butit’syourownprivatesitting-room.’
‘Well,Idon’twantitanymore.I’vegotaverynicebedroom.Icanmakeabed-sittingroomoutofthat,can’tI?’
‘Doyoumeanyou’rereallynotgoingintothatfitting-roomeveragain?’saidSybilincredulously.
‘That’sexactlywhatImean.’
‘But—whataboutcleaning?It’llgetinaterriblestate.’
‘Letit!’saidAliciaCoombe.‘Ifthisplaceissufferingfromsomekindofpossessionbyadoll,allright—letherkeeppossession.Andcleantheroomherself.’Andsheadded,‘Shehatesus,youknow.’
‘Whatdoyoumean?’saidSybil.‘Thedollhatesus?’
‘Yes,’saidAlicia.‘Didn’tyouknow?Youmusthaveknown.Youmusthaveseenitwhenyoulookedather.’
‘Yes,’saidSybilthoughtfully,‘IsupposeIdid.IsupposeIfeltthatallalong—thatshehatedusandwantedtogetusoutofthere.’
‘She’samaliciouslittlething,’saidAliciaCoombe.‘Anyway,sheoughttobesatisfiednow.’
Thingswentonrathermorepeacefullyafterthat.AliciaCoombeannouncedtoherstaffthatshewasgivinguptheuseofthefitting-roomforthepresent—itmadetoomanyroomstodustandclean,sheexplained.
Butithardlyhelpedhertooverhearoneoftheworkgirlssayingtoanotherontheeveningofthesameday,‘Shereallyisbatty,MissCoombeisnow.Ialwaysthoughtshewasabitqueer—thewayshelostthingsandforgotthings.Butit’sreallybeyondanythingnow,isn’tit?She’sgotasortofthingaboutthatdolldownstairs.’
‘Ooo,youdon’tthinkshe’llgoreallybats,doyou?’saidtheothergirl.‘Thatshemightknifeusorsomething?’
Theypassed,chattering,andAliciasatupindignantlyinherchair.Goingbatsindeed!Thensheaddedruefully,toherself,‘Isuppose,ifitwasn’tforSybil,IshouldthinkmyselfthatIwasgoingbats.ButwithmeandSybilandMrsGrovestoo,well,itdoeslookasthoughtherewassomethinginit.ButwhatIdon’tseeis,howisitgoingtoend?’
Threeweekslater,SybilsaidtoAliciaCoombe,‘We’vegottogointothatroomsometimes.’
‘Why?’
‘Well,Imean,itmustbeinafilthystate.Mothswillbegettingintothings,andallthat.Weoughtjusttodustandsweepitandthenlockitupagain.’
‘I’dmuchratherkeepitshutupandnotgobackinthere,’saidAliciaCoombe.
Sybilsaid,‘Really,youknow,you’reevenmoresuperstitiousthanIam.’
‘IsupposeIam,’saidAliciaCoombe.‘Iwasmuchmorereadytobelieveinallthisthanyouwere,buttobeginwith,youknow—I—well,Ifounditexcitinginanoddsortofway.Idon’tknow.I’mjustscared,andI’drathernotgointothatroomagain.’
‘Well,Iwantto,’saidSybil,‘andI’mgoingto.’
‘Youknowwhat’sthematterwithyou?’saidAliciaCoombe.‘You’resimplycurious,that’sall.’
‘Allright,thenI’mcurious.Iwanttoseewhatthedoll’sdone.’
‘Istillthinkit’smuchbettertoleaveheralone,’saidAlicia.‘Nowwe’vegotoutofthatroom,she’ssatisfied.You’dbetterleavehersatisified.’Shegaveanexasperatedsigh.‘Whatnonsensewearetalking!’
‘Yes.Iknowwe’retalkingnonsense,butifyoutellmeofanywayofnottalkingnonsense—comeon,now,givemethekey.’
‘Allright,allright.’
‘Ibelieveyou’reafraidI’llletheroutorsomething.Ishouldthinkshewasthekindthatcouldpassthroughdoorsorwindows.’
Sybilunlockedthedoorandwentin.
‘Howterriblyodd,’shesaid.
‘What’sodd?’saidAliciaCoombe,peeringoverhershoulder.
‘Theroomhardlyseemsdustyatall,doesit?You’dthink,afterbeingshutupallthistime—’
‘Yes,itisodd.’
‘Theresheis,’saidSybil.
Thedollwasonthesofa.Shewasnotlyinginherusuallimpposition.Shewassittingupright,acushionbehindherback.Shehadtheairofthemistressofthehouse,waitingtoreceivepeople
‘Well,’saidAliciaCoombe,‘sheseemsathomeallright,doesn’tshe?IalmostfeelIoughttoapologizeforcomingin.’
‘Let’sgo,’saidSybil.
Shebackedout,pullingthedoorto,andlockeditagain.
Thetwowomengazedateachother.
‘IwishIknew,’saidAliciaCoombe,‘whyitscaresussomuch…’
‘Mygoodness,whowouldn’tbescared?’
‘Well,Imean,whathappens,afterall?It’snothingreally—justakindofpuppetthatgetsmovedaroundtheroom.Iexpectitisn’tthepuppetitself—it’sapoltergeist.’
‘Nowthatisagoodidea.’
‘Yes,butIdon’treallybelieveit.Ithinkit’s—it’sthatdoll.’
‘Areyousureyoudon’tknowwhereshereallycamefrom?’
‘Ihaven’tthefaintestidea,’saidAlicia.‘AndthemoreIthinkofitthemoreI’mperfectlycertainthatIdidn’tbuyher,andthatnobodygavehertome.Ithinkshe—well,shejustcame.’
‘Doyouthinkshe’ll—evergo?’
‘Really,’saidAlicia,‘Idon’tseewhysheshould…She’sgotallshewants.’
Butitseemedthatthedollhadnotgotallshewanted.Thenextday,whenSybilwentintotheshowroom,shedrewinherbreathwithasuddengasp.Thenshecalledupthestairs.
‘MissCoombe,MissCoombe,comedownhere.’
‘What’sthematter?’
AliciaCoombe,whohadgotuplate,camedownthestairs,hobblingalittleprecariouslyforshehadrheumatisminherrightknee.
‘Whatisthematterwithyou,Sybil?’
‘Look.Lookwhat’shappenednow.’
Theystoodinthedoorwayoftheshowroom.Sittingonasofa,sprawledeasilyoverthearmofit,wasthedoll.
‘She’sgotout,’saidSybil,‘She’sgotoutofthatroom!Shewantsthisroomaswell.’
AliciaCoombesatdownbythedoor.‘Intheend,’shesaid,‘Isupposeshe’llwantthewholeshop.’
‘Shemight,’saidSybil.
‘Younasty,sly,maliciousbrute,’saidAlicia,addressingthedoll.‘Whydoyouwanttocomeandpesterusso?Wedon’twantyou.’
Itseemedtoher,andtoSybiltoo,thatthedollmovedveryslightly.Itwasasthoughitslimbsrelaxedstillfurther.Alonglimparmwaslyingonthearmofthesofaandthehalf-hiddenfacelookedasifitwerepeeringfromunderthearm.Anditwasasly,maliciouslook.
‘Horriblecreature,’saidAlicia.‘Ican’tbearit!Ican’tbearitanylonger.’
Suddenly,takingSybilcompletelybysurprise,shedashedacrosstheroom,pickedupthedoll,rantothewindow,openedit,andflungthedolloutintothestreet.TherewasagaspandahalfcryoffearfromSybil.
‘Oh,Alicia,youshouldn’thavedonethat!I’msureyoushouldn’thavedonethat!’
‘Ihadtodosomething,’saidAliciaCoombe.‘Ijustcouldn’tstanditanymore.’
Sybiljoinedheratthewindow.Downbelowonthepavementthedolllay,loose-limbed,facedown.
‘You’vekilledher,’saidSybil.
‘Don’tbeabsurd…HowcanIkillsomethingthat’smadeofvelvetandsilk,bitsandpieces.It’snotreal.’
‘It’shorriblyreal,’saidSybil.
Aliciacaughtherbreath.
‘Goodheavens.Thatchild—’
Asmallraggedgirlwasstandingoverthedollonthepavement.Shelookedupanddownthestreet—astreetthatwasnotundulycrowdedatthistimeofthemorningthoughtherewassomeautomobiletraffic;then,asthoughsatisfied,thechildbent,pickedupthedoll,andranacrossthestreet.
‘Stop,stop!’calledAlicia.
SheturnedtoSybil.
‘Thatchildmustn’ttakethedoll.Shemustn’t!Thatdollisdangerous—it’sevil.We’vegottostopher.’
Itwasnottheywhostoppedher.Itwasthetraffic.Atthatmomentthreetaxiscamedownonewayandtwotradesmen’svansintheotherdirection.Thechildwasmaroonedonanislandinthemiddleoftheroad.Sybilrusheddownthestairs,AliciaCoombefollowingher.Dodgingbetweenatradesman’svanandaprivatecar,Sybil,withAliciaCoombedirectlybehindher,arrivedontheislandbeforethechildcouldgetthroughthetrafficontheoppositeside.
‘Youcan’ttakethatdoll,’saidAliciaCoombe.‘Giveherbacktome.’
Thechildlookedather.Shewasaskinnylittlegirlabouteightyearsold,withaslightsquint.Herfacewasdefiant.
‘WhyshouldIgive’ertoyou?’shesaid.‘Pitchedheroutofthewindow,youdid—Isawyou.Ifyoupushedheroutofthewindowyoudon’twanther,sonowshe’smine.’
‘I’llbuyyouanotherdoll,’saidAliciafrantically.‘We’llgotoatoyshop—anywhereyoulike—andI’llbuyyouthebestdollwecanfind.Butgivemebackthisone.’
‘Shan’t,’saidthechild.
Herarmswentprotectinglyroundthevelvetdoll.
‘Youmustgiveherback,’saidSybil.‘Sheisn’tyours.’
Shestretchedouttotakethedollfromthechildandatthatmomentthechildstampedherfoot,turned,andscreamedatthem.
‘Shan’t!Shan’t!Shan’t!She’smyveryown.Iloveher.Youdon’tloveher.Youhateher.Ifyoudidn’thateheryouwouldn’thavepushedheroutofthewindow.Iloveher,Itellyou,andthat’swhatshewants.Shewantstobeloved.’
Andthenlikeaneel,slidingthroughthevehicles,thechildranacrossthestreet,downanalleyway,andoutofsightbeforethetwoolderwomencoulddecidetododgethecarsandfollow.
‘She’sgone,’saidAlicia.
‘Shesaidthedollwantedtobeloved,’saidSybil.
‘Perhaps,’saidAlicia,‘perhapsthat’swhatshewantedallalong…tobeloved…’
InthemiddleoftheLondontrafficthetwofrightenedwomenstaredateachother.
InAGlassDarkly
‘I’venoexplanationofthisstory.I’venotheoriesaboutthewhyandwhereforeofit.It’sjustathing—thathappened.
Allthesame,IsometimeswonderhowthingswouldhavegoneifI’dnoticedatthetimejustthatoneessentialdetailthatIneverappreciateduntilsomanyyearsafterwards.IfIhadnoticedit—well,Isupposethecourseofthreeliveswouldhavebeenentirelyaltered.Somehow—that’saveryfrighteningthought.
Forthebeginningofitall,I’vegottogobacktothesummerof1914—justbeforethewar—whenIwentdowntoBadgeworthywithNeilCarslake.Neilwas,Isuppose,aboutmybestfriend.I’dknownhisbrotherAlantoo,butnotsowell.Sylvia,theirsister,I’dnevermet.ShewastwoyearsyoungerthanAlanandthreeyearsyoungerthanNeil.Twice,whilewewereatschooltogether,I’dbeengoingtospendpartoftheholidayswithNeilatBadgeworthyandtwicesomethinghadintervened.SoitcameaboutthatIwastwenty-threewhenIfirstsawNeilandAlan’shome
Weweretobequiteabigpartythere.Neil’ssisterSylviahadjustgotengagedtoafellowcalledCharlesCrawley.Hewas,soNeilsaid,agooddealolderthanshewas,butathoroughlydecentchapandquitereasonablywell-off.
Wearrived,Iremember,aboutseveno’clockintheevening.Everyonehadgonetohisroomtodressfordinner.Neiltookmetomine.Badgeworthywasanattractive,ramblingoldhouse.Ithadbeenaddedtofreelyinthelastthreecenturiesandwasfulloflittlestepsupanddown,andunexpectedstaircases.Itwasthesortofhouseinwhichit’snoteasytofindyourwayabout.IrememberNeilpromisedtocomeandfetchmeonhiswaydowntodinner.Iwasfeelingalittleshyattheprospectofmeetinghispeopleforthefirsttime.Iremembersayingwithalaughthatitwasthekindofhouseoneexpectedtomeetghostsinthepassages,andhesaidcarelesslythathebelievedtheplacewassaidtobehauntedbutthatnoneofthemhadeverseenanything,andhedidn’tevenknowwhatformtheghostwassupposedtotake.
ThenhehurriedawayandIsettoworktodiveintomysuitcasesformyeveningclothes.TheCarslakesweren’twell-off;theyclungontotheiroldhome,buttherewerenomenservantstounpackforyouorvaletyou.
Well,I’djustgottothestageoftyingmytie.Iwasstandinginfrontoftheglass.Icouldseemyownfaceandshouldersandbehindthemthewalloftheroom—aplainstretchofwalljustbrokeninthemiddlebyadoor—andjustasIfinallysettledmytieInoticedthatthedoorwasopening.
Idon’tknowwhyIdidn’tturnaround—Ithinkthatwouldhavebeenthenaturalthingtodo;anyway,Ididn’t.Ijustwatchedthedoorswingslowlyopen—andasitswungIsawintotheroombeyond.
Itwasabedroom—alargerroomthanmine—withtwobedsteadsinit,andsuddenlyIcaughtmybreath.
Foratthefootofoneofthosebedswasagirlandroundherneckwereapairofman’shandsandthemanwasslowlyforcingherbackwardsandsqueezingherthroatashedidso,sothatthegirlwasbeingslowlysuffocated.
Therewasn’ttheleastpossibilityofamistake.WhatIsawwasperfectlyclear.Whatwasbeingdonewasmurder.
Icouldseethegirl’sfaceclearly,hervividgoldenhair,theagonizedterrorofherbeautifulface,slowlysuffusingwithblood.OfthemanIcouldseehisback,hishands,andascarthatrandowntheleftsideofhisfacetowardshisneck.
It’stakensometimetotell,butinrealityonlyamomentortwopassedwhileIstareddumbfounded.ThenIwheeledroundtotherescue…
Andonthewallbehindme,thewallreflectedintheglass,therewasonlyaVictorianmahoganywardrobe.Nodooropen—nosceneofviolence.Iswungbacktothemirror.Themirrorreflectedonlythewardrobe…
Ipassedmyhandsacrossmyeyes.ThenIsprangacrosstheroomandtriedtopullforwardthewardrobeandatthatmomentNeilenteredbytheotherdoorfromthepassageandaskedmewhatthehellIwastryingtodo.
HemusthavethoughtmeslightlybarmyasIturnedonhimanddemandedwhethertherewasadoorbehindthewardrobe.Hesaid,yes,therewasadoor,itledintothenextroom.IaskedhimwhowasoccupyingthenextroomandhesaidpeoplecalledOldam—aMajorOldamandhiswife.IaskedhimthenifMrsOldamhadveryfairhairandwhenhereplieddrylythatshewasdarkIbegantorealizethatIwasprobablymakingafoolofmyself.Ipulledmyselftogether,madesomelameexplanationandwewentdownstairstogether.ItoldmyselfthatImusthavehadsomekindofhallucination—andfeltgenerallyratherashamedandabitofanass.
Andthen—andthen—Neilsaid,‘MysisterSylvia,’andIwaslookingintothelovelyfaceofthegirlIhadjustseenbeingsuffocatedtodeath…andIwasintroducedtoherfiancé,atalldarkmanwithascardowntheleftsideofhisface.
Well—that’sthat.I’dlikeyoutothinkandsaywhatyou’dhavedoneinmyplace.Herewasthegirl—theidenticalgirl—andherewasthemanI’dseenthrottlingher—andtheyweretobemarriedinaboutamonth’stime…
HadI—orhadInot—hadapropheticvisionofthefuture?WouldSylviaandherhusbandcomedownheretostaysometimeinthefuture,andbegiventhatroom(thebestspareroom)andwouldthatsceneI’dwitnessedtakeplaceingrimreality?
WhatwasItodoaboutit?CouldIdoanything?Wouldanyone—Neil—orthegirlherself—wouldtheybelieveme?
IturnedthewholebusinessoverandoverinmymindtheweekIwasdownthere.Tospeakornottospeak?Andalmostatonceanothercomplicationsetin.Yousee,IfellinlovewithSylviaCarslakethefirstmomentIsawhere…Iwantedhermorethananythingonearth…Andinawaythattiedmyhands.
Andyet,ifIdidn’tsayanything,SylviawouldmarryCharlesCrawleyandCrawleywouldkillher…
Andso,thedaybeforeIleft,Iblurteditallouttoher.IsaidIexpectshe’dthinkmetouchedintheintellectorsomething,butIsworesolemnlythatI’dseenthethingjustasItoldittoherandthatIfeltifshewasdeterminedtomarryCrawley,Ioughttotellhermystrangeexperience.
Shelistenedveryquietly.TherewassomethinginhereyesIdidn’tunderstand.Shewasn’tangryatall.WhenI’dfinished,shejustthankedmegravely.Ikeptrepeatinglikeanidiot,‘Ididseeit.Ireallydidseeit,’andshesaid,‘I’msureyoudidifyousayso.Ibelieveyou.’
Well,theupshotwasthatIwentoffnotknowingwhetherI’ddonerightorbeenafool,andaweeklaterSylviabrokeoffherengagementtoCharlesCrawley
Afterthatthewarhappened,andtherewasn’tmuchleisureforthinkingofanythingelse.OnceortwicewhenIwasonleave,IcameacrossSylvia,butasfaraspossibleIavoidedher.
Ilovedherandwantedherjustasbadlyasever,butIfeltsomehowthatitwouldn’tbeplayingthegame.Itwasowingtomethatshe’dbrokenoffherengagementtoCrawley,andIkeptsayingtomyselfthatIcouldonlyjustifytheactionIhadtakenbymakingmyattitudeapurelydisinterestedone.
Then,in1916,NeilwaskilledanditfelltometotellSylviaabouthislastmoments.Wecouldn’tremainonformalfootingafterthat.SylviahadadoredNeilandhehadbeenmybestfriend.Shewassweet—adorablysweetinhergrief.Ijustmanagedtoholdmytongueandwentoutagainprayingthatabulletmightendthewholemiserablebusiness.LifewithoutSylviawasn’tworthliving.
Buttherewasnobulletwithmynameonit.Onenearlygotmebelowtherightearandonewasdeflectedbyacigarettecaseinmypocket,butIcamethroughunscathed.CharlesCrawleywaskilledinactionatthebeginningof1918.
Somehowthatmadeadifference.Icamehomeintheautumnof1918justbeforetheArmisticeandIwentstraighttoSylviaandtoldherthatIlovedher.Ihadn’tmuchhopethatshe’dcareformestraightaway,andyoucouldhaveknockedmedownwithafeatherwhensheaskedmewhyIhadn’ttoldhersooner.IstammeredoutsomethingaboutCrawleyandshesaid,‘ButwhydidyouthinkIbrokeitoffwithhim?’andthenshetoldmethatshe’dfalleninlovewithmejustasI’ddonewithher—fromtheveryfirstminute.
IsaidIthoughtshe’dbrokenoffherengagementbecauseofthestoryItoldherandshelaughedscornfullyandsaidthatifyoulovedamanyouwouldn’tbeascowardlyasthat,andwewentoverthatoldvisionofmineagainandagreedthatitwasqueer,butnothingmore
‘Well,there’snothingmuchtotellforsometimeafterthat.SylviaandIweremarriedandwewereveryhappy.ButIrealized,assoonasshewasreallymine,thatIwasn’tcutoutforthebestkindofhusband.IlovedSylviadevotedly,butIwasjealous,absurdlyjealousofanyoneshesomuchassmiledat.Itamusedheratfirst,Ithinksheevenratherlikedit.Itproved,atleast,howdevotedIwas.
Asforme,IrealizedquitefullyandunmistakablythatIwasnotonlymakingafoolofmyself,butthatIwasendangeringallthepeaceandhappinessofourlifetogether.Iknew,Isay,butIcouldn’tchange.EverytimeSylviagotalettershedidn’tshowtomeIwonderedwhoitwasfrom.Ifshelaughedandtalkedwithanyman,Ifoundmyselfgettingsulkyandwatchful.
Atfirst,asIsay,Sylvialaughedatme.Shethoughtitahugejoke.Thenshedidn’tthinkthejokesofunny.Finallyshedidn’tthinkitajokeatall—
Andslowly,shebegantodrawawayfromme.Notinanyphysicalsense,butshewithdrewhersecretmindfromme.Inolongerknewwhatherthoughtswere.Shewaskind—butsadly,asthoughtfromalongdistance.
LittlebylittleIrealizedthatshenolongerlovedme.HerlovehaddiedanditwasIwhohadkilledit…
Thenextstepwasinevitable,Ifoundmyselfwaitingforit—dreadingit…
ThenDerekWainwrightcameintoourlives.HehadeverythingthatIhadn’t.Hehadbrainsandawittytongue.Hewasgood-looking,too,and—I’mforcedtoadmitit—athoroughlygoodchap.AssoonasIsawhimIsaidtomyself,‘ThisisjustthemanforSylvia…’
Shefoughtagainstit.Iknowshestruggled…butIgavehernohelp.Icouldn’t.Iwasentrenchedinmygloomy,sullenreserve.Iwassufferinglikehell—andIcouldn’tstretchoutafingertosavemyself.Ididn’thelpher.Imadethingsworse.Iletlooseatheroneday—astringofsavage,unwarrantedabuse.Iwasnearlymadwithjealousyandmisery.ThethingsIsaidwerecruelanduntrueandIknewwhileIwassayingthemhowcruelandhowuntruetheywere.AndyetItookasavagepleasureinsayingthem…
IrememberhowSylviaflushedandshrank…
Idrovehertotheedgeofendurance.
Iremembershesaid,‘Thiscan’tgoon…’
WhenIcamehomethatnightthehousewasempty—empty.Therewasanote—quiteinthetraditionalfashion.
Initshesaidthatshewasleavingme—forgood.ShewasgoingdowntoBadgeworthyforadayortwo.Afterthatshewasgoingtotheonepersonwholovedherandneededher.Iwastotakethatasfinal.
IsupposethatuptothenIhadn’treallybelievedmyownsuspicions.Thisconfirmationinblackandwhiteofmyworstfearssentmeravingmad.IwentdowntoBadgeworthyafterherasfastasthecarwouldtakeme.
Shehadjustchangedherfrockfordinner,Iremember,whenIburstintotheroom.Icanseeherface—startled—beautiful—afraid.
Isaid,‘Noonebutmeshalleverhaveyou.Noone.’
AndIcaughtherthroatinmyhandsandgrippeditandbentherbackwards.
SuddenlyIsawourreflectioninthemirror.Sylviachokingandmyselfstranglingher,andthescaronmycheekwherethebulletgrazeditundertherightear.
No—Ididn’tkillher.ThatsuddenrevelationparalysedmeandIloosenedmygraspandletherslipontothefloor…
AndthenIbrokedown—andshecomfortedme…Yes,shecomfortedme.
Itoldhereverythingandshetoldmethatbythephrase‘theonepersonwholovedandneededher’shehadmeantherbrotherAlan…Wesawintoeachother’sheartsthatnight,andIdon’tthink,fromthatmoment,thatweeverdriftedawayfromeachotheragain…
It’sasoberingthoughttogothroughlifewith—that,butforthegraceofGodandamirror,onemightbeamurderer…
Onethingdiddiethatnight—thedevilofjealousythathadpossessedmesolong…
ButIwondersometimes—supposeIhadn’tmadethatinitialmistake—thescarontheleftcheek—whenreallyitwastheright—reversedbythemirror…ShouldIhavebeensosurethemanwasCharlesCrawley?WouldIhavewarnedSylvia?Wouldshebemarriedtome—ortohim?
Orarethepastandthefutureallone?
I’masimplefellow—andIcan’tpretendtounderstandthesethings—butIsawwhatIsaw—andbecauseofwhatIsaw,SylviaandIaretogetherintheold-fashionedwords—tilldeathdouspart.Andperhapsbeyond…
Greenshaw’sFolly
I
Thetwomenroundedthecorneroftheshrubbery.
‘Well,thereyouare,’saidRaymondWest.‘That’sit.’
HoraceBindlertookadeep,appreciativebreath.
‘Butmydear,’hecried,‘howwonderful.’Hisvoiceroseinahighscreechof?stheticdelight,thendeepenedinreverentawe.‘It’sunbelievable.Outofthisworld!Aperiodpieceofthebest.’
‘Ithoughtyou’dlikeit,’saidRaymondWest,complacently.
‘Likeit?Mydear—’WordsfailedHorace.Heunbuckledthestrapofhiscameraandgotbusy.‘Thiswillbeoneofthegemsofmycollection,’hesaidhappily.‘Idothink,don’tyou,thatit’sratheramusingtohaveacollectionofmonstrosities?Theideacametomeonenightsevenyearsagoinmybath.MylastrealgemwasintheCampoSantoatGenoa,butIreallythinkthisbeatsit.What’sitcalled?’
‘Ihaven’ttheleastidea,’saidRaymond.
‘Isupposeit’sgotaname?’
‘Itmusthave.Butthefactisthatit’sneverreferredtoroundhereasanythingbutGreenshaw’sFolly.’
‘Greenshawbeingthemanwhobuiltit?’
‘Yes.Ineighteen-sixtyorseventyorthereabouts.Thelocalsuccessstoryofthetime.Barefootboywhohadrisentoimmenseprosperity.Localopinionisdividedastowhyhebuiltthishouse,whetheritwassheerexuberanceofwealthorwhetheritwasdonetoimpresshiscreditors.Ifthelatter,itdidn’timpressthem.Heeitherwentbankruptorthenextthingtoit.Hencethename,Greenshaw’sFolly.’
Horace’scameraclicked.‘There,’hesaidinasatisfiedvoice.‘RemindmetoshowyouNo.310inmycollection.AreallyincrediblemarblemantelpieceintheItalianmanner.’Headded,lookingatthehouse,‘Ican’tconceiveofhowMrGreenshawthoughtofitall.’
‘Ratherobviousinsomeways,’saidRaymond.‘Hehadvisitedthecha^teauxoftheLoire,don’tyouthink?Thoseturrets.Andthen,ratherunfortunately,heseemstohavetravelledintheOrient.TheinfluenceoftheTajMahalisunmistakable.IratherliketheMoorishwing,’headded,‘andthetracesofaVenetianpalace.’
‘Onewondershowheevergotholdofanarchitecttocarryouttheseideas.’
Raymondshruggedhisshoulders.
‘Nodifficultyaboutthat,Iexpect,’hesaid.‘ProbablythearchitectretiredwithagoodincomeforlifewhilepooroldGreenshawwentbankrupt.’
‘Couldwelookatitfromtheotherside?’askedHorace,‘orarewetrespassing!’
‘We’retrespassingallright,’saidRaymond,‘butIdon’tthinkitwillmatter.’
HeturnedtowardsthecornerofthehouseandHoraceskippedafterhim.
‘Butwholiveshere,mydear?Orphansorholidayvisitors?Itcan’tbeaschool.Noplaying-fieldsorbriskefficiency.’
‘Oh,aGreenshawlivesherestill,’saidRaymondoverhisshoulder.‘Thehouseitselfdidn’tgointhecrash.OldGreenshaw’ssoninheritedit.Hewasabitofamiserandlivedhereinacornerofit.Neverspentapenny.Probablyneverhadapennytospend.Hisdaughterlivesherenow.Oldlady—veryeccentric.’
AshespokeRaymondwascongratulatinghimselfonhavingthoughtofGreenshaw’sFollyasameansofentertaininghisguest.Theseliterarycriticsalwaysprofessedthemselvesaslongingforaweek-endinthecountry,andwerewonttofindthecountryextremelyboringwhentheygotthere.TomorrowtherewouldbetheSundaypapers,andfortodayRaymondWestcongratulatedhimselfonsuggestingavisittoGreenshaw’sFollytoenrichHoraceBindler’swell-knowncollectionofmonstrosities.
Theyturnedthecornerofthehouseandcameoutonaneglectedlawn.Inonecornerofitwasalargeartificialrockery,andbendingoveritwasafigureatsightofwhichHoraceclutchedRaymonddelightedlybythearm.
‘Mydear,’heexclaimed,‘doyouseewhatshe’sgoton?Aspriggedprintdress.Justlikeahousemaid—whentherewerehousemaids.OneofmymostcherishedmemoriesisstayingatahouseinthecountrywhenIwasquiteaboywherearealhousemaidcalledyouinthemorning,allcracklinginaprintdressandacap.Yes,myboy,really—acap.Muslinwithstreamers.No,perhapsitwastheparlour-maidwhohadthestreamers.Butanywayshewasarealhousemaidandshebroughtinanenormousbrasscanofhotwater.Whatanexcitingdaywe’rehaving.’
Thefigureintheprintdresshadstraightenedupandhadturnedtowardsthem,trowelinhand.Shewasasufficientlystartlingfigure.Unkemptlocksofiron-greyfellwispilyonhershoulders,astrawhatratherlikethehatsthathorseswearinItalywascrammeddownonherhead.Thecolouredprintdresssheworefellnearlytoherankles.Outofaweatherbeaten,not-too-cleanface,shrewdeyessurveyedthemappraisingly.
‘Imustapologizefortrespassing,MissGreenshaw,’saidRaymondWest,asheadvancedtowardsher,‘butMrHoraceBindlerwhoisstayingwithme—’
Horacebowedandremovedhishat.
‘—ismostinterestedin—er—ancienthistoryand—er—finebuildings.’
RaymondWestspokewiththeeaseofawell-knownauthorwhoknowsthatheisacelebrity,thathecanventurewhereotherpeoplemaynot.
MissGreenshawlookedupatthesprawlingexuberancebehindher.
‘Itisafinehouse,’shesaidappreciatively.‘Mygrandfatherbuiltit—beforemytime,ofcourse.Heisreportedashavingsaidthathewishedtoastonishthenatives.’
‘I’llsayhedidthat,ma’am,’saidHoraceBindler.
‘MrBindleristhewell-knownliterarycritic,’saidRaymondWest.
MissGreenshawhadclearlynoreverenceforliterarycritics.Sheremainedunimpressed.
‘Iconsiderit,’saidMissGreenshaw,referringtothehouse,‘asamonumenttomygrandfather’sgenius.Sillyfoolscomehere,andaskmewhyIdon’tsellitandgoandliveinaflat.WhatwouldIdoinaflat?It’smyhomeandIliveinit,’saidMissGreenshaw.‘Alwayshavelivedhere.’Sheconsidered,broodingoverthepast.‘Therewerethreeofus.Lauramarriedthecurate.Papawouldn’tgiveheranymoney,saidclergymenoughttobeunworldly.Shedied,havingababy.Babydiedtoo.Nettieranawaywiththeridingmaster.Papacutheroutofhiswill,ofcourse.Handsomefellow,HarryFletcher,butnogood.Don’tthinkNettiewashappywithhim.Anyway,shedidn’tlivelong.Theyhadason.Hewritestomesometimes,butofcourseheisn’taGreenshaw.I’mthelastoftheGreenshaws.’Shedrewupherbentshoulderswithacertainpride,andreadjustedtherakishangleofthestrawhat.Then,turning,shesaidsharply,
‘Yes,MrsCresswell,whatisit?’
Approachingthemfromthehousewasafigurethat,seensidebysidewithMissGreenshaw,seemedludicrouslydissimilar.MrsCresswellhadamarvellouslydressedheadofwell-bluedhairtoweringupwardsinmeticulouslyarrangedcurlsandrolls.ItwasasthoughshehaddressedherheadtogoasaFrenchmarquisetoafancy-dressparty.Therestofhermiddle-agedpersonwasdressedinwhatoughttohavebeenrustlingblacksilkbutwasactuallyoneoftheshiniervarietiesofblackrayon.Althoughshewasnotalargewoman,shehadawell-developedandsumptuousbust.Hervoicewhenshespoke,wasunexpectedlydeep.Shespokewithexquisitediction,onlyaslighthesitationoverwordsbeginningwith‘h’andthefinalpronunciationofthemwithanexaggeratedaspirategaverisetoasuspicionthatatsomeremoteperiodinheryouthshemighthavehadtroubleoverdroppingherh’s.
‘Thefish,madam,’saidMrsCresswell,‘thesliceofcod.Ithasnotarrived.IhaveaskedAlfredtogodownforitandherefusestodoso.’
Ratherunexpectedly,MissGreenshawgaveacackleoflaughter.
‘Refuses,doeshe?’
‘Alfred,madam,hasbeenmostdisobliging.’
MissGreenshawraisedtwoearth-stainedfingerstoherlips,suddenlyproducedanear-splittingwhistleandatthesametimeyelled:
‘Alfred.Alfred,comehere.’
Roundthecornerofthehouseayoungmanappearedinanswertothesummons,carryingaspadeinhishand.Hehadabold,handsomefaceandashedrewnearhecastanunmistakablymalevolentglancetowardsMrsCresswell.
‘Youwantedme,miss?’hesaid.
‘Yes,Alfred.Ihearyou’verefusedtogodownforthefish.Whataboutit,eh?’
Alfredspokeinasurlyvoice.
‘I’llgodownforitifyouwantsit,miss.You’veonlygottosay.’
‘Idowantit.Iwantitformysupper.’
‘Rightyouare,miss.I’llgorightaway.’
HethrewaninsolentglanceatMrsCresswell,whoflushedandmurmuredbelowherbreath:
‘Really!It’sunsupportable.’
‘NowthatIthinkofit,’saidMissGreenshaw,‘acoupleofstrangevisitorsarejustwhatweneedaren’tthey,MrsCresswell?’
MrsCresswelllookedpuzzled.
‘I’msorry,madam—’
‘Foryou-know-what,’saidMissGreenshaw,noddingherhead.‘Beneficiarytoawillmustn’twitnessit.That’sright,isn’tit?’SheappealedtoRaymondWest.
‘Quitecorrect,’saidRaymond.
‘Iknowenoughlawtoknowthat,’saidMissGreenshaw.‘Andyoutwoaremenofstanding.’
Sheflungdownhertrowelonherweeding-basket.
‘Wouldyoumindcominguptothelibrarywithme?’
‘Delighted,’saidHoraceeagerly.
Sheledthewaythroughfrenchwindowsandthroughavastyellowandgolddrawing-roomwithfadedbrocadeonthewallsanddustcoversarrangedoverthefurniture,thenthroughalargedimhall,upastaircaseandintoaroomonthefirstfloor.
‘Mygrandfather’slibrary,’sheannounced.
Horacelookedroundtheroomwithacutepleasure.Itwasaroom,fromhispointofview,quitefullofmonstrosities.Theheadsofsphinxesappearedonthemostunlikelypiecesoffurniture,therewasacolossalbronzerepresenting,hethought,PaulandVirginia,andavastbronzeclockwithclassicalmotifsofwhichhelongedtotakeaphotograph.
‘Afinelotofbooks,’saidMissGreenshaw.
Raymondwasalreadylookingatthebooks.Fromwhathecouldseefromacursoryglancetherewasnobookhereofanyrealinterestor,indeed,anybookwhichappearedtohavebeenread.Theywereallsuperblyboundsetsoftheclassicsassuppliedninetyyearsagoforfurnishingagentleman’slibrary.Somenovelsofabygoneperiodwereincluded.Buttheytooshowedlittlesignsofhavingbeenread.
MissGreenshawwasfumblinginthedrawersofavastdesk.Finallyshepulledoutaparchmentdocument.
‘Mywill,’sheexplained.‘Gottoleaveyourmoneytosomeone—orsotheysay.IfIdiedwithoutawillIsupposethatsonofahorse-coperwouldgetit.Handsomefellow,HarryFletcher,butarogueifthereeverwasone.Don’tseewhyhissonshouldinheritthisplace.No,’shewenton,asthoughansweringsomeunspokenobjection,‘I’vemadeupmymind.I’mleavingittoCresswell.’
‘Yourhousekeeper?’
‘Yes.I’veexplainedittoher.ImakeawillleavingherallI’vegotandthenIdon’tneedtopayheranywages.Savesmealotincurrentexpenses,anditkeepsheruptothemark.Nogivingmenoticeandwalkingoffatanyminute.Veryla-di-dahandallthat,isn’tshe?Butherfatherwasaworkingplumberinaverysmallway.She’snothingtogiveherselfairsabout.’
Shehadbynowunfoldedtheparchment.Pickingupapenshedippeditintheinkstandandwrotehersignature,KatherineDorothyGreenshaw.
‘That’sright,’shesaid.‘You’veseenmesignit,andthenyoutwosignit,andthatmakesitlegal.’
ShehandedthepentoRaymondWest.Hehesitatedamoment,feelinganunexpectedrepulsiontowhathewasaskedtodo.Thenhequicklyscrawledthewell-knownsignature,forwhichhismorning’smailusuallybroughtatleastsixdemandsaday.
Horacetookthepenfromhimandaddedhisownminutesignature.
‘That’sdone,’saidMissGreenshaw.
Shemovedacrosstothebookcaseandstoodlookingatthemuncertainly,thensheopenedaglassdoor,tookoutabookandslippedthefoldedparchmentinside.
‘I’vemyownplacesforkeepingthings,’shesaid.
‘LadyAudley’sSecret,’RaymondWestremarked,catchingsightofthetitleasshereplacedthebook.
MissGreenshawgaveanothercackleoflaughter.
‘Best-sellerinitsday,’sheremarked.‘Notlikeyourbooks,eh?’
ShegaveRaymondasuddenfriendlynudgeintheribs.Raymondwasrathersurprisedthatsheevenknewhewrotebooks.AlthoughRaymondWestwasquiteanameinliterature,hecouldhardlybedescribedasabest-seller.Thoughsofteningalittlewiththeadventofmiddle-age,hisbooksdealtbleaklywiththesordidsideoflife.
‘Iwonder,’Horacedemandedbreathlessly,‘ifImightjusttakeaphotographoftheclock?’
‘Byallmeans,’saidMissGreenshaw.‘Itcame,Ibelieve,fromtheParisexhibition.’
‘Veryprobably,’saidHorace.Hetookhispicture.
‘Thisroom’snotbeenusedmuchsincemygrandfather’stime,’saidMissGreenshaw.‘Thisdesk’sfullofolddiariesofhis.Interesting,Ishouldthink.Ihaven’ttheeyesighttoreadthemmyself.I’dliketogetthempublished,butIsupposeonewouldhavetoworkonthemagooddeal.’
‘Youcouldengagesomeonetodothat,’saidRaymondWest.
‘CouldIreally?It’sanidea,youknow.I’llthinkaboutit.’
RaymondWestglancedathiswatch.
‘Wemustn’ttrespassonyourkindnessanylonger,’hesaid.
‘Pleasedtohaveseenyou,’saidMissGreenshawgraciously.‘ThoughtyouwerethepolicemanwhenIheardyoucomingroundthecornerofthehouse.’
‘Whyapoliceman?’demandedHorace,whonevermindedaskingquestions.
MissGreenshawrespondedunexpectedly.
‘Ifyouwanttoknowthetime,askapoliceman,’shecarolled,andwiththisexampleofVictorianwit,nudgedHoraceintheribsandroaredwithlaughter.
‘It’sbeenawonderfulafternoon,’sighedHoraceastheywalkedhome.‘Really,thatplacehaseverything.Theonlythingthelibraryneedsisabody.Thoseold-fashioneddetectivestoriesaboutmurderinthelibrary—that’sjustthekindoflibraryI’msuretheauthorshadinmind.’
‘Ifyouwanttodiscussmurder,’saidRaymond,‘youmusttalktomyAuntJane.’
‘YourAuntJane?DoyoumeanMissMarple?’Hefeltalittleataloss.
Thecharmingold-worldladytowhomhehadbeenintroducedthenightbeforeseemedthelastpersontobementionedinconnectionwithmurder.
‘Oh,yes,’saidRaymond.‘Murderisaspecialityofhers.’
‘Butmydear,howintriguing.Whatdoyoureallymean?’
‘Imeanjustthat,’saidRaymond.Heparaphrased:‘Somecommitmurder,somegetmixedupinmurders,othershavemurderthrustuponthem.MyAuntJanecomesintothethirdcategory.’
‘Youarejoking.’
‘Notintheleast.IcanreferyoutotheformerCommissionerofScotlandYard,severalChiefConstablesandoneortwohard-workinginspectorsoftheCID.’
Horacesaidhappilythatwonderswouldnevercease.OvertheteatabletheygaveJoanWest,Raymond’swife,LouOxleyherniece,andoldMissMarple,arésuméoftheafternoon’shappenings,recountingindetaileverythingthatMissGreenshawhadsaidtothem.
‘ButIdothink,’saidHorace,‘thatthereissomethingalittlesinisteraboutthewholeset-up.Thatduchess-likecreature,thehousekeeper—arsenic,perhaps,intheteapot,nowthatsheknowshermistresshasmadethewillinherfavour?’
‘Tellus,AuntJane,’saidRaymond.‘Willtherebemurderorwon’tthere?Whatdoyouthink?’
‘Ithink,’saidMissMarple,windingupherwoolwitharathersevereair,‘thatyoushouldn’tjokeaboutthesethingsasmuchasyoudo,Raymond.Arsenicis,ofcourse,quiteapossibility.Soeasytoobtain.Probablypresentinthetoolshedalreadyintheformofweedkiller.’
‘Oh,really,darling,’saidJoanWest,affectionately.‘Wouldn’tthatberathertooobvious?’
‘It’sallverywelltomakeawill,’saidRaymond,‘Idon’tsupposereallythepooroldthinghasanythingtoleaveexceptthatawfulwhiteelephantofahouse,andwhowouldwantthat?’
‘Afilmcompanypossibly,’saidHorace,‘orahoteloraninstitution?’
‘They’dexpecttobuyitforasong,’saidRaymond,butMissMarplewasshakingherhead.
‘Youknow,dearRaymond,Icannotagreewithyouthere.Aboutthemoney,Imean.Thegrandfatherwasevidentlyoneofthoselavishspenderswhomakemoneyeasily,butcan’tkeepit.Hemayhavegonebroke,asyousay,buthardlybankruptorelsehissonwouldnothavehadthehouse.Nowtheson,asissooftenthecase,wasanentirelydifferentcharactertohisfather.Amiser.Amanwhosavedeverypenny.Ishouldsaythatinthecourseofhislifetimeheprobablyputbyaverygoodsum.ThisMissGreenshawappearstohavetakenafterhim,todislikespendingmoney,thatis.Yes,Ishouldthinkitquitelikelythatshehadquiteagoodsumtuckedaway.’
‘Inthatcase,’saidJoanWest,‘Iwondernow—whataboutLou?’
TheylookedatLouasshesat,silent,bythefire.
LouwasJoanWest’sniece.Hermarriagehadrecently,assheherselfputit,comeunstuck,leavingherwithtwoyoungchildrenandabaresufficiencyofmoneytokeepthemon.
‘Imean,’saidJoan,‘ifthisMissGreenshawreallywantssomeonetogothroughdiariesandgetabookreadyforpublication…’
‘It’sanidea,’saidRaymond.
Lousaidinalowvoice:
‘It’sworkIcoulddo—andI’denjoyit.’
‘I’llwritetoher,’saidRaymond.
‘Iwonder,’saidMissMarplethoughtfully,‘whattheoldladymeantbythatremarkaboutapoliceman?’
‘Oh,itwasjustajoke.’
‘Itremindedme,’saidMissMarple,noddingherheadvigorously,‘yes,itremindedmeverymuchofMrNaysmith.’
‘WhowasMrNaysmith?’askedRaymond,curiously.
‘Hekeptbees,’saidMissMarple,‘andwasverygoodatdoingtheacrosticsintheSundaypapers.Andhelikedgivingpeoplefalseimpressionsjustforfun.Butsometimesitledtotrouble.’
Everybodywassilentforamoment,consideringMrNaysmith,butastheredidnotseemtobeanypointsofresemblancebetweenhimandMissGreenshaw,theydecidedthatdearAuntJanewasperhapsgettingalittlebitdisconnectedinheroldage.
II
HoraceBindlerwentbacktoLondonwithouthavingcollectedanymoremonstrositiesandRaymondWestwrotealettertoMissGreenshawtellingherthatheknewofaMrsLouisaOxleywhowouldbecompetenttoundertakeworkonthediaries.Afteralapseofsomedays,aletterarrived,writteninspideryold-fashionedhandwriting,inwhichMissGreenshawdeclaredherselfanxioustoavailherselfoftheservicesofMrsOxley,andmakinganappointmentforMrsOxleytocomeandseeher.
Loudulykepttheappointment,generoustermswerearrangedandshestartedworkonthefollowingday.
‘I’mawfullygratefultoyou,’shesaidtoRaymond.‘Itwillfitinbeautifully.Icantakethechildrentoschool,goontoGreenshaw’sFollyandpickthemuponmywayback.Howfantasticthewholeset-upis!Thatoldwomanhastobeseentobebelieved.’
Ontheeveningofherfirstdayatworkshereturnedanddescribedherday.
‘I’vehardlyseenthehousekeeper,’shesaid.‘Shecameinwithcoffeeandbiscuitsathalfpastelevenwithhermouthpursedupveryprunesandprisms,andwouldhardlyspeaktome.Ithinkshedisapprovesdeeplyofmyhavingbeenengaged.’Shewenton,‘Itseemsthere’squiteafeudbetweenherandthegardener,Alfred.He’salocalboyandfairlylazy,Ishouldimagine,andheandthehousekeeperwon’tspeaktoeachother.MissGreenshawsaidinherrathergrandway,“TherehavealwaysbeenfeudsasfarasIcanrememberbetweenthegardenandthehousestaff.Itwassoinmygrandfather’stime.Therewerethreemenandaboyinthegardenthen,andeightmaidsinthehouse,buttherewasalwaysfriction.”’
OnthefollowingdayLoureturnedwithanotherpieceofnews.
‘Justfancy,’shesaid,‘Iwasaskedtoringupthenephewthismorning.’
‘MissGreenshaw’snephew?’
‘Yes.Itseemshe’sanactorplayinginthecompanythat’sdoingasummerseasonatBorehamonSea.Irangupthetheatreandleftamessageaskinghimtolunchtomorrow.Ratherfun,really.Theoldgirldidn’twantthehousekeepertoknow.IthinkMrsCresswellhasdonesomethingthat’sannoyedher.’
‘Tomorrowanotherinstalmentofthisthrillingserial,’murmuredRaymond.
‘It’sexactlylikeaserial,isn’tit?Reconciliationwiththenephew,bloodisthickerthanwater—anotherwilltobemadeandtheoldwilldestroyed.’
‘AuntJane,you’relookingveryserious.’
‘WasI,mydear?Haveyouheardanymoreaboutthepoliceman?’
Loulookedbewildered.‘Idon’tknowanythingaboutapoliceman.’
‘Thatremarkofhers,mydear,’saidMissMarple,‘musthavemeantsomething.’
Louarrivedatherworkthenextdayinacheerfulmood.Shepassedthroughtheopenfrontdoor—thedoorsandwindowsofthehousewerealwaysopen.MissGreenshawappearedtohavenofearofburglars,andwasprobablyjustified,asmostthingsinthehouseweighedseveraltonsandwereofnomarketablevalue.
LouhadpassedAlfredinthedrive.Whenshefirstcaughtsightofhimhehadbeenleaningagainstatreesmokingacigarette,butassoonashehadcaughtsightofherhehadseizedabroomandbegundiligentlytosweepleaves.Anidleyoungman,shethought,butgoodlooking.Hisfeaturesremindedherofsomeone.AsshepassedthroughthehallonherwayupstairstothelibrarysheglancedatthelargepictureofNathanielGreenshawwhichpresidedoverthemantelpiece,showinghimintheacmeofVictorianprosperity,leaningbackinalargearm-chair,hishandsrestingonthegoldalbertacrosshiscapaciousstomach.Asherglancesweptupfromthestomachtothefacewithitsheavyjowls,itsbushyeyebrowsanditsflourishingblackmoustache,thethoughtoccurredtoherthatNathanielGreenshawmusthavebeenhandsomeasayoungman.Hehadlooked,perhaps,alittlelikeAlfred…
Shewentintothelibrary,shutthedoorbehindher,openedhertypewriterandgotoutthediariesfromthedraweratthesideofthedesk.ThroughtheopenwindowshecaughtaglimpseofMissGreenshawinapuce-colouredspriggedprint,bendingovertherockery,weedingassiduously.Theyhadhadtwowetdays,ofwhichtheweedshadtakenfulladvantage.
Lou,atown-bredgirl,decidedthatifsheeverhadagardenitwouldnevercontainarockerywhichneededhandweeding.Thenshesettleddowntoherwork.
WhenMrsCresswellenteredthelibrarywiththecoffeetrayathalfpasteleven,shewasclearlyinaverybadtemper.Shebangedthetraydownonthetable,andobservedtotheuniverse.
‘Companyforlunch—andnothinginthehouse!WhatamIsupposedtodo,Ishouldliketoknow?AndnosignofAlfred.’
‘HewassweepinginthedrivewhenIgothere,’Louoffered.
‘Idaresay.Anicesoftjob.’
MrsCresswellsweptoutoftheroomandbangedthedoorbehindher.Lougrinnedtoherself.Shewonderedwhat‘thenephew’wouldbelike.
Shefinishedhercoffeeandsettleddowntoherworkagain.Itwassoabsorbingthattimepassedquickly.NathanielGreenshaw,whenhestartedtokeepadiary,hadsuccumbedtothepleasureoffrankness.Tryingoutapassagerelatingtothepersonalcharmofabarmaidintheneighbouringtown,Loureflectedthatagooddealofeditingwouldbenecessary.
Asshewasthinkingthis,shewasstartledbyascreamfromthegarden.Jumpingup,sherantotheopenwindow.MissGreenshawwasstaggeringawayfromtherockerytowardsthehouse.HerhandswereclaspedtoherbreastandbetweenthemthereprotrudedafeatheredshaftthatLourecognizedwithstupefactiontobetheshaftofanarrow.
MissGreenshaw’shead,initsbatteredstrawhat,fellforwardonherbreast.ShecalleduptoLouinafailingvoice:‘…shot…heshotme…withanarrow…gethelp…’
Lourushedtothedoor.Sheturnedthehandle,butthedoorwouldnotopen.Ittookheramomentortwooffutileendeavourtorealizethatshewaslockedin.Sherushedbacktothewindow.
‘I’mlockedin.’
MissGreenshaw,herbacktowardsLou,andswayingalittleonherfeetwascallinguptothehousekeeperatawindowfartheralong.
‘Ringpolice…telephone…’
Then,lurchingfromsidetosidelikeadrunkardshedisappearedfromLou’sviewthroughthewindowbelowintothedrawing-room.AmomentlaterLouheardacrashofbrokenchina,aheavyfall,andthensilence.Herimaginationreconstructedthescene.MissGreenshawmusthavestaggeredblindlyintoasmalltablewithaSèvresteasetonit.
DesperatelyLoupoundedonthedoor,callingandshouting.Therewasnocreeperordrain-pipeoutsidethewindowthatcouldhelphertogetoutthatway.
Tiredatlastofbeatingonthedoor,shereturnedtothewindow.Fromthewindowofhersitting-roomfartheralong,thehousekeeper’sheadappeared.
‘Comeandletmeout,MrsOxley.I’mlockedin.’
‘SoamI.’
‘Ohdear,isn’titawful?I’vetelephonedthepolice.There’sanextensioninthisroom,butwhatIcan’tunderstand,MrsOxley,isourbeinglockedinIneverheardakeyturn,didyou?’
‘No.Ididn’thearanythingatall.Ohdear,whatshallwedo?PerhapsAlfredmighthearus.’Loushoutedatthetopofhervoice,‘Alfred,Alfred.’
‘Gonetohisdinneraslikelyasnot.Whattimeisit?’
Louglancedatherwatch.
‘Twenty-fivepasttwelve.’
‘He’snotsupposedtogountilhalfpast,buthesneaksoffearlierwheneverhecan.’
‘Doyouthink—doyouthink—’
Loumeanttoask‘Doyouthinkshe’sdead?’butthewordsstuckinherthroat.
Therewasnothingtodobutwait.Shesatdownonthewindow-sill.Itseemedaneternitybeforethestolidhelmetedfigureofapoliceconstablecameroundthecornerofthehouse.Sheleantoutofthewindowandhelookedupather,shadinghiseyeswithhishand.Whenhespokehisvoiceheldreproof.
‘What’sgoingonhere?’heaskeddisapprovingly.
Fromtheirrespectivewindows,LouandMrsCresswellpouredafloodofexcitedinformationdownonhim.
Theconstableproducedanote-bookandpencil.‘Youladiesranupstairsandlockedyourselvesin?CanIhaveyournames,please?’
‘No.Somebodyelselockedusin.Comeandletusout.’
Theconstablesaidreprovingly,‘Allingoodtime,’anddisappearedthroughthewindowbelow.
Onceagaintimeseemedinfinite.Louheardthesoundofacararriving,and,afterwhatseemedanhour,butwasactuallythreeminutes,firstMrsCresswellandthenLou,werereleasedbyapolicesergeantmorealertthantheoriginalconstable.
‘MissGreenshaw?’Lou’svoicefaltered.‘What—what’shappened?’
Thesergeantclearedhisthroat.
‘I’msorrytohavetotellyou,madam,’hesaid,‘whatI’vealreadytoldMrsCresswellhere.MissGreenshawisdead.’
‘Murdered,’saidMrsCresswell.‘That’swhatitis—murder.’
Thesergeantsaiddubiously:
‘Couldhavebeenanaccident—somecountryladsshootingwithbowsandarrows.’
Againtherewasthesoundofacararriving.Thesergeantsaid:
‘That’llbetheMO,’andstarteddownstairs.
ButitwasnottheMO.AsLouandMrsCresswellcamedownthestairsayoungmansteppedhesitatinglythroughthefrontdoorandpaused,lookingroundhimwithasomewhatbewilderedair.
Then,speakinginapleasantvoicethatinsomewayseemedfamiliartoLou—perhapsithadafamilyresemblancetoMissGreenshaw’s—heasked:
‘Excuseme,does—er—doesMissGreenshawlivehere?’
‘MayIhaveyournameifyouplease,’saidthesergeantadvancinguponhim.
‘Fletcher,’saidtheyoungman.‘NatFletcher.I’mMissGreenshaw’snephew,asamatteroffact.’
‘Indeed,sir,well—I’msorry—I’msure—’
‘Hasanythinghappened?’askedNatFletcher.
‘There’sbeenan—accident—yourauntwasshotwithanarrow—penetratedthejugularvein—’
MrsCresswellspokehystericallyandwithoutherusualrefinement:
‘Yourh’aunt’sbeenmurdered,that’swhat’s’appened.Yourh’aunt’sbeenmurdered.’
III
InspectorWelchdrewhischairalittlenearertothetableandlethisgazewanderfromonetotheotherofthefourpeopleintheroom.Itwastheeveningofthesameday.HehadcalledattheWests’housetotakeLouOxleyoncemoreoverherstatement.
‘Youaresureoftheexactwords?Shot—heshotme—withanarrow—gethelp?’
Lounodded.
‘Andthetime?’
‘Ilookedatmywatchaminuteortwolater—itwasthentwelvetwenty-five.’
‘Yourwatchkeepsgoodtime?’
‘Ilookedattheclockaswell.’
TheinspectorturnedtoRaymondWest.
‘Itappears,sir,thataboutaweekagoyouandaMrHoraceBindlerwerewitnessestoMissGreenshaw’swill?’
Briefly,RaymondrecountedtheeventsoftheafternoonvisitthatheandHoraceBindlerhadpaidtoGreenshaw’sFolly.
‘Thistestimonyofyoursmaybeimportant,’saidWelch.‘MissGreenshawdistinctlytoldyou,didshe,thatherwillwasbeingmadeinfavourofMrsCresswell,thehousekeeper,thatshewasnotpayingMrsCresswellanywagesinviewoftheexpectationsMrsCresswellhadofprofitingbyherdeath?’
‘Thatiswhatshetoldme—yes.’
‘WouldyousaythatMrsCresswellwasdefinitelyawareofthesefacts?’
‘Ishouldsayundoubtedly.MissGreenshawmadeareferenceinmypresencetobeneficiariesnotbeingabletowitnessawillandMrsCresswellclearlyunderstoodwhatshemeantbyit.Moreover,MissGreenshawherselftoldmethatshehadcometothisarrangementwithMrsCresswell.’
‘SoMrsCresswellhadreasontobelieveshewasaninterestedparty.Motive’sclearenoughinhercase,andIdaresayshe’dbeourchiefsuspectnowifitwasn’tforthefactthatshewassecurelylockedinherroomlikeMrsOxleyhere,andalsothatMissGreenshawdefinitelysaidamanshother—’
‘Shedefinitelywaslockedinherroom?’
‘Ohyes.SergeantCayleyletherout.It’sabigold-fashionedlockwithabigold-fashionedkey.Thekeywasinthelockandthere’snotachancethatitcouldhavebeenturnedfrominsideoranyhanky-pankyofthatkind.No,youcantakeitdefinitelythatMrsCresswellwaslockedinsidethatroomandcouldn’tgetout.AndtherewerenobowsandarrowsintheroomandMissGreenshawcouldn’tinanycasehavebeenshotfromawindow—theangleforbidsit—no,MrsCresswell’soutofit.’
Hepausedandwenton:
‘WouldyousaythatMissGreenshaw,inyouropinion,wasapracticaljoker?’
MissMarplelookedupsharplyfromhercorner.
‘Sothewillwasn’tinMrsCresswell’sfavourafterall?’shesaid.
InspectorWelchlookedoveratherinarathersurprisedfashion.
‘That’saverycleverguessofyours,madam,’hesaid.‘No.MrsCresswellisn’tnamedasbeneficiary.’
‘JustlikeMrNaysmith,’saidMissMarple,noddingherhead.‘MissGreenshawtoldMrsCresswellshewasgoingtoleavehereverythingandsogotoutofpayingherwages;andthenshelefthermoneytosomebodyelse.Nodoubtshewasvastlypleasedwithherself.NowondershechortledwhensheputthewillawayinLadyAudley’sSecret.’
‘ItwasluckyMrsOxleywasabletotellusaboutthewillandwhereitwasput,’saidtheinspector.‘Wemighthavehadalonghuntforitotherwise.’
‘AVictoriansenseofhumour,’murmuredRaymondWest.‘Soshelefthermoneytohernephewafterall,’saidLou.
Theinspectorshookhishead.
‘No,’hesaid,‘shedidn’tleaveittoNatFletcher.Thestorygoesaroundhere—ofcourseI’mnewtotheplaceandIonlygetthegossipthat’ssecond-hand—butitseemsthatintheolddaysbothMissGreenshawandhersisterweresetonthehandsomeyoungridingmaster,andthesistergothim.No,shedidn’tleavethemoneytohernephew—’Hepaused,rubbinghischin,‘SheleftittoAlfred,’hesaid.
‘Alfred—thegardener?’Joanspokeinasurprisedvoice.
‘Yes,MrsWest.AlfredPollock.’
‘Butwhy?’criedLou.
MissMarplecoughedandmurmured:
‘Ishouldimagine,thoughperhapsIamwrong,thattheremayhavebeen—whatwemightcallfamilyreasons.’
‘Youcouldcallthemthatinaway,’agreedtheinspector.‘It’squitewellknowninthevillage,itseems,thatThomasPollock,Alfred’sgrandfather,wasoneofoldMrGreenshaw’sby-blows.’
‘Ofcourse,’criedLou,‘theresemblance!Isawitthismorning.’
SherememberedhowafterpassingAlfredshehadcomeintothehouseandlookedupatoldGreenshaw’sportrait.
‘Idaresay,’saidMissMarple,‘thatshethoughtAlfredPollockmighthaveaprideinthehouse,mightevenwanttoliveinit,whereashernephewwouldalmostcertainlyhavenouseforitwhateverandwouldsellitassoonashecouldpossiblydoso.He’sanactor,isn’the?Whatplayexactlyisheactinginatpresent?’
Trustanoldladytowanderfromthepoint,thoughtInspectorWelch,butherepliedcivilly:
‘Ibelieve,madam,theyaredoingaseasonofJamesBarrie’splays.’
‘Barrie,’saidMissMarplethoughtfully.
‘WhatEveryWomanKnows,’saidInspectorWelch,andthenblushed.‘Nameofaplay,’hesaidquickly.‘I’mnotmuchofatheatre-goermyself,’headded,‘butthewifewentalongandsawitlastweek.Quitewelldone,shesaiditwas.’
‘Barriewrotesomeverycharmingplays,’saidMissMarple,‘thoughImustsaythatwhenIwentwithanoldfriendofmine,GeneralEasterly,toseeBarrie’sLittleMary—’sheshookherheadsadly,‘—neitherofusknewwheretolook.’
Theinspector,unacquaintedwiththeplayLittleMarylookedcompletelyfogged.MissMarpleexplained:
‘WhenIwasagirl,Inspector,nobodyevermentionedthewordstomach.’
Theinspectorlookedevenmoreatsea.MissMarplewasmurmuringtitlesunderherbreath.
‘TheAdmirableCrichton.Veryclever.MaryRose—acharmingplay.Icried,Iremember.QualityStreetIdidn’tcareforsomuch.ThentherewasAKissforCinderella.Oh,ofcourse.’
InspectorWelchhadnotimetowasteontheatricaldiscussion.Hereturnedtothematterinhand.
‘Thequestionis,’hesaid,‘didAlfredPollockknowthattheoldladyhadmadeawillinhisfavour?Didshetellhim?’Headded:‘Yousee—there’sanarcherycluboveratBorehamLovellandAlfredPollock’samember.He’saverygoodshotindeedwithabowandarrow.’
‘Thenisn’tyourcasequiteclear?’askedRaymondWest.‘Itwouldfitinwiththedoorsbeinglockedonthetwowomen—he’dknowjustwheretheywereinthehouse.’
Theinspectorlookedathim.Hespokewithdeepmelancholy.
‘He’sgotanalibi,’saidtheinspector.
‘Ialwaysthinkalibisaredefinitelysuspicious.’
‘Maybe,sir,’saidInspectorWelch.‘You’retalkingasawriter.’
‘Idon’twritedetectivestories,’saidRaymondWest,horrifiedatthemereidea.
‘Easyenoughtosaythatalibisaresuspicious,’wentonInspectorWelch,‘butunfortunatelywe’vegottodealwithfacts.’
Hesighed.
‘We’vegotthreegoodsuspects,’hesaid.‘Threepeoplewho,asithappened,wereverycloseuponthesceneatthetime.Yettheoddthingisthatitlooksasthoughnoneofthethreecouldhavedoneit.ThehousekeeperI’vealreadydealtwith—thenephew,NatFletcher,atthemomentMissGreenshawwasshot,wasacoupleofmilesawayfillinguphiscaratagarageandaskinghisway—asforAlfredPollocksixpeoplewillswearthatheenteredtheDogandDuckattwentypasttwelveandwasthereforanhourhavinghisusualbreadandcheeseandbeer.’
‘Deliberatelyestablishinganalibi,’saidRaymondWesthopefully.
‘Maybe,’saidInspectorWelch,‘butifso,hedidestablishit.’
Therewasalongsilence.ThenRaymondturnedhisheadtowhereMissMarplesatuprightandthoughtful.
‘It’suptoyou,AuntJane,’hesaid.‘Theinspector’sbaffled,thesergeant’sbaffled,I’mbaffled,Joan’sbaffled,Louisbaffled.Buttoyou,AuntJane,itiscrystalclear.AmIright?’
‘Iwouldn’tsaythat,dear,’saidMissMarple,‘notcrystalclear,andmurder,dearRaymond,isn’tagame.Idon’tsupposepoorMissGreenshawwantedtodie,anditwasaparticularlybrutalmurder.Verywellplannedandquitecoldblooded.It’snotathingtomakejokesabout!’
‘I’msorry,’saidRaymond,abashed.‘I’mnotreallyascallousasIsound.Onetreatsathinglightlytotakeawayfromthe—well,thehorrorofit.’
‘Thatis,Ibelieve,themoderntendency,’saidMissMarple,‘Allthesewars,andhavingtojokeaboutfunerals.Yes,perhapsIwasthoughtlesswhenIsaidyouwerecallous.’
‘Itisn’t,’saidJoan,‘asthoughwe’dknownheratallwell.’
‘Thatisverytrue,’saidMissMarple.‘You,dearJoan,didnotknowheratall.Ididnotknowheratall.Raymondgatheredanimpressionofherfromoneafternoon’sconversation.Louknewherfortwodays.’
‘Comenow,AuntJane,’saidRaymond,‘tellusyourviews.Youdon’tmind,Inspector?’
‘Notatall,’saidtheinspectorpolitely.
‘Well,mydear,itwouldseemthatwehavethreepeoplewhohad,ormighthavethoughttheyhad,amotivetokilltheoldlady.Andthreequitesimplereasonswhynoneofthethreecouldhavedoneso.ThehousekeepercouldnothavedonesobecauseshewaslockedinherroomandbecauseMissGreenshawdefinitelystatedthatamanshother.ThegardenercouldnothavedoneitbecausehewasinsidetheDogandDuckatthetimethemurderwascommitted,thenephewcouldnothavedoneitbecausehewasstillsomedistanceawayinhiscaratthetimeofthemurder.’
‘Veryclearlyput,madam,’saidtheinspector.
‘Andsinceitseemsmostunlikelythatanyoutsidershouldhavedoneit,where,then,arewe?’
‘That’swhattheinspectorwantstoknow,’saidRaymondWest.
‘Onesooftenlooksatathingthewrongwayround,’saidMissMarpleapologetically.‘Ifwecan’talterthemovementsorthepositionofthosethreepeople,thencouldn’tweperhapsalterthetimeofthemurder?’
‘Youmeanthatbothmywatchandtheclockwerewrong?’askedLou.
‘Nodear,’saidMissMarple,‘Ididn’tmeanthatatall.Imeanthatthemurderdidn’toccurwhenyouthoughtitoccurred.’
‘ButIsawit,’criedLou.
‘Well,whatIhavebeenwondering,mydear,waswhetheryouweren’tmeanttoseeit.I’vebeenaskingmyself,youknow,whetherthatwasn’ttherealreasonwhyyouwereengagedforthisjob.’
‘Whatdoyoumean,AuntJane?’
‘Well,dear,itseemsodd.MissGreenshawdidnotlikespendingmoney,andyetsheengagedyouandagreedquitewillinglytothetermsyouasked.Itseemstomethatperhapsyouweremeanttobethereinthatlibraryonthefirstfloor,lookingoutofthewindowsothatyoucouldbethekeywitness—someonefromoutsideofirreproachablegoodfaith—tofixadefinitetimeandplaceforthemurder.’
‘Butyoucan’tmean,’saidLou,incredulously,‘thatMissGreenshawintendedtobemurdered.’
‘WhatImean,dear,’saidMissMarple,‘isthatyoudidn’treallyknowMissGreenshaw.There’snorealreason,isthere,whytheMissGreenshawyousawwhenyouwentuptothehouseshouldbethesameMissGreenshawthatRaymondsawafewdaysearlier?Oh,yes,Iknow,’shewenton,topreventLou’sreply,‘shewaswearingthepeculiarold-fashionedprintdressandthestrangestrawhat,andhadunkempthair.ShecorrespondedexactlytothedescriptionRaymondgaveuslastweek-end.Butthosetwowomen,youknow,weremuchofanageandheightandsize.Thehousekeeper,Imean,andMissGreenshaw.’
‘Butthehousekeeperisfat!’Louexclaimed.‘She’sgotanenormousbosom.’
MissMarplecoughed.
‘Butmydear,surely,nowadaysIhaveseen—er—themmyselfinshopsmostindelicatelydisplayed.Itisveryeasyforanyonetohavea—abust—ofanysizeanddimension.’
‘Whatareyoutryingtosay?’demandedRaymond.
‘Iwasjustthinking,dear,thatduringthetwoorthreedaysLouwasworkingthere,onewomancouldhaveplayedthetwoparts.Yousaidyourself,Lou,thatyouhardlysawthehousekeeper,exceptfortheonemomentinthemorningwhenshebroughtyouinthetraywithcoffee.Oneseesthosecleverartistsonthestagecominginasdifferentcharacterswithonlyaminuteortwotospare,andIamsurethechangecouldhavebeeneffectedquiteeasily.Thatmarquisehead-dresscouldbejustawigslippedonandoff.’
‘AuntJane!DoyoumeanthatMissGreenshawwasdeadbeforeIstartedworkthere?’
‘Notdead.Keptunderdrugs,Ishouldsay.Averyeasyjobforanunscrupulouswomanlikethehousekeepertodo.Thenshemadethearrangementswithyouandgotyoutotelephonetothenephewtoaskhimtolunchatadefinitetime.TheonlypersonwhowouldhaveknownthatthisMissGreenshawwasnotMissGreenshawwouldhavebeenAlfred.Andifyouremember,thefirsttwodaysyouwereworkingthereitwaswet,andMissGreenshawstayedinthehouse.Alfrednevercameintothehousebecauseofhisfeudwiththehousekeeper.AndonthelastmorningAlfredwasinthedrive,whileMissGreenshawwasworkingontherockery—I’dliketohavealookatthatrockery.’
‘DoyoumeanitwasMrsCresswellwhokilledMissGreenshaw?’
‘Ithinkthatafterbringingyouyourcoffee,thewomanlockedthedooronyouasshewentout,carriedtheunconsciousMissGreenshawdowntothedrawing-room,thenassumedher“MissGreenshaw”disguiseandwentouttoworkontherockerywhereyoucouldseeherfromthewindow.Induecourseshescreamedandcamestaggeringtothehouseclutchinganarrowasthoughithadpenetratedherthroat.Shecalledforhelpandwascarefultosay“heshotme”soastoremovesuspicionfromthehousekeeper.Shealsocalleduptothehousekeeper’swindowasthoughshesawherthere.Then,onceinsidethedrawing-room,shethrewoveratablewithporcelainonit—andranquicklyupstairs,putonhermarquisewigandwasableafewmomentslatertoleanherheadoutofthewindowandtellyouthatshe,too,waslockedin.’
‘Butshewaslockedin,’saidLou.
‘Iknow.Thatiswherethepolicemancomesin.’
‘Whatpoliceman?’
‘Exactly—whatpoliceman?Iwonder,Inspector,ifyouwouldmindtellingmehowandwhenyouarrivedonthescene?’
Theinspectorlookedalittlepuzzled.
‘Attwelvetwenty-ninewereceivedatelephonecallfromMrsCresswell,housekeepertoMissGreenshaw,statingthathermistresshadbeenshot.SergeantCayleyandmyselfwentoutthereatonceinacarandarrivedatthehouseattwelvethirty-five.WefoundMissGreenshawdeadandthetwoladieslockedintheirrooms.’
‘So,yousee,mydear,’saidMissMarpletoLou.‘Thepoliceconstableyousawwasn’tarealpoliceconstable.Youneverthoughtofhimagain—onedoesn’t—onejustacceptsonemoreuniformaspartofthelaw.’
‘Butwho—why?’
‘Astowho—well,iftheyareplayingAKissforCinderella,apolicemanistheprincipalcharacter.NatFletcherwouldonlyhavetohelphimselftothecostumehewearsonthestage.He’daskhiswayatagaragebeingcarefultocallattentiontothetime—twelvetwenty-five,thendriveonquickly,leavehiscarroundacorner,sliponhispoliceuniformanddohis“act”.’
‘Butwhy?—why?’
‘Someonehadtolockthehousekeeper’sdoorontheoutside,andsomeonehadtodrivethearrowthroughMissGreenshaw’sthroat.Youcanstabanyonewithanarrowjustaswellasbyshootingit—butitneedsforce.’
‘Youmeantheywerebothinit?’
‘Ohyes,Ithinkso.Motherandsonaslikelyasnot.’
‘ButMissGreenshaw’ssisterdiedlongago.’
‘Yes,butI’venodoubtMrFletchermarriedagain.Hesoundsthesortofmanwhowould,andIthinkitpossiblethatthechilddiedtoo,andthatthisso-callednephewwasthesecondwife’schild,andnotreallyarelationatall.Thewomangotapostashousekeeperandspiedouttheland.Thenhewroteashernephewandproposedtocalluponher—hemayhavemadesomejokingreferencetocominginhispoliceman’suniform—oraskedherovertoseetheplay.ButIthinkshesuspectedthetruthandrefusedtoseehim.Hewouldhavebeenherheirifshehaddiedwithoutmakingawill—butofcourseonceshehadmadeawillinthehousekeeper’sfavour(astheythought)thenitwasclearsailing.’
‘Butwhyuseanarrow?’objectedJoan.‘Soveryfarfetched.’
‘Notfarfetchedatall,dear.Alfredbelongedtoanarcheryclub—Alfredwasmeanttotaketheblame.Thefactthathewasinthepubasearlyastwelvetwentywasmostunfortunatefromtheirpointofview.Healwaysleftalittlebeforehispropertimeandthatwouldhavebeenjustright—’sheshookherhead.‘Itreallyseemsallwrong—morally,Imean,thatAlfred’slazinessshouldhavesavedhislife.’
Theinspectorclearedhisthroat.
‘Well,madam,thesesuggestionsofyoursareveryinteresting.Ishallhave,ofcourse,toinvestigate—’
IV
MissMarpleandRaymondWeststoodbytherockeryandlookeddownatthatgardeningbasketfullofdyingvegetation.
MissMarplemurmured:
‘Alyssum,saxifrage,cytisus,thimblecampanula…Yes,that’salltheproofIneed.Whoeverwasweedinghereyesterdaymorningwasnogardener—shepulledupplantsaswellasweeds.SonowIknowI’mright.Thankyou,dearRaymond,forbringingmehere.Iwantedtoseetheplaceformyself.’
SheandRaymondbothlookedupattheoutrageouspileofGreenshaw’sFolly.
Acoughmadethemturn.Ahandsomeyoungmanwasalsolookingatthehouse.
‘Plagueybigplace,’hesaid.‘Toobigfornowadays—orsotheysay.Idunnoaboutthat.IfIwonafootballpoolandmadealotofmoney,that’sthekindofhouseI’dliketobuild.’
Hesmiledbashfullyatthem.
‘ReckonIcansaysonow—thattherehousewasbuiltbymygreat-grandfather,’saidAlfredPollock.‘Andafinehouseitis,foralltheycallitGreenshaw’sFolly!’
E-BookExtras
TheMarples
EssaybyCharlesOsborne
TheMarples
TheMurderattheVicarage;TheThirteenProblems;TheBodyintheLibrary;TheMovingFinger;AMurderIsAnnounced;TheyDoItwithMirrors;APocketFullofRye;4.50fromPaddington;TheMirrorCrack’dfromSidetoSide;ACaribbeanMystery;AtBertram’sHotel;Nemesis;SleepingMurder;MissMarple’sFinalCases
1.TheMurderattheVicarage(1930)
ThemurderofColonelProtheroe—shotthroughthehead—isashocktoeveryoneinSt.MaryMead,thoughhardlyanunpleasantone.Noweventhevicar,whohaddeclaredthatkillingthedetestedProtheroewouldbe‘doingtheworldatlargeafavour,’isasuspect—theColonelhasbeendispatchedintheclergyman’sstudy,noless.ButtinySt.MaryMeadisoverpopulatedwithsuspects.ThereisofcoursethefaithlessMrsProtheroe;andthereisofcourseheryounglover—anartist,toboot.Perhapsmoresurprisingthantherevelationofthemurdereristhedetectivewhowillcrackthecase:‘awhitehairedoldladywithagentle,appealingmanner.’MissJaneMarplehasarrivedonthescene,andcrimeliterature’sprivatemen’sclubofgreatdetectiveswillneverbethesame.
SaturdayReviewofLiterature:‘Whenshereallyhitsherstride,asshedoeshere,AgathaChristieishardtosurpass.’
2.TheThirteenProblems(1932)
OversixTuesdayeveningsagroupgathersatMissMarple’shousetoponderunsolvedcrimes.Thecompanyisinclinedtoforgettheirelderlyhostessastheybecomemesmerizedbythesinistertalestheytelloneanother.ButitisalwaysMissMarple’squietgeniusthatnamesthecriminalorthemeansofthemisdeed.AsindeedistrueinsubsequentgatheringsatthecountryhomeofColonelandMrsBantry,whereanothersetofterriblewrongsisrelatedbytheassembledguests—andrighted,byMissMarple.
Thestories:‘TheTuesdayNightClub’;‘TheIdolHouseofAstarte’;‘IngotsofGold’;‘TheBloodstainedPavement’;‘MotivevOpportunity’;‘TheThumbMarkofStPeter’;‘TheBlueGeranium’;‘TheCompanion’;‘TheFourSuspects’;‘AChristmasTragedy’;‘TheHerbofDeath’;‘TheAffairattheBungalow’;‘DeathbyDrowning.’
DailyMirror:‘Theplotsaresogoodthatonemarvels…Mostofthemwouldhavemadeafull-lengththriller.’
3.TheBodyintheLibrary(1942)
Thevery-respectableColonelandMrsBantryhaveawakenedtodiscoverthebodyofayoungwomanintheirlibrary.Sheiswearingeveningdressandheavymake-up,whichisnowsmearedacrosshercoldcheeks.Butwhoisshe?Howdidshegetthere?Andwhatisherconnectionwithanotherdeadgirl,whosecharredremainsarelaterdiscoveredinanabandonedquarry?TheBantrysturntoMissMarpletosolvethemystery.
Ofnote:ManyoftheresidentsofSt.MaryMead,whoappearedinthefirstfull-lengthMissMarplemysterytwelveyearsearlier,TheMurderattheVicarage,returninTheBodyintheLibrary.MrsChristiewroteBodysimultaneouslywiththeTommyandTuppenceBeresfordspythrillerNorM?,alternatingbetweenthetwonovelstokeepherself,assheputit,‘freshattask.’
TheTimesLiterarySupplementwroteofthissecondMarplenovel:‘Itishardnottobeimpressed.’
4.TheMovingFinger(1943)
Lymstockisatownwithmorethanitsshareofshamefulsecrets—atownwhereevenasuddenoutbreakofanonymoushate-mailcausesonlyaminorstir.Butallofthatchangeswhenoneoftherecipients,MrsSymmington,appearstohavebeendriventosuicide.‘Ican’tgoon,’herfinalnotereads.OnlyMissMarplequestionsthecoroner’sverdict.Wasthistheworkofapoisonpen?Orofapoisoner?
Ofnote:TheMovingFingerwasafavouriteofitsauthor.FromAnAutobiography(1977):‘Ifindthat…Iamreallypleasedwith…TheMovingFinger.Itisagreattesttorereadwhatonehaswrittensomeseventeenoreighteenyearsbefore.One’sviewchanges.Somedonotstandthetestoftime,othersdo.’
TheTimes:‘BeyondalldoubtthepuzzleinTheMovingFingerisfitfortheexperts.’
5.AMurderIsAnnounced(1950)
Theinvitationspelleditoutquiteclearly:‘AmurderisannouncedandwilltakeplaceonFriday,October29th,atLittlePaddocks,at6:30p.m.’Everyoneintownexpectedasimplepartygame—asecret‘murderer’ischosen,thelightsgoout,the‘victim’falls,andtheplayersguess‘whodunit.’Amusing,indeed—untilarealcorpseisdiscovered.Agameasmurderousasthisrequiresthemostbrilliantplayerofall:JaneMarple.
RobertBarnard:‘AsgoodasAgathaChristieeverwrote.’
A.A.Milne:‘Establishesfirmlyherclaimtothethroneofdetection.Theplotisasingeniousasever…thedialoguebothwiseandwitty;whilethesuspenseismaintainedveryskillfully…’
TheNewYorkTimesBookReview:‘Asuper-smoothChristie…neatmurdersinanEnglishvillage…anassortmentofherfamousredherrings,allbeautifullymarinated.’
6.TheyDoItwithMirrors(1952)
AsenseofdangerpervadestheramblingVictorianmansioninwhichJaneMarple’sfriendCarrieLouiselives—andnotonlybecausethebuildingdoublesasarehabilitationcentreforcriminalyouths.Oneinmateattempts,andfails,toshootdeadtheadministrator.Butsimultaneously,inanotherpartofthebuilding,amysteriousvisitorislesslucky.MissMarplemustemployallhercunningtosolvetheriddleofthestranger’svisit,andhismurder—whileprotectingherfriendfromasimilarlydreadfulfate.
Guardian:‘Brilliant.’
TheNewYorkTimes:‘NooneoneithersideoftheAtlanticdoesitbetter.’
7.APocketFullofRye(1953)
RexFortescue,kingofafinancialempire,wassippingteainhis‘countinghouse’whenhesufferedanagonisingandsuddendeath.Theonlycluetohismurder:‘loosegrain’foundinhispocket.Themurderseemswithoutrhymeorreason—untilshrewdJaneMarplerecallsthatdelightfulnurseryrhyme,‘SingaSongofSixpence.’Aplayfulhintindeedforamurderthatisanythingbutchild’splay.
TimesLiterarySupplement:‘Ingenious.’
TheNewYorkTimes:‘ThebestofthenovelsstarringMissMarple.’
8.4.50fromPaddington(1957)
Foraninstantthetwotrainsransidebyside.Inthatfrozenmoment,ElspethMcGillicuddystaredhelplesslyoutofhercarriagewindowasamantightenedhisgriparoundawoman’sthroat.Thebodycrumpled.Thentheothertraindrewaway.Butwho,apartfromMrsMcGillicuddy’sfriendJaneMarple,wouldtakeherstoryseriously?Afterall,therearenootherwitnesses,nosuspects,andnocase—forthereisnocorpse,andnooneismissing.MissMarpleasksherhighlyefficientandintelligentyoungfriendLucyEyelesbarrowtoinfiltratetheCrackenthorpefamily,whoseemtobeattheheartofthemystery,andhelpunmaskamurderer.
Ofnote:TheintroductionofLucyEyelesbarrowasaside-kicktoMissMarplewaslaudedbythecritics,butherworkwiththeolderdetectivewaslimitedtothisnovel.
9.TheMirrorCrack’dfromSidetoSide(1962)
ThequaintvillageofSt.MaryMeadhasbeenglamourizedbythepresenceofscreenqueenMarinaGregg,whohastakenupresidenceinpreparationforhercomeback.Butwhenalocalfanispoisoned,Marinafindsherselfstarringinareal-lifemystery—supportedwithscene-stealingaplombbyJaneMarple,whosuspectsthatthelethalcocktailwasintendedforsomeoneelse.Butwho?IfitwasmeantforMarina,thenwhy?Andbeforethefinalfade-out,whoelsefromSt.MaryMead’scastofseeminglyinnocentcharactersisgoingtobeeliminated?
TimesLiterarySupplement:‘Thepieces…dropintoplacewithasatisfyingclick.AgathaChristiedeservesherfame.’
10.ACaribbeanMystery(1964)
AsJaneMarplesatbaskinginthetropicalsunshineshefeltmildlydiscontentedwithlife.True,thewarmtheasedherrheumatism,buthereinparadisenothingeverhappened.Thenaquestionwasputtoherbyastranger:‘Wouldyouliketoseeapictureofamurderer?’Beforeshehasachancetoanswer,themanvanishes,onlytobefounddeadthenextday.Themysteriesabound:Whereisthepicture?Whyisthehotelierpronetonightmares?Whydoesn’tthemosttalked-aboutguest,areclusivemillionaire,everleavehisroom?AndwhyisMissMarpleherselffearfulforherlife?
Ofnote:ACaribbeanMysteryintroducesthewealthy(anddifficult)MrJasonRafiel,whowillcalluponMissMarpleforhelpinNemesis(1971)—afterhisdeath.
Observer:‘Liveliness…infectiouszest…asgoodasanythingMrsChristiehasdone.’
TheNewYorkTimes:‘Throwsoffthefalsecluesandmisleadingeventsasonlyamasteroftheartcando.’
11.AtBertram’sHotel(1965)
WhenJaneMarplecomesupfromthecountryforaholidayinLondon,shefindswhatshe’slookingforatBertram’s:arestoredLondonhotelwithtraditionaldecor,impeccableservice—andanunmistakableatmosphereofdangerbehindthehighlypolishedveneer.YetnotevenMissMarplecanforeseetheviolentchainofeventssetinmotionwhenaneccentricguestmakeshiswaytotheairportonthewrongday…
Ofnote:Bertram’swasinspiredbyBrown’sHotelinLondon,wheretheauthorwasafrequentvisitor.
SaturdayReviewofLiterature:‘Oneoftheauthor’sverybestproductions,withsplendidpace,brightlines.’
TheNewYorkTimes:‘Ajoytoreadfrombeginningtoend,especiallyinitsacutesensitivitytothecontrastsbetweenthiseraandthatofMissMarple’syouth.’
TheNewYorker:‘MrsChristie’spearlytalentfordealingwithallthewordsandpompsthatgowithmurderEnglish-styleshimmerssteadilyinthistaleofthenoisywoethatshatterstheextremelyexpensivepeaceofBertram’sfamouslyold-fashionedhotel.’
12.Nemesis(1971)
EventheunflappableMissMarpleisastoundedasshereadstheletteraddressedtoheroninstructionsfromtherecentlydeceasedtycoonMrJasonRafiel,whomshehadmetonholidayintheWestIndies(ACaribbeanMystery).Recognisinginheranaturalflairforjusticeandageniusforcrime-solving,MrRafielhasbequeathedtoMissMarplea￡20,000legacy—andalegacyofanentirelydifferentsort.ForhehasaskedMissMarpletoinvestigate…hisownmurder.Theonlyproblemis,MrRafielhasfailedtonameasuspectorsuspects.And,whoevertheyare,theywillcertainlybedeterminedtothwartMissMarple’sinquiries—nomatterwhatitwilltaketostopher.
Ofnote:NemesisisthelastJaneMarplemysterythatAgathaChristiewrote—thoughnotthelastMarplepublished.
BestSellers:‘Theoldcharmisstillthereandagooddealoftheoldmagicinplotting,too.’
TimesLiterarySupplement:‘MissMarpleisanoldladynow,knowingthatascentforevilisstill,intheeveningofherdays,herpeculiargift.’
13.SleepingMurder(1976)
SoonafterGwendaReedmovesintohernewhome,oddthingsstarttohappen.Despiteherbesteffortstomodernisethehouse,sheonlysucceedsindredgingupitspast.Worse,shefeelsanirrationalsenseofterroreverytimesheclimbsthestairs…Infear,GwendaturnstoJaneMarpletoexorciseherghosts.Betweenthem,theyaretosolvea‘perfect’crimecommittedmanyyearsbefore…
Ofnote:AgathaChristiewroteSleepingMurderduringWorldWarIIandhaditplacedinabankvaultforoverthirtyyears.
ChicagoTribune:‘AgathaChristiesavedthebestforlast.’
SundayExpress:‘Apuzzlethatistortuous,surprising,and…satisfying.’
14.MissMarple’sFinalCases(1979)
Despitethetitle,thestoriescollectedhererecountcasesfromthemiddleofMiss.Marple’scareer.Theyare:‘Sanctuary’;‘StrangeJest’;‘Tape-MeasureMurder’;‘TheCaseoftheCaretaker’;‘TheCaseofthePerfectMaid’;‘MissMarpleTellsaStory’;‘TheDressmaker’sDoll’;‘InaGlassDarkly’;‘Greenshaw’sFolly.’
TheRepublican(Springfield,Massachusetts):‘Whenitallbecomesclearasday,thereadercanonlysay,“Nowwhydidn’tIthinkofthat?”Butheneverdoes.MrsChristieatherbest.’
CharlesOsborneonMissMarple’sFinalCases
MissMarpleShortStories(1979)
MissMarple’sFinalCasesandtwootherstorieswaspublishedintheUKonly,forthestorieswerealreadyavailableinothervolumespublishedintheUSA.Twoofthestories,‘TheDressmaker’sDoll’and‘Sanctuary’,aretobefoundinDoubleSin(1961:seep.301);fourstories,‘StrangeJest’,‘TapeMeasureMurder’,‘TheCaseofthePerfectMaid’and‘TheCaseoftheCaretaker’,arefromThreeBlindMice(1950:seep.237);andtheremainingtwostories,‘MissMarpleTellsaStory’and‘InaGlassDarkly’,comefromTheRegattaMystery(1939:seep.175).
Oftheeightstories,two(‘TheDressmaker’sDoll’and‘InaGlassDarkly’)arenotMissMarpleadventures.TheremainingsixoughtnotreallytohavebeencalledMissMarple’sFinalCases,fortheyareexamplesofthatredoubtableladyinmid-career.Thepublisher’sjustificationforputtingtogetheracollectionofthemwasthat,althoughtheyhadappearedinmagazinesinthepast,thestorieswerebeingpublishedinvolumeformforthefirsttimeinGreatBritain.Astatementtothiseffectappearedinthe‘blurb’ontheinsideofthefrontjacket.Itis,however,slightlyinaccurate,for‘Tape-MeasureMurder’hadfounditswayintoThirteenforLuck,‘aselectionofmysterystoriesforyoungreaders’whichCollinshadpublishedin1966.
ProblematPollensaBay
AboutCharlesOsborne
ThisessaywasadaptedfromCharlesOsborne’sTheLifeandCrimesofAgathaChristie:ABiographicalCompaniontotheWorksofAgathaChristie(1982,rev.1999).Mr.OsbornewasborninBrisbanein1927.Heisknowninternationallyasanauthorityonopera,andhaswrittenanumberofbooksonmusicalandliterarysubjects,amongthemTheCompleteOperasofVerdi(1969);WagnerandHisWorld(1977);andW.H.Auden:TheLifeofaPoet(1980).Anaddictofcrimefictionandtheworld’sleadingauthorityonAgathaChristie,CharlesOsborneadaptedtheChristieplaysBlackCoffee(Poirot);Spider’sWeb;andTheUnexpectedGuestintonovels.HelivesinLondon.
AboutAgathaChristie
AgathaChristieisknownthroughouttheworldastheQueenofCrime.HerbookshavesoldoverabillioncopiesinEnglishandanotherbillionin100foreignlanguages.Sheisthemostwidelypublishedauthorofalltimeandinanylanguage,outsoldonlybytheBibleandShakespeare.MrsChristieistheauthorofeightycrimenovelsandshortstorycollections,nineteenplays,andsixnovelswrittenunderthenameofMaryWestmacott.
AgathaChristie’sfirstnovel,TheMysteriousAffairatStyles,waswrittentowardstheendofWorldWarI(duringwhichsheservedintheVoluntaryAidDetachments).InitshecreatedHerculePoirot,thelittleBelgianinvestigatorwhowasdestinedtobecomethemostpopulardetectiveincrimefictionsinceSherlockHolmes.Afterhavingbeenrejectedbyanumberofhouses,TheMysteriousAffairatStyleswaseventuallypublishedbyTheBodleyHeadin1920.
In1926,nowaveragingabookayear,AgathaChristiewrotehermasterpiece.TheMurderofRogerAckroydwasthefirstofherbookstobepublishedbyWilliamCollinsandmarkedthebeginningofanauthor-publisherrelationshipthatlastedforfiftyyearsandproducedoverseventybooks.TheMurderofRogerAckroydwasalsothefirstofAgathaChristie’sworkstobedramatised—asAlibi—andtohaveasuccessfulruninLondon’sWestEnd.TheMousetrap,hermostfamousplay,openedin1952andrunstothisdayatStMartin’sTheatreintheWestEnd;itisthelongest-runningplayinhistory.
AgathaChristiewasmadeaDamein1971.Shediedin1976,sincewhenanumberofherbookshavebeenpublished:thebestsellingnovelSleepingMurderappearedin1976,followedbyAnAutobiographyandtheshortstorycollectionsMissMarple’sFinalCases;ProblematPollensaBay;andWhiletheLightLasts.In1998,BlackCoffeewasthefirstofherplaystobenovelisedbyCharlesOsborne,MrsChristie’sbiographer.
TheAgathaChristieCollection
ChristieCrimeClassics
TheManintheBrownSuit
TheSecretofChimneys
TheSevenDialsMystery
TheMysteriousMrQuin
TheSittafordMystery
TheHoundofDeath
TheListerdaleMystery
WhyDidn’tTheyAskEvans?
ParkerPyneInvestigates
MurderIsEasy
AndThenThereWereNone
TowardsZero
DeathComesastheEnd
SparklingCyanide
CrookedHouse
TheyCametoBaghdad
DestinationUnknown
Spider’sWeb*
TheUnexpectedGuest*
OrdealbyInnocence
ThePaleHorse
EndlessNight
PassengerToFrankfurt
ProblematPollensaBay
WhiletheLightLasts
HerculePoirotInvestigates
TheMysteriousAffairatStyles
TheMurderontheLinks
PoirotInvestigates
TheMurderofRogerAckroyd
TheBigFour
TheMysteryoftheBlueTrain
BlackCoffee*
PerilatEndHouse
LordEdgwareDies
MurderontheOrientExpress
Three-ActTragedy
DeathintheClouds
TheABCMurders
MurderinMesopotamia
CardsontheTable
MurderintheMews
DumbWitness
DeathontheNile
AppointmentwithDeath
HerculePoirot’sChristmas
SadCypress
One,Two,BuckleMyShoe
EvilUndertheSun
FiveLittlePigs
TheHollow
TheLaboursofHercules
TakenattheFlood
MrsMcGinty’sDead
AftertheFuneral
HickoryDickoryDock
DeadMan’sFolly
CatAmongthePigeons
TheAdventureoftheChristmasPudding
TheClocks
ThirdGirl
Hallowe’enParty
ElephantsCanRemember
Poirot’sEarlyCases
Curtain:Poirot’sLastCase
MissMarpleMysteries
TheMurderattheVicarage
TheThirteenProblems
TheBodyintheLibrary
TheMovingFinger
AMurderIsAnnounced
TheyDoItwithMirrors
APocketFullofRye
4.50fromPaddington
TheMirrorCrack’dfromSidetoSide
ACaribbeanMystery
AtBertram’sHotel
Nemesis
SleepingMurder
MissMarple’sFinalCases
Tommy&Tuppence
TheSecretAdversary
PartnersinCrime
NorM?
BythePrickingofMyThumbs
PosternofFate
PublishedasMaryWestmacott
Giant’sBread
UnfinishedPortrait
AbsentintheSpring
TheRoseandtheYewTree
ADaughter’saDaughter
TheBurden
Memoirs
AnAutobiography
Come,TellMeHowYouLive
PlayCollections
TheMousetrapandSelectedPlays
WitnessfortheProsecutionandSelectedPlays
*novelisedbyCharlesOsborne
www.agathachristie.com
FormoreinformationaboutAgathaChristie,pleasevisittheofficialwebsite.
MISSMARPLE’SFINALCASESbyAgathaChristie
Copyright?1979AgathaChristieLimited(aChorioncompany)
“EssaybyCharlesOsborne”excerptedfromTheLifeandCrimesofAgathaChristie.Copyright?1982,1999byCharlesOsborne.Reprintedwithpermission.
Greenshaw’sFollytakenfromTheAdventureoftheChristmasPudding?AgathaChristieMallowan1960.
AllrightsreservedunderInternationalandPan-AmericanCopyrightConventions.Bypaymentoftherequiredfees,youhavebeengrantedthenon-exclusive,non-transferablerighttoaccessandreadthetextofthise-bookon-screen.Nopartofthistextmaybereproduced,transmitted,downloaded,decompiled,reverseengineered,orstoredinorintroducedintoanyinformationstorageandretrievalsystem,inanyformorbyanymeans,whetherelectronicormechanical,nowknownorhereinafterinvented,withouttheexpresswrittenpermissionofHarperCollinse-books?.
ePubeditioneditionpublishedJune2004ISBN9780061748066
Thise-bookwassetfromtheAgathaChristieSignatureEditionpublished2002byHarperCollinsPublishers,London.
10987654321
FirstpublishedinGreatBritainbyCollins1979
FormoreinformationaboutAgathaChristiee-booksvisitwww.perfectbound.com/agathachristie
AboutthePublisher
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TableofContents
Cover
TitlePage
Contents
Sanctuary
StrangeJest
Tape-MeasureMurder
TheCaseoftheCaretaker
TheCaseofthePerfectMaid
MissMarpleTellsaStory
TheDressmaker’sDoll
InAGlassDarkly
Greenshaw’sFolly
E-BookExtras
TheMarples
CharlesOsborneonMissMarple’sFinalCases
AboutAgathaChristie
TheAgathaChristieCollection
www.agathachristie.com
Copyright
AboutthePublisher
© Copyright Notice
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