Agatha Christie

The Mirror Crackâ€™d from Side to Side

A Miss Marple Mystery

To
Margaret Rutherford in admiration

Out flew the web and floated wide;

The mirror crackâd from side to side;

âThe curse is come upon me,â cried

The Lady of Shalott

Alfred Tennyson

One

I

Miss Jane Marple was sitting by her window. The window looked over her garden, once a source of pride to her. That was no longer so. Nowadays she looked out of the window and winced. Active gardening had been forbidden her for some time now. No stooping, no digging, no plantingâat most a little light pruning. Old Laycock who came three times a week, did his best, no doubt. But his best, such as it was (which was not much) was only the best according to his lights, and not according to those of his employer. Miss Marple knew exactly what she wanted done, and when she wanted it done, and instructed him duly. Old Laycock then displayed his particular genius which was that of enthusiastic agreement and subsequent lack of performance.

âThatâs right, missus. Weâll have them mecosoapies there and the Canterburys along the wall and as you say it ought to be got on with first thing next week.â

Laycockâs excuses were always reasonable, and strongly resembled those of Captain Georgeâs in Three Men in a Boat for avoiding going to sea. In the captainâs case the wind was always wrong, either blowing off shore or in shore, or coming from the unreliable west, or the even more treacherous east. Laycockâs was the weather. Too dryâtoo wetâwaterloggedâa nip of frost in the air. Or else something of great importance had to come first (usually to do with cabbages or brussels sprouts of which he liked to grow inordinate quantities). Laycockâs own principles of gardening were simple and no employer, however knowledgeable, could wean him from them.

They consisted of a great many cups of tea, sweet and strong, as an encouragement to effort, a good deal of sweeping up of leaves in the autumn, and a certain amount of bedding out of his own favourite plants, mainly asters and salviasâto âmake a nice show,â as he put it, in summer. He was all in favour of syringeing roses for green-fly, but was slow to get around to it, and a demand for deep trenching for sweet peas was usually countered by the remark that you ought to see his own sweet peas! A proper treat last year, and no fancy stuff done beforehand.

To be fair, he was attached to his employers, humoured their fancies in horticulture (so far as no actual hard work was involved) but vegetables he knew to be the real stuff of life; a nice Savoy, or a bit of curly kale; flowers were fancy stuff such as ladies liked to go in for, having nothing better to do with their time. He showed his affection by producing presents of the aforementioned asters, salvias, lobelia edging, and summer chrysanthemums.

âBeen doing some work at them new houses over at the Development. Want their gardens laid out nice, they do. More plants than they needed so I brought along a few, and Iâve put âem in where them old-fashioned roses ainât looking so well.â

Thinking of these things, Miss Marple averted her eyes from the garden, and picked up her knitting.

One had to face the fact: St. Mary Mead was not the place it had been. In a sense, of course, nothing was what it had been. You could blame the war (both the wars) or the younger generation, or women going out to work, or the atom bomb, or just the Governmentâbut what one really meant was the simple fact that one was growing old. Miss Marple, who was a very sensible lady, knew that quite well. It was just that, in a queer way, she felt it more in St. Mary Mead, because it had been her home for so long.

St. Mary Mead, the old world core of it, was still there. The Blue Boar was there, and the church and the vicarage and the little nest of Queen Anne and Georgian houses, of which hers was one. Miss Hartnellâs house was still there, and also Miss Hartnell, fighting progress to the last gasp. Miss Wetherby had passed on and her house was now inhabited by the bank manager and his family, having been given a face-lift by the painting of doors and windows a bright royal blue. There were new people in most of the other old houses, but the houses themselves were little changed in appearances since the people who had bought them had done so because they liked what the house agent called âold world charm.â They just added another bathroom, and spent a good deal of money on plumbing, electric cookers, and dishwashers.

But though the houses looked much as before, the same could hardly be said of the village street. When shops changed hands there, it was with a view to immediate and intemperate modernization. The fishmonger was unrecognizable with new super windows behind which the refrigerated fish gleamed. The butcher had remained conservativeâgood meat is good meat, if you have the money to pay for it. If not, you take the cheaper cuts and the tough joints and like it! Barnes, the grocer, was still there, unchanged, for which Miss Hartnell and Miss Marple and others daily thanked Heaven. So obliging, comfortable chairs to sit in by the counter, and cosy discussions as to cuts of bacon, and varieties of cheese. At the end of the street, however, where Mr. Toms had once had his basket shop stood a glittering new supermarketâanathema to the elderly ladies of St. Mary Mead.

âPackets of things oneâs never even heard of,â exclaimed Miss Hartnell. âAll these great packets of breakfast cereal instead of cooking a child a proper breakfast of bacon and eggs. And youâre expected to take a basket yourself and go round looking for thingsâit takes a quarter of an hour sometimes to find all one wantsâand usually made up in inconvenient sizes, too much or too little. And then a long queue waiting to pay as you go out. Most tiring. Of course itâs all very well for the people from the Developmentââ

At this point she stopped.

Because, as was now usual, the sentence came to an end there. The Development, Period, as they would say in modern terms. It had an entity of its own, and a capital letter.

II

Miss Marple uttered a sharp exclamation of annoyance. Sheâd dropped a stitch again. Not only that, she must have dropped it some time ago. Not until now, when she had to decrease for the neck and count the stitches, had she realized the fact. She took up a spare pin, held the knitting sideways to the light and peered anxiously. Even her new spectacles didnât seem to do any good. And that, she reflected, was because obviously there came a time when oculists, in spite of their luxurious waiting rooms, the up-to-date instruments, the bright lights they flashed into your eyes, and the very high fees they charged, couldnât do anything much more for you. Miss Marple reflected with some nostalgia on how good her eyesight had been a few (well, not perhaps a few) years ago. From the vantage point of her garden, so admirably placed to see all that was going on in St. Mary Mead, how little had escaped her noticing eye! And with the help of her bird glassesâ(an interest in birds was so useful!)âshe had been able to seeâShe broke off there and let her thoughts run back over the past. Ann Protheroe in her summer frock going along to the Vicarage garden. And Colonel Protheroeâpoor manâa very tiresome and unpleasant man, to be sureâbut to be murdered like thatâShe shook her head and went on to thoughts of Griselda, the vicarâs pretty young wife. Dear Griseldaâsuch a faithful friendâa Christmas card every year. That attractive baby of hers was a strapping young man now, and with a very good job. Engineering, was it? He always had enjoyed taking his mechanical trains to pieces. Beyond the Vicarage, there had been the stile and the field path with Farmer Gilesâs cattle beyond in the meadows where nowânowâ¦.

The Development.

And why not? Miss Marple asked herself sternly. These things had to be. The houses were necessary, and they were very well built, or so she had been told. âPlanning,â or whatever they called it. Though why everything had to be called a Close she couldnât imagine. Aubrey Close and Longwood Close, and Grandison Close and all the rest of them. Not really Closes at all. Miss Marple knew what a Close was perfectly. Her uncle had been a Canon of Chichester Cathedral. As a child she had gone to stay with him in the Close.

It was like Cherry Baker who always called Miss Marpleâs oldworld overcrowded drawing room the âlounge.â Miss Marple corrected her gently, âItâs the drawing room, Cherry.â And Cherry, because she was young and kind, endeavoured to remember, though it was obvious to her âdrawing roomâ was a very funny word to useâand âloungeâ came slipping out. She had of late, however, compromised on âliving-room.â Miss Marple liked Cherry very much. Her name was Mrs. Baker and she came from the Development. She was one of the detachment of young wives who shopped at the supermarket and wheeled prams about the quiet streets of St. Mary Mead. They were all smart and well turned out. Their hair was crisp and curled. They laughed and talked and called to one another. They were like a happy flock of birds. Owing to the insidious snares of Hire Purchase, they were always in need of ready money, though their husbands all earned good wages; and so they came and did housework or cooking. Cherry was a quick and efficient cook, she was an intelligent girl, took telephone calls correctly and was quick to spot inaccuracies in the tradesmenâs books. She was not much given to turning mattresses, and as far as washing up went Miss Marple always now passed the pantry door with her head turned away so as not to observe Cherryâs method which was that of thrusting everything into the sink together and letting loose a snowstorm of detergent on it. Miss Marple had quietly removed her old Worcester tea set from daily circulation and put it in the corner cabinet whence it only emerged on special occasions. Instead she had purchased a modern service with a pattern of pale grey on white and no gilt on it whatsoever to be washed away in the sink.

How different it had been in the pastâ¦ Faithful Florence, for instance, that grenadier of a parlourmaidâand there had been Amy and Clara and Alice, those ânice little maidsââarriving from St. Faithâs Orphanage, to be âtrained,â and then going on to betterpaid jobs elsewhere. Rather simple, some of them had been, and frequently adenoidal, and Amy distinctly moronic. They had gossiped and chattered with the other maids in the village and walked out with the fishmongerâs assistant, or the undergardener at the Hall, or one of Mr. Barnes the grocerâs numerous assistants. Miss Marpleâs mind went back over them affectionately thinking of all the little woolly coats she had knitted for their subsequent offspring. They had not been very good with the telephone, and no good at all at arithmetic. On the other hand, they knew how to wash up, and how to make a bed. They had had skills, rather than education. It was odd that nowadays it should be the educated girls who went in for all the domestic chores. Students from abroad, girls au pair, university students in the vacation, young married women like Cherry Baker, who lived in spurious Closes on new building developments.

There were still, of course, people like Miss Knight. This last thought came suddenly as Miss Knightâs tread overhead made the lustres on the mantelpiece tinkle warningly. Miss Knight had obviously had her afternoon rest and would now go out for her afternoon walk. In a moment she would come to ask Miss Marple if she could get her anything in the town. The thought of Miss Knight brought the usual reaction to Miss Marpleâs mind. Of course, it was very generous of dear Raymond (her nephew) and nobody could be kinder than Miss Knight, and of course that attack of bronchitis had left her very weak, and Dr. Haydock had said very firmly that she must not go on sleeping alone in the house with only someone coming in daily, butâShe stopped there. Because it was no use going on with the thought which was âIf only it could have been someone other than Miss Knight.â But there wasnât much choice for elderly ladies nowadays. Devoted maidservants had gone out of fashion. In real illness you could have a proper hospital nurse, at vast expense and procured with difficulty, or you could go to hospital. But after the critical phase of illness had passed, you were down to the Miss Knights.

There wasnât, Miss Marple reflected, anything wrong about the Miss Knights other than the fact that they were madly irritating. They were full of kindness, ready to feel affection towards their charges, to humour them, to be bright and cheerful with them and in general to treat them as slightly mentally afflicted children.

âBut I,â said Miss Marple to herself, âalthough I may be old, am not a mentally retarded child.â

At this moment, breathing rather heavily, as was her custom, Miss Knight bounced brightly into the room. She was a big, rather flabby woman of fifty-six with yellowing grey hair very elaborately arranged, glasses, a long thin nose, and below it a good-natured mouth and a weak chin.

âHere we are!â she exclaimed with a kind of beaming boisterousness, meant to cheer and enliven the sad twilight of the aged. âI hope weâve had our little snooze?â

âI have been knitting,â Miss Marple replied, putting some emphasis on the pronoun, âand,â she went on, confessing her weakness with distaste and shame, âIâve dropped a stitch.â

âOh dear, dear,â said Miss Knight. âWell, weâll soon put that right, wonât we?â

âYou will,â said Miss Marple. âI, alas, am unable to do so.â

The slight acerbity of her tone passed quite unnoticed. Miss Knight, as always, was eager to help.

âThere,â she said after a few moments. âThere you are, dear. Quite all right now.â

Though Miss Marple was perfectly agreeable to be called âdearâ (and even âducksâ) by the woman at the greengrocer or the girl at the paper shop, it annoyed her intensely to be called âdearâ by Miss Knight. Another of those things that elderly ladies have to bear. She thanked Miss Knight politely.

âAnd now Iâm just going out for my wee toddle,â said Miss Knight humorously. âShanât be long.â

âPlease donât dream of hurrying back,â said Miss Marple politely and sincerely.

âWell, I donât like to leave you too long on your own, dear, in case you get moped.â

âI assure you I am quite happy,â said Miss Marple. âI probably shall haveâ (she closed her eyes) âa little nap.â

âThatâs right, dear. Anything I can get you?â

Miss Marple opened her eyes and considered.

âYou might go into Longdonâs and see if the curtains are ready. And perhaps another skein of the blue wool from Mrs. Wisley. And a box of black currant lozenges at the chemistâs. And change my book at the libraryâbut donât let them give you anything that isnât on my list. This last one was too terrible. I couldnât read it.â She held out The Spring Awakens.

âOh dear dear! Didnât you like it? I thought youâd love it. Such a pretty story.â

âAnd if it isnât too far for you, perhaps you wouldnât mind going as far as Halletts and see if they have one of those up-and-down egg whisksânot the turn-the-handle kind.â

(She knew very well they had nothing of the kind, but Halletts was the farthest shop possible.)

âIf all this isnât too muchââ she murmured.

But Miss Knight replied with obvious sincerity.

âNot at all. I shall be delighted.â

Miss Knight loved shopping. It was the breath of life to her. One met acquaintances, and had the chance of a chat, one gossiped with the assistants, and had the opportunity of examining various articles in the various shops. And one could spend quite a long time engaged in these pleasant occupations without any guilty feeling that it was oneâs duty to hurry back.

So Miss Knight started off happily, after a last glance at the frail old lady resting so peacefully by the window.

After waiting a few minutes in case Miss Knight should return for a shopping bag, or her purse, or a handkerchief (she was a great forgetter and returner), and also to recover from the slight mental fatigue induced by thinking of so many unwanted things to ask Miss Knight to get, Miss Marple rose briskly to her feet, cast aside her knitting and strode purposefully across the room and into the hall. She took down her summer coat from its peg, a stick from the hall stand and exchanged her bedroom slippers for a pair of stout walking shoes. Then she left the house by the side door.

âIt will take her at least an hour and a half,â Miss Marple estimated to herself. âQuite thatâwith all the people from the Development doing their shopping.â

Miss Marple visualized Miss Knight at Longdonâs making abortive inquiries re curtains. Her surmises were remarkably accurate. At this moment Miss Knight was exclaiming, âOf course, I felt quite sure in my own mind they wouldnât be ready yet. But of course I said Iâd come along and see when the old lady spoke about it. Poor old dears, theyâve got so little to look forward to. One must humour them. And sheâs a sweet old lady. Failing a little now, itâs only to be expectedâtheir faculties get dimmed. Now thatâs a pretty material youâve got there. Do you have it in any other colours?â

A pleasant twenty minutes passed. When Miss Knight had finally departed, the senior assistant remarked with a sniff, âFailing, is she? Iâll believe that when I see it for myself. Old Miss Marple has always been as sharp as a needle, and Iâd say she still is.â She then gave her attention to a young woman in tight trousers and a sailcloth jersey who wanted plastic material with crabs on it for bathroom curtains.

âEmily Waters, thatâs who she reminds me of,â Miss Marple was saying to herself, with the satisfaction it always gave her to match up a human personality with one known in the past. âJust the same bird brain. Let me see, what happened to Emily?â

Nothing much, was her conclusion. She had once nearly got engaged to a curate, but after an understanding of several years the affair had fizzled out. Miss Marple dismissed her nurse attendant from her mind and gave her attention to her surroundings. She had traversed the garden rapidly only observing as it were from the corner of her eye that Laycock had cut down the old-fashioned roses in a way more suitable to hybrid teas, but she did not allow this to distress her, or distract her from the delicious pleasure of having escaped for an outing entirely on her own. She had a happy feeling of adventure. She turned to the right, entered the Vicarage gate, took the path through the Vicarage garden and came out on the right of way. Where the stile had been there was now an iron swing gate giving on to a tarred asphalt path. This led to a neat little bridge over the stream and on the other side of the stream where once there had been meadows with cows, there was the Development.

Two

With the feeling of Columbus setting out to discover a new world, Miss Marple passed over the bridge, continued on to the path and within four minutes was actually in Aubrey Close.

Of course Miss Marple had seen the Development from the Market Basing Road, that is, had seen from afar its Closes and rows of neat well-built houses, with their television masts and their blue and pink and yellow and green painted doors and windows. But until now it had only had the reality of a map, as it were. She had not been in it and of it. But now she was here, observing the brave new world that was springing up, the world that by all accounts was foreign to all she had known. It was like a neat model built with childâs bricks. It hardly seemed real to Miss Marple.

The people, too, looked unreal. The trousered young women, the rather sinister-looking young men and boys, the exuberant bosoms of the fifteen-year-old girls. Miss Marple couldnât help thinking that it all looked terribly depraved. Nobody noticed her much as she trudged along. She turned out of Aubrey Close and was presently in Darlington Close. She went slowly and as she went she listened avidly to the snippets of conversation between mothers wheeling prams, to the girls addressing young men, to the sinister-looking Teds (she supposed they were Teds) exchanging dark remarks with each other. Mothers came out on doorsteps calling to their children who, as usual, were busy doing all the things they had been told not to do. Children, Miss Marple reflected gratefully, never changed. And presently she began to smile, and noted down in her mind her usual series of recognitions.

That woman is just like Carry Edwardsâand the dark one is just like that Hooper girlâsheâll make a mess of her marriage just like Mary Hooper did. Those boysâthe dark one is just like Edward Leeke, a lot of wild talk but no harm in himâa nice boy reallyâthe fair one is Mrs. Bedwellâs Josh all over again. Nice boys, both of them. The one like Gregory Binns wonât do very well, Iâm afraid. I expect heâs got the same sort of motherâ¦.

She turned a corner into Walsingham Close and her spirits rose every moment.

The new world was the same as the old. The houses were different, the streets were called Closes, the clothes were different, the voices were different, but the human beings were the same as they always had been. And though using slightly different phraseology, the subjects of conversation were the same.

By dint of turning corners in her exploration, Miss Marple had rather lost her sense of direction and had arrived at the edge of the housing estate again. She was now in Carrisbrook Close, half of which was still âunder construction.â At the first floor window of a nearly finished house a young couple were standing. Their voices floated down as they discussed the amenities.

âYou must admit itâs a nice position, Harry.â

âOther one was just as good.â

âThis oneâs got two more rooms.â

âAnd youâve got to pay for them.â

âWell, I like this one.â

âYou would!â

âOw, donât be such a spoilsport. You know what Mum said.â

âYour Mum never stops saying.â

âDonât you say nothing against Mum. Whereâd I have been without her? And she might have cut up nastier than she did. She could have taken you to court.â

âOh, come off it, Lily.â

âItâs a good view of the hills. You can almost seeââ She leaned far out, twisting her body to the left. âYou can almost see the reservoirââ

She leant farther still, not realizing that she was resting her weight on loose boards that had been laid across the sill. They slipped under the pressure of her body, sliding outwards, carrying her with them. She screamed, trying to regain her balance.

âHarryââ

The young man stood motionlessâa foot or two behind her. He took one step backwardsâ

Desperately, clawing at the wall, the girl righted herself. âOo!â She let out a frightened breath. âI near as nothing fell out. Why didnât you get hold of me?â

âIt was all so quick. Anyway youâre all right.â

âThatâs all you know about it. I nearly went, I tell you. And look at the front of my jumper, itâs all mussed.â

Miss Marple went on a little way, then on impulse, she turned back.

Lily was outside in the road waiting for the young man to lock up the house.

Miss Marple went up to her and spoke rapidly in a low voice.

âIf I were you, my dear, I shouldnât marry that young man. You want someone whom you can rely upon if youâre in danger. You must excuse me for saying this to youâbut I feel you ought to be warned.â

She turned away and Lily stared after her.

âWell, of all theââ

Her young man approached.

âWhat was she saying to you, Lil?â

Lily opened her mouthâthen shut it again.

âGiving me the gipsyâs warning if you want to know.â

She eyed him in a thoughtful manner.

Miss Marple in her anxiety to get away quickly, turned a corner, stumbled over some loose stones and fell.

A woman came running out of one of the houses.

âOh dear, what a nasty spill! I hope you havenât hurt yourself?â

With almost excessive goodwill she put her arms round Miss Marple and tugged her to her feet.

âNo bones broken, I hope? There we are. I expect you feel rather shaken.â

Her voice was loud and friendly. She was a plump squarely built woman of about forty, brown hair just turning grey, blue eyes, and a big generous mouth that seemed to Miss Marpleâs rather shaken gaze to be far too full of white shining teeth.

âYouâd better come inside and sit down and rest a bit. Iâll make you a cup of tea.â

Miss Marple thanked her. She allowed herself to be led through the blue-painted door and into a small room full of bright cretonne-covered chairs and sofas.

âThere you are,â said her rescuer, establishing her on a cushioned armchair. âYou sit quiet and Iâll put the kettle on.â

She hurried out of the room which seemed rather restfully quiet after her departure. Miss Marple took a deep breath. She was not really hurt, but the fall had shaken her. Falls at her age were not to be encouraged. With luck, however, she thought guiltily, Miss Knight need never know. She moved her arms and legs gingerly. Nothing broken. If she could only get home all right. Perhaps, after a cup of teaâ

The cup of tea arrived almost as the thought came to her. Brought on a tray with four sweet biscuits on a little plate.

âThere you are.â It was placed on a small table in front of her. âShall I pour it out for you? Better have plenty of sugar.â

âNo sugar, thank you.â

âYou must have sugar. Shock, you know. I was abroad with ambulances during the war. Sugarâs wonderful for shock.â She put four lumps in the cup and stirred vigorously. âNow you get that down, and youâll feel as right as rain.â

Miss Marple accepted the dictum.

âA kind woman,â she thought. âShe reminds me of someoneânow who is it?â

âYouâve been very kind to me,â she said, smiling.

âOh, thatâs nothing. The little ministering angel, thatâs me. I love helping people.â She looked out of the window as the latch of the outer gate clicked. âHereâs my husband home. Arthurâweâve got a visitor.â

She went out into the hall and returned with Arthur who looked rather bewildered. He was a thin pale man, rather slow in speech.

âThis lady fell downâright outside our gate, so of course I brought her in.â

âYour wife is very kind, Mr.ââ

âBadcockâs the name.â

âMr. Badcock, Iâm afraid Iâve given her a lot of trouble.â

âOh, no trouble to Heather. Heather enjoys doing things for people.â He looked at her curiously. âWere you on your way anywhere in particular?â

âNo, I was just taking a walk. I live in St. Mary Mead, the house beyond the Vicarage. My name is Marple.â

âWell, I never!â exclaimed Heather. âSo youâre Miss Marple. Iâve heard about you. Youâre the one who does all the murders.â

âHeather! What do youââ

âOh, you know what I mean. Not actually do murdersâfind out about them. Thatâs right, isnât it?â

Miss Marple murmured modestly that she had been mixed-up in murders once or twice.

âI heard there have been murders here, in this village. They were talking about it the other night at the Bingo Club. There was one at Gossington Hall. I wouldnât buy a place where thereâd been a murder. Iâd be sure it was haunted.â

âThe murder wasnât committed in Gossington Hall. A dead body was brought there.â

âFound in the library on the hearthrug, thatâs what they said?â

Miss Marple nodded.

âDid you ever? Perhaps theyâre going to make a film of it. Perhaps thatâs why Marina Gregg has bought Gossington Hall.â

âMarina Gregg?â

âYes. She and her husband. I forget his nameâheâs a producer, I think, or a directorâJason something. But Marina Gregg, sheâs lovely, isnât she? Of course she hasnât been in so many pictures of late yearsâshe was ill for a long time. But I still think thereâs never anybody like her. Did you see her in Carmenella. And The Price of Love, and Mary of Scotland? Sheâs not so young anymore, but sheâll always be a wonderful actress. Iâve always been a terrific fan of hers. When I was a teenager I used to dream about her. The big thrill of my life was when there was a big show in aid of the St. John Ambulance in Bermuda, and Marina Gregg came to open it. I was mad with excitement, and then on the very day I went down with a temperature and the doctor said I couldnât go. But I wasnât going to be beaten. I didnât actually feel too bad. So I got up and put a lot of makeup on my face and went along. I was introduced to her and she talked to me for quite three minutes and gave me her autograph. It was wonderful. Iâve never forgotten that day.â

Miss Marple stared at her. âI hope there were noâunfortunate aftereffects?â she said anxiously.

Heather Badcock laughed.

âNone at all. Never felt better. What I say is, if you want a thing youâve got to take risks. I always do.â

She laughed again, a happy strident laugh.

Arthur Badcock said admiringly. âThereâs never any holding Heather. She always gets away with things.â

âAlison Wilde,â murmured Miss Marple, with a nod of satisfaction.

âPardon?â said Mr. Badcock.

âNothing. Just someone I used to know.â

Heather looked at her inquiringly.

âYou reminded me of her, that is all.â

âDid I? I hope she was nice.â

âShe was very nice indeed,â said Miss Marple slowly. âKind, healthy, full of life.â

âBut she had her faults, I suppose?â laughed Heather. âI have.â

âWell, Alison always saw her own point of view so clearly that she didnât always see how things might appear to, or affect, other people.â

âLike the time you took in that evacuated family from a condemned cottage and they went off with all our teaspoons,â Arthur said.

âBut Arthur!âI couldnât have turned them away. It wouldnât have been kind.â

âThey were family spoons,â said Mr. Badcock sadly. âGeorgian. Belonged to my motherâs grandmother.â

âOh, do forget those old spoons, Arthur. You do harp so.â

âIâm not very good at forgetting, Iâm afraid.â

Miss Marple looked at him thoughtfully.

âWhatâs your friend doing now?â asked Heather of Miss Marple with kindly interest.

Miss Marple paused a moment before answering.

âAlison Wilde? Ohâshe died.â

Three

I

âIâm glad to be back,â said Mrs. Bantry. âAlthough, of course, Iâve had a wonderful time.â

Miss Marple nodded appreciatively, and accepted a cup of tea from her friendâs hand.

When her husband, Colonel Bantry, had died some years ago, Mrs. Bantry had sold Gossington Hall and the considerable amount of land attached to it, retaining for herself what had been the East Lodge, a charming porticoed little building replete with inconvenience, where even a gardener had refused to live. Mrs. Bantry had added to it the essentials of modern life, a built-on kitchen of the latest type, a new water supply from the main, electricity, and a bathroom. This had all cost her a great deal, but not nearly so much as an attempt to live at Gossington Hall would have done. She had also retained the essentials of privacy, about three quarters of an acre of garden nicely ringed with trees, so that, as she explained. âWhatever they do with Gossington I shanât really see it or worry.â

For the last few years she had spent a good deal of the year travelling about, visiting children and grandchildren in various parts of the globe, and coming back from time to time to enjoy the privacies of her own home. Gossington Hall itself had changed hands once or twice. It had been run as a guest house, failed, and been bought by four people who had shared it as four roughly divided flats and subsequently quarrelled. Finally the Ministry of Health had bought it for some obscure purpose for which they eventually did not want it. The Ministry had now resold itâand it was this sale which the two friends were discussing.

âI have heard rumours, of course,â said Miss Marple.

âNaturally,â said Mrs. Bantry. âIt was even said that Charlie Chaplin and all his children were coming to live here. That would have been wonderful fun; unfortunately there isnât a word of truth in it. No, itâs definitely Marina Gregg.â

âHow very lovely she was,â said Miss Marple with a sigh. âI always remember those early films of hers. Bird of Passage with that handsome Joel Roberts. And the Mary, Queen of Scots film. And of course it was very sentimental, but I did enjoy Cominâ thru the Rye. Oh dear, that was a long time ago.â

âYes,â said Mrs. Bantry. âShe must beâwhat do you think? Forty-five? Fifty?â

Miss Marple thought nearer fifty.

âHas she been in anything lately? Of course I donât go very often to the cinema nowadays.â

âOnly small parts, I think,â said Mrs. Bantry. âShe hasnât been a star for quite a long time. She had that bad nervous breakdown. After one of her divorces.â

âSuch a lot of husbands they all have,â said Miss Marple. âIt must really be quite tiring.â

âIt wouldnât suit me,â said Mrs. Bantry. âAfter youâve fallen in love with a man and married him and got used to his ways and settled down comfortablyâto go and throw it all up and start again! It seems to me madness.â

âI canât presume to speak,â said Miss Marple with a little spin-sterish cough, ânever having married. But it seems, you know, a pity.â

âI suppose they canât help it really,â said Mrs. Bantry vaguely. âWith the kind of lives they have to live. So public, you know. I met her,â she added. âMarina Gregg, I mean, when I was in California.â

âWhat was she like?â Miss Marple asked with interest.

âCharming,â said Mrs. Bantry. âSo natural and unspoiled.â She added thoughtfully, âItâs like a kind of livery really.â

âWhat is?â

âBeing unspoiled and natural. You learn how to do it, and then you have to go on being it all the time. Just think of the hell of itânever to be able to chuck something, and say, âOh, for the Lordâs sake stop bothering me.â I dare say that in sheer self-defence you have to have drunken parties or orgies.â

âSheâs had five husbands, hasnât she?â Miss Marple asked.

âAt least. An early one that didnât count, and then a foreign Prince or Count, and then another film star, Robert Truscott, wasnât it? That was built up as a great romance. But it only lasted four years. And then Isidore Wright, the playwright. That was rather serious and quiet, and she had a babyâapparently sheâd always longed to have a childâsheâs even half-adopted a few straysâanyway this was the real thing. Very much built up. Motherhood with a capital M. And then, I believe, it was an imbecile, or queer or somethingâand it was after that, that she had this breakdown and started to take drugs and all that, and threw up her parts.â

âYou seem to know a lot about her,â said Miss Marple.

âWell, naturally,â said Mrs. Bantry. âWhen she bought Gossington I was interested. She married the present man about two years ago, and they say sheâs quite all right again now. Heâs a producerâor do I mean a director? I always get mixed. He was in love with her when they were quite young, but he didnât amount to very much in those days. But now, I believe, heâs got quite famous. Whatâs his name now? JasonâJason somethingâJason Hudd, no Rudd, thatâs it. Theyâve bought Gossington because itâs handy forââshe hesitatedââElstree?â she hazarded.

Miss Marple shook her head.

âI donât think so,â she said. âElstreeâs in North London.â

âItâs the fairly new studios. Hellingforthâthatâs it. Sounds so Finnish, I always think. About six miles from Market Basing. Sheâs going to do a film on Elizabeth of Austria, I believe.â

âWhat a lot you know,â said Miss Marple. âAbout the private lives of film stars. Did you learn it all in California?â

âNot really,â said Mrs. Bantry. âActually I get it from the extraordinary magazines I read at my hairdresserâs. Most of the stars I donât even know by name, but as I said because Marina Gregg and her husband have bought Gossington, I was interested. Really the things those magazines say! I donât suppose half of it is trueâprobably not a quarter. I donât believe Marina Gregg is a nymphomaniac, I donât think she drinks, pobably she doesnât even take drugs, and quite likely she just went away to have a nice rest and didnât have a nervous breakdown at all!âbut itâs true that she is coming here to live.â

âNext week, I heard,â said Miss Marple.

âAs soon as that? I know sheâs lending Gossington for a big fÃªte on the twenty-third in aid of the St. John Ambulance Corps. I suppose theyâve done a lot to the house?â

âPractically everything,â said Miss Marple. âReally it would have been much simpler, and probably cheaper, to have pulled it down and built a new house.â

âBathrooms, I suppose?â

âSix new ones, I hear. And a palm court. And a pool. And what I believe they call picture windows, and theyâve knocked your husbandâs study and the library into one to make a music room.â

âArthur will turn in his grave. You know how he hated music. Tone deaf, poor dear. His face, when some kind friend took us to the opera! Heâll probably come back and haunt them.â She stopped and then said abruptly, âDoes anyone ever hint that Gossington might be haunted?â

Miss Marple shook her head.

âIt isnât,â she said with certainty.

âThat wouldnât prevent people saying it was,â Mrs. Bantry pointed out.

âNobody ever has said so.â Miss Marple paused and then said, âPeople arenât really foolish, you know. Not in villages.â

Mrs. Bantry shot her a quick look. âYouâve always stuck to that, Jane. And I wonât say that youâre not right.â

She suddenly smiled.

âMarina Gregg asked me, very sweetly and delicately, if I wouldnât find it very painful to see my old home occupied by strangers. I assured her that it wouldnât hurt me at all. I donât think she quite believed me. But after all, as you know, Jane, Gossington wasnât our home. We werenât brought up there as childrenâthatâs what really counts. It was just a house with a nice bit of shooting and fishing attached, that we bought when Arthur retired. We thought of it, I remember, as a house that would be nice and easy to run! How we can ever have thought that, I canât imagine! All those staircases and passages. Only four servants! Only! Those were the days, ha ha!â She added suddenly: âWhatâs all this about your falling down? That Knight woman ought not to let you go out by yourself.â

âIt wasnât poor Miss Knightâs fault. I gave her a lot of shopping to do and then Iââ

âDeliberately gave her the slip? I see. Well, you shouldnât do it, Jane. Not at your age.â

âHow did you hear about it?â

Mrs. Bantry grinned.

âYou canât keep any secrets in St. Mary Mead. Youâve often told me so. Mrs. Meavy told me.â

âMrs. Meavy?â Miss Marple looked at sea.

âShe comes in daily. Sheâs from the Development.â

âOh, the Development.â The usual pause happened.

âWhat were you doing in the Development?â asked Mrs. Bantry, curiously.

âI just wanted to see it. To see what the people were like.â

âAnd what did you think they were like?â

âJust the same as everyone else. I donât quite know if that was disappointing or reassuring.â

âDisappointing, I should think.â

âNo. I think itâs reassuring. It makes youâwellârecognize certain typesâso that when anything occursâone will understand quite well why and for what reason.â

âMurder, do you mean?â

Miss Marple looked shocked.

âI donât know why you should assume that I think of murder all the time.â

âNonsense, Jane. Why donât you come out boldly and call yourself a criminologist and have done with it?â

âBecause I am nothing of the sort,â said Miss Marple with spirit. âIt is simply that I have a certain knowledge of human natureâthat is only natural after having lived in a small village all my life.â

âYou probably have something there,â said Mrs. Bantry thoughtfully, âthough most people wouldnât agree, of course. Your nephew Raymond always used to say this place was a complete backwater.â

âDear Raymond,â said Miss Marple indulgently. She added: âHeâs always been so kind. Heâs paying for Miss Knight, you know.â

The thought of Miss Knight induced a new train of thought and she arose and said: âIâd better be going back now, I suppose.â

âYou didnât walk all the way here, did you?â

âOf course not. I came in Inch.â

This somewhat enigmatic pronouncement was received with complete understanding. In days very long past, Mr. Inch had been the proprietor of two cabs, which met trains at the local station and which were also hired by the local ladies to take them âcalling,â out to tea parties, and occasionally, with their daughters, to such frivolous entertainments as dances. In the fulness of time Inch, a cheery red-faced man of seventy odd, gave place to his sonâknown as âyoung Inchâ (he was then aged forty-five) though old Inch still continued to drive such elderly ladies as considered his son too young and irresponsible. To keep up with the times, young Inch abandoned horse vehicles for motor cars. He was not very good with machinery and in due course a certain Mr. Bardwell took over from him. The name Inch persisted. Mr. Bardwell in due course sold out to Mr. Roberts, but in the telephone book Inchâs Taxi Service was still the official name, and the older ladies of the community continued to refer to their journeys as going somewhere âin Inch,â as though they were Jonah and Inch was a whale.

II

âDr. Haydock called,â said Miss Knight reproachfully. âI told him youâd gone to tea with Mrs. Bantry. He said heâd call in again tomorrow.â

She helped Miss Marple off with her wraps.

âAnd now, I expect, weâre tired out,â she said accusingly.

âYou may be,â said Miss Marple. âI am not.â

âYou come and sit cosy by the fire,â said Miss Knight, as usual paying no attention. (âYou donât need to take much notice of what the old dears say. I just humour them.â) âAnd how would we fancy a nice cup of Ovaltine? Or Horlicks for a change?â

Miss Marple thanked her and said she would like a small glass of dry sherry. Miss Knight looked disapproving.

âI donât know what the doctor would say to that, Iâm sure,â she said, when she returned with the glass.

âWe will make a point of asking him tomorrow morning,â said Miss Marple.

On the following morning Miss Knight met Dr. Haydock in the hall, and did some agitated whispering.

The elderly doctor came into the room rubbing his hands, for it was a chilly morning.

âHereâs our doctor to see us,â said Miss Knight gaily. âCan I take your gloves, Doctor?â

âTheyâll be all right here,â said Haydock, casting them carelessly on a table. âQuite a nippy morning.â

âA little glass of sherry perhaps?â suggested Miss Marple.

âI heard you were taking to drink. Well, you should never drink alone.â

The decanter and the glasses were already on a small table by Miss Marple. Miss Knight left the room.

Dr. Haydock was a very old friend. He had semiretired, but came to attend certain of his old patients.

âI hear youâve been falling about,â he said as he finished his glass. âIt wonât do, you know, not at your age. Iâm warning you. And I hear you didnât want to send for Sandford.â

Sandford was Haydockâs partner.

âThat Miss Knight of yours sent for him anywayâand she was quite right.â

âI was only bruised and shaken a little. Dr. Sandford said so. I could have waited quite well until you were back.â

âNow look here, my dear. I canât go on forever. And Sandford, let me tell you, has better qualifications than I have. Heâs a first class man.â

âThe young doctors are all the same,â said Miss Marple. âThey take your blood pressure, and whateverâs the matter with you, you get some kind of mass produced variety of new pills. Pink ones, yellow ones, brown ones. Medicine nowadays is just like a supermarketâall packaged up.â

âServe you right if I prescribed leeches, and black draught, and rubbed your chest with camphorated oil.â

âI do that myself when Iâve got a cough,â said Miss Marple with spirit, âand very comforting it is.â

âWe donât like getting old, thatâs what it is,â said Haydock gently. âI hate it.â

âYouâre quite a young man compared to me,â said Miss Marple. âAnd I donât really mind getting oldânot that in itself. Itâs the lesser indignities.â

âI think I know what you mean.â

âNever being alone! The difficulty of geting out for a few minutes by oneself. And even my knittingâsuch a comfort that has always been, and I really am a good knitter. Now I drop stitches all the timeâand quite often I donât even know Iâve dropped them.â

Haydock looked at her thoughtfully.

Then his eyes twinkled.

âThereâs always the opposite.â

âNow what do you mean by that?â

âIf you canât knit, what about unravelling for a change? Penelope did.â

âIâm hardly in her position.â

âBut unravellingâs rather in your line, isnât it?â

He rose to his feet.

âI must be getting along. What Iâd prescribe for you is a nice juicy murder.â

âThatâs an outrageous thing to say!â

âIsnât it? However, you can always make do with the depth the parsley sank into the butter on a summerâs day. I always wondered about that. Good old Holmes. A period piece, nowadays, I suppose. But heâll never be forgotten.â

Miss Knight bustled in after the doctor had gone.

âThere,â she said, âwe look much more cheerful. Did the doctor recommend a tonic?â

âHe recommended me to take an interest in murder.â

âA nice detective story?â

âNo,â said Miss Marple. âReal life.â

âGoodness,â exclaimed Miss Knight. âBut thereâs not likely to be a murder in this quiet spot.â

âMurders,â said Miss Marple, âcan happen anywhere. And do.â

âAt the Development, perhaps?â mused Miss Knight. âA lot of those Teddy-looking boys carry knives.â

But the murder, when it came, was not at the Development.

Four

Mrs. Bantry stepped back a foot or two, surveyed herself in the glass, made a slight adjustment to her hat (she was not used to wearing hats), drew on a pair of good quality leather gloves and left the lodge, closing the door carefully behind her. She had the most pleasurable anticipations of what lay in front of her. Some three weeks had passed since her talk with Miss Marple. Marina Gregg and her husband had arrived at Gossington Hall and were now more or less installed there.

There was to be a meeting there this afternoon of the main persons involved in the arrangements for the fÃªte in aid of the St. John Ambulance. Mrs. Bantry was not among those on the committee, but she had received a note from Marina Gregg asking her to come and have tea beforehand. It had recalled their meeting in California and had been signed, âCordially, Marina Gregg.â It had been handwritten, not typewritten. There is no denying that Mrs. Bantry was both pleased and flattered. After all, a celebrated film star is a celebrated film star and elderly ladies, though they may be of local importance, are aware of their complete unimportance in the world of celebrities. So Mrs. Bantry had the pleased feeling of a child for whom a special treat had been arranged.

As she walked up the drive Mrs. Bantryâs keen eyes went from side to side registering her impressions. The place had been smartened up since the days when it had passed from hand to hand. âNo expense spared,â said Mrs. Bantry to herself, nodding in satisfaction. The drive afforded no view of the flower garden and for that Mrs. Bantry was just as pleased. The flower garden and its special herbaceous border had been her own particular delight in the far-off days when she had lived at Gossington Hall. She permitted regretful and nostalgic memories of her irises. The best iris garden of any in the country, she told herself with a fierce pride.

Faced by a new front door in a blaze of new paint she pressed the bell. The door was opened with gratifying promptness by what was undeniably an Italian butler. She was ushered by him straight to the room which had been Colonel Bantryâs library. This, as she had already heard, had been thrown into one with the study. The result was impressive. The walls were panelled, the floor was parquet. At one end was a grand piano and halfway along the wall was a superb record player. At the other end of the room was a small island, as it were, which comprised Persian rugs, a tea table and some chairs. By the tea table sat Marina Gregg, and leaning against the mantelpiece was what Mrs. Bantry at first thought to be the ugliest man she had ever seen.

Just a few moments previously when Mrs. Bantryâs hand had been advanced to press the bell, Marina Gregg had been saying in a soft, enthusiastic voice, to her husband:

âThis place is right for me, Jinks, just right. Itâs what Iâve always wanted. Quiet. English quiet and the English countryside. I can see myself living here, living here all my life if need be. And weâll adopt the English way of life. Weâll have afternoon tea every afternoon with China tea and my lovely Georgian tea service. And weâll look out of the window on those lawns and that English herbaceous border. Iâve come home at last, thatâs what I feel. I feel that I can settle down here, that I can be quiet and happy. Itâs going to be home, this place. Thatâs what I feel. Home.â

And Jason Rudd (known to his wife as Jinks) had smiled at her. It was an acquiescent smile, indulgent, but it held its reserve because, after all, he had heard it very often before. Perhaps this time it would be true. Perhaps this was the place that Marina Gregg might feel at home. But he knew her early enthusiasms so well. She was always so sure that at last she had found exactly what she wanted. He said in his deep voice:

âThatâs grand, honey. Thatâs just grand. Iâm glad you like it.â

âLike it? I adore it. Donât you adore it too?â

âSure,â said Jason Rudd. âSure.â

It wasnât too bad, he reflected to himself. Good, solidly built, rather ugly Victorian. It had, he admitted, a feeling of solidity and security. Now that the worst of its fantastic inconveniences had been ironed out, it would be quite reasonably comfortable to live in. Not a bad place to come back to from time to time. With luck, he thought, Marina wouldnât start taking a dislike to it for perhaps two years to two years and a half. It all depended.

Marina said, sighing softly:

âItâs so wonderful to feel well again. Well and strong. Able to cope with things.â

And he said again: âSure, honey, sure.â

And it was at that moment that the door opened and the Italian butler had ushered in Mrs. Bantry.

Marina Greggâs welcome was all that was charming. She came forward, hands outstretched, saying how delightful it was to meet Mrs. Bantry again. And what a coincidence that they should have met that time in San Fransisco and that two years later she and Jinks should actually buy the house that had once belonged to Mrs. Bantry. And she did hope, she really did hope that Mrs. Bantry wouldnât mind terribly the way theyâd pulled the house about and done things to it and she hoped she wouldnât feel that they were terrible intruders living here.

âYour coming to live here is one of the most exciting things that has ever happened to this place,â said Mrs. Bantry cheerfully and she looked towards the mantelpiece. Whereupon, almost as an afterthought, Marina Gregg said:

âYou donât know my husband, do you? Jason, this is Mrs. Bantry.â

Mrs. Bantry looked at Jason Rudd with some interest. Her first impression that this was one of the ugliest men she had ever seen became qualified. He had interesting eyes. They were, she thought, more deeply sunk in his head than any eyes she had seen. Deep quiet pools, said Mrs. Bantry to herself, and felt like a romantic lady novelist. The rest of his face was distinctly craggy, almost ludicrously out of proportion. His nose jutted upwards and a little red paint would have transformed it into the nose of a clown very easily. He had, too, a clownâs big sad mouth. Whether he was at this moment in a furious temper or whether he always looked as though he were in a furious temper she did not quite know. His voice when he spoke was unexpectedly pleasant. Deep and slow.

âA husband,â he said, âis always an afterthought. But let me say with my wife that weâre very glad to welcome you here. I hope you donât feel that it ought to be the other way about.â

âYou must get it out of your head,â said Mrs. Bantry, âthat Iâve been driven forth from my old home. It never was my old home. Iâve been congratulating myself ever since I sold it. It was a most inconvenient house to run. I liked the garden but the house became more and more of a worry. Iâve had a perfectly splendid time ever since travelling abroad and going and seeing my married daughters and my grandchildren and my friends in all different parts of the world.â

âDaughters,â said Marina Gregg, âyou have daughters and sons?â

âTwo sons and two daughters,â said Mrs. Bantry, âand pretty widely spaced. One in Kenya, one in South Africa. One near Texas and the other, thank goodness, in London.â

âFour,â said Marina Gregg. âFourâand grandchildren?â

âNine up-to-date,â said Mrs. Bantry. âItâs great fun being a grandmother. You donât have any of the worry of parental responsibility. You can spoil them in the most unbridled wayââ

Jason Rudd interrupted her. âIâm afraid the sun catches your eyes,â he said, and went to a window to adjust the blind. âYou must tell us all about this delightful village,â he said as he came back.

He handed her a cup of tea.

âWill you have a hot scone or a sandwich, or this cake? We have an Italian cook and she makes quite good pastry and cakes. You see we have quite taken to your English afternoon tea.â

âDelicious tea too,â said Mrs. Bantry, sipping the fragrant beverage.

Marina Gregg smiled and looked pleased. The sudden nervous movement of her fingers which Jason Ruddâs eyes had noticed a minute or two previously, was stilled again. Mrs. Bantry looked at her hostess with great admiration. Marina Greggâs heyday had been before the rise to supreme importance of vital statistics. She could not have been described as Sex Incarnate, or âThe Bustâ or âThe Torso.â She had been long and slim and willowy. The bones of her face and head had had some of the beauty associated with those of Garbo. She had brought personality to her pictures rather than mere sex. The sudden turn of her head, the opening of the deep lovely eyes, the faint quiver of her mouth, all these were what brought to one suddenly that feeling of breathtaking loveliness that comes not from regularity of feature but from sudden magic of the flesh that catches the onlooker unawares. She still had this quality though it was not now so easily apparent. Like many film and stage actresses she had what seemed to be a habit of turning off personality at will. She could retire into herself, be quiet, gentle, aloof, disappointing to an eager fan. And then suddenly the turn of the head, the movement of the hands, the sudden smile and the magic was there.

One of her greatest pictures had been Mary, Queen of Scots, and it was of her performance in that picture that Mrs. Bantry was reminded now as she watched her. Mrs. Bantryâs eye switched to the husband. He too was watching Marina. Off guard for a moment, his face expressed clearly his feelings. âGood Lord,â said Mrs. Bantry to herself, âthe man adores her.â

She didnât know why she should feel so surprised. Perhaps because film stars and their love affairs and their devotion were so written up in the Press that one never expected to see the real thing with oneâs own eyes. On an impulse she said:

âI do hope youâll enjoy it here and that youâll be able to stay here some time. Do you expect to have the house for long?â

Marina opened wide surprised eyes as she turned her head. âI want to stay here always,â she said. âOh, I donât mean that I shanât have to go away a lot. I shall, of course. Thereâs a possibility of making a film in North Africa next year although nothingâs settled yet. No, but this will be my home. I shall come back here. I shall always be able to come back here.â She sighed. âThatâs whatâs so wonderful. To have found a home at last.â

âI see,â said Mrs. Bantry, but at the same time she thought to herself, âAll the same I donât believe for a moment that it will be like that. I donât believe youâre the kind that can ever settle down.â

Again she shot a quick surreptitious glance at Jason Rudd. He was not scowling now. Instead he was smiling, a sudden very sweet and unexpected smile, but it was a sad smile. âHe knows it too,â thought Mrs. Bantry.

The door opened and a woman came in. âBartletts want you on the telephone, Jason,â she said.

âTell them to call back.â

âThey said it was urgent.â

He sighed and rose. âLet me introduce you to Mrs. Bantry,â he said. âElla Zielinsky, my secretary.â

âHave a cup of tea, Ella,â said Marina as Ella Zielinsky acknowledged the introduction with a smiling âPleased to meet you.â

âIâll have a sandwich,â said Ella. âI donât go for China tea.â

Ella Zielinsky was at a guess thirty-five. She wore a well cut suit, a ruffled blouse and appeared to breathe self-confidence. She had short-cut black hair and a wide forehead.

âYou used to live here, so they tell me,â she said to Mrs. Bantry.

âItâs a good many years ago now,â said Mrs. Bantry. âAfter my husbandâs death I sold it and itâs passed through several hands since then.â

âMrs. Bantry really says she doesnât hate the things weâve done to it,â said Marina.

âI should be frightfully disappointed if you hadnât,â said Mrs. Bantry. âI came up here all agog. I can tell you the most splendid rumours have been going around the village.â

âNever knew how difficult it was to get hold of plumbers in this country,â said Miss Zielinsky, champing a sandwich in a businesslike way. âNot that thatâs been really my job,â she went on.

âEverything is your job,â said Marina, âand you know it is, Ella. The domestic staff and the plumbing and arguing with the builders.â

âThey donât seem ever to have heard of a picture window in this country.â

Ella looked towards the window. âItâs a nice view, I must admit.â

âA lovely old-fashioned rural English scene,â said Marina. âThis house has got atmosphere.â

âIt wouldnât look so rural if it wasnât for the trees,â said Ella Zielinsky. âThat housing estate down there grows while you look at it.â

âThatâs new since my time,â said Mrs. Bantry.

âYou mean there was nothing but the village when you lived here?â

Mrs. Bantry nodded.

âIt must have been hard to do your shopping.â

âI donât think so,â said Mrs. Bantry. âI think it was frightfully easy.â

âI understand having a flower garden,â said Ella Zielinsky, âbut you folk over here seem to grow all your vegetables as well. Wouldnât it be much easier to buy themâthereâs a supermarket?â

âItâs probably coming to that,â said Mrs. Bantry, with a sigh. âThey donât taste the same, though.â

âDonât spoil the atmosphere, Ella,â said Marina.

The door opened and Jason looked in. âDarling,â he said to Marina, âI hate to bother you but would you mind? They just want your private view about this.â

Marina sighed and rose. She trailed languidly towards the door. âAlways something,â she murmured. âIâm so sorry, Mrs. Bantry. I donât really think that this will take longer than a minute or two.â

âAtmosphere,â said Ella Zielinsky, as Marina went out and closed the door. âDo you think the house has got atmosphere?â

âI canât say I ever thought of it that way,â said Mrs. Bantry. âIt was just a house. Rather inconvenient in some ways and very nice and cosy in other ways.â

âThatâs what I should have thought,â said Ella Zielinsky. She cast a quick direct look at Mrs. Bantry. âTalking of atmosphere, when did the murder take place here?â

âNo murder ever took place here,â said Mrs. Bantry.

âOh come now. The stories Iâve heard. There are always stories, Mrs. Bantry. On the hearthrug, right there, wasnât it?â said Miss Zielinsky nodding towards the fireplace.

âYes,â said Mrs. Bantry. âThat was the place.â

âSo there was a murder?â

Mrs. Bantry shook her head. âThe murder didnât take place here. The girl who had been killed was brought here and planted in this room. Sheâd nothing to do with us.â

Miss Zielinsky looked interested.

âPossibly you had a bit of difficulty making people believe that?â she remarked.

âYouâre quite right there,â said Mrs. Bantry.

âWhen did you find it?â

âThe housemaid came in in the morning,â said Mrs. Bantry, âwith early morning tea. We had housemaids then, you know.â

âI know,â said Miss Zielinksy, âwearing print dresses that rustled.â

âIâm not sure about the print dress,â said Mrs. Bantry, âit may have been overalls by then. At any rate, she burst in and said there was a body in the library. I said ânonsense,â then I woke up my husband and we came down to see.â

âAnd there it was,â said Miss Zielinsky. âMy, the way things happen.â She turned her head sharply towards the door and then back again. âDonât talk about it to Miss Gregg, if you donât mind,â she said. âItâs not good for her, that sort of thing.â

âOf course. I wonât say a word,â said Mrs. Bantry. âI never do talk about it, as a matter of fact. It all happened so long ago. But wonât sheâMiss Gregg I meanâwonât she hear it anyway?â

âShe doesnât come very much in contact with reality,â said Ella Zielinsky. âFilm stars can lead a fairly insulated life, you know. In fact very often one has to take care that they do. Things upset them. Things upset her. Sheâs been seriously ill the last year or two, you know. She only started making a comeback a year ago.â

âShe seems to like the house,â said Mrs. Bantry, âand to feel she will be happy here.â

âI expect itâll last a year or two,â said Ella Zielinsky.

âNot longer than that?â

âWell, I rather doubt it. Marina is one of those people, you know, who are always thinking theyâve found their heartâs desire. But life isnât as easy as that, is it?â

âNo,â said Mrs. Bantry forcefully, âit isnât.â

âItâll mean a lot to him if sheâs happy here,â said Miss Zielinsky. She ate two more sandwiches in an absorbed, rather gobbling fashion in the manner of one who crams food into themselves as though they had an important train to catch. âHeâs a genius, you know,â she went on. âHave you seen any of the pictures heâs directed?â

Mrs. Bantry felt slightly embarrassed. She was of the type of woman who when she went to the cinema went entirely for the picture. The long lists of casts, directors, producers, photography and the rest of it passed her by. Very frequently, indeed, she did not even notice the names of the stars. She was not, however, anxious to call attention to this failing on her part.

âI get mixed-up,â she said.

âOf course heâs got a lot to contend with,â said Ella Zielinsky. âHeâs got her as well as everything else and sheâs not easy. Youâve got to keep her happy, you see; and itâs not really easy, I suppose, to keep people happy. Unlessâthat isâtheyâthey areââ she hesitated.

âUnless theyâre the happy kind,â suggested Mrs. Bantry. âSome people,â she added thoughtfully, âenjoy being miserable.â

âOh, Marina isnât like that,â said Ella Zielinsky, shaking her head. âItâs more that her ups and downs are so violent. You knowâfar too happy one moment, far too pleased with everything and delighted with everything and how wonderful she feels. Then of course some little thing happens and down she goes to the opposite extreme.â

âI suppose thatâs temperament,â said Mrs. Bantry vaguely.

âThatâs right,â said Ella Zielinsky. âTemperament. Theyâve all got it, more or less, but Marina Gregg has got it more than most people. Donât we know it! The stories I could tell you!â She ate the last sandwich. âThank God Iâm only the social secretary.â

Five

The throwing open of the grounds of Gossington Hall for the benefit of the St. John Ambulance Association was attended by a quite unprecedented number of people. Shilling admission fees mounted up in a highly satisfactory fashion. For one thing, the weather was good, a clear sunny day. But the preponderant attraction was undoubtedly the enormous local curiosity to know exactly what these âfilm peopleâ had done to Gossington Hall. The most extravagant assumptions were entertained. The swimming pool in particular caused immense satisfaction. Most peopleâs ideas of Hollywood stars were of sunbathing by a pool in exotic surroundings and in exotic company. That the climate of Hollywood might be more suited to swimming pools than that of St. Mary Mead failed to be considered. After all, England always has one fine hot week in the summer and there is always one day that the Sunday papers publish articles on How to Keep Cool, How to Have Cool Suppers and How to Make Cool Drinks. The pool was almost exactly what everyone had imagined it might be. It was large, its waters were blue, it had a kind of exotic pavilion for changing and was surrounded with a highly artificial plantation of hedges and shrubs. The reactions of the multitude were exactly as might have been expected and hovered over a wide range of remarks.

âO-oh, isnât it lovely!â

âTwo pennâorth of splash here, all right!â

âReminds me of that holiday camp I went to.â

âWicked luxury I call it. It oughtnât to be allowed.â

âLook at all that fancy marble. It must have cost the earth!â

âDonât see why these people think they can come over here and spend all the money they like.â

âPerhaps thisâll be on the telly sometime. Thatâll be fun.â

Even Mr. Sampson, the oldest man in St. Mary Mead, boasting proudly of being ninety-six though his relations insisted firmly that he was only eighty-six, had staggered along supporting his rheumatic legs with a stick, to see this excitement. He gave it his highest praise: âAh, thereâll be a lot of wickedness here, I donât doubt. Naked men and women drinking and smoking what they call in the papers them reefers. Thereâll be all that, I expect. Ah yes,â said Mr. Sampson with enormous pleasure, âthereâll be a lot of wickedness.â

It was felt that the final seal of approval had been set on the afternoonâs entertainment. For an extra shilling people were allowed to go into the house, and study the new music room, the drawing room, the completely unrecognizable dining room, now done in dark oak and Spanish leather, and a few other joys.

âNever think this was Gossington Hall, would you, now?â said Mr. Sampsonâs daughter-in-law.

Mrs. Bantry strolled up fairly late and observed with pleasure that the money was coming in well and that the attendance was phenomenal.

The large marquee in which tea was being served was jammed with people. Mrs. Bantry hoped the buns were going to go round. There seemed some very competent women, however, in charge. She herself made a beeline for the herbaceous border and regarded it with a jealous eye. No expense had been spared on the herbacous border, she was glad to note, and it was a proper herbaceous border, well planned and arranged and expensively stocked. No personal labours had gone into it, she was sure of that. Some good gardening firm had been given the contract, no doubt. But aided by carte blanche and the weather, they had turned out a very good job.

Looking round her, she felt there was a faint flavour of a Buckingham Palace garden party about the scene. Everybody was craning to see all they could see, and from time to time a chosen few were led into one of the more secret recesses of the house. She herself was presently approached by a willowy young man with long wavy hair.

âMrs. Bantry? You are Mrs. Bantry?â

âIâm Mrs. Bantry, yes.â

âHailey Preston.â He shook hands with her. âI work for Mr. Rudd. Will you come up to the second floor? Mr. and Mrs. Rudd are asking a few special friends up there.â

Duly honoured Mrs. Bantry followed him. They went in through what had been called in her time the garden door. A red cord cordoned off the bottom of the main stairs. Hailey Preston unhooked it and she passed through. Just in front of her Mrs. Bantry observed Councillor and Mrs. Allcock. The latter who was stout was breathing heavily.

âWonderful what theyâve done, isnât it, Mrs. Bantry?â panted Mrs. Allcock. âIâd like to have a look at the bathrooms, I must say, but I suppose I shanât get the chance.â Her voice was wistful.

At the top of the stairs Marina Gregg and Jason Rudd were receiving this specially chosen Ã©lite. What had once been a spare bedroom had been thrown into the landing so as to make a wide lounge-like effect. Giuseppe the butler was officiating with drinks.

A stout man in livery was announcing guests.

âCouncillor and Mrs. Allcock,â he boomed.

Marina Gregg was being, as Mrs. Bantry had described her to Miss Marple, completely natural and charming. She could already hear Mrs. Allcock saying later: ââand so unspoiled, you know, in spite of being so famous.â

How very nice of Mrs. Allcock to come, and the Councillor, and she did hope theyâd enjoy their afternoon. âJason please look after Mrs. Allcock.â

Councillor and Mrs. Allcock were passed on to Jason and drinks.

âOh, Mrs. Bantry, it is nice of you to come.â

âI wouldnât have missed it for the world,â said Mrs. Bantry and moved on purposefully towards the Martinis.

The young man called Hailey Preston ministered to her in a tender manner and then made off, consulting a little list in his hand, to fetch, no doubt, more of the Chosen to the Presence. It was all being managed very well, Mrs. Bantry thought, turning, Martini in hand, to watch the next arrivals. The vicar, a lean, ascetic man, was looking vague and slightly bewildered. He said earnestly to Marina Gregg:

âVery nice of you to ask me. Iâm afraid, you know, I havenât got a television set myself, but of course IâerâIâwell, of course my young people keep me up to the mark.â

Nobody knew what he meant. Miss Zielinsky, who was also on duty, administered a lemonade to him with a kindly smile. Mr. and Mrs. Badcock were next up the stairs. Heather Badcock, flushed and triumphant, came a little ahead of her husband.

âMr. and Mrs. Badcock,â boomed the man in livery.

âMrs. Badcock,â said the vicar, turning back, lemonade in his hand, âthe indefatigable secretary of the association. Sheâs one of our hardest workers. In fact I donât know what the St. John would do without her.â

âIâm sure youâve been wonderful,â said Marina.

âYou donât remember me?â said Heather, in an arch manner. âHow should you, with all the hundreds of people you meet. And anyway, it was years ago. In Bermuda of all places in the world. I was there with one of our ambulance units. Oh, itâs a long time ago now.â

âOf course,â said Marina Gregg, once more all charm and smiles.

âI remember it all so well,â said Mrs. Badcock. âI was thrilled, you know, absolutely thrilled. I was only a girl at the time. To think there was a chance of seeing Marina Gregg in the fleshâoh! I was a mad fan of yours always.â

âItâs too kind of you, really too kind of you,â said Marina sweetly, her eyes beginning to hover faintly over Heatherâs shoulder towards the next arrivals.

âIâm not going to detain you,â said Heatherââbut I mustââ

âPoor Marina Gregg,â said Mrs. Bantry to herself. âI suppose this kind of thing is always happening to her! The patience they need!â

Heather was continuing in a determined manner with her story.

Mrs. Allcock breathed heavily at Mrs. Bantryâs shoulder.

âThe changes theyâve made here! You wouldnât believe till you saw for yourself. What it must have costâ¦.â

âIâdidnât feel really illâand I thought I just mustââ

âThis is vodka,â Mrs. Allcock regarded her glass suspiciously. âMr. Rudd asked if Iâd like to try it. Sounds very Russian. I donât think I like it very muchâ¦.â

ââI said to myself: I wonât be beaten! I put a lot of makeup on my faceââ

âI suppose it would be rude if I just put it down somewhere.â Mrs. Allcock sounded desperate.

Mrs. Bantry reassured her gently.

âNot at all. Vodka ought really to be thrown straight down the throatââMrs. Allcock looked startledââbut that needs practice. Put it down on the table and get yourself a Martini from that tray the butlerâs carrying.â

She turned back to hear Heather Badcockâs triumphant peroration.

âIâve never forgotten how wonderful you were that day. It was a hundred times worth it.â

Marinaâs response was this time not so automatic. Her eyes which had wavered over Heather Badcockâs shoulder, now seemed to be fixed on the wall midway up the stairs. She was staring and there was something so ghastly in her expression that Mrs. Bantry half took a step forward. Was the woman going to faint? What on earth could she be seeing that gave her that basilisk look? But before she could reach Marinaâs side the latter had recovered herself. Her eyes, vague and unfocussed, returned to Heather and the charm of manner was turned on once more, albeit a shade mechanically.

âWhat a nice little story. Now, what will you have to drink? Jason! A cocktail?â

âWell, really I usually have a lemonade or orange juice.â

âYou must have something better than that,â said Marina. âThis is a feast day, remember.â

âLet me persuade you to an American daiquiri,â said Jason, appearing with a couple in his hand. âTheyâre Marinaâs favourites, too.â

He handed one to his wife.

âI shouldnât drink anymore,â said Marina, âIâve had three already.â But she accepted the glass.

Heather took her drink from Jason. Marina turned away to meet the next person who was arriving.

Mrs. Bantry said to Mrs. Allcock, âLetâs go and see the bathrooms.â

âOh, do you think we can? Wouldnât it look rather rude?â

âIâm sure it wouldnât,â said Mrs. Bantry. She spoke to Jason Rudd. âWe want to explore your wonderful new bathrooms, Mr. Rudd. May we satisfy this purely domestic curiosity?â

âSure,â said Jason, grinning. âGo and enjoy yourselves, girls. Draw yourselves baths if you like.â

Mrs. Allcock followed Mrs. Bantry along the passage.

âThat was ever so kind of you, Mrs. Bantry. I must say I wouldnât have dared myself.â

âOne has to dare if one wants to get anywhere,â said Mrs. Bantry.

They went along the passage, opening various doors. Presently âAhsâ and âOhsâ began to escape Mrs. Allcock and two other women who had joined the party.

âI do like the pink one,â said Mrs. Allcock. âOh, I like the pink one a lot.â

âI like the one with the dolphin tiles,â said one of the other women.

Mrs. Bantry acted the part of hostess with complete enjoyment. For a moment she had really forgotten that the house no longer belonged to her.

âAll those showers!â said Mrs. Allcock with awe. âNot that I really like showers. I never know how you keep your head dry.â

âItâd be nice to have a peep into the bedrooms,â said one of the other women, wistfully, âbut I suppose itâd be a bit too nosy. What do you think?â

âOh, I donât think we could do that,â said Mrs. Allcock. They both looked hopefully at Mrs. Bantry.

âWell,â said Mrs. Bantry, âno, I suppose we oughtnât toââ then she took pity on them, âbutâI donât think anyone would know if we have one peep.â She put her hand on a door handle.

But that had been attended to. The bedrooms were locked. Everyone was very disappointed.

âI suppose theyâve got to have some privacy,â said Mrs. Bantry kindly.

They retraced their steps along the corridors. Mrs. Bantry looked out of one of the landing windows. She noted below her Mrs. Meavy (from the Development) looking incredibly smart in a ruffled organdie dress. With Mrs. Meavy, she noticed, was Miss Marpleâs Cherry, whose last name for the moment Mrs. Bantry could not remember. They seemed to be enjoying themselves and were laughing and talking.

Suddenly the house felt to Mrs. Bantry old, worn-out and highly artificial. In spite of its new gleaming paint, its alterations, it was in essence a tired old Victorian mansion. âI was wise to go,â thought Mrs. Bantry. âHouses are like everything else. There comes a time when theyâve just had their day. This has had its day. Itâs been given a face-lift, but I donât really think itâs done it any good.â

Suddenly a slight rise in the hum of voices reached her. The two women with her started forward.

âWhatâs happening?â said one. âIt sounds as though somethingâs happening.â

They stepped back along the corridor towards the stairs. Ella Zielinksy came rapidly along and passed them. She tried a bedroom door and said quickly, âOh, damn. Of course theyâve locked them all.â

âIs anything the matter?â asked Mrs. Bantry.

âSomeoneâs taken ill,â said Miss Zielinsky shortly.

âOh dear, Iâm sorry. Can I do anything?â

âI suppose thereâs a doctor here somewhere?â

âI havenât seen any of our local doctors,â said Mrs. Bantry, âbut thereâs almost sure to be one here.â

âJasonâs telephoning,â said Ella Zielinsky, âbut she seems pretty bad.â

âWho is it?â asked Mrs. Bantry.

âA Mrs. Badcock, I think.â

âHeather Badcock? But she looked so well just now.â

Ella Zielinksy said impatiently, âSheâs had a seizure, or a fit, or something. Do you know if thereâs anything wrong with her heart or anything like that?â

âI donât really know anything about her,â said Mrs. Bantry. âSheâs new since my day. She comes from the Development.â

âThe Development? Oh, you mean that housing estate. I donât even know where her husband is or what he looks like.â

âMiddle-aged, fair, unobtrusive,â said Mrs. Bantry. âHe came with her so he must be about somewhere.â

Ella Zielinsky went into a bathroom. âI donât know really what to give her,â she said. âSal volatile, do you think, something like that?â

âIs she faint?â said Mrs. Bantry.

âItâs more than that,â said Ella Zielinsky.

âIâll see if thereâs anything I can do,â said Mrs. Bantry. She turned away and walked rapidly back towards the head of the stairs. Turning a corner she cannoned into Jason Rudd.

âHave you seen Ella?â he said. âElla Zielinsky?â

âShe went along there into one of the bathrooms. She was looking for something. Sal volatileâsomething like that.â

âShe neednât bother,â said Jason Rudd.

Something in his tone struck Mrs. Bantry. She looked up sharply. âIs it bad?â she said, âreally bad?â

âYou could call it that,â said Jason Rudd. âThe poor womanâs dead.â

âDead!â Mrs. Bantry was really shocked. She said, as she had said before, âBut she looked so well just now.â

âI know. I know,â said Jason. He stood there, scowling. âWhat a thing to happen!â

Six

I

âHere we are,â said Miss Knight, settling a breakfast tray on the bed table beside Miss Marple. âAnd how are we this morning? I see weâve got our curtains pulled back,â she added with a slight note of disapproval in her voice.

âI wake early,â said Miss Marple. âYou probably will, when youâre my age,â she added.

âMrs. Bantry rang up,â said Miss Knight, âabout half an hour ago. She wanted to talk to you but I said sheâd better ring up again after youâd had your breakfast. I wasnât going to disturb you at that hour, before youâd even had a cup of tea or anything to eat.â

âWhen my friends ring up,â said Miss Marple, âI prefer to be told.â

âIâm sorry, Iâm sure,â said Miss Knight, âbut it seemed to me very inconsiderate. When youâve had your nice tea and your boiled egg and your toast and butter, weâll see.â

âHalf an hour ago,â said Miss Marple, thoughtfully, âthat would have beenâlet me seeâeight oâclock.â

âMuch too early,â reiterated Miss Knight.

âI donât believe Mrs. Bantry would have rung me up then unless it was for some particular reason,â said Miss Marple thoughtfully. âShe doesnât usually ring up in the early morning.â

âOh well, dear, donât fuss your head about it,â said Miss Knight soothingly. âI expect sheâll be ringing up again very shortly. Or would you like me to get her for you?â

âNo, thank you,â said Miss Marple. âI prefer to eat my breakfast while itâs hot.â

âHope I havenât forgotten anything,â said Miss Knight, cheerfully.

But nothing had been forgotten. The tea had been properly made with boiling water, the egg had been boiled exactly three and three-quarter minutes, the toast was evenly browned, the butter was arranged in a nice little pat and the small jar of honey stood beside it. In many ways undeniably Miss Knight was a treasure. Miss Marple ate her breakfast and enjoyed it. Presently the whirr of a vacuum cleaner began below. Cherry had arrived.

Competing with the whirr of the vacuum cleaner was a fresh tuneful voice singing one of the latest popular tunes of the day. Miss Knight, coming in for the breakfast tray, shook her head.

âI really wish that young woman wouldnât go singing all over the house,â she said. âItâs not what I call respectful.â

Miss Marple smiled a little. âIt would never enter Cherryâs head that she would have to be respectful,â she remarked. âWhy should she?â

Miss Knight sniffed and said, âVery different to what things used to be.â

âNaturally,â said Miss Marple. âTimes change. That is a thing which has to be accepted.â She added, âPerhaps youâll ring up Mrs. Bantry now and find out what it was she wanted.â

Miss Knight bustled away. A minute or two later there was a rap on the door and Cherry entered. She was looking bright and excited and extremely pretty. A plastic overall rakishly patterned with sailors and naval emblems was tied round her dark blue dress.

âYour hair looks nice,â said Miss Marple.

âWent for a perm yesterday,â said Cherry. âA bit stiff still, but itâs going to be all right. I came up to see if youâd heard the news.â

âWhat news?â said Miss Marple.

âAbout what happened at Gossington Hall yesterday. You know there was a big do there for the St. John Ambulance?â

Miss Marple nodded. âWhat happened?â she asked.

âSomebody died in the middle of it. A Mrs. Badcock. Lives round the corner from us. I donât suppose youâd know her.â

âMrs. Badcock?â Miss Marple sounded alert. âBut I do know her. I thinkâyes, that was the nameâshe came out and picked me up when I fell down the other day. She was very kind.â

âOh, Heather Badcockâs kind all right,â said Cherry. âOverkind, some people say. They call it interfering. Well, anyway, she up and died. Just like that.â

âDied! But what of?â

âSearch me,â said Cherry. âSheâd been taken into the house because of her being the secretary of the St. John Ambulance, I suppose. She and the mayor and a lot of others. As far as I heard, she had a glass of something and about five minutes later she was took bad and died before you could snap your fingers.â

âWhat a shocking occurrence,â said Miss Marple. âDid she suffer from heart trouble?â

âSound as a bell, so they say,â Cherry said. âOf course, you never know, do you? I suppose you can have something wrong with your heart and nobody knowing about it. Anyway, I can tell you this. Theyâve not sent her home.â

Miss Marple looked puzzled. âWhat do you mean, not sent her home?â

âThe body,â said Cherry, her cheerfulness unimpaired. âThe doctor said thereâd have to be an autopsy. Postmortemâwhatever you call it. He said he hadnât attended her for anything and there was nothing to show the cause of death. Looks funny to me,â she added.

âNow what do you mean by funny?â said Miss Marple.

âWell.â Cherry considered. âFunny. As though there was something behind it.â

âIs her husband terribly upset?â

âLooks as white as a sheet. Never saw a man as badly hit, to look atâthat is to say.â

Miss Marpleâs ears, long attuned to delicate nuances, led her to cock her head slightly on one side like an inquisitive bird.

âWas he so very devoted to her?â

âHe did what she told him and gave her her own way,â said Cherry, âbut that doesnât always mean youâre devoted, does it? It may mean you havenât got the courage to stick up for yourself.â

âYou didnât like her?â asked Miss Marple.

âI hardly know her really,â said Cherry. âKnew her, I mean. I donâtâdidnâtâdislike her. But sheâs just not my type. Too interfering.â

âYou mean inquisitive, nosy?â

âNo, I donât,â said Cherry. âI donât mean that at all. She was a very kind woman and she was always doing things for people. And she was always quite sure she knew the best thing to do. What they thought about it wouldnât have mattered. I had an aunt like that. Very fond of seed cake herself and she used to bake seed cakes for people and take them to them, and she never troubled to find out whether they liked seed cake or not. There are people canât bear it, just canât stand the flavour of caraway. Well, Heather Badcock was a bit like that.â

âYes,â said Miss Marple thoughtfully, âyes, she would have been. I knew someone a little like that. Such people,â she added, âlive dangerouslyâthough they donât know it themselves.â

Cherry stared at her. âThatâs a funny thing to say. I donât quite get what you mean.â

Miss Knight bustled in. âMrs. Bantry seems to have gone out,â she said. âShe didnât say where she was going.â

âI can guess where sheâs going,â said Miss Marple. âSheâs coming here. I shall get up now,â she added.

II

Miss Marple had just ensconced herself in her favourite chair by the window when Mrs. Bantry arrived. She was slightly out of breath.

âIâve got plenty to tell you, Jane,â she said.

âAbout the fÃªte?â asked Miss Knight. âYou went to the fÃªte yesterday, didnât you? I was there myself for a short time early in the afternoon. The tea tent was very crowded. An astonishing lot of people seemed to be there. I didnât catch a glimpse of Marina Gregg, though, which was rather disappointing.â

She flicked a little dust off a table and said brightly, âNow Iâm sure you two want to have a nice little chat together,â and went out of the room.

âShe doesnât seem to know anything about it,â said Mrs. Bantry. She fixed her friend with a keen glance. âJane, I believe you do know.â

âYou mean about the death yesterday?â

âYou always know everything,â said Mrs. Bantry. âI cannot think how.â

âWell, really dear,â said Miss Marple, âin the same way one always has known everything. My daily helper, Cherry Baker, brought the news. I expect the butcher will be telling Miss Knight presently.â

âAnd what do you think of it?â said Mrs. Bantry.

âWhat do I think of what?â said Miss Marple.

âNow donât be aggravating, Jane, you know perfectly what I mean. Thereâs this womanâwhatever her name isââ

âHeather Badcock,â said Miss Marple.

âShe arrives full of life and spirit. I was there when she came. And about a quarter of an hour later she sits down in a chair, says she doesnât feel well, gasps a bit and dies. What do you think of that?â

âOne mustnât jump to conclusions,â said Miss Marple. âThe point is, of course, what did a medical man think of it?â

Mrs. Bantry nodded. âThereâs to be an inquest and a postmortem,â she said. âThat shows what they think of it, doesnât it?â

âNot necessarily,â said Miss Marple. âAnyone may be taken ill and die suddenly and they have to have a postmortem to find out the cause.â

âItâs more than that,â said Mrs. Bantry.

âHow do you know?â said Miss Marple.

âDr. Sandford went home and rang up the police.â

âWho told you that?â said Miss Marple, with great interest.

âOld Briggs,â said Mrs. Bantry. âAt least, he didnât tell me. You know he goes down after hours in the evening to see to Dr. Sandfordâs garden, and he was clipping something quite close to the study and he heard the doctor ringing up the police station in Much Benham. Briggs told his daughter and his daughter mentioned it to the postwoman and she told me,â said Mrs. Bantry.

Miss Marple smiled. âI see,â she said, âthat St. Mary Mead has not changed very much from what it used to be.â

âThe grapevine is much the same,â agreed Mrs. Bantry. âWell, now, Jane, tell me what you think.â

âOne thinks, of course, of the husband,â said Miss Marple reflectively. âWas he there?â

âYes, he was there. You donât think it would be suicide,â said Mrs. Bantry.

âCertainly not suicide,â said Miss Marple decisively. âShe wasnât the type.â

âHow did you come across her, Jane?â

âIt was the day I went for a walk to the Development, and fell down near her house. She was kindness itself. She was a very kind woman.â

âDid you see the husband? Did he look as though heâd like to poison her?

âYou know what I mean,â Mrs. Bantry went on as Miss Marple showed some slight signs of protesting. âDid he remind you of Major Smith or Bertie Jones or someone youâve known years ago who did poison a wife, or tried to?â

âNo,â said Miss Marple, âhe didnât remind me of anyone I know.â She added, âBut she did.â

âWhoâMrs. Badcock?â

âYes,â said Miss Marple, âshe reminded me of someone called Alison Wilde.â

âAnd what was Alison Wilde like?â

âShe didnât know at all,â said Miss Marple slowly, âwhat the world was like. She didnât know what people were like. Sheâd never thought about them. And so, you see, she couldnât guard against things happening to her.â

âI donât really think I understand a word of what youâre saying,â said Mrs. Bantry.

âItâs very difficult to explain exactly,â said Miss Marple, apologetically. âIt comes really from being self-centred, and I donât mean selfish by that,â she added. âYou can be kind and unselfish and even thoughtful. But if youâre like Alison Wilde, you never really know what you may be doing. And so you never know what may happen to you.â

âCanât you make that a little clearer?â said Mrs. Bantry.

âWell, I suppose I could give you a sort of figurative example. This isnât anything that actually happened, itâs just something Iâm inventing.â

âGo on,â said Mrs. Bantry.

âWell, supposing you went into a shop, say, and you knew the proprietress had a son who was the spivvy young juvenile delinquent type. He was there listening while you told his mother about some money you had in the house, or some silver or a piece of jewellery. It was something you were excited and pleased about and you wanted to talk about it. And you also perhaps mention an evening that you were going out. You even say that you never lock the house. Youâre interested in what youâre saying, what youâre telling her, because itâs so very much in your mind. And then, say, on that particular evening you come home because youâve forgotten something and thereâs this bad lot of a boy in the house, caught in the act, and he turns round and coshes you.â

âThat might happen to almost anybody nowadays,â said Mrs. Bantry.

âNot quite,â said Miss Marple, âmost people have a sense of protection. They realise when itâs unwise to say or do something because of the person or persons who are taking in what you say, and because of the kind of character that those people have. But as I say, Alison Wilde never thought of anybody else but herselfâ She was the sort of person who tells you what theyâve done and what theyâve seen and what theyâve felt and what theyâve heard. They never mention what any other people said or did. Life is a kind of one-way trackâjust their own progress through it. Other people seem to them just likeâlike wallpaper in a room.â She paused and then said, âI think Heather Badcock was that kind of person.â

Mrs. Bantry said, âYou think she was the sort of person who might have butted into something without knowing what she was doing?â

âAnd without realising that it was a dangerous thing to do,â said Miss Marple. She added, âItâs the only reason I can possibly think of why she should have been killed. If of course,â added Miss Marple, âwe are right in assuming that murder has been committed.â

âYou donât think she was blackmailing someone?â Mrs. Bantry suggested.

âOh, no,â Miss Marple assured her. âShe was a kind, good woman. Sheâd never have done anything of that kind.â She added vexedly, âThe whole thing seems to me very unlikely. I suppose it canât have beenââ

âWell?â Mrs. Bantry urged her.

âI just wondered if it might have been the wrong murder,â said Miss Marple thoughtfully.

The door opened and Dr. Haydock breezed in, Miss Knight twittering behind him.

âAh, at it already, I see,â said Dr. Haydock, looking at the two ladies. âI came in to see how your health was,â he said to Miss Marple, âbut I neednât ask. I see youâve begun to adopt the treatment that I suggested.â

âTreatment, Doctor?â

Dr. Haydock pointed a finger at the knitting that lay on the table beside her. âUnravelling,â he said. âIâm right, arenât I?â

Miss Marple twinkled very slightly in a discreet, old-fashioned kind of way.

âYou will have your joke, Doctor Haydock,â she said.

âYou canât pull the wool over my eyes, my dear lady. Iâve known you too many years. Sudden death at Gossington Hall and all the tongues of St. Mary Mead are wagging. Isnât that so? Murder suggested long before anybody even knows the result of the inquest.â

âWhen is the inquest to be held?â asked Miss Marple.

âThe day after tomorrow,â said Dr. Haydock, âand by that time,â he said, âyou ladies will have reviewed the whole story, decided on the verdict and decided on a good many other points too, I expect. Well,â he added, âI shanât waste my time here. Itâs no good wasting time on a patient that doesnât need my ministrations. Your cheeks are pink, your eyes are bright, youâve begun to enjoy yourself. Nothing like having an interest in life. Iâll be on my way.â He stomped out again.

âIâd rather have him than Sandford any day,â said Mrs. Bantry.

âSo would I,â said Miss Marple. âHeâs a good friend, too,â she added thoughtfully. âHe came, I think, to give me the go-ahead sign.â

âThen it was murder,â said Mrs. Bantry. They looked at each other. âAt any rate, the doctors think so.â

Miss Knight brought in cups of coffee. For once in their lives, both ladies were too impatient to welcome this interruption. When Miss Knight had gone Miss Marple started immediately.

âNow then, Dolly, you were thereââ

âI practically saw it happen,â said Mrs. Bantry, with modest pride.

âSplendid,â said Miss Marple. âI meanâwell, you know what I mean. So you can tell me just exactly what happened from the moment she arrived.â

âIâd been taken into the house,â said Mrs. Bantry. âSnob status.â

âWho took you in?â

âOh, a willowy-looking young man. I think heâs Marina Greggâs secretary or something like that. He took me in, up the staircase. They were having a kind of reunion reception committee at the top of the stairs.â

âOn the landing?â said Miss Marple, surprised.

âOh, theyâve altered all that. Theyâve knocked the dressing room and bedroom down so that youâve got a big sort of alcove, practically a room. Itâs very attractive looking.â

âI see. And who was there?â

âMarina Gregg, being natural and charming, looking lovely in a sort of willowy grey-green dress. And the husband, of course, and that woman Ella Zielinsky I told you about. Sheâs their social secretary. And there were aboutâoh, eight or ten people I should think. Some of them I knew, some of them I didnât. Some I think were from the studiosâthe ones I didnât know. There was the vicar and Doctor Sandfordâs wife. He wasnât there himself until later, and Colonel and Mrs. Clittering and the High Sheriff. And I think there was someone from the press there. And a young woman with a big camera taking photographs.â

Miss Marple nodded.

âGo on.â

âHeather Badcock and her husband arrived just after me. Marina Gregg said nice things to me, then to somebody else, oh yes,âthe vicarâand then Heather Badcock and her husband came. Sheâs the secretary, you know, of the St. John Ambulance. Somebody said something about that and how hard she worked and how valuable she was. And Marina Gregg said some pretty things. Then Mrs. Badcock, who struck me, I must say, Jane, as rather a tiresome sort of woman, began some long rigmarole of how years before sheâd met Marina Gregg somewhere. She wasnât awfully tactful about it since she urged exactly how long ago and the year it was and everything like that. Iâm sure that actresses and film stars and people donât really like being reminded of the exact age they are. Still, she wouldnât think of that I suppose.â

âNo,â said Miss Marple, âshe wasnât the kind of woman who would have thought of that. Well?â

âWell, there was nothing particular in that except for the fact that Marina Gregg didnât do her usual stuff.â

âYou mean she was annoyed?â

âNo, no, I donât mean that. As a matter of fact Iâm not at all sure that she heard a word of it. She was staring, you know, over Mrs. Badcockâs shoulder and when Mrs. Badcock had finished her rather silly story of how she got out of a bed of sickness and sneaked out of the house to go and meet Marina and get her autograph, there was a sort of odd silence. Then I saw her face.â

âWhose face? Mrs. Badcockâs?â

âNo. Marina Greggâs. It was as though she hadnât heard a word the Badcock woman was saying. She was staring over her shoulder right at the wall opposite. Staring withâI canât explain it to youââ

âBut do try, Dolly,â said Miss Marple, âbecause I think perhaps that this might be important.â

âShe had a kind of frozen look,â said Mrs. Bantry, struggling with words, âas though sheâd seen something thatâoh dear me, how hard it is to describe things. Do you remember the Lady of Shalott? The mirror crackâd from side to side: âThe doom has come upon me,â cried the Lady of Shalott. Well, thatâs what she looked like. People laugh at Tennyson nowadays, but the Lady of Shalott always thrilled me when I was young and it still does.â

âShe had a frozen look,â repeated Miss Marple thoughtfully. âAnd she was looking over Mrs. Badcockâs shoulder at the wall. What was on the wall?â

âOh! A picture of some kind, I think,â said Mrs. Bantry. âYou know, Italian. I think it was a copy of a Bellini Madonna, but Iâm not sure. A picture where the Virgin is holding up a laughing child.â

Miss Marple frowned. âI canât see that a picture could give her that expression.â

âEspecially as she must see it every day,â agreed Mrs. Bantry.

âThere were people coming up the stairs still, I suppose?â

âOh yes, there were.â

âWho were they, do you remember?â

âYou mean she might have been looking at one of the people coming up the stairs?â

âWell, itâs possible, isnât it?â said Miss Marple.

âYesâof courseânow let me see. There was the mayor, all dressed up too with his chains and all, and his wife, and there was a man with long hair and one of those funny beards they wear nowadays. Quite a young man. And there was the girl with the camera. Sheâd taken her position on the stairs so as to get photos of people coming up and having their hands shaken by Marina, andâlet me see, two people I didnât know. Studio people, I think, and the Grices from Lower Farm. There may have been others, but thatâs all I can remember now.â

âDoesnât sound very promising,â said Miss Marple. âWhat happened next?â

âI think Jason Rudd nudged her or something because all of a sudden she seemed to pull herself together and she smiled at Mrs. Badcock, and she began to say all the usual things. You know, sweet, unspoilt, natural, charming, the usual bag of tricks.â

âAnd then?â

âAnd then Jason Rudd gave them drinks.â

âWhat kind of drinks?â

âDaiquiris, I think. He said they were his wifeâs favourites. He gave one to her and one to the Badcock woman.â

âThatâs very interesting,â said Miss Marple. âVery interesting indeed. And what happened after that?â

âI donât know, because I took a gaggle of women to look at the bathrooms. The next thing I knew was when the secretary woman came rushing along and said someone had been taken ill.â

Seven

The inquest, when it was held, was short and disappointing. Evidence of identification was given by the husband, and the only other evidence was medical. Heather Badcock had died as a result of four grains of hy-ethyl-dexyl-barbo-quinde-lorytate, or, let us be frank, some such name. There was no evidence to show how the drug was administered.

The inquest was adjourned for a fortnight.

After it was concluded, Detective-Inspector Frank Cornish joined Arthur Badcock.

âCould I have a word with you, Mr. Badcock?â

âOf course, of course.â

Arthur Badcock looked more like a chewed-out bit of string than ever. âI canât understand it,â he muttered. âI simply canât understand it.â

âIâve got a car here,â said Cornish. âWeâll drive back to your house, shall we? Nicer and more private there.â

âThank you, sir. Yes, yes, Iâm sure that would be much better.â

They drew up at the neat little blue-painted gate of No. 3 Arlington Close. Arthur Badcock led the way and the inspector followed him. He drew out his latchkey but before he had inserted it into the door, it was opened from inside. The woman who opened it stood back looking slightly embarrassed. Arthur Badcock looked startled.

âMary,â he said.

âI was just getting you ready some tea, Arthur. I thought youâd need it when you came back from the inquest.â

âThatâs very kind of you, Iâm sure,â said Arthur Badcock gratefully. âErââ he hesitated. âThis is Inspector Cornish, Mrs. Bain. Sheâs a neighbour of mine.â

âI see,â said Inspector Cornish.

âIâll get another cup,â said Mrs. Bain.

She disappeared and rather doubtfully Arthur Badcock showed the inspector into the bright cretonne-covered sitting room to the right of the hall.

âSheâs very kind,â said Arthur Badcock. âVery kind always.â

âYouâve known her a long time?â

âOh, no. Only since we came here.â

âYouâve been here two years, I believe, or is it three?â

âJust about three now,â said Arthur. âMrs. Bain only got here six months ago,â he explained. âHer son works near here and so, after her husbandâs death, she came down to live here and he boards with her.â

Mrs. Bain appeared at this point bringing the tray from the kitchen. She was a dark, rather intense-looking woman of about forty years of age. She had gipsy colouring that went with her dark hair and eyes. There was something a little odd about her eyes. They had a watchful look. She put down the tray on the table and Inspector Cornish said something pleasant and noncommittal. Something in him, some professional instinct, was on the alert. The watchful look in the womanâs eyes, the slight start she had given when Arthur introduced him had not passed unnoticed. He was familiar with that slight uneasiness in the presence of the kind of natural alarm and distrust as of those who might have offended unwittingly against the majesty of the law, but there was a second kind. And it was the second kind that he felt sure was present here. Mrs. Bain, he thought, had had at some time some connection with the police, something that had left her wary and ill at ease. He made a mental note to find out a little more about Mary Bain. Having set down the tea tray, and refused to partake herself saying she had to get home, she departed.

âSeems a nice woman,â said Inspector Cornish.

âYes, indeed. Sheâs very kind, a very good neighbour, a very sympathetic woman,â said Arthur Badcock.

âWas she a great friend of your wife?â

âNo. No, I wouldnât say that. They were neighbourly and on pleasant terms. Nothing special about it though.â

âI see. Now, Mr. Badcock, we want as much information as we can from you. The findings of the inquest have been a shock to you, I expect?â

âOh, they have, Inspector. Of course I realized that you must think something was wrong and I almost thought so myself because Heather has always been such a healthy woman. Practically never a dayâs illness. I said to myself, âThere must be something wrong.â But it seems so incredible, if you understand what I mean, Inspector. Really quite incredible. What is this stuffâthis Bi-ethyl-hexââ He came to a stop.

âThere is an easier name for it,â said the inspector. âItâs sold under a trade name, the trade name of Calmo. Ever come across it?â

Arthur Badcock shook his head, perplexed.

âItâs more used in America than here,â said the inspector. âThey prescribe it very freely over there, I understand.â

âWhatâs it for?â

âIt induces, or so I understand, a happy and tranquil state of mind,â said Cornish. âItâs prescribed for those under strain; suffering anxiety, depression, melancholy, sleeplessness and a good many other things. The properly prescribed dose is not dangerous, but overdoses are not to be advised. It would seem that your wife took something like six times the ordinary dose.â

Badcock stared. âHeather never took anything like that in her life,â he said. âIâm sure of it. She wasnât one for taking medicines anyway. She was never depressed or worried. She was one of the most cheerful women you could possibly imagine.â

The inspector nodded. âI see. And no doctor had prescribed anything of this kind for her?â

âNo. Certainly not. Iâm sure of that.â

âWho was her doctor?â

âShe was on Dr. Simâs panel, but I donât think sheâs been to him once since weâve been here.â

Inspector Cornish said thoughtfully, âSo she doesnât seem the kind of woman to have been likely to need such a thing, or to have taken it?â

âShe didnât, Inspector, Iâm sure she didnât. She must have taken it by a mistake of some kind.â

âItâs a very difficult mistake to imagine,â said Inspector Cornish. âWhat did she have to eat and drink that afternoon?â

âWell, let me see. For lunchââ

âYou neednât go back as far as lunch,â said Cornish. âGiven in such quantity the drug would act quickly and suddenly. Tea. Go back to tea.â

âWell, we went into the marquee in the grounds. It was a terrible scrum in there, but we managed in the end to get a bun each and a cup of tea. We finished it as quickly as possible because it was very hot in the marquee and we came out again.â

âAnd thatâs all she had, a bun and a cup of tea there?â

âThatâs right, sir.â

âAnd after that you went into the house. Is that right?â

âYes. The young lady came and said that Miss Marina Gregg would be very pleased to see my wife if she would like to come into the house. Of course my wife was delighted. She had been talking about Marina Gregg for days. Everybody was excited. Oh well, you know that, Inspector, as well as anyone does.â

âYes, indeed,â said Cornish. âMy wife was excited, too. Why, from all around people were paying their shilling to go in and see Gossington Hall and what had been done there, and hoped to catch a glimpse of Marina Gregg herself.â

âThe young lady took us into the house,â said Arthur Badcock, âand up the stairs. Thatâs where the party was. On the landing up there. But it looked quite different from what it used to look like, so I understand. It was more like a room, a sort of big hollowed out place with chairs and tables with drinks on them. There were about ten or twelve people there, I suppose.â

Inspector Cornish nodded. âAnd you were received thereâby whom?â

âBy Miss Marina Gregg herself. Her husband was with her. Iâve forgotten his name now.â

âJason Rudd,â said Inspector Cornish.

âOh, yes, not that I noticed him at first. Well, anyway, Miss Gregg greeted Heather very nicely and seemed very pleased to see her, and Heather was talking and telling a story of how sheâd once met Miss Gregg years ago in the West Indies and everything seemed as right as rain.â

âEverything seemed as right as rain,â echoed the inspector. âAnd then?â

âAnd then Miss Gregg said what would we have? And Miss Greggâs husband, Mr. Rudd, got Heather a kind of cocktail, a dickery or something like that.â

âA daiquiri.â

âThatâs right, sir. He brought two. One for her and one for Miss Gregg.â

âAnd you, what did you have?â

âI had a sherry.â

âI see. And you three stood there drinking together?â

âWell, not quite like that. You see there were more people coming up the stairs. There was the mayor, for one, and some other peopleâan American gentleman and lady, I thinkâso we moved off a bit.â

âAnd your wife drank her daiquiri then?â

âWell, no, not then, she didnât.â

âWell, if she didnât drink it then, when did she drink it?â

Arthur Badcock stood frowning in remembrance. âI thinkâshe set it down on one of the tables. She saw some friends there. I think it was someone to do with the St. John Ambulance whoâd driven over there from Much Benham or somewhere like that. Anyway they got to talking together.â

âAnd when did she drink her drink?â

Arthur Badcock again frowned. âIt was a little after that,â he said. âIt was getting rather more crowded by then. Somebody jogged Heatherâs elbow and her glass got spilt.â

âWhatâs that?â Inspector Cornish looked up sharply. âHer glass was spilt?â

âYes, thatâs how I remember itâ¦ Sheâd picked it up and I think she took a little sip and made rather a face. She didnât really like cocktails, you know, but all the same she wasnât going to be downed by that. Anyway, as she stood there, somebody jogged her elbow and the glass spilled over. It went down her dress and I think it went on Miss Greggâs dress too. Miss Gregg couldnât have been nicer. She said it didnât matter at all and it would make no stain and she gave Heather her handkerchief to wipe up Heatherâs dress, and then she passed over the drink she was holding and said, âHave this, I havenât touched it yet.ââ

âShe handed over her own drink, did she?â said the inspector. âYouâre quite sure of that?â

Arthur Badcock paused a moment while he thought. âYes, Iâm quite sure of that,â he said.

âAnd your wife took the drink?â

âWell, she didnât want to at first, sir. She said âOh no, I couldnât do thatâ and Miss Gregg laughed and said, âIâve had far too much to drink already.ââ

âAnd so your wife took that glass and did what with it?â

âShe turned away a little and drank it, rather quickly, I think. And then we walked a little way along the corridor looking at some of the pictures and the curtains. Lovely curtain stuff it was, like nothing weâd seen before. Then I met a pal of mine, Councillor Allcock, and I was just passing the time of day with him when I looked round and saw Heather was sitting on a chair looking rather odd, so I came to her and said, âWhatâs the matter?â She said she felt a little queer.â

âWhat kind of queerness?â

âI donât know, sir. I didnât have time. Her voice sounded very queer and thick and her head was rolling a little. All of a sudden she made a great half gasp and her head fell forward. She was dead, sir, dead.â

Eight

I

âSt. Mary Mead, you say?â Chief-Inspector Craddock looked up sharply.

The assistant commissioner was a little surprised.

âYes,â he said, âSt. Mary Mead. Why? Does itââ

âNothing really,â said Dermot Craddock.

âItâs quite a small place, I understand,â went on the other. âThough of course thereâs a great deal of building development going on there now. Practically all the way from St. Mary Mead to Much Benham, I understand. Hellingforth Studios,â he added, âare on the other side of St. Mary Mead, towards Market Basing.â He was still looking slightly inquiring. Dermot Craddock felt that he should perhaps explain.

âI know someone living there,â he said. âAt St. Mary Mead. An old lady. A very old lady by now. Perhaps sheâs dead, I donât know. But if notââ

The assistant commissioner took his subordinateâs point, or at any rate he thought he did.

âYes,â he said, âit would give you an âinâ in a way. One needs a bit of local gossip. The whole thing is a curious business.â

âThe County have called us in?â Dermot asked.

âYes. Iâve got the chief constableâs letter here. They donât seem to feel that itâs necessarily a local affair. The largest house in the neighbourhood, Gossington Hall, was recently sold as a residence for Marina Gregg, the film star, and her husband. Theyâre shooting a film at their new studios, at Hellingforth, in which she is starring. A fÃªte was held in the grounds in aid of the St. John Ambulance. The dead womanâher name is Mrs. Heather Badcockâwas the local secretary of this and had done most of the administrative work for the fÃªte. She seems to have been a competent, sensible person, well liked locally.â

âOne of those bossy women?â suggested Craddock.

âVery possibly,â said the assistant commissioner. âStill in my experience, bossy women seldom get themselves murdered. I canât think why not. When you come to think of it, itâs rather a pity. There was a record attendance at the fÃªte, it seems, good weather, everything running to plan. Marina Gregg and her husband held a kind of small private reception in Gossington Hall. About thirty or forty people attended this. The local notables, various people connected with the St. John Ambulance Association, several friends of Marina Gregg herself, and a few people connected with the studios. All very peaceful, nice and happy. But, fantastically and improbably, Heather Badcock was poisoned there.â

Dermot Craddock said thoughtfully, âAn odd place to choose.â

âThatâs the chief constableâs point of view. If anyone wanted to poison Heather Badcock, why choose that particular afternoon and circumstances? Hundreds of much simpler ways of doing it. A risky business anyway, you know, to slip a dose of deadly poison into a cocktail in the middle of twenty or thirty people milling about. Somebody ought to have seen something.â

âIt definitely was in the drink?â

âYes, it was definitely in the drink. We have the particulars here. One of those inexplicable names that doctors delight in, but actually a fairly common prescription in America.â

âIn America. I see.â

âOh, this country too. But these things are handed out much more freely on the other side of the Atlantic. Taken in small doses, beneficial.â

âSupplied on prescription or can it be bought freely?â

âNo. You have to have a prescription.â

âYes, itâs odd,â said Dermot. âHeather Badcock have any connection with these film people?â

âNone whatever.â

âAny member of her own family at this do?â

âHer husband.â

âHer husband,â said Dermot thoughtfully.

âYes, one always thinks that way,â agreed his superior officer, âbut the local manâCornish, I think his name isâdoesnât seem to think thereâs anything in that, although he does report that Badcock seemed ill at ease and nervous, but he agrees that respectable people often are like that when interviewed by the police. They appear to have been quite a devoted couple.â

âIn other words, the police there donât think itâs their pigeon. Well, it ought to be interesting. I take it Iâm going down there, sir?â

âYes. Better get there as soon as possible, Dermot. Who do you want with you?â

Dermot considered for a moment or two.

âTiddler, I think,â he said thoughtfully. âHeâs a good man and, whatâs more, heâs a film star. That might come in useful.â

The assistant commissioner nodded. âGood luck to you,â he said.

II

âWell!â exclaimed Miss Marple, going pink with pleasure and surprise. âThis is a surprise. How are you, my dear boyâthough youâre hardly a boy now. What are youâa Chief-Inspector or this new thing they call a Commander?â

Dermot explained his present rank.

âI suppose I need hardly ask what you are doing down here,â said Miss Marple. âOur local murder is considered worthy of the attention of Scotland Yard.â

âThey handed it over to us,â said Dermot, âand so, naturally, as soon as I got down here I came to headquarters.â

âDo you meanââ Miss Marple fluttered a little.

âYes, Aunty,â said Dermot disrespectfully. âI mean you.â

âIâm afraid,â said Miss Marple regretfully, âIâm very much out of things nowadays. I donât get out much.â

âYou get out enough to fall down and be picked up by a woman whoâs going to be murdered ten days later,â said Dermot Craddock.

Miss Marple made the kind of noise that would once have been written down as âtut-tut.â

âI donât know where you hear these things,â she said.

âYou should know,â said Dermot Craddock. âYou told me yourself that in a village everybody knows everything.

âAnd just off the record,â he added, âdid you think she was going to be murdered as soon as you looked at her?â

âOf course not, of course not,â exclaimed Miss Marple. âWhat an idea!â

âYou didnât see that look in her husbandâs eye that reminded you of Harry Simpson or David Jones or somebody youâve known years ago, and subsequently pushed his wife off a precipice.â

âNo, I did not!â said Miss Marple. âIâm sure Mr. Badcock would never do a wicked thing of that kind. At least,â she added thoughtfully, âIâm nearly sure.â

âBut human nature being what it isââ murmured Craddock, wickedly.

âExactly,â said Miss Marple. She added, âI daresay, after the first natural grief, he wonât miss her very muchâ¦.â

âWhy? Did she bully him?â

âOh no,â said Miss Marple, âbut I donât think that sheâwell, she wasnât a considerate woman. Kind, yes. Considerateâno. She would be fond of him and look after him when he was ill and see to his meals and be a good housekeeper, but I donât think she would everâwell, that she would ever even know what he might be feeling or thinking. That makes rather a lonely life for a man.â

âAh,â said Dermot, âand is his life less likely to be lonely in future?â

âI expect heâll marry again,â said Miss Marple. âPerhaps quite soon. And probably, which is such a pity, a woman of much the same type. I mean heâll marry someone with a stronger personality than his own.â

âAnyone in view?â asked Dermot.

âNot that I know of,â said Miss Marple. She added regretfully, âBut I know so little.â

âWell, what do you think?â urged Dermot Craddock. âYouâve never been backward in thinking things.â

âI think,â said Miss Marple, unexpectedly, âthat you ought to go and see Mrs. Bantry.â

âMrs. Bantry? Who is she? One of the film lot?â

âNo,â said Miss Marple, âshe lives in the East Lodge at Gossington. She was at the party that day. She used to own Gossington at one time. She and her husband, Colonel Bantry.â

âShe was at the party. And she saw something?â

âI think she must tell you herself what it was she saw. You maynât think it has any bearing on the matter, but I think it might beâjust might beâsuggestive. Tell her I sent you to her andâah yes, perhaps youâd better just mention the Lady of Shalott.â

Dermot Craddock looked at her with his head just slightly on one side.

âThe Lady of Shalott,â he said. âThose are the code words, are they?â

âI donât know that I should put it that way,â said Miss Marple, âbut it will remind her of what I mean.â

Dermot Craddock got up. âI shall be back,â he warned her.

âThat is very nice of you,â said Miss Marple. âPerhaps if you have time, you would come and have tea with me one day. If you still drink tea,â she added rather wistfully. âI know that so many young people nowadays only go out to drinks and things. They think that afternoon tea is a very outmoded affair.â

âIâm not as young as all that,â said Dermot Craddock. âYes, Iâll come and have tea with you one day. Weâll have tea and gossip and talk about the village. Do you know any of the film stars, by the way, or any of the studio lot?â

âNot a thing,â said Miss Marple, âexcept what I hear,â she added.

âWell, you usually hear a good deal,â said Dermot Craddock. âGoodbye. Itâs been very nice to see you.â

III

âOh, how do you do?â said Mrs. Bantry, looking slightly taken aback when Dermot Craddock had introduced himself and explained who he was. âHow very exciting to see you. Donât you always have sergeants with you?â

âIâve got a sergeant down here, yes,â said Craddock. âBut heâs busy.â

âOn routine inquiries?â asked Mrs. Bantry, hopefully.

âSomething of the kind,â said Dermot gravely.

âAnd Jane Marple sent you to me,â said Mrs. Bantry, as she ushered him into her small sitting room. âI was just arranging some flowers,â she explained. âItâs one of those days when flowers wonât do anything you want them to. They fall out, or stick up where they shouldnât stick up or wonât lie down where you want them to lie down. So Iâm thankful to have a distraction, and especially such an exciting one. So it really was murder, was it?â

âDid you think it was murder?â

âWell, it could have been an accident, I suppose,â said Mrs. Bantry. âNobodyâs said anything definite, officially, that is. Just that rather silly piece about no evidence to show by whom or in what way the poison was administered. But, of course, we all talk about it as murder.â

âAnd about who did it?â

âThatâs the odd part of it,â said Mrs. Bantry. âWe donât. Because I really donât see who can have done it.â

âYou mean as a matter of definite physical fact you donât see who could have done it?â

âWell, no, not that. I suppose it would have been difficult but not impossible. No, I mean, I donât see who could have wanted to do it.â

âNobody, you think, could have wanted to kill Heather Badcock?â

âWell, frankly,â said Mrs. Bantry, âI canât imagine anybody wanting to kill Heather Badcock. Iâve seen her quite a few times, on local things, you know. Girl guides and the St. John Ambulance, and various parish things. I found her a rather trying sort of woman. Very enthusiastic about everything and a bit given to over-statement, and just a little bit of a gusher. But you donât want to murder people for that. She was the kind of woman who in the old days if youâd seen her approaching the front door, youâd have hurried out to say to your parlourmaidâwhich was an institution we had in those days, and very useful tooâand told her to say ânot at homeâ or ânot at home to visitors,â if she had conscientious scruples about the truth.â

âYou mean that one might take pains to avoid Mrs. Badcock, but one would have no urge to remove her permanently.â

âVery well put,â said Mrs. Bantry, nodding approval.

âShe had no money to speak of,â mused Dermot, âso nobody stood to gain by her death. Nobody seems to have disliked her to the point of hatred. I donât suppose she was blackmailing anybody?â

âShe wouldnât have dreamed of doing such a thing, Iâm sure,â said Mrs. Bantry. âShe was the conscientious and high-principled kind.â

âAnd her husband wasnât having an affair with someone else?â

âI shouldnât think so,â said Mrs. Bantry. âI only saw him at the party. He looked like a bit of chewed string. Nice but wet.â

âDoesnât leave much, does it?â said Dermot Craddock. âOne falls back on the assumption she knew something.â

âKnew something?â

âTo the detriment of somebody else.â

Mrs. Bantry shook her head again. âI doubt it,â she said. âI doubt it very much. She struck me as the kind of woman who if she had known anything about anyone, couldnât have helped talking about it.â

âWell, that washes that out,â said Dermot Craddock, âso weâll come, if we may, to my reasons for coming to see you. Miss Marple, for whom I have the greatest admiration and respect, told me that I was to say to you the Lady of Shalott.â

âOh, that!â said Mrs. Bantry.

âYes,â said Craddock. âThat! Whatever it is.â

âPeople donât read much Tennyson nowadays,â said Mrs. Bantry.

âA few echoes come back to me,â said Dermot Craddock. âShe looked out to Camelot, didnât she?

Out flew the web and floated wide;

The Mirror crackâd from side to side;

âThe curse has come upon me,â cried

The Lady of Shalott.â

âExactly. She did,â said Mrs. Bantry.

âI beg your pardon. Who did? Did what?â

âLooked like that,â said Mrs. Bantry.

âWho looked like what?â

âMarina Gregg.â

âAh, Marina Gregg. When was this?â

âDidnât Jane Marple tell you?â

âShe didnât tell me anything. She sent me to you.â

âThatâs tiresome of her,â said Mrs. Bantry, âbecause she can always tell things better than I can. My husband always used to say that I was so abrupt that he didnât know what I was talking about. Anyway, it may have been only my fancy. But when you see anyone looking like that you canât help remembering it.â

âPlease tell me,â said Dermot Craddock.

âWell, it was at the party. I call it a party because what can one call things? But it was just a sort of reception up at the top of the stairs where theyâve made a kind of recess. Marina Gregg was there and her husband. They fetched some of us in. They fetched me, I suppose, because I once owned the house, and they fetched Heather Badcock and her husband because sheâd done all the running of the fÃªte, and the arrangements. And we happened to go up the stairs at about the same time, so I was standing there, you see, when I noticed it.â

âQuite. When you noticed what?â

âWell, Mrs. Badcock went into a long spiel as people do when they meet celebrities. You know, how wonderful it was, and what a thrill and theyâd always hoped to see them. And she went into a long story of how sheâd once met her years ago and how exciting it had been. And I thought, in my own mind, you know, what a bore it must be for these poor celebrities to have to say all the right things. And then I noticed that Marina Gregg wasnât saying the right things. She was just staring.â

âStaringâat Mrs. Badcock?â

âNoâno, it looked as though sheâd forgotten Mrs. Badcock altogether. I mean, I donât believe sheâd even heard what Mrs. Badcock was saying. She was just staring with what I call this Lady of Shalott look, as though sheâd seen something awful. Something frightening, something that she could hardly believe she saw and couldnât bear to see.â

âThe curse has come upon me?â suggested Dermot Craddock.

âYes, just that. Thatâs why I call it the Lady of Shalott look.â

âBut what was she looking at, Mrs. Bantry?â

âWell, I wish I knew,â said Mrs. Bantry.

âShe was at the top of the stairs, you say?â

âShe was looking over Mrs. Badcockâs headâno, more over one shoulder, I think.â

âStraight at the middle of the staircase?â

âIt might have been a little to one side.â

âAnd there were people coming up the staircase?â

âOh yes, I should think about five or six people.â

âWas she looking at one of these people in particular?â

âI canât possibly tell,â said Mrs. Bantry. âYou see, I wasnât facing that way. I was looking at her. My back was to the stairs. I thought perhaps she was looking at one of the pictures.â

âBut she must know the pictures quite well if sheâs living in the house.â

âYes, yes, of course. No, I suppose she must have been looking at one of the people. I wonder which.â

âWe have to try and find out,â said Dermot Craddock. âCan you remember at all who the people were?â

âWell, I know the mayor was one of them with his wife. There was someone who I think was a reporter, with red hair, because I was introduced to him later, but I canât remember his name. I never hear names. Galbraithâsomething like that. Then there was a big black man. I donât mean a negroâI just mean very dark, forceful looking. And an actress with him. A bit over-blonde and the minky kind. And old General Barnstaple from Much Benham. Heâs practically ga-ga now, poor old boy. I donât think he could have been anybodyâs doom. Oh! and the Grices from the farm.â

âThose are all the people you can remember?â

âWell, there may have been others. But you see I wasnâtâwell, I mean I wasnât noticing particularly. I know that the mayor and General Barnstaple and the Americans did arrive about that time. And there were people taking photographs. One I think was a local man, and there was a girl from London, an arty-looking girl with long hair and a rather large camera.â

âAnd you think it was one of those people who brought that look to Marina Greggâs face?â

âI didnât really think anything,â said Mrs. Bantry with complete frankness. âI just wondered what on earth made her look like that and then I didnât think of it anymore. But afterwards one remembers about these things. But of course,â added Mrs. Bantry with honesty, âI may have imagined it. After all, she may have had a sudden toothache or a safety pin run into her or a sudden violent colic. The sort of thing where you try to go on as usual and not to show anything, but your face canât help looking awful.â

Dermot Craddock laughed. âIâm glad to see youâre a realist, Mrs. Bantry,â he said. âAs you say, it may have been something of that kind. But itâs certainly just one interesting little fact that might be a pointer.â

He shook his head and departed to present his official credentials in Much Benham.

Nine

I

âSo locally youâve drawn a blank?â said Craddock, offering his cigarette case to Frank Cornish.

âCompletely,â said Cornish. âNo enemies, no quarrels, on good terms with her husband.â

âNo question of another woman or another man?â

The other shook his head. âNothing of that kind. No hint of scandal anywhere. She wasnât what youâd call the sexy kind. She was on a lot of committees and things like that and there were some small local rivalries, but nothing beyond that.â

âThere wasnât anyone else the husband wanted to marry? No one in the office where he worked?â

âHeâs in Biddle & Russell, the estate agents and valuers. Thereâs Florrie West with adenoids, and Miss Grundle, who is at least fifty and as plain as a haystackânothing much there to excite a man. Though for all that I shouldnât be surprised if he did marry again soon.â

Craddock looked interested.

âA neighbour,â explained Cornish. âA widow. When I went back with him from the inquest sheâd gone in and was making him tea and looking after him generally. He seemed surprised and grateful. If you ask me, sheâs made up her mind to marry him, but he doesnât know it yet, poor chap.â

âWhat sort of a woman is she?â

âGood looking,â admitted the other. âNot young but handsome in a gipsyish sort of way. High colour. Dark eyes.â

âWhatâs her name?â

âBain. Mrs. Mary Bain. Mary Bain. Sheâs a widow.â

âWhatâd her husband do?â

âNo idea. Sheâs got a son working near here who lives with her. She seems a quiet, respectable woman. All the same, Iâve a feeling Iâve seen her before.â He looked at his watch. âTen to twelve. Iâve made an appointment for you at Gossington Hall at twelve oâclock. Weâd best be going.â

II

Dermot Craddockâs eyes, which always looked gently inattentive, were in actuality making a close mental note of the features of Gossington Hall. Inspector Cornish had taken him there, had delivered him over to a young man called Hailey Preston, and had then taken a tactful leave. Since then, Dermot Craddock had been gently nodding at Mr. Preston. Hailey Preston, he gathered, was a kind of public relations or personal assistant, or private secretary, or more likely, a mixture of all three, to Jason Rudd. He talked. He talked freely and at length without much modulation and managing miraculously not to repeat himself too often. He was a pleasant young man, anxious that his own views, reminiscent of those of Dr. Pangloss that all was for the best in the best of all possible worlds, should be shared by anyone in whose company he happened to be. He said several times and in different ways what a terrible shame this had been, how worried everyone had been, how Marina was absolutely prostrated, how Mr. Rudd was more upset than he could possibly say, how it absolutely beat anything that a thing like that should happen, didnât it? Possibly there might have been some kind of allergy to some particular kind of substance? He just put that forward as an ideaâallergies were extraordinary things. Chief-Inspector Craddock was to count on every possible co-operation that Hellingforth Studios or any of their staff could give. He was to ask any questions he wanted, go anywhere he liked. If they could help in anyway they would do so. They all had had the greatest respect for Mrs. Badcock and appreciated her strong social sense and the valuable work she had done for the St. John Ambulance Association.

He then started again, not in the same words but using the same motifs. No one could have been more eagerly co-operative. At the same time he endeavoured to convey how very far this was from the cellophane world of studios; and Mr. Jason Rudd and Miss Marina Gregg, or any of the people in the house who surely were going to do their utmost to help in anyway they possibly could. Then he nodded gently some forty-four times. Dermot Craddock took advantage of the pause to say:

âThank you very much.â

It was said quietly but with a kind of finality that brought Mr. Hailey Preston up with a jerk. He said:

âWellââ and paused inquiringly.

âYou said I might ask questions?â

âSure. Sure. Fire ahead.â

âIs this the place where she died?â

âMrs. Badcock?â

âMrs. Badcock. Is this the place?â

âYes, sure. Right here. At least, well actually I can show you the chair.â

They were standing on the landing recess. Hailey Preston walked a short way along the corridor and pointed out a rather phony-looking oak armchair.

âShe was sitting right there,â he said. âShe said she didnât feel well. Someone went to get her something, and then she just died, right there.â

âI see.â

âI donât know if sheâd seen a physician lately. If sheâd been warned that she had anything wrong with her heartââ

âShe had nothing wrong with her heart,â said Dermot Craddock. âShe was a healthy woman. She died of six times the maximum dose of a substance whose official name I will not try to pronounce but which I understand is generally known as Calmo.â

âI know, I know,â said Hailey Preston. âI take it myself sometimes.â

âIndeed? Thatâs very interesting. You find it has a good effect?â

âMarvellous. Marvellous. It bucks you up and it soothes you down, if you understand what I mean. Naturally,â he added, âyou would have to take it in the proper dosage.â

âWould there be supplies of this substance in the house?â

He knew the answer to the question, but he put it as though he did not. Hailey Prestonâs answer was frankness itself.

âLoads of it, I should say. Thereâll be a bottle of it in most of the bathroom cupboards here.â

âWhich doesnât make our task easier.â

âOf course,â said Hailey Preston, âshe might have used the stuff herself and taken a dose, and as I say, had an allergy.â

Craddock looked unconvincedâHailey Preston sighed and said:

âYouâre quite definite about the dosage?â

âOh yes. It was a lethal dose and Mrs. Badcock did not take any such things herself. As far as we can make out the only things she ever took were bicarbonate of soda or aspirin.â

Hailey Preston shook his head and said, âThat sure gives us a problem. Yes, it sure does.â

âWhere did Mr. Rudd and Miss Gregg receive their guests?â

âRight here.â Hailey Preston went to the spot at the top of the stairs.

Chief-Inspector Craddock stood beside him. He looked at the wall opposite him. In the centre was an Italian Madonna and child. A good copy, he presumed, of some well-known picture. The blue-robed Madonna held aloft the infant Jesus and both child and mother were laughing. Little groups of people stood on either side, their eyes upraised to the child. One of the more pleasing Madonnas, Dermot Craddock thought. To the right and left of this picture were two narrow windows. The whole effect was very charming but it seemed to him that there was emphatically nothing there that would cause a woman to look like the Lady of Shalott whose doom had come upon her.

âPeople, of course, were coming up the stairs?â he asked.

âYes. They came in driblets, you know. Not too many at once. I shepherded up some, Ella Zielinsky, thatâs Mr. Ruddâs secretary, brought some of the others. We wanted to make it all pleasant and informal.â

âWere you here yourself at the time Mrs. Badcock came up?â

âIâm ashamed to tell you, Chief-Inspector Craddock, that I just canât remember. I had a list of names, I went out and I shepherded people in. I introduced them, saw to drinks, then Iâd go out and come up with the next batch. At the time I didnât know this Mrs. Badcock by sight, and she wasnât one of the ones on my list to bring up.â

âWhat about a Mrs. Bantry?â

âAh yes, sheâs the former owner of this place, isnât she? I believe she, and Mrs. Badcock and her husband, did come up about the same time.â He paused. âAnd the mayor came just about them. He had a big chain on and a wife with yellow hair, wearing royal blue with frills. I remember all of them. I didnât pour drinks for any of them because I had to go down and bring up the next lot.â

âWho did pour drinks for them?â

âWhy, I canât exactly say. There were three or four of us on duty. I know I went down the stairs just as the mayor was coming up.â

âWho else was on the stairs as you went down, if you can remember?â

âJim Galbraith, one of the newspaper boys who was covering this, three or four others whom I didnât know. There were a couple of photographers, one of the locals, I donât remember his name, and an arty girl from London, who rather specialises in queer angle shots. Her camera was set right up in that corner so that she could get a view of Miss Gregg receiving. Ah, now let me think, I rather fancy that that was when Ardwyck Fenn arrived.â

âAnd who is Ardwyck Fenn?â

Hailey Preston looked shocked. âHeâs a big shot, Chief-Inspector. A very big shot in the television and moving picture world. We didnât even know he was in this country.â

âHis turning up was a surprise?â

âIâll say it was,â said Preston. âNice of him to come and quite unexpected.â

âWas he an old friend of Miss Greggâs and Mr. Ruddâs?â

âHe was an old friend of Marinaâs a good many years ago when she was married to her second husband. I donât know how well Jason knew him.â

âAnyway, it was a pleasant surprise when he arrived?â

âSure it was. We were all delighted.â

Craddock nodded and passed from that to other subjects. He made meticulous inquiries about the drinks, their ingredients, how they were served, who served them, what servants and hired servants were on duty. The answers seemed to be, as Inspector Cornish had already hinted was the case that, although anyone of thirty people could have poisoned Heather Badcock with the utmost ease, yet at the same time anyone of the thirty might have been seen doing so! It was, Craddock reflected, a big chance to take.

âThank you,â he said at last. âNow I would like, if I may, to speak to Miss Marina Gregg.â

Hailey Preston shook his head.

âIâm sorry,â he said. âI really am sorry but thatâs right out of the question.â

Craddockâs eyebrows rose.

âSurely!â

âSheâs prostrated. Sheâs absolutely prostrated. Sheâs got her own physician here looking after her. He wrote out a certificate. Iâve got it here. Iâll show it to you.â

Craddock took it and read it.

âI see,â he said. He asked, âDoes Marina Gregg always have a physician in attendance?â

âTheyâre very high strung, all these actors and actresses. Itâs a big strain, this life. Itâs usually considered desirable in the case of the big shots that they should have a physician who understands their constitution and their nerves. Maurice Gilchrist has a very big reputation. Heâs looked after Miss Gregg for many years now. Sheâs had a great deal of illness, as you may have read, in the last four years. She was hospitalized for a very long time. Itâs only about a year ago that she got her strength and health back.â

âI see.â

Hailey Preston seemed relieved that Craddock was not making anymore protests.

âYouâll want to see Mr. Rudd?â he suggested. âHeâll beââ he looked at his watch, ââheâll be back from the studios in about ten minutes if thatâs all right for you.â

âThatâll do admirably,â said Craddock. âIn the meantime is Dr. Gilchrist in the house?â

âHe is.â

âThen Iâd like to talk to him.â

âWhy, certainly. Iâll fetch him right away.â

The young man bustled away. Dermot Craddock stood thoughtfully at the top of the stairs. Of course this frozen look that Mrs. Bantry had described might have been entirely Mrs. Bantryâs imagination. She was, he thought, a woman who would jump to conclusions. At the same time he thought it quite likely that the conclusion to which she had jumped was a just one. Without going so far as to look like the Lady of Shalott seeing doom coming down upon her, Marina Gregg might have seen something that vexed or annoyed her. Something that had caused her to have been negligent to a guest to whom she was talking. Somebody had come up those stairs, perhaps, who could be described as an unexpected guestâan unwelcome guest?

He turned at the sound of footsteps. Hailey Preston was back and with him was Dr. Maurice Gilchrist. Dr. Gilchrist was not at all as Dermot Craddock had imagined him. He had no suave bedside manner, neither was he theatrical in appearance. He seemed on the face of it a blunt, hearty, matter-of-fact man. He was dressed in tweeds, slightly florid tweeds to the English idea. He had a thatch of brown hair and observant, keen dark eyes.

âDoctor Gilchrist? I am Chief-Inspector Dermot Craddock. May I have a word or two with you in private?â

The doctor nodded. He turned along the corridor and went along it almost to the end, then he pushed the door open and invited Craddock to enter.

âNo one will disturb us here,â he said.

It was obviously the doctorâs own bedroom, a very comfortably appointed one. Dr. Gilchrist indicated a chair and then sat down himself.

âI understand,â said Craddock, âthat Miss Marina Gregg, according to you, is unable to be interviewed. Whatâs the matter with her, Doctor?â

Gilchrist shrugged his shoulders very slightly.

âNerves,â he said. âIf you were to ask her questions now sheâd be in a state bordering on hysteria within ten minutes. I canât permit that. If you like to send your police doctor to see me, Iâd be willing to give him my views. She was unable to be present at the inquest for the same reason.â

âHow long,â asked Craddock, âis such a state of things likely to continue?â

Dr. Gilchrist looked at him and smiled. It was a likeable smile.

âIf you want my opinion,â he said, âa human opinion, that is, not a medical one, anytime within the next forty-eight hours, and sheâll be not only willing, but asking to see you! Sheâll be wanting to ask questions. Sheâll be wanting to answer your questions. Theyâre like that!â He leaned forward. âIâd like to try and make you understand if I can, Chief-Inspector, a little bit what makes these people act the way they do. The motion picture life is a life of continuous strain, and the more successful you are, the greater the strain. You live always, all day, in the public eye. When youâre on location, when youâre working, itâs hard monotonous work with long hours. Youâre there in the morning, you sit and you wait. You do your small bit, the bit thatâs being shot over and over again. If youâre rehearsing on the stage youâd be rehearsing as likely as not a whole act, or at any rate a part of an act. The thing would be in sequence, it would be more or less human and credible. But when youâre shooting a picture everythingâs taken out of sequence. Itâs a monotonous, grinding business. Itâs exhausting. You live in luxury, of course, you have soothing drugs, you have baths and creams and powders and medical attention, you have relaxations and parties and people, but youâre always in the public eye. You canât enjoy yourself quietly. You canât reallyâever relax.â

âI can understand that,â said Dermot. âYes, I can understand.â

âAnd thereâs another thing,â went on Gilchrist. âIf you adopt this career, and especially if youâre any good at it, you are a certain kind of person. Youâre a personâor so Iâve found in my experienceâwith a skin too fewâa person who is plagued the whole time with diffidence. A terrible feeling of inadequacy, of apprehension that you canât do whatâs required of you. People say that actors and actresses are vain. That isnât true. Theyâre not conceited about themselves; theyâre obsessed with themselves, yes, but they need reassurance the whole time. They must be continually reassured. Ask Jason Rudd. Heâll tell you the same. You have to make them feel they can do it, to assure them they can do it, take them over and over again over the same thing encouraging them the whole time until you get the effect you want. But they are always doubtful of themselves. And that makes them, in an ordinary human, unprofessional word: nervy. Damned nervy! A mass of nerves. And the worse their nerves are the better they are at the job.â

âThatâs interesting,â said Craddock. âVery interesting.â He paused, adding: âThough I donât see quite why youââ

âIâm trying to make you understand Marina Gregg,â said Maurice Gilchrist. âYouâve seen her pictures, no doubt.â

âSheâs a wonderful actress,â said Dermot, âwonderful. She has a personality, a beauty, a sympathy.â

âYes,â said Gilchrist, âshe has all those, and sheâs had to work like the devil to produce the effects that she has produced. In the process her nerves get shot to pieces, and sheâs not actually a strong woman physically. Not as strong as you need to be. Sheâs got one of those temperaments that swing to and fro between despair and rapture. She canât help it. Sheâs made that way. Sheâs suffered a great deal in her life. A large part of the suffering has been her own fault, but some of it hasnât. None of her marriages has been happy, except, Iâd say, this last one. Sheâs married to a man now who loves her dearly and whoâs loved her for years. Sheâs sheltering in that love and sheâs happy in it. At least, at the moment sheâs happy in it. One canât say how long all that will last. The trouble with her is that either she thinks that at last sheâs got to that spot or place or that moment in her life where everythingâs like a fairy tale come true, that nothing can go wrong, that sheâll never be unhappy again; or else sheâs down in the dumps, a woman whose life is ruined, whoâs never known love and happiness and who never will again.â He added dryly, âIf she could only stop halfway between the two itâd be wonderful for her; and the world would lose a fine actress.â

He paused, but Dermot Craddock did not speak. He was wondering why Maurice Gilchrist was saying what he did. Why this close detailed analysis of Marina Gregg? Gilchrist was looking at him. It was as though he was urging Dermot to ask one particular question. Dermot wondered very much what the question was that he ought to ask. He said at last slowly, with the air of one feeling his way:

âSheâs been very much upset by this tragedy happening here?â

âYes,â said Gilchrist, âshe has.â

âAlmost unnaturally so?â

âThat depends,â said Dr. Gilchrist.

âOn what does it depend?â

âOn her reason for being so upset.â

âI suppose,â said Dermot, feeling his way, âthat it was a shock, a sudden death happening like that in the midst of a party.â

He saw very little response in the face opposite him âOr might it,â he said, âbe something more than that?â

âYou canât tell, of course,â said Dr. Gilchrist, âhow people are going to react. You canât tell however well you know them. They can always surprise you. Marina might have taken this in her stride. Sheâs a soft-hearted creature. She might say, âOh, poor, poor woman, how tragic. I wonder how it could have happened.â She could have been sympathetic without really caring. After all deaths do occasionally occur at studio parties. Or she might, if there wasnât anything very interesting going on, chooseâchoose unconsciously, mind youâto dramatize herself over it. She might decide to throw a scene. Or there might be some quite different reason.â

Dermot decided to take the bull by the horns. âI wish,â he said, âyou would tell me what you really think?â

âI donât know,â said Dr. Gilchrist. âI canât be sure.â He paused and then said, âThereâs professional etiquette, you know. Thereâs the relationship between doctor and patient.â

âShe has told you something?â

âI donât think I could go as far as that.â

âDid Marina Gregg know this woman, Heather Badcock? Had she met her before?â

âI donât think she knew her from Adam,â said Dr. Gilchrist. âNo. Thatâs not the trouble. If you ask me itâs nothing to do with Heather Badcock.â

Dermot said, âThis stuff, this Calmo. Does Marina Gregg ever use it herself?â

âLives on it, pretty well,â said Dr. Gilchrist. âSo does everyone else around here,â he added. âElla Zielinsky takes it, Hailey Preston takes it, half the boiling takes itâitâs the fashion at this moment. Theyâre all much the same, these things. People get tired of one and they try a new one that comes out and they think itâs wonderful, and that it makes all the difference.â

âAnd does it make all the difference?â

âWell,â said Gilchrist, âit makes a difference. It does its work. It calms you or it peps you up, makes you feel you could do things which otherwise you might fancy that you couldnât. I donât prescribe them more than I can help, but theyâre not dangerous taken properly. They help people who canât help themselves.â

âI wish I knew,â said Dermot Craddock, âwhat it is that you are trying to tell me.â

âIâm trying to decide,â said Gilchrist, âwhat is my duty. There are two duties. Thereâs the duty of a doctor to his patient. What his patient says to him is confidential and must be kept so. But thereâs another point of view. You can fancy that there is a danger to a patient. You have to take steps to avoid that danger.â

He stopped. Craddock looked at him and waited.

âYes,â said Dr. Gilchrist. âI think I know what I must do. I must ask you, Chief-Inspector Craddock, to keep what I am telling you confidential. Not from your colleagues, of course. But as far as regards the outer world, particularly in the house here. Do you agree?â

âI canât bind myself,â said Craddock. âI donât know what will arise. In general terms, yes, I agree. That is to say, I imagine that any piece of information you gave me I should prefer to keep to myself and my colleagues.â

âNow listen,â said Gilchrist, âthis maynât mean anything at all. Women say anything when theyâre in the state of nerves Marina Gregg is now. Iâm telling you something which she said to me. There may be nothing in it at all.â

âWhat did she say?â asked Craddock.

âShe broke down after this thing happened. She sent for me. I gave her a sedative. I stayed there beside her, holding her hand, telling her to calm down, telling her things were going to be all right. Then, just before she went off into unconsciousness she said, âIt was meant for me, Doctor.ââ

Craddock stared. âShe said that, did she? And afterwardsâthe next day?â

âShe never alluded to it again. I raised the point once. She evaded it. She said, âOh, you must have made a mistake. Iâm sure I never said anything like that. I expect I was half doped at the time.ââ

âBut you think she meant it?â

âShe meant it all right,â said Gilchrist. âThatâs not to say that it is so,â he added warningly. âWhether someone meant to poison her or meant to poison Heather Badcock I donât know. Youâd probably know better than I would. All I do say is that Marina Gregg definitely thought and believed that that dose was meant for her.â

Craddock was silent for some moments. Then he said, âThank you, Doctor Gilchrist. I appreciate what you have told me and I realize your motive. If what Marina Gregg said to you was founded on fact it may mean, may it not, that there is still danger to her?â

âThatâs the point,â said Gilchrist. âThatâs the whole point.â

âHave you any reason to believe that that might be so?â

âNo, I havenât.â

âNo idea what her reason for thinking so was?â

âNo.â

âThank you.â

Craddock got up. âJust one thing more, Doctor. Do you know if she said the same thing to her husband?â

Slowly Gilchrist shook his head. âNo,â he said, âIâm quite sure of that. She didnât tell her husband.â

His eyes met Dermotâs for a few moments then he gave a brief nod of his head and said, âYou donât want me anymore? All right. Iâll go back and have a look at the patient. You shall talk to her as soon as itâs possible.â

He left the room and Craddock remained, pursing his lips up and whistling very softly beneath his breath.

Ten

âJasonâs back now,â said Hailey Preston. âWill you come with me, Chief-Inspector, Iâll take you to his room.â

The room which Jason Rudd used partly for office and partly for a sitting room, was on the first floor. It was comfortably but not luxuriously furnished. It was a room which had little personality and no indication of the private tastes or predilection of its user. Jason Rudd rose from the desk at which he was sitting, and came forward to meet Dermot. It was wholly unnecessary, Dermot thought, for the room to have a personality; the user of it had so much. Hailey Preston had been an efficient and voluble gasbag. Gilchrist had force and magnetism. But here was a man whom, as Dermot immediately admitted to himself, it would not be easy to read. In the course of his career, Craddock had met and summed up many people. By now he was fully adept in realizing the potentialities and very often reading the thoughts of most of the people with whom he came in contact. But he felt at once that one would be able to gauge only as much of Jason Ruddâs thoughts as Jason Rudd himself permitted. The eyes, deepset and thoughtful, perceived but would not easily reveal. The ugly, rugged head spoke of an excellent intellect. The clownâs face could repel you or attract you. Here, thought Dermot Craddock to himself, is where I sit and listen and take very careful notes.

âSorry, Chief-Inspector, if youâve had to wait for me. I was held up by some small complication over at the Studios. Can I offer you a drink?â

âNot just now, thank you, Mr. Rudd.â

The clownâs face suddenly crinkled into a kind of ironic amusement.

âNot the house to take a drink in, is that what youâre thinking?â

âAs a matter of fact it wasnât what I was thinking.â

âNo, no I suppose not. Well, Chief-Inspector, what do you want to know? What can I tell you?â

âMr. Preston has answered very adequately all the questions I have put to him.â

âAnd that has been helpful to you?â

âNot as helpful as I could wish.â

Jason Rudd looked inquiring.

âIâve also seen Dr. Gilchrist. He informs me that your wife is not yet strong enough to be asked questions.â

âMarina,â said Jason Rudd, âis very sensitive. Sheâs subject, frankly, to nervous storms. And murder at such close quarters is, as you will admit, likely to produce a nerve storm.â

âIt is not a pleasant experience,â Dermot Craddock agreed, dryly.

âIn any case I doubt if there is anything my wife could tell you that you could not learn equally well from me. I was standing beside her when the thing happened, and frankly I would say that I am a better observer than my wife.â

âThe first question I would like to ask,â said Dermot, â(and it is a question that you have probably answered already but for all that I would like to ask again), had you or your wife any previous acquaintance with Heather Badcock?â

Jason Rudd shook his head.

âNone whatever. I certainly have never seen the woman before in my life. I had two letters from her on behalf of the St. John Ambulance Association, but I had not met her personally until about five minutes before her death.â

âBut she claimed to have met your wife?â

Jason Rudd nodded.

âYes, some twelve or thirteen years ago, I gather. In Bermuda. Some big garden party in aid of ambulances, which Marina opened for them, I think, and Mrs. Badcock, as soon as she was introduced, burst into some long rigmarole of how although she was in bed with flu, she had got up and had managed to come to this affair and had asked for and got my wifeâs autograph.â

Again the ironical smile crinkled his face.

âThat, I may say, is a very common occurrence, Chief-Inspector. Large mobs of people are usually lined up to obtain my wifeâs autograph and it is a moment that they treasure and remember. Quite understandably, it is an event in their lives. Equally naturally it is not likely that my wife would remember one out of a thousand or so autograph hunters. She had, quite frankly, no recollection of ever having seen Mrs. Badcock before.â

âThat I can well understand,â said Craddock. âNow I have been told, Mr. Rudd, by an onlooker that your wife was slightly distraite during the few moments that Heather Badcock was speaking to her. Would you agree that such was the case?â

âVery possibly,â said Jason Rudd. âMarina is not particularly strong. She was, of course, used to what I may describe as her public social work, and could carry out her duties in that line almost automatically. But towards the end of a long day she was inclined occasionally to flag. This may have been such a moment. I did not, I may say, observe anything of the kind myself. No, wait a minute, that is not quite true. I do remember that she was a little slow in making her reply to Mrs. Badcock. In fact I think I nudged her very gently in the ribs.â

âSomething had perhaps distracted her attention?â said Dermot.

âPossibly, but it may have been just a momentary lapse through fatigue.â

Dermot Craddock was silent for a few minutes. He looked out of the window where the view was the somewhat sombre one over the woods surrounding Gossington Hall. He looked at the pictures on the walls, and finally he looked at Jason Rudd. Jason Ruddâs face was attentive but nothing more. There was no guide to his feelings. He appeared courteous and completely at ease, but he might, Craddock thought, be actually nothing of the kind. This was a man of very high mental calibre. One would not, Dermot thought, get anything out of him that he was not prepared to say unless one put oneâs cards on the table. Dermot took his decision. He would do just that.

âHas it occurred to you, Mr. Rudd, that the poisoning of Heather Badcock may have been entirely accidental? That the real intended victim was your wife?â

There was a silence. Jason Ruddâs face did not change its expression. Dermot waited. Finally Jason Rudd gave a deep sigh and appeared to relax.

âYes,â he said quietly, âyouâre quite right, Chief-Inspector. I have been sure of it all along.â

âBut you have said nothing to that effect, not to Inspector Cornish, not at the inquest?â

âNo.â

âWhy not, Mr. Rudd?â

âI could answer you very adequately by saying that it was merely a belief on my part unsupported by any kind of evidence. The facts that led me to deduce it, were facts equally accessible to the law which was probably better qualified to decide than I was. I knew nothing about Mrs. Badcock personally. She might have enemies, someone might have decided to administer a fatal dose to her on this particular occasion, though it would seem a very curious and far-fetched decision. But it might have been chosen conceivably for the reason that at a public occasion of this kind the issues would be more confused, the number of strangers present would be considerable and just for that reason it would be more difficult to bring home to the person in question the commission of such a crime. All that is true, but I am going to be frank with you, Chief-Inspector. That was not my reason for keeping silent. I will tell you what the reason was. I didnât want my wife to suspect for one moment that it was she who had narrowly escaped dying by poison.â

âThank you for your frankness,â said Dermot. âNot that I quite understand your motive in keeping silent.â

âNo? Perhaps it is a little difficult to explain. You would have to know Marina to understand. She is a person who badly needs happiness and security. Her life has been highly successful in the material sense. She has won renown artistically but her personal life has been one of deep unhappiness. Again and again she has thought that she has found happiness and was wildly and unduly elated thereby, and has had her hopes dashed to the ground. She is incapable, Mr. Craddock, of taking a rational, prudent view of life. In her previous marriages she has expected, like a child reading a fairy story, to live happy ever afterwards.â

Again the ironic smile changed the ugliness of the clownâs face into a strange, sudden sweetness.

âBut marriage is not like that, Chief-Inspector. There can be no rapture continued indefinitely. We are fortunate indeed if we can achieve a life of quiet content, affection, and serene and sober happiness.â He added. âPerhaps you are married, Chief-Inspector?â

Dermot Craddock shook his head.

âI have not so far that good, or bad fortune,â he murmured.

âIn our world, the moving picture world, marriage is a fully occupational hazard. Film stars marry often. Sometimes happily, sometimes disastrously, but seldom permanently. In that respect I should not say that Marina has had any undue cause to complain, but to one of her temperament things of that kind matter very deeply. She imbued herself with the idea that she was unlucky, that nothing would ever go right for her. She has always been looking desperately for the same things, love, happiness, affection, security. She was wildly anxious to have children. According to some medical opinion, the very strength of that anxiety frustrated its object. One very celebrated physician advised the adoption of a child. He said it is often the case that when an intense desire for maternity is assuaged by having adopted a baby, a child is born naturally shortly afterwards. Marina adopted no less than three children. For a time she got a certain amount of happiness and serenity, but it was not the real thing. You can imagine her delight when eleven years ago she found she was going to have a child. Her pleasure and delight were quite indescribable. She was in good health and the doctors assured her that there was every reason to believe that everything would go well. As you may or may not know, the result was tragedy. The child, a boy, was born mentally deficient, imbecile. The result was disastrous. Marina had a complete breakdown and was severely ill for years, confined to a sanatorium. Though her recovery was slow she did recover. Shortly after that we married and she began once more to take an interest in life and to feel that perhaps she could be happy. It was difficult at first for her to get a worthwhile contract for a picture. Everyone was inclined to doubt whether her health would stand the strain. I had to battle for that.â Jason Ruddâs lips set firmly together. âWell, the battle was successful. We have started shooting the picture. In the meantime we bought this house and set about altering it. Only about a fortnight ago Marina was saying to me how happy she was, and how she felt at last she was going to be able to settle down to a happy home life, her troubles behind her. I was a little nervous because, as usual, her expectations were too optimistic. But there was no doubt that she was happy. Her nervous symptoms disappeared, there was a calmness and a quietness about her that I had never seen before. Everything was going well untilââ He paused. His voice became suddenly bitter. âUntil this happened! That woman had to dieâhere! That in itself was shock enough. I couldnât riskâI was determined not to riskâMarinaâs knowing that an attempt had been made on her life. That would have been a second, perhaps fatal, shock. It might have precipitated another mental collapse.â

He looked directly at Dermot.

âDo you understandânow?â

âI see your point of view,â said Craddock, âbut forgive me, isnât there one aspect that you are neglecting? You give me your conviction that an attempt was made to poison your wife. Doesnât that danger still remain? If a poisoner does not succeed, isnât it likely that the attempt may be repeated?â

âNaturally Iâve considered that,â said Jason Rudd, âbut I am confident that, being forewarned so to speak, I can take all reasonable precautions for my wifeâs safety. I shall watch over her and arrange that others shall watch over her. The great thing, I feel, is that she herself should not know that any danger threatened her.â

âAnd you think,â said Dermot cautiously, âthat she does not know?â

âOf course not. She has no idea.â

âYouâre sure of that?â

âCertain. Such an idea would never occur to her.â

âBut it occurred to you,â Dermot pointed out.

âThatâs very different,â said Jason Rudd. âLogically it was the only solution. But my wife isnât logical, and to begin with she could not possibly imagine that anyone would want to do away with her. Such a possibility would simply not occur to her mind.â

âYou may be right,â said Dermot slowly, âbut that leaves us now with several other questions. Again, let me put this bluntly. Whom do you suspect?â

âI canât tell you.â

âExcuse me, Mr. Rudd, do you mean by that you canât or that you wonât?â

Jason Rudd spoke quickly. âCanât. Canât every time. It seems to me just as impossible as it would seem to her that anyone would dislike her enoughâshould have a sufficient grudge against herâto do such a thing. On the other hand, on the sheer, downright evidence of the facts, that is exactly what must have occurred.â

âWill you outline the facts to me as you see them?â

âIf you like. The circumstances are quite clear. I poured out two daiquiri cocktails from an already prepared jug. I took them to Marina and Mrs. Badcock. What Mrs. Badcock did I do not know. She moved on, I presume, to speak to someone she knew. My wife had her drink in her hand. At that moment the mayor and his wife were approaching. She put down her glass, as yet untouched, and greeted them. Then there were more greetings. An old friend weâd not seen for years, some other locals and one or two people from the studios. During that time the glass containing the cocktail stood on the table which was situated at that time behind us since we had both moved forward a little to the top of the stairs. One or two photographs were taken of my wife talking to the mayor, which we hoped would please the local population, at the special request of the representatives of the local newspaper. While this was being done I brought some fresh drinks to a few of the last arrivals. During that time my wifeâs glass must have been poisoned. Donât ask me how it was done, it cannot have been easy to do. On the other hand, it is startling, if anyone has the nerve to do an action openly and unconcernedly, how little people are likely to notice it! You ask me if I have suspicions; all I can say is that at least one of about twenty people might have done it. People, you see, were moving about in little groups, talking, occasionally going off to have a look at the alterations which had been done to the house. There was movement, continual movement. Iâve thought and Iâve thought, Iâve racked my brains but there is nothing, absolutely nothing to direct my suspicions to any particular person.â

He paused and gave an exasperated sigh.

âI understand,â said Dermot. âGo on, please.â

âI dare say youâve heard the next part before.â

âI should like to hear it again from you.â

âWell, I had come back towards the head of the stairs. My wife had turned towards the table and was just picking up her glass. There was a slight exclamation from Mrs. Badcock. Somebody must have jogged her arm and the glass slipped out of her fingers and was broken on the floor. Marina did the natural hostessâs act. Her own skirt had been slightly touched with the liquid. She insisted no harm was done, used her own handkerchief to wipe Mrs. Badcockâs skirt and insisted on her having her own drink. If I remember she said âIâve had far too much already.â So that was that. But I can assure you of this. The fatal dose could not have been added after that for Mrs. Badcock immediately began to drink from the glass. As you know, four or five minutes later she was dead. I wonderâhow I wonderâwhat the poisoner must have felt when he realised how badly his scheme had failedâ¦.â

âAll this occurred to you at the time?â

âOf course not. At the time I concluded, naturally enough, this woman had had some kind of a seizure. Perhaps heart, coronary thrombosis, something of that sort. It never occurred to me that poisoning was involved. Would it occur to youâwould it occur to anybody?â

âProbably not,â said Dermot. âWell your account is clear enough and you seem sure of your facts. You say you have no suspicion of any particular person. I canât quite accept that, you know.â

âI assure you itâs the truth.â

âLet us approach it from another angle. Who is there who could wish to harm your wife? It all sounds melodramatic if you put it this way, but what enemies had she got?â

Jason Rudd made an expressive gesture.

âEnemies? Enemies? Itâs so hard to define what one means by an enemy. Thereâs plenty of envy and jealousy in the world my wife and I occupy. There are always people who say malicious things, whoâll start a whispering campaign, who will do someone they are jealous of a bad turn if the opportunity occurs. But that doesnât mean that any of those people is a murderer, or indeed even a likely murderer. Donât you agree?â

âYes, I agree. There must be something beyond petty dislikes or envies. Is there anyone whom your wife has injured, say, in the past?â

Jason Rudd did not rebut this easily. Instead he frowned.

âHonestly, I donât think so,â he said at last, âand I may say Iâve given a lot of thought to that point.â

âAnything in the nature of a love affair, an association with some man?â

âThere have of course been affairs of that kind. It may be considered, I suppose, that Marina has occasionally treated some man badly. But there is nothing to cause any lasting ill will. Iâm sure of it.â

âWhat about women? Any woman who has had a lasting grudge against Miss Gregg?â

âWell,â said Jason Rudd, âyou can never tell with women. I canât think of any particular one offhand.â

âWhoâd benefit financially by your wifeâs death?â

âHer will benefits various people but not to any large extent. I suppose the people whoâd benefit, as you put it, financially, would be myself as her husband, from another angle, possibly the star who might replace her in this film. Though, of course, the film might be abandoned altogether. These things are very uncertain.â

âWell, we need not go into all that now,â said Dermot.

âAnd I have your assurance that Marina will not be told that she is in possible danger?â

âWe shall have to go into that matter,â said Dermot. âI want to impress upon you that you are taking quite a considerable risk there. However, the matter will not arise for some days since your wife is still under medical care. Now there is one more thing I would like you to do. I would like you to write down for me as accurately as you can every single person who was in that recess at the top of the stairs, or whom you saw coming up the stairs at the time of the murder.â

âIâll do my best, but Iâm rather doubtful. Youâd do far better to consult my secretary, Ella Zielinsky. She has a most accurate memory and also lists of the local lads who were there. If youâd like to see her nowââ

âI would like to talk to Miss Ella Zielinsky very much,â said Dermot.

Eleven

I

Surveying Dermot Craddock unemotionally through her large horn-rimmed spectacles, Ella Zielinsky seemed to him almost too good to be true. With quiet businesslike alacrity she whipped out of a drawer a typewritten sheet and passed it across to him.

âI think I can be fairly sure that there are no omissions,â she said. âBut it is just possible that I may have included one or two namesâlocal names they will beâwho were not actually there. That is to say who may have left earlier or who may not have been found and brought up. Actually, Iâm pretty sure that it is correct.â

âA very efficient piece of work if I may say so,â said Dermot.

âThank you.â

âI supposeâI am quite an ignoramus in such thingsâthat you have to attain a high standard of efficiency in your job?â

âOne has to have things pretty well taped, yes.â

âWhat else does your job comprise? Are you a kind of liaison officer, so to speak, between the studios and Gossington Hall?â

âNo. Iâve nothing to do with the studios, actually, though of course I naturally take messages from there on the telephone or send them. My job is to look after Miss Greggâs social life, her public and private engagements, and to supervise in some degree the running of the house.â

âYou like the job?â

âItâs extremely well paid and I find it reasonably interesting. I didnât however bargain for murder,â she added dryly.

âDid it seem very incredible to you?â

âSo much so that I am going to ask you if you are really sure it is murder?â

âSix times the close of di-ethyl-mexine etc. etc., could hardly be anything else.â

âIt might have been an accident of some kind.â

âAnd how would you suggest such an accident could have occurred?â

âMore easily than youâd imagine, since you donât know the setup. This house is simply full of drugs of all kinds. I donât mean dope when I say drugs. I mean properly prescribed remedies, but, like most of these things, what they call, I understand, the lethal dose is not very far removed from the therapeutic dose.â

Dermot nodded.

âThese theatrical and picture people have the most curious lapses in their intelligence. Sometimes it seems to me that the more of an artistic genius you are, the less common sense you have in everyday life.â

âThat may well be.â

âWhat with all the bottles, cachets, powders, capsules, and little boxes that they carry about with them; what with popping in a tranquillizer here and a tonic there and a pep pill somewhere else, donât you think it would be easy enough that the whole thing might get mixed-up?â

âI donât see how it could apply in this case.â

âWell, I think it could. Somebody, one of the guests, may have wanted a sedative, or a reviver, and whipped out his or her little container which they carry around and possibly because they hadnât remembered the dose because they hadnât had one for some time, might have put too much in a glass. Then their mind was distracted and they went off somewhere, and letâs say this Mrs. Whatâs-her-name comes along, thinks itâs her glass, picks it up and drinks it. Thatâs surely a more feasible idea than anything else?â

âYou donât think that all those possibilities havenât been gone into, do you?â

âNo, I suppose not. But there were a lot of people there and a lot of glasses standing about with drinks in them. It happens often enough, you know, that you pick up the wrong glass and drink out of it.â

âThen you donât think that Heather Badcock was deliberately poisoned? You think that she drank out of somebody elseâs glass?â

âI canât imagine anything more likely to happen.â

âIn that case,â said Dermot speaking carefully, âit would have had to be Marina Greggâs glass. You realise that? Marina handed her her own glass.â

âOr what she thought was her own glass,â Ella Zielinsky corrected him. âYou havenât talked to Marina yet, have you? Sheâs extremely vague. Sheâd pick up any glass that looked as though it were hers, and drink it. Iâve seen her do it again and again.â

âShe takes Calmo?â

âOh yes, we all do.â

âYou too, Miss Zielinsky?â

âIâm driven to it sometimes,â said Ella Zielinsky. âThese things are rather imitative, you know.â

âI shall be glad,â said Dermot, âwhen I am able to talk to Miss Gregg. Sheâerâseems to be prostrated for a very long time.â

âThatâs just throwing a temperament,â said Ella Zielinsky. âShe just dramatizes herself a good deal, you know. Sheâd never take murder in her stride.â

âAs you manage to do, Miss Zielinsky?â

âWhen everybody about you is in a continual state of agitation,â said Ella dryly, âit develops in you a desire to go to the opposite extreme.â

âYou learn to take a pride in not turning a hair when some shocking tragedy occurs?â

She considered. âItâs not a really nice trait, perhaps. But I think if you didnât develop that sense youâd probably go round the bend yourself.â

âWas Miss Greggâis Miss Gregg a difficult person to work for?â

It was something of a personal question but Dermot Craddock regarded it as a kind of test. If Ella Zielinsky raised her eyebrows and tacitly demanded what this had to do with the murder of Mrs. Badcock, he would be forced to admit that it had nothing to do with it. But he wondered if Ella Zielinsky might perhaps enjoy telling him what she thought of Marina Gregg.

âSheâs a great artist. Sheâs got a personal magnetism that comes over on the screen in the most extraordinary way. Because of that one feels itâs rather a privilege to work with her. Taken purely personally, of course, sheâs hell!â

âAh,â said Dermot.

âSheâs no kind of moderation, you see. Sheâs up in the air or down in the dumps and everything is always terrifically exaggerated, and she changes her mind and there are an enormous lot of things that one must never mention or allude to because they upset her.â

âSuch as?â

âWell, naturally, mental breakdown, or sanatoriums for mental cases. I think it is quite to be understood that she should be sensitive about that. And anything to do with children.â

âChildren? In what way?â

âWell, it upsets her to see children, or to hear of people being happy with children. If she hears someone is going to have a baby or has just had a baby, it throws her into a state of misery at once. She can never have another child herself, you see, and the only one she did have is batty. I donât know if you knew that?â

âI had heard it, yes. Itâs all very sad and unfortunate. But after a good many years youâd think sheâd forget about it a little.â

âShe doesnât. Itâs an obsession with her. She broods on it.â

âWhat does Mr. Rudd feel about it?â

âOh, it wasnât his child. It was her last husbandâs, Isidore Wrightâs.â

âAh yes, her last husband. Where is he now?â

âHe married again and lives in Florida,â said Ella Zielinsky promptly.

âWould you say that Marina Gregg had made many enemies in her life?â

âNot unduly so. Not more than most, that is to say. There are always rows over other women or other men or over contracts or jealousyâall of those things.â

âShe wasnât as far as you know afraid of anyone?â

âMarina? Afraid of anyone? I donât think so. Why? Should she be?â

âI donât know,â said Dermot. He picked up the list of names. âThank you very much, Miss Zielinsky. If thereâs anything else I want to know Iâll come back. May I?â

âCertainly. Iâm only too anxiousâweâre all only too anxiousâto do anything we can to help.â

II

âWell, Tom, what have you got for me?â

Detective-Sergeant Tiddler grinned appreciatively. His name was not Tom, it was William, but the combination of Tom Tiddler had always been too much for his colleagues.

âWhat gold and silver have you picked up for me?â continued Dermot Craddock.

The two were staying at the Blue Boar and Tiddler had just come back from a day spent at the studios.

âThe proportion of gold is very small,â said Tiddler. âNot much gossip. No startling rumours. One or two suggestions of suicide.â

âWhy suicide?â

âThey thought she might have had a row with her husband and be trying to make him sorry. That line of country. But that she didnât really mean to go so far as doing herself in.â

âI canât see that thatâs a very helpful line,â said Dermot.

âNo, of course it isnât. They know nothing about it, you see. They donât know anything except what theyâre busy on. Itâs all highly technical and thereâs an atmosphere of âthe show must go on,â or as I suppose one ought to say the picture must go on, or the shooting must go on. I donât know any of the right terms. All theyâre concerned about is when Marina Gregg will get back to the set. Sheâs mucked up a picture once or twice before by staging a nervous breakdown.â

âDo they like her on the whole?â

âI should say they consider her the devil of a nuisance but for all that they canât help being fascinated by her when sheâs in the mood to fascinate them. Her husbandâs besotted about her, by the way.â

âWhat do they think of him?â

âThey think heâs the finest director or producer or whatever it is that thereâs ever been.â

âNo rumours of his being mixed-up with some other star or some woman of some kind?â

Tom Tiddler stared. âNo,â he said, âno. Not a hint of such a thing. Why, do you think there might be?â

âI wondered,â said Dermot. âMarina Gregg is convinced that that lethal dose was meant for her.â

âIs she now? Is she right?â

âAlmost certainly, I should say,â Dermot replied. âBut thatâs not the point. The point is that she hasnât told her husband so, only her doctor.â

âDo you think she would have told him ifââ

âI just wondered,â said Craddock, âwhether she might have had at the back of her mind an idea that her husband had been responsible. The doctorâs manner was a little peculiar. I may have imagined it but I donât think I did.â

âWell, there were no such rumours going about at the studios,â said Tom. âYou hear that sort of thing soon enough.â

âShe herself is not embroiled with any other man?â

âNo, she seems to be devoted to Rudd.â

âNo interesting snippets about her past?â

Tiddler grinned. âNothing to what you can read in a film magazine any day of the week.â

âI think Iâll have to read a few,â said Dermot, âto get the atmosphere.â

âThe things they say and hint!â said Tiddler.

âI wonder,â said Dermot thoughtfully, âif my Miss Marple reads film magazines.â

âIs that the old lady who lives in the house by the church?â

âThatâs right.â

âThey say sheâs sharp,â said Tiddler. âThey say thereâs nothing goes on here that Miss Marple doesnât hear about. She may not know much about the film people, but she ought to be able to give you the lowdown on the Badcocks all right.â

âItâs not as simple as it used to be,â said Dermot. âThereâs a new social life springing up here. A housing estate, big building development. The Badcocks are fairly new and come from there.â

âI didnât hear much about the locals, of course,â said Tiddler. âI concentrated on the sex life of film stars and such things.â

âYou havenât brought back very much,â grumbled Dermot. âWhat about Marina Greggâs past, anything about that?â

âDone a bit of marrying in her time but not more than most. Her first husband didnât like getting the chuck, so they said, but he was a very ordinary sort of bloke. He was a realtor or something like that. What is a realtor, by the way?â

âI think it means in the real estate business.â

âOh well, anyway, he didnât line up as very glamorous so she got rid of him and married a foreign count or prince. That lasted hardly anytime at all but there donât seem to be any bones broken. She just shook him off and teamed up with number three. Film star Robert Truscott. That was said to be a passionate love match. His wife didnât much like letting go of him, but she had to take it in the end. Big alimony. As far as I can make out everybodyâs hard up because theyâve got to pay so much alimony to all their ex-wives.â

âBut it went wrong?â

âYes. She was the broken-hearted one, I gather. But another big romance came along a year or two later. Isidore Somebodyâa playwright.â

âItâs an exotic life,â said Dermot. âWell, weâll call it a day now. Tomorrow weâve got to get down to a bit of hard work.â

âSuch as?â

âSuch as checking a list Iâve got here. Out of twenty-odd names we ought to be able to do some elimination and out of whatâs left weâll have to look for X.â

âAny idea who X is?â

âNot in the least. If it isnât Jason Rudd, that is.â He added with a wry and ironic smile, âI shall have to go to Miss Marple and get briefed on local matters.â

Twelve

Miss Marple was pursuing her own methods of research.

âItâs very kind, Mrs. Jameson, very kind of you indeed. I canât tell you how grateful I am.â

âOh, donât mention it, Miss Marple. Iâm sure Iâm glad to oblige you. I suppose youâll want the latest ones?â

âNo, no, not particularly,â said Miss Marple. âIn fact I think Iâd rather have some of the old numbers.â

âWell, here you are then,â said Mrs. Jameson, âthereâs a nice armful and I can assure you we shanât miss them. Keep them as long as you like. Now itâs too heavy for you to carry. Jenny, howâs your perm doing?â

âSheâs all right, Mrs. Jameson. Sheâs had her rinse and now sheâs having a good dry-out.â

âIn that case, dear, you might just run along with Miss Marple here, and carry these magazines for her. No, really, Miss Marple, itâs no trouble at all. Always pleased to do anything we can for you.â

How kind people were, Miss Marple thought, especially when theyâd known you practically all their lives. Mrs. Jameson, after long years of running a hairdressing parlour had steeled herself to going as far in the cause of progress as to repaint her sign and call herself

âDIANE. Hair Stylist.â

Otherwise the shop remained much as before and catered in much the same way to the needs of its clients. It turned you out with a nice firm perm: it accepted the task of shaping and cutting for the younger generation and the resultant mess was accepted without too much recrimination. But the bulk of Mrs. Jamesonâs clientele was a bunch of solid, stick in the mud middle-aged ladies who found it extremely hard to get their hair done the way they wanted it anywhere else.

âWell, I never,â said Cherry the next morning, as she prepared to run a virulent Hoover round the lounge as she still called it in her mind. âWhatâs all this?â

âI am trying,â said Miss Marple, âto instruct myself a little in the moving picture world.â

She laid aside Movie News and picked up Amongst the Stars.

âItâs really very interesting. It reminds one so much of so many things.â

âFantastic lives they must lead,â said Cherry.

âSpecialized lives,â said Miss Marple. âHighly specialized. It reminds me very much of the things a friend of mine used to tell me. She was a hospital nurse. The same simplicity of outlook and all the gossip and the rumours. And good-looking doctors causing any amount of havoc.â

âRather sudden, isnât it, this interest of yours?â said Cherry.

âIâm finding it difficult to knit nowadays,â said Miss Marple. âOf course the print of these is rather small, but I can always use a magnifying glass.â

Cherry looked on curiously.

âYouâre always surprising me,â she said. âThe things you take an interest in.â

âI take an interest in everything,â said Miss Marple.

âI mean taking up new subjects at your age.â

Miss Marple shook her head.

âThey arenât really new subjects. Itâs human nature Iâm interested in, you know, and human nature is much the same whether itâs film stars or hospital nurses or people in St. Mary Mead or,â she added thoughtfully, âpeople who live in the Development.â

âCanât see much likeness between me and a film star,â said Cherry laughing, âmoreâs the pity. I suppose itâs Marina Gregg and her husband coming to live at Gossington Hall that set you off on this.â

âThat and the very sad event that occurred there,â said Miss Marple.

âMrs. Badcock, you mean? It was bad luck that.â

âWhat do you think of it in theââ Miss Marple paused with the âDâ hovering on her lips. âWhat do you and your friends think about it?â she amended the question.

âItâs a queer do,â said Cherry. âLooks as though it were murder, doesnât it, though of course the police are too cagey to say so outright. Still, thatâs what it looks like.â

âI donât see what else it could be,â said Miss Marple.

âIt couldnât be suicide,â agreed Cherry, ânot with Heather Badcock.â

âDid you know her well?â

âNo, not really. Hardly at all. She was a bit of a nosy parker you know. Always wanting you to join this, join that, turn up for meetings at so-and-so. Too much energy. Her husband got a bit sick of it sometimes, I think.â

âShe doesnât seem to have had any real enemies.â

âPeople used to get a bit fed up with her sometimes. The point is, I donât see who could have murdered her unless it was her husband. And heâs a very meek type. Still, the worm will turn, or so they say. Iâve always heard that Crippen was ever so nice a man and that man, Haigh, who pickled them all in acidâthey say he couldnât have been more charming! So one never knows, does one?â

âPoor Mr. Badcock,â said Miss Marple.

âAnd people say he was upset and nervy at the fÃªte that dayâbefore it happened, I meanâbut people always say that kind of thing afterwards. If you ask me, heâs looking better now than heâs looked for years. Seems to have got a bit more spirit and go in him.â

âIndeed?â said Miss Marple.

âNobody really thinks he did it,â said Cherry. âOnly if he didnât, who did? I canât help thinking myself it must have been an accident of some kind. Accidents do happen. You think you know all about mushrooms and go out and pick some. One fungus gets in among them and there you are, rolling about in agony and lucky if the doctor gets to you in time.â

âCocktails and glasses of sherry donât seem to lend themselves to accident,â said Miss Marple.

âOh, I donât know,â said Cherry. âA bottle of something or other could have got in by mistake. Somebody I knew took a dose of concentrated DDT once. Horribly ill they were.â

âAccident,â said Miss Marple thoughtfully. âYes, it certainly seems the best solution. I must say I canât believe that in the case of Heather Badcock it could have been deliberate murder. I wonât say itâs impossible. Nothing is impossible, but it doesnât seem like it. No, I think the truth lies somewhere here.â She rustled her magazines and picked up another one.

âYou mean youâre looking for some special story about someone?â

âNo,â said Miss Marple. âIâm just looking for odd mentions of people and a way of life and somethingâsome little something that might help.â She returned to her perusal of the magazines and Cherry removed her vacuum cleaner to the upper floor. Miss Marpleâs face was pink and interested, and being slightly deaf now, she did not hear the footsteps that came along the garden path towards the drawing room window. It was only when a slight shadow fell on the page that she looked up. Dermot Craddock was standing smiling at her.

âDoing your homework, I see,â he remarked.

âInspector Craddock, how very nice to see you. And how kind to spare time to come and see me. Would you like a cup of coffee, or possibly a glass of sherry?â

âA glass of sherry would be splendid,â said Dermot. âDonât you move,â he added. âIâll ask for it as I come in.â

He went round by the side door and presently joined Miss Marple.

âWell,â he said, âis that bumph giving you ideas?â

âRather too many ideas,â said Miss Marple. âIâm not often shocked, you know, but this does shock me a little.â

âWhat, the private lives of film stars?â

âOh no,â said Miss Marple, ânot that! That all seems to be most natural, given the circumstances and the money involved and the opportunities for propinquity. Oh, no, thatâs natural enough. I mean the way theyâre written about. Iâm rather old-fashioned, you know, and I feel that that really shouldnât be allowed.â

âItâs news,â said Dermot Craddock, âand some pretty nasty things can be said in the way of fair comment.â

âI know,â said Miss Marple. âIt makes me sometimes very angry. I expect you think itâs silly of me reading all these. But one does so badly want to be in things and of course sitting here in the house I canât really know as much about things as I would like to.â

âThatâs just what I thought,â said Dermot Craddock, âand thatâs why Iâve come to tell you about them.â

âBut, my dear boy, excuse me, would your superiors really approve of that?â

âI donât see why not,â said Dermot. âHere,â he added, âI have a list. A list of people who were there on that landing during the short time of Heather Badcockâs arrival until her death. Weâve eliminated a lot of people, perhaps precipitately, but I donât think so. Weâve eliminated the mayor and his wife and Alderman somebody and his wife and a great many of the locals, though weâve kept in the husband. If I remember rightly you were always very suspicious of husbands.â

âThey are often the obvious suspects,â said Miss Marple, apologetically, âand the obvious is so often right.â

âI couldnât agree with you more,â said Craddock.

âBut which husband, my dear boy, are you referring to?â

âWhich one do you think?â asked Dermot. He eyed her sharply.

Miss Marple looked at him.

âJason Rudd?â she asked.

âAh!â said Craddock. âYour mind works just as mine does. I donât think it was Arthur Badcock, because you see, I donât think that Heather Badcock was meant to be killed. I think the intended victim was Marina Gregg.â

âThat would seem almost certain, wouldnât it?â said Miss Marple.

âAnd so,â said Craddock, âas we both agree on that, the field widens. To tell you who was there on that day, what they saw or said they saw, and where they were or said they were, is only a thing you could have observed for yourself if youâd been there. So my superiors, as you call them, couldnât possibly object to my discussing that with you, could they?â

âThatâs very nicely put, my dear boy,â said Miss Marple.

âIâll give you a little prÃ©cis of what I was told and then weâll come to the list.â

He gave a brief rÃ©sumÃ© of what he had heard, and then he produced his list.

âIt must be one of these,â he said. âMy godfather, Sir Henry Clithering, told me that you once had a club here. You called it the Tuesday Night Club. You all dined with each other in turn and then someone would tell a storyâa story of some real life happening which had ended in mystery. A mystery of which only the teller of the tale knew the answer. And every time, so my godfather told me, you guessed right. So I thought Iâd come along and see if youâd do a bit of guessing for me this morning.â

âI think that is rather a frivolous way of putting it,â said Miss Marple, reproving, âbut there is one question I should like to ask.â

âYes?â

âWhat about the children?â

âThe children? Thereâs only one. An imbecile child in a sanatorium in America. Is that what you mean?â

âNo,â said Miss Marple, âthatâs not what I mean. Itâs very sad of course. One of those tragedies that seem to happen and thereâs no one to blame for it. No, I meant the children that Iâve seen mentioned in some article here.â She tapped the papers in front of her. âChildren that Marina Gregg adopted. Two boys, I think, and a girl. In one case a mother with a lot of children and very little money to bring them up in this country, wrote to her, and asked if she couldnât take a child. There was a lot of very silly false sentiment written about that. About the motherâs unselfishness and the wonderful home and education and future the child was going to have. I canât find out much about the other two. One I think was a foreign refugee and the other was some American child. Marina Gregg adopted them at different times. Iâd like to know whatâs happened to them.â

Dermot Craddock looked at her curiously. âItâs odd that you should think of that,â he said. âI did just vaguely wonder about those children myself. But how do you connect them up?â

âWell,â said Miss Marple, âas far as I can hear or find out, theyâre not living with her now, are they?â

âI expect they were provided for,â said Craddock. âIn fact, I think that the adoption laws would insist on that. There was probably money settled on them in trust.â

âSo when she gotâtired of them,â said Miss Marple with a very faint pause before the word âtired,â âthey were dismissed! After being brought up in luxury with every advantage. Is that it?â

âProbably,â said Craddock. âI donât know exactly.â He continued to look at her curiously.

âChildren feel things, you know,â said Miss Marple, nodding her head. âThey feel things more than the people around them ever imagine. The sense of hurt, of being rejected, of not belonging. Itâs a thing that you donât get over just because of advantages. Education is no substitute for it, or comfortable living, or an assured income, or a start in a profession. Itâs the sort of thing that might rankle.â

âYes. But all the same, isnât it rather far-fetched to think thatâwell, what exactly do you think?â

âI havenât got as far as that,â said Miss Marple. âI just wondered where they were now and how old they would be now? Grown-up, I should imagine, from what Iâve read here.â

âI could find out, I suppose,â said Dermot Craddock slowly.

âOh, I donât want to bother you in anyway, or even to suggest that my little ideaâs worthwhile at all.â

âThereâs no harm,â said Dermot Craddock, âin having that checked up on.â He made a note in his little book. âNow do you want to look at my little list?â

âI donât really think I should be able to do anything useful about that. You see, I wouldnât know who the people were.â

âOh, I could give you a running commentary,â said Craddock. âHere we are. Jason Rudd, husband, (husbands always highly suspicious). Everyone says that Jason Rudd adores her. That is suspicious in itself, donât you think?â

âNot necessarily,â said Miss Marple with dignity.

âHeâs been very active in trying to conceal the fact that his wife was the object of attack. He hasnât hinted any suspicion of such a thing to the police. I donât know why he thinks weâre such asses as not to think of it for ourselves. Weâve considered it from the first. But anyway, thatâs his story. He was afraid that knowledge of that fact might get to his wifeâs ears and that sheâd go into a panic about it.â

âIs she the sort of woman who goes into panics?â

âYes, sheâs neurasthenic, throws temperaments, has nervous breakdowns, gets in states.â

âThat might not mean any lack of courage,â Miss Marple objected.

âOn the other hand,â said Craddock, âif she knows quite well that she was the object of attack, itâs also possible that she may know who did it.â

âYou mean she knows who did itâbut does not want to disclose the fact?â

âI just say itâs a possibility, and if so, one rather wonders why not? It looks as though the motive, the root of the matter, was something she didnât want to come to her husbandâs ear.â

âThat is certainly an interesting thought,â said Miss Marple.

âHere are a few more names. The secretary, Ella Zielinsky. An extremely competent and efficient young woman.â

âIn love with the husband, do you think?â asked Miss Marple.

âI should think definitely,â answered Craddock, âbut why should you think so?â

âWell, it so often happens,â said Miss Marple. âAnd therefore not very fond of poor Marina Gregg, I expect?â

âTherefore possible motive for murder,â said Craddock.

âA lot of secretaries and employees are in love with their employersâ husbands,â said Miss Marple, âbut very, very few of them try to poison them.â

âWell, we must allow for exceptions,â said Craddock. âThen there were two local and one London photographer, and two members of the Press. None of them seems likely but we will follow them up. There was the woman who was formerly married to Marina Greggâs second or third husband. She didnât like it when Marina Gregg took her husband away. Still, thatâs about eleven or twelve years ago. It seems unlikely that sheâd make a visit here at this juncture on purpose to poison Marina because of that. Then thereâs a man called Ardwyck Fenn. He was once a very close friend of Marina Greggâs. He hasnât seen her for years. He was not known to be in this part of the world and it was a great surprise when he turned up on this occasion.â

âShe would be startled then when she saw him?â

âPresumably yes.â

âStartledâand possibly frightened.â

ââThe doom has come upon me,ââ said Craddock. âThatâs the idea. Then there was young Hailey Preston dodging about that day, doing his stuff. Talks a good deal but definitely heard nothing, saw nothing and knew nothing. Almost too anxious to say so. Does anything there ring a bell?â

âNot exactly,â said Miss Marple. âPlenty of interesting possibilities. But Iâd still like to know a little more about the children.â

He looked at her curiously. âYouâve got quite a bee in your bonnet about that, havenât you?â he said. âAll right, Iâll find out.â

Thirteen

I

âI suppose it couldnât possibly have been the mayor?â said Inspector Cornish wistfully.

He tapped the paper with the list of names on it with his pencil. Dermot Craddock grinned.

âWishful thinking?â he asked.

âYou could certainly call it that,â said Cornish. âPompous, canting old hypocrite!â he went on. âEverybodyâs got it in for him. Throws his weight about, ultra sanctimonious, and neck deep in graft for years past!â

âCanât you ever bring it home to him?â

âNo,â said Cornish. âHeâs too slick for that. Heâs always just on the right side of the law.â

âItâs tempting, I agree,â said Dermot Craddock, âbut I think youâll have to banish that rosy picture from your mind, Frank.â

âI know, I know,â said Cornish. âHeâs a possible, but a wildly improbable. Who else have we got?â

Both men studied the list again. There were still eight names on it.

âWeâre pretty well agreed,â said Craddock, âthat thereâs nobody missed out from here?â There was a faint question in his voice. Cornish answered it.

âI think you can be pretty sure thatâs the lot. After Mrs. Bantry came the vicar, and after that the Badcocks. There were then eight people on the stairs. The mayor and his wife, Joshua Grice and wife from Lower Farm. Donald McNeil of the Much Benham Herald & Argus. Ardwyck Fenn, USA, Miss Lola Brewster, USA, Moving Picture Star. There you are. In addition there was an arty photographer from London with a camera set up on the angle of the stairs. If, as you suggest, this Mrs. Bantryâs story of Marina Gregg having a âfrozen lookâ was occasioned by someone she saw on the stairs, youâve got to take your pick among that lot. Mayor regretfully out. Grices outânever been away from St. Mary Mead I should say. That leaves four. Local journalist unlikely, photographer girl had been there for half an hour already, so why should Marina react so late in the day? What does that leave?â

âSinister strangers from America,â said Craddock with a faint smile.

âYouâve said it.â

âTheyâre our best suspects by far, I agree,â said Craddock. âThey turned up unexpectedly. Ardwyck Fenn was an old flame of Marinaâs whom she had not seen for years. Lola Brewster was once married to Marina Greggâs third husband, who got a divorce from her in order to marry Marina. It was not, I gather, a very amicable divorce.â

âIâd put her down as Suspect Number One,â said Cornish.

âWould you, Frank? After a lapse of about fifteen years or so, and having remarried twice herself since then?â

Cornish said that you never knew with women. Dermot accepted that as a general dictum, but remarked that it seemed odd to him to say the least of it.

âBut you agree that it lies between them?â

âPossibly. But I donât like it very much. What about the hired help who were serving the drinks?â

âDiscounting the âfrozen lookâ weâve heard so much about? Well, weâve checked up in a general way. Local catering firm from Market Basing had the jobâfor the fÃªte, I mean. Actually in the house, there was the butler, Giuseppe, in charge; and two local girls from the studios canteen. I know both of them. Not over bright, but harmless.â

âPushing it back at me, are you? Iâll go and have a word with the reporter chap. He might have seen something helpful. Then to London. Ardwyck Fenn, Lola Brewsterâand the photographer girlâwhatâs her name?âMargot Bence. She also might have seen something.â

Cornish nodded. âLola Brewster is my best bet,â he said. He looked curiously at Craddock. âYou donât seem as sold on her as I am.â

âIâm thinking of the difficulties,â said Dermot slowly.

âDifficulties?â

âOf putting poison into Marinaâs glass without anybody seeing her.â

âWell, thatâs the same for everybody, isnât it? It was a mad thing to do.â

âAgreed it was a mad thing to do, but it would be a madder thing for someone like Lola Brewster than for anybody else.â

âWhy?â asked Cornish.

âBecause she was a guest of importance. Sheâs a somebody, a big name. Everyone would be looking at her.â

âTrue enough,â Cornish admitted.

âThe locals would nudge each other and whisper and stare, and after Marina Gregg and Jason Rudd greeted her sheâd have been passed on for the secretaries to look after. It wouldnât be easy, Frank. However adroit you were, you couldnât be sure someone wouldnât see you. Thatâs the snag there, and itâs a big snag.â

âAs I say, isnât that snag the same for everybody?â

âNo,â said Craddock. âOh no. Far from it. Take the butler now, Giuseppe. Heâs busy with the drinks and glasses, with pouring things out, with handing them. He could put a pinch or a tablet or two of Calmo in a glass easily enough.â

âGiuseppe?â Frank Cornish reflected. âDo you think he did?â

âNo reason to believe so,â said Craddock, âbut we might find a reason. A nice solid bit of motive, that is to say. Yes, he could have done it. Or one of the catering staff could have done itâunfortunately they werenât on the spotâa pity.â

âSomeone might have managed to get himself or herself deliberately planted in the firm for the purpose.â

âYou mean it might have been as premeditated as all that?â

âWe donât know anything about it yet,â said Craddock, vexedly. âWe absolutely donât know the first thing about it. Not until we can prise what we want to know out of Marina Gregg, or out of her husband. They must know or suspectâbut theyâre not telling. And we donât know yet why theyâre not telling. Weâve a long way to go.â

He paused and then resumed: âDiscounting the âfrozen lookâ which may have been pure coincidence, there are other people who could have done it fairly easily. The secretary woman, Ella Zielinsky. She was also busy with glasses, with handing things to people. Nobody would be watching her with any particular interest. The same applies to that willow wand of a young manâIâve forgotten his name. HaileyâHailey Preston? Thatâs right. There would have been a good opportunity for either of them. In fact if either of them had wanted to do away with Marina Gregg it would have been far safer to do so on a public occasion.â

âAnyone else?â

âWell, thereâs always the husband,â said Craddock.

âBack to the husbands again,â said Cornish, with a faint smile. âWe thought it was that poor devil, Badcock, before we realised that Marina was the intended victim. Now weâve transferred our suspicions to Jason Rudd. He seems devoted enough though, I must say.â

âHe has the reputation of being so,â said Craddock, âbut one never knows.â

âIf he wanted to get rid of her, wouldnât divorce be much easier?â

âIt would be far more usual,â agreed Dermot, âbut there may be a lot of ins and outs to this business that we donât know yet.â

The telephone rang. Cornish took up the receiver.

âWhat? Yes? Put them through. Yes, heâs here.â He listened for a moment then put his hand over the receiver and looked at Dermot. âMiss Marina Gregg,â he said, âis feeling very much better. She is quite ready to be interviewed.â

âIâd better hurry along,â said Dermot Craddock, âbefore she changes her mind.â

II

At Gossington Hall Dermot Craddock was received by Ella Zielinsky. She was, as usual, brisk and efficient.

âMiss Gregg is waiting for you, Mr. Craddock,â she said.

Dermot looked at her with some interest. From the beginning he had found Ella Zielinsky an intriguing personality. He had said to himself, âA poker face if I ever saw one.â She had answered any questions he had asked with the utmost readiness. She had shown no signs of keeping anything back, but what she really thought or felt or even knew about the business, he still had no idea. There seemed to be no chink in the armour of her bright efficiency. She might know more than she said she did; she might know a good deal. The only thing he was sure ofâand he had to admit to himself that he had no reasons to adduce for that suretyâwas that she was in love with Jason Rudd. It was, as he had said, an occupational disease of secretaries. It probably meant nothing. But the fact did at least suggest a motive and he was sure, quite sure, that she was concealing something. It might be love, it might be hate. It might, quite simply, be guilt. She might have taken her opportunity that afternoon, or she might have deliberately planned what she was going to do. He could see her in the part quite easily, as far as the execution of it went. Her swift but unhurried movements, moving here and there, looking after guests, handing glasses to one or another, taking glasses away, her eyes marking the spot where Marina had put her glass down on the table. And then, perhaps at the very moment when Marina had been greeting the arrivals from the States, with surprise and joyous cries and everybodyâs eyes turned towards their meeting, she could have quietly and unobtrusively dropped the fatal dose into that glass. It would require audacity, nerve, swiftness. She would have had all those. Whatever she had done, she would not have looked guilty whilst she was doing it. It would have been a simple, brilliant crime, a crime that could hardly fail to be successful. But chance had ruled otherwise. In the rather crowded floorspace someone had joggled Heather Badcockâs arm. Her drink had been spilt, and Marina, with her natural impulsive grace, had quickly proffered her own glass, standing there untouched. And so the wrong woman had died.

A lot of pure theory, and probably hooey at that, said Dermot Craddock to himself at the same time as he was making polite remarks to Ella Zielinsky.

âOne thing I wanted to ask you, Miss Zielinsky. The catering was done by a Market Basing firm, I understand?â

âYes.â

âWhy was that particular firm chosen?â

âI really donât know,â said Ella. âThat doesnât lie amongst my duties. I know Mr. Rudd thought it would be more tactful to employ somebody local rather than to employ a firm from London. The whole thing was really quite a small affair from our point of view.â

âQuite.â He watched her as she stood frowning a little and looking down. A good forehead, a determined chin, a figure which could look quite voluptuous if it was allowed to do so, a hard mouth, an acquisitive mouth. The eyes? He looked at them in surprise. The lids were reddened. He wondered. Had she been crying? It looked like it. And yet he could have sworn she was not the type of young woman to cry. She looked up at him, and as though she read his thoughts, she took out her handkerchief and blew her nose heartily.

âYouâve got a cold,â he said.

âNot a cold. Hay fever. Itâs an allergy of some kind, really. I always get at it this time of year.â

There was a low buzz. There were two phones in the room, one on the table and one on another table in the corner. It was the latter one that was beginning to buzz. Ella Zielinsky went over to it and picked up the receiver.

âYes,â she said, âheâs here. Iâll bring him up at once.â She put the receiver down again. âMarinaâs ready for you,â she said.

III

Marina Gregg received Craddock in a room on the first floor, which was obviously her own private sitting room opening out of her bedroom. After the accounts of her prostration and her nervous state, Dermot Craddock had expected to find a fluttering invalid. But although Marina was half reclining on a sofa her voice was vigorous and her eyes were bright. She had very little makeup on, but in spite of this she did not look her age, and he was struck very forcibly by the subdued radiance of her beauty. It was the exquisite line of cheek and jawbone, the way the hair fell loosely and naturally to frame her face. The long sea-green eyes, the pencilled eyebrows, owing something to art but more to nature, and the warmth and sweetness of her smile, all had a subtle magic. She said:

âChief-Inspector Craddock? Iâve been behaving disgracefully. I do apologize. I just let myself go to pieces after this awful thing. I could have snapped out of it but I didnât. Iâm ashamed of myself.â The smile came, rueful, sweet, turning up the corners of the mouth. She extended a hand and he took it.

âIt was only natural,â he said, âthat you should feel upset.â

âWell, everyone was upset,â said Marina. âIâd no business to make out it was worse for me than anyone else.â

âHadnât you?â

She looked at him for a minute and then nodded. âYes,â she said, âyouâre very perceptive. Yes, I had.â She looked down and with one long forefinger gently stroked the arm of the sofa. It was a gesture he had noticed in one of her films. It was a meaningless gesture, yet it seemed fraught with significance. It had a kind of musing gentleness.

âIâm a coward,â she said, her eyes still cast down. âSomebody wanted to kill me and I didnât want to die.â

âWhy do you think someone wanted to kill you?â

Her eyes opened wide. âBecause it was my glassâmy drinkâthat had been tampered with. It was just a mistake that that poor stupid woman got it. Thatâs whatâs so horrible and so tragic. Besidesââ

âYes, Miss Gregg?â

She seemed a little uncertain about saying more.

âYou had other reasons perhaps for believing that you were the intended victim?â

She nodded.

âWhat reasons, Miss Gregg?â

She paused a minute longer before saying, âJason says I must tell you all about it.â

âYouâve confided in him then?â

âYesâ¦ I didnât want to at firstâbut Dr. Gilchrist put it to me that I must. And then I found that he thought so too. Heâd thought it all along butâitâs rather funny reallyâârueful smile curled her lips againââhe didnât want to alarm me by telling me. Really!â Marina sat up with a sudden vigorous movement. âDarling Jinks! Does he think Iâm a complete fool?â

âYou havenât told me yet, Miss Gregg, why you should think anyone wanted to kill you.â

She was silent for a moment and then with a sudden brusque gesture, she stretched out for her handbag, opened it, took out a piece of paper and thrust it into his hand. He read it. Typed on it was one line of writing.

Donât think youâll escape next time.

Craddock said sharply, âWhen did you get this?â âIt was on my dressing table when I came back from the bath.â

âSo someone in the houseââ

âNot necessarily. Someone could have climbed up the balcony outside my window and pushed it through there. I think they meant it to frighten me still more, but actually it didnât. I just felt furiously angry and sent word to you to come and see me.â

Dermot Craddock smiled. âPossibly a rather unexpected result for whoever sent it. Is this the first kind of message like that youâve had?â

Again Marina hesitated. Then she said, âNo, it isnât.â

âWill you tell me about any other?â

âIt was three weeks ago, when we first came here. It came to the studio, not here. It was quite ridiculous. It was just a message. Not typewritten that time. In capital letters. It said, âPrepare to die.ââ She laughed. There was perhaps a very faint tinge of hysteria in the laugh. The mirth was genuine enough. âIt was so silly,â she said. âOf course one often gets crank messages, threats, things like that. I thought it was probably religious you know. Someone who didnât approve of film actresses. I just tore it up and threw it into the wastepaper basket.â

âDid you tell anyone about it, Miss Gregg?â

Marina shook her head. âNo, I never said a word to anyone. As a matter of fact, we were having a bit of worry at the moment about the scene we were shooting. I just couldnât have thought of anything but that at the moment. Anyway, as I say, I thought it was either a silly joke or one of those religious cranks who write and disapprove of playacting and things like that.â

âAnd after that, was there another?â

âYes. On the day of the fÃªte. One of the gardeners brought it to me, I think. He said someone had left a note for me and was there any answer? I thought perhaps it had to do with the arrangements. I just tore it open. It said âToday will be your last day on earth.â I just crumpled it up and said, âNo answer.â Then I called the man back and asked him who gave it to him. He said it was a man with spectacles on a bicycle. Well, I mean, what could you think about that? I thought it was more silliness. I didnât thinkâI didnât think for a moment, it was a real genuine threat.â

âWhereâs that note now, Miss Gregg?â

âIâve no idea. I was wearing one of those coloured Italian silk coats and I think, as far as I remember, that I crumpled it up and shoved it into the pocket of it. But itâs not there now. It probably fell out.â

âAnd youâve no idea who wrote these silly notes, Miss Gregg? Who inspired them? Not even now?â

Her eyes opened widely. There was a kind of innocent wonder in them that he took note of. He admired it, but he did not believe in it.

âHow can I tell? How can I possibly tell?â

âI think you might have quite a good idea, Miss Gregg.â

âI havenât. I assure you I havenât.â

âYouâre a very famous person,â said Dermot. âYouâve had great successes. Successes in your profession, and personal successes, too. Men have fallen in love with you, wanted to marry you, have married you. Women have been jealous and envied you. Men have been in love with you and been rebuffed by you. Itâs a pretty wild field, I agree, but I should think you must have some idea who could have written these notes.â

âIt could have been anybody.â

âNo, Miss Gregg, it couldnât have been anybody. It could possibly have been one of quite a lot of people. It could be someone quite humble, a dresser, an electrician, a servant; or it could be someone among the ranks of your friends, or so-called friends. But you must have some idea. Some name, more than one name, perhaps, to suggest.â

The door opened and Jason Rudd came in. Marina turned to him. She swept out an arm appealingly.

âJinks, darling, Mr. Craddock is insisting that I must know who wrote those horrid notes. And I donât. You know I donât. Neither of us knows. We havenât got the least idea.â

âVery urgent about that,â thought Craddock. âVery urgent. Is Marina Gregg afraid of what her husband might say?â

Jason Rudd, his eyes dark with fatigue and the scowl on his face deeper than usual, came over to join them. He took Marinaâs hand in his.

âI know it sounds unbelievable to you, Inspector,â he said, âbut honestly neither Marina nor I have any idea about this business.â

âSo youâre in the happy position of having no enemies, is that it?â The irony was manifest in Dermotâs voice.

Jason Rudd flushed a little. âEnemies? Thatâs a very biblical word, Inspector. In that sense, I can assure you I can think of no enemies. People who dislike one, would like to get the better of one, would do a mean turn to one if they could, in malice and uncharitableness, yes. But itâs a long step from that to putting an overdose of poison in a drink.â

âJust now, in speaking to your wife, I asked her who could have written or inspired those letters. She said she didnât know. But when we come to the actual action, it narrows it down. Somebody actually put the poison in that glass. And thatâs a fairly limited field, you know.â

âI saw nothing,â said Jason Rudd.

âI certainly didnât,â said Marina. âWell, I meanâif I had seen anyone putting anything in my glass, I wouldnât have drunk the stuff, would I?â

âI canât help believing, you know,â said Dermot Craddock gently, âthat you do know a little more than youâre telling me.â

âItâs not true,â said Marina. âTell him that that isnât true, Jason.â

âI assure you,â said Jason Rudd, âthat I am completely and absolutely at a loss. The whole thingâs fantastic. I might believe it was a jokeâa joke that had somehow gone wrongâthat had proved dangerous, done by a person who never dreamt that it would be dangerousâ¦.â

There was a slight question in his voice, then he shook his head. âNo. I see that idea doesnât appeal to you.â

âThereâs one more thing I should like to ask you,â said Dermot Craddock. âYou remember Mr. and Mrs. Badcockâs arrival, of course. They came immediately after the vicar. You greeted them, I understand, Miss Gregg, in the same charming way as you had received all your guests. But I am told by an eyewitness that immediately after greeting them you looked over Mrs. Badcockâs shoulder and that you saw something which seemed to alarm you. Is that true, and if so, what was it?â

Marina said quickly, âOf course it isnât true. Alarm meâwhat should have alarmed me?â

âThatâs what we want to know,â said Dermot Craddock patiently. âMy witness is very insistent on the point, you know.â

âWho was your witness? What did he or she say she saw?â

âYou were looking at the staircase,â said Dermot Craddock. âThere were people coming up the staircase. There was a journalist, there was Mr. Grice and his wife, elderly residents in this place, there was Mr. Ardwyck Fenn who had just arrived from the States and there was Miss Lola Brewster. Was it the sight of one of those people that upset you, Miss Gregg?â

âI tell you I wasnât upset.â She almost barked the words.

âAnd yet your attention wavered from greeting Mrs. Badcock. She had said something to you which you left unanswered because you were staring past her at something else.â

Marina Gregg took hold on herself. She spoke quickly and convincingly.

âI can explain, I really can. If you knew anything about acting youâd be able to understand quite easily. There comes a moment, even when you know a part wellâin fact it usually happens when you do know a part wellâwhen you go on with it mechanically. Smiling, making the proper movements and gestures, saying the words with the usual inflexions. But your mind isnât on it. And quite suddenly thereâs a horrible blank moment when you donât know where you are, where youâve got to in the play, what your next lines are! Drying up, thatâs what we call it. Well, thatâs what happened to me. Iâm not terribly strong, as my husband will tell you. Iâve had rather a strenuous time, and a good deal of nervous apprehension about this film. I wanted to make a success of this fÃªte and to be nice and pleasant and welcoming to everybody. But one does say the same things over and over again, mechanically, to the people who are always saying the same things to you. You know, how theyâve always wanted to meet you. How they once saw you outside a theatre in San Franciscoâor travelled in a plane with you. Something silly really, but one has to be nice about it and say things. Well, as Iâm telling you, one does that automatically. One doesnât need to think what to say because oneâs said it so often before. Suddenly, I think, a wave of tiredness came over me. My brain went blank. Then I realized that Mrs. Badcock had been telling me a long story which I hadnât really heard at all, and was now looking at me in an eager sort of way and that I hadnât answered her or said any of the proper things. It was just tiredness.â

âJust tiredness,â said Dermot Craddock slowly. âYou insist on that, Miss Gregg?â

âYes, I do. I canât see why you donât believe me.â

Dermot Craddock turned towards Jason Rudd. âMr. Rudd,â he said, âI think youâre more likely to understand my meaning than your wife is. I am concerned, very much concerned, for your wifeâs safety. There has been an attempt on her life, there have been threatening letters. That means, doesnât it, that there is someone who was here on the day of the fÃªte and possibly is still here, someone in very close touch with this house and what goes on in it. That person, whoever it is, may be slightly insane. Itâs not just a question of threats. Threatened men live long, as they say. The same goes for women. But whoever it was didnât stop at threats. A deliberate attempt was made to poison Miss Gregg. Donât you see in the whole nature of things, that the attempt is bound to be repeated? Thereâs only one way to achieve safety. That is to give me all the clues you possibly can. I donât say that you know who that person is, but I think that you must be able to give a guess or to have a vague idea. Wonât you tell me the truth? Or if, which is possible, you yourself do not know the truth, wonât you urge your wife to do so. Itâs in the interests of her own safety that Iâm asking you.â

Jason Rudd turned his head slowly. âYou hear what Inspector Craddock says, Marina,â he said. âItâs possible, as he says, that you may know something that I do not. If so, for Godâs sake, donât be foolish about it. If youâve the least suspicion of anyone, tell it to us now.â

âBut I havenât.â Her voice rose in a wail. âYou must believe me.â

âWho were you afraid of that day?â asked Dermot.

âI wasnât afraid of anyone.â

âListen, Miss Gregg, of the people on the stairs or coming up it, there were two friends whom you were surprised to see, whom you had not seen for a long time and whom you did not expect to see that day. Mr. Ardwyck Fenn and Miss Brewster. Had you any special emotions when you suddenly saw them coming up the stairs? You didnât know they were coming, did you?â

âNo, weâd no idea they were even in England,â said Jason Rudd.

âI was delighted,â said Marina, âabsolutely delighted!â

âDelighted to see Miss Brewster?â

âWellââ She shot him a quick, faintly suspicious glance.

Craddock said, âLola Brewster was, I believe, originally married to your third husband Robert Truscott?â

âYes, thatâs so.â

âHe divorced her in order to marry you.â

âOh, everyone knows about that,â said Marina Gregg impatiently. âYou neednât think itâs anything youâve found out. There was a bit of a rumpus at the time, but there wasnât any bad feeling about it in the end.â

âDid she make threats against you?â

âWellâin a way, yes. But, oh dear, I wish I could explain. No one takes those sort of threats seriously. It was at a party, sheâd had a lot of drink. She might have taken a pot-shot at me with a pistol if sheâd had one. But luckily she didnât. All that was years ago! None of these things last, these emotions! They donât, really they donât. Thatâs true, isnât it, Jason?â

âIâd say it was true enough,â said Jason Rudd, âand I can assure you, Mr. Craddock, that Lola Brewster had no opportunity on the day of the fÃªte of poisoning my wifeâs drink. I was close beside her most of the time. The idea that Lola would suddenly, after a long period of friendliness, come to England, and arrive at our house all prepared to poison my wifeâs drinkâwhy the whole ideaâs absurd.â

âI appreciate your point of view,â said Craddock.

âItâs not only that, itâs a matter of fact as well. She was nowhere near Marinaâs glass.â

âAnd your other visitorâ Ardwyck Fenn?â

There was, he thought, a very slight pause before Jason Rudd spoke.

âHeâs a very old friend of ours,â he said. âWe havenât seen him for a good many years now, though we occasionally correspond. Heâs quite a big figure in American television.â

âWas he an old friend of yours too?â Dermot Craddock asked Marina.

Her breath came rather quickly as she replied. âYes, oh yes. Heâhe was quite a friend of mine always, but Iâve rather lost sight of him of late years.â Then with a sudden quick rush of words, she went on, âIf you think that I looked up and saw Ardwyck and was frightened of him, itâs nonsense. Itâs absolute nonsense. Why should I be frightened of him, what reason would I have to be frightened of him? We were great friends. I was just very, very pleased when I suddenly saw him. It was a delightful surprise, as I told you. Yes, a delightful surprise.â She raised her head, looking at him, her face vivid and defiant.

âThank you, Miss Gregg,â said Craddock quietly. âIf you should feel inclined at any moment to take me a little further into your confidence I should strongly advise you to do so.â

Fourteen

I

Mrs. Bantry was on her knees. A good day for hoeing. Nice dry soil. But hoeing wouldnât do everything. Thistles now, and dandelions. She dealt vigorously with these pests.

She rose to her feet, breathless but triumphant, and looked out over the hedge on to the road. She was faintly surprised to see the dark-haired secretary whose name she couldnât remember coming out of the public call box that was situated near the bus stop on the other side of the road.

What was her name now. It began with a Bâor was it an R? No, Zielinsky, that was it. Mrs. Bantry remembered just in time, as Ella crossed the road into the drive past the Lodge.

âGood morning, Miss Zielinsky,â she called in a friendly tone.

Ella Zielinsky jumped. It was not so much a jump, as a shyâthe shy of a frightened horse. It surprised Mrs. Bantry.

âGood morning,â said Ella, and added quickly: âI came down to telephone. Thereâs something wrong with our line today.â

Mrs. Bantry felt more surprise. She wondered why Ella Zielinsky bothered to explain her action. She responded civilly. âHow annoying for you. Do come in and telephone anytime you want to.â

âOhâthank you very muchâ¦â Ella was interrupted by a fit of sneezing.

âYouâve got hay fever,â said Mrs. Bantry with immediate diagnosis. âTry weak bicarbonate of soda and water.â

âOh, thatâs all right. I have some very good patent stuff in an atomizer. Thank you all the same.â

She sneezed again as she moved away, walking briskly up the drive.

Mrs. Bantry looked after her. Then her eyes returned to her garden. She looked at it in a dissatisfied fashion. Not a weed to be seen anywhere.

âOthelloâs occupationâs gone,â Mrs. Bantry murmured to herself confusedly. âI dare say Iâm a nosy old woman but I would like to know ifââ

A moment of irresolution and then Mrs. Bantry yielded to temptation. She was going to be a nosy old woman and the hell with it! She strode indoors to the telephone, lifted the receiver and dialled it. A brisk transatlantic voice spoke.

âGossington Hall.â

âThis is Mrs. Bantry, at the East Lodge.â

âOh, good morning, Mrs. Bantry. This is Hailey Preston. I met you on the day of the fÃªte. What can I do for you?â

âI thought perhaps I could do something for you. If your telephoneâs out of orderââ

His astonished voice interrupted her.

âOur telephone out of order? Thereâs been nothing wrong with it. Why did you think so?â

âI must have made a mistake,â said Mrs. Bantry. âI donât always hear very well,â she explained unblushingly.

She put the receiver back, waited a minute, then dialled once more.

âJane? Dolly here.â

âYes, Dolly. What is it?â

âWell, it seems rather odd. The secretary woman was dialling from the public call box in the road. She took the trouble to explain to me quite unnecessarily that she was doing so because the line at Gossington Hall was out of order. But Iâve rung up there, and it isnâtâ¦.â

She paused, and waited for intelligence to pronounce.

âIndeed,â said Miss Marple thoughtfully. âInteresting.â

âFor what reason, do you think?â

âWell, clearly, she didnât want to be overheardââ

âExactly.â

âAnd there might be quite a number of reasons for that.â

âYes.â

âInteresting,â said Miss Marple again.

II

Nobody could have been more ready to talk than Donald McNeil. He was an amiable red-headed young man. He greeted Dermot Craddock with pleasure and curiosity.

âHow are you getting along,â he asked cheerfully, âgot any little special titbit for me?â

âNot as yet. Later perhaps.â

âStalling as usual. Youâre all the same. Affable oysters! Havenât you come to the stage yet of inviting someone to come and âassist you in your inquiriesâ?â

âIâve come to you,â said Dermot Craddock with a grin.

âIs there a nasty double entendre in that remark? Are you really suspicious that I murdered Heather Badcock and do you think I did it in mistake for Marina Gregg or that I meant to murder Heather Badcock and do you think I did it in mistake for Marina Gregg or that I meant to murder Heather Badcock all the time?â

âI havenât suggested anything,â said Craddock.

âNo, no, you wouldnât do that, would you? Youâd be very correct. All right. Letâs go into it. I was there. I had opportunity but had I any motive? Ah, thatâs what youâd like to know. What was my motive?â

âI havenât been able to find one so far,â said Craddock.

âThatâs very gratifying. I feel safer.â

âIâm just interested in what you may have seen that day.â

âYouâve had that already. The local police had that straight away. Itâs humiliating. There I was on the scene of a murder. I practically saw the murder committed, must have done, and yet Iâve no idea who did it. Iâm ashamed to confess that the first I knew about it was seeing the poor, dear woman sitting on a chair gasping for breath and then pegging out. Of course it made a very good eyewitness account. It was a good scoop for meâand all that. But Iâll confess to you that I feel humiliated that I donât know more. I ought to know more. And you canât kid me that the dose was meant for Heather Badcock. She was a nice woman who talked too much, but nobody gets murdered for thatâunless of course they give away secrets. But I donât think anybody would ever have told Heather Badcock a secret. She wasnât the kind of woman whoâd have been interested in other peopleâs secrets. My view of her is of a woman who invariably talked about herself.â

âThat seems to be the generally accepted view,â agreed Craddock.

âSo we come to the famous Marina Gregg. Iâm sure there are lots of wonderful motives for murdering Marina. Envy and jealousy and love tanglesâall the stuff of drama. But who did it? Someone with a screw loose, I presume. There! Youâve had my valuable opinion. Is that what you wanted?â

âNot that alone. I understand that you arrived and came up the stairs about the same time as the vicar and the mayor.â

âQuite correct. But that wasnât the first time Iâd arrived. Iâd been there earlier.â

âI didnât know that.â

âYes. I was on a kind of roving commission, you know, going here and there. I had a photographer with me. Iâd gone down to take a few local shots of the mayor arriving and throwing a hoopla and putting in a peg for buried treasure and that kind of thing. Then I went back up again, not so much on the job as to get a drink or two. The drink was good.â

âI see. Now can you remember who else was on the staircase when you went up?â

âMargot Bence from London was there with her camera.â

âYou know her well?â

âOh I just run against her quite often. Sheâs a clever girl, who makes a success of her stuff. She takes all the fashionable thingsâ First Nights, Gala Performancesâspecializes in photographs from unusual angles. Arty! She was in a corner of the half landing very well placed for taking anyone who came up and for taking the greetings going on at the top. Lola Brewster was just ahead of me on the stairs. Didnât know her at first. Sheâs got a new rust-red hairdo. The very latest Fiji Islander type. Last time I saw her it was lank waves falling round her face and chin in a nice shade of auburn. There was a big dark man with her, American. I donât know who he was but he looked important.â

âDid you look at Marina Gregg herself at all as you were coming up?â

âYes, of course I did.â

âShe didnât look upset or as though sheâd had a shock or was frightened?â

âItâs odd you should say that. I did think for a moment or two she was going to faint.â

âI see,â said Craddock thoughtfully. âThanks. Thereâs nothing else youâd like to tell me?â

McNeil gave him a wide innocent stare.

âWhat could there be?â

âI donât trust you,â said Craddock.

âBut you seem quite sure I didnât do it. Disappointing. Suppose I turn out to be her first husband. Nobody knows who he was except that he was so insignicant that even his nameâs been forgotten.â

Dermot grinned.

âMarried from your prep school?â he asked. âOr possibly in rompers! I must hurry. Iâve got a train to catch.â

III

There was a neatly docketed pile of papers on Craddockâs desk at New Scotland Yard. He gave a perfunctory glance through them, then threw a question over his shoulder.

âWhereâs Lola Brewster staying?â

âAt the Savoy, sir. Suite 1800. Sheâs expecting you.â

âAnd Ardwyck Fenn?â

âHeâs at the Dorchester. First floor, 190.â

âGood.â

He picked up some cablegrams and read through them again before shoving them into his pocket. He smiled a moment to himself over the last one. âDonât say I donât do my stuff, Aunt Jane,â he murmured under his breath.

He went out and made his way to the Savoy.

In Lola Brewsterâs suite Lola went out of her way to welcome him effusively. With the report he had just read in his mind, he studied her carefully. Quite a beauty still, he thought, in a lush kind of way, what you might call a trifie overblown, perhaps, but they still liked them that way. A completely different type, of course, from Marina Gregg. The amenities over, Lola pushed back her Fiji Islander hair, drew her generous lipsticked mouth into a provocative pout, and flickering blue eyelids over wide brown eyes, said:

âHave you come to ask me a lot more horrible questions? Like that local inspector did.â

âI hope they wonât be too horrible, Miss Brewster.â

âOh, but Iâm sure they will be, and Iâm sure the whole thing must have been some terrible mistake.â

âDo you really think so?â

âYes. Itâs all such nonsense. Do you really mean that someone tried to poison Marina? Who on earth would poison Marina? Sheâs an absolute sweetie, you know. Everybody loves her.â

âIncluding you?â

âIâve always been devoted to Marina.â

âOh come now, Miss Brewster, wasnât there a little trouble about eleven or twelve years ago?â

âOh that.â Lola waved it away. âI was terribly nervy and distraught, and Rob and I had been having the most frightful quarrels. We were neither of us normal at the moment. Marina just fell wildly in love with him and rushed him off his feet, the poor pet.â

âAnd you minded very much?â

âWell, I thought I did, Inspector. Of course I see now it was one of the best things that ever happened for me. I was really worried about the children, you know. Breaking up our home. Iâm afraid Iâd already realized that Rob and I were incompatible. I expect you know I got married to Eddie Groves as soon as the divorce went through? I think really Iâd been in love with him for a long time, but of course I didnât want to break up my marriage, because of the children. Itâs so important, isnât it, that children should have a home?â

âYet people say that actually you were terribly upset.â

âOh, people always say things,â said Lola vaguely.

âYou said quite a lot, didnât you, Miss Brewster? You went about threatening to shoot Marina Gregg, or so I understand.â

âIâve told you one says things. Oneâs supposed to say things like that. Of course I wouldnât really shoot anyone.â

âIn spite of taking a pot-shot at Eddie Groves some few years later?â

âOh, that was because weâd had an argument,â said Lola. âI lost my temper.â

âI have it on very good authority, Miss Brewster, that you saidâand these are your exact words or so Iâm told,â (he read from a notebook)ââThat bitch neednât think sheâll get away with it. If I donât shoot her now Iâll wait and get her in some other way. I donât care how long I wait, years if need be, but Iâll get even with her in the end.ââ

âOh, Iâm sure I never said anything of the kind,â Lola laughed.

âIâm sure, Miss Brewster, that you did.â

âPeople exaggerate so.â A charming smile broke over her face. âI was just mad at the moment, you know,â she murmured confidentially. âOne says all sorts of things when oneâs mad with people. But you donât really think Iâd wait fourteen years and come across to England, and look up Marina and drop some deadly poison into her cocktail glass within three minutes of seeing her again?â

Dermot Craddock didnât really think so. It seemed to him wildly improbable. He merely said:

âIâm only pointing out to you, Miss Brewster, that there had been threats in the past and that Marina Gregg was certainly startled and frightened to see someone who came up the stairs that day. Naturally one feels that that someone must have been you.â

âBut darling Marina was delighted to see me! She kissed me and exclaimed how wonderful it was. Oh really, Inspector, I do think youâre being very, very silly.â

âIn fact, you were all one big happy family?â

âWell, thatâs really much more true than all the things youâve been thinking.â

âAnd youâve no ideas that could help us in anyway? No ideas who might have killed her?â

âI tell you nobody would have wanted to kill Marina. Sheâs a very silly woman anyway. Always making terrible fusses about her health, and changing her mind and wanting this, that and the other, and when sheâs got it being dissatisfied with it! I canât think why people are as fond of her as they are. Jasonâs always been absolutely mad about her. What that man has to put up with! But there it is. Everybody puts up with Marina, puts themselves out for her. Then she gives them a sad, sweet smile and thanks them! And apparently that makes them feel that all the trouble is worthwhile. I really donât know how she does it. Youâd better put the idea that somebody wanted to kill her right out of your head.â

âI should like to,â said Dermot Craddock. âUnfortunately I canât put it out of my head because, you see, it happened.â

âWhat do you mean, it happened, nobody has killed Marina, have they?â

âNo. But the attempt was made.â

âI donât believe it for a moment! I expect whoever it was meant to kill the other woman all the timeâthe one who was killed. I expect someone comes into money when she dies.â

âShe hadnât any money, Miss Brewster.â

âOh well, there was some other reason. Anyway, I shouldnât worry about Marina if I were you. Marina is always all right!â

âIs she? She doesnât look a very happy woman to me.â

âOh, thatâs because she makes such a song and dance about everything. Unhappy love affairs. Not being able to have any children.â

âShe adopted some children, didnât she?â said Dermot with a lively remembrance of Miss Marpleâs urgent voice.

âI believe she did once. It wasnât a great success I believe. She does these impulsive things and then wishes she hadnât.â

âWhat happened to the children she adopted?â

âIâve no idea. They just sort of vanished after a bit. She got tired of them, I suppose, like everything else.â

âI see,â said Dermot Craddock.

IV

Nextâthe Dorchester. Suite 190.

âWell, Chief-Inspectorââ Ardwyck Fenn looked down at the card in his hand.

âCraddock.â

âWhat can I do for you?â

âI hope you wonât mind if I ask you a few questions.â

âNot at all. Itâs this business at Much Benham. Noâwhatâs the actual name, St. Mary Mead?â

âYes. Thatâs right. Gossington Hall.â

âCanât think what Jason Rudd wanted to buy a place like that for. Plenty of good Georgian houses in Englandâor even Queen Anne. Gossington Hall is a purely Victorian mansion. Whereâs the attraction in that, I wonder?â

âOh, thereâs some attractionâfor some people, that is, in Victorian stability.â

âStability? Well, perhaps youâve got something there. Marina, I suppose, had a feeling for stability. Itâs a thing she never had herself, poor girl, so I suppose thatâs why she always covets it. Perhaps this place will satisfy her for a bit.â

âYou know her well, Mr. Fenn?â

Ardwyck Fenn shrugged his shoulders.

âWell? I donât know that Iâd say that. Iâve known her over a long period of years. Known her off and on, that is to say.â

Craddock looked at him appraisingly. A dark man, heavily built, shrewd eyes behind thick glasses, heavy jowl and chin, Ardwyck Fenn went on:

âThe idea is, I gather, from what I read in the newspapers, that this Mrs. Whatever-her-name-was, was poisoned by mistake. That the dose was intended for Marina. Is that right?â

âYes. Thatâs it. The dose was in Marina Greggâs cocktail. Mrs. Badcock spilt hers and Marina handed over her drink to her.â

âWell that seems pretty conclusive. I really canât think, though, who would want to poison Marina. Especially as Lynette Brown wasnât there.â

âLynette Brown?â Craddock looked slightly at sea.

Ardwyck Fenn smiled. âIf Marina breaks this contract, throws up the partâLynette will get it and it would mean a good deal to Lynette to get it. But for all that, I donât imagine sheâd send some emissary along with poison. Much too melodramatic an idea.â

âIt seems a little far-fetched,â said Dermot dryly.

âAh, youâd be surprised what women will do when theyâre ambitious,â said Ardwyck Fenn. âMind you, death maynât have been intended. It may have been just to give her a frightâEnough to knock her out but not to finish her.â

Craddock shook his head. âIt wasnât a borderline dose,â he said.

âPeople make mistakes in doses, quite big ones.â

âIs this really your theory?â

âOh no, it isnât. It was only a suggestion. Iâve no theory. I was only an innocent bystander.â

âWas Marina Gregg very surprised to see you?â

âYes, it was a complete surprise to her.â He laughed amusedly. âJust couldnât believe her eyes when she saw me coming up the stairs. She gave me a very nice welcome, I must say.â

âYou hadnât seen her for a long time?â

âNot for four or five years, I should say.â

âAnd some years before that there was a time when you and she were very close friends, I believe?â

âAre you insinuating anything in particular by that remark, Inspector Craddock?â

There was very little change in the voice but there was something there that had not been there before. A hint of steel, of menace. Dermot felt suddenly that this man would be a very ruthless opponent.

âIt would be as well, I think,â said Ardwyck Fenn, âthat you said exactly what you do mean.â

âIâm quite prepared to do so, Mr. Fenn. I have to inquire into the past relations of everyone who was there on that day with Marina Gregg. It seems to have been a matter of common gossip that at the time I have just referred to, you were wildly in love with Marina Gregg.â

Ardwyck Fenn shrugged his shoulders.

âOne has these infatuations, Inspector. Fortunately, they pass.â

âIt is said that she encouraged you and that later she turned you down and that you resented the fact.â

âIt is saidâit is said! I suppose you read all that in Confidential?â

âIt has been told me by quite well-informed and sensible people.â

Ardwyck Fenn threw back his head, showing the bull-like line of his neck.

âI had a yen for her at one time, yes,â he admitted. âShe was a beautiful and attractive woman and still is. To say that I ever threatened her is going a little too far. Iâm never pleased to be thwarted, Chief-Inspector, and most people who thwart me tend to be sorry that they have done so. But that principle applies mainly in my business life.â

âYou did, I believe, use your influence to have her dropped from a picture that she was making?â

Fenn shrugged his shoulders.

âShe was unsuitable for the role. There was conflict between her and the director. I had money in that picture and I had no intention of jeopardizing it. It was, I assure you, purely a business transaction.â

âBut perhaps Marina Gregg did not think so?â

âOh, naturally she did not think so. She would always think that anything like that was personal.â

âShe actually told certain friends of hers that she was afraid of you, I believe?â

âDid she? How childish. I expect she enjoyed the sensation.â

âYou think there was no need for her to be afraid of you?â

âOf course not. Whatever personal disappointment I might have had, I soon put it behind me. Iâve always gone on the principle that where women are concerned there are as good fish in the sea as ever came out of it.â

âA very satisfactory way to go through life, Mr. Fenn.â

âYes, I think it is.â

âYou have a wide knowledge of the moving picture world?â

âI have financial interests in it.â

âAnd therefore you are bound to know a lot about it?â

âPerhaps.â

âYou are a man whose judgement would be worth listening to. Can you suggest to me any person who is likely to have such a deep grudge against Marina Gregg that they would be willing to do away with her?â

âProbably a dozen,â said Ardwyck Fenn, âthat is to say, if they hadnât got to do anything about it personally. If it was a mere matter of pressing a button in a wall, I dare say thereâd be a lot of willing fingers.â

âYou were there that day. You saw her and talked to her. Do you think that amongst any of the people who were around you in that brief space of timeâfrom when you arrived to the moment when Heather Badcock diedâdo you think that amongst them you can suggestâonly suggest, mind you, Iâm asking you for nothing more than a guessâanyone who might poison Marina Gregg?â

âI wouldnât like to say,â said Ardwyck Fenn.

âThat means that you have some idea?â

âIt means that I have nothing to say on that subject. And that, Chief-Inspector Craddock, is all youâll get out of me.â

Fifteen

Dermot Craddock looked down at the last name and address he had written down in his notebook. The telephone number had been rung twice for him but there had been no response. He tried it now once more. He shrugged his shoulders, got up and decided to go and see for himself.

Margot Benceâs studio was in a cul-de-sac off the Tottenham Court Road. Beyond the name on a plate on the side of a door, there was little to identify it, and certainly no form of advertising. Craddock groped his way to the first floor. There was a large notice here painted in black on a white board. âMargot Bence, Personality Photographer. Please enter.â

Craddock entered. There was a small waiting room but nobody in charge of it. He stood there hesitating, then cleared his throat in a loud and theatrical manner. Since that drew no attention he raised his voice.

âAnybody here?â

He heard a flap of slippers behind a velvet curtain, the curtain was pushed aside and a young man with exuberant hair and a pink and white face, peered round it.

âTerribly sorry, my dear,â he said. âI didnât hear you. I had an absolutely new idea and I was just trying it out.â

He pushed the velvet curtain farther aside and Craddock followed him into an inner room. This proved to be unexpectedly large. It was clearly the working studio. There were cameras, lights, arc-lights, piles of drapery, screens on wheels.

âSuch a mess,â said the young man, who was almost as willowy as Hailey Preston. âBut one finds it very hard to work, I think, unless one does get into a mess. Now what were you wanting to see us about?â

âI wanted to see Miss Margot Bence.â

âAh, Margot. Now what a pity. If youâd been half an hour earlier youâd have found her here. Sheâs gone off to produce some photographs of models for Fashion Dream. You should have rung up, you know, to make an appointment. Margotâs terribly busy these days.â

âI did ring up. There was no reply.â

âOf course,â said the young man. âWe took the receiver off. I remember now. It disturbed us.â He smoothed down a kind of lilac smock that he was wearing. âCan I do anything for you? Make an appointment? I do a lot of Margotâs business arrangements for her. You wanted to arrange for some photography somewhere? Private or business?â

âFrom that point of view, neither,â said Dermot Craddock. He handed his card to the young man.

âHow perfectly rapturous,â said the young man. âCID! I believe, you know, Iâve seen pictures of you. Are you one of the Big Four or the Big Five, or is it perhaps the Big Six nowadays? Thereâs so much crime about, theyâd have to increase the numbers, wouldnât they? Oh dear, is that disrespectful? Iâm afraid it is. I didnât mean to be disrespectful at all. Now, what do you want Margot forânot to arrest her, I hope.â

âI just wanted to ask her one or two questions.â

âShe doesnât do indecent photographs or anything like that,â said the young man anxiously. âI hope nobodyâs been telling you any stories of that kind because it isnât true. Margotâs very artistic. She does a lot of stage work and studio work. But her studies are terribly, terribly pureâalmost prudish, Iâd say.â

âI can tell you quite simply why I want to speak to Miss Bence,â said Dermot. âShe was recently an eyewitness of a crime that took place near Much Benham, at a village called St. Mary Mead.â

âOh, my dear, of course! I know about that. Margot came back and told me all about it. Hemlock in the cocktails, wasnât it? Something of that kind. So bleak it sounded! But all mixed-up with the St. John Ambulance which doesnât seem so bleak, does it? But havenât you already asked Margot questions about thatâor was it somebody else?â

âOne always finds there are more questions, as the case goes on,â said Dermot.

âYou mean it develops. Yes, I can quite see that. Murder develops. Yes, like a photograph, isnât it?â

âItâs very much like photography really,â said Dermot. âQuite a good comparison of yours.â

âWell, itâs very nice of you to say so, Iâm sure. Now about Margot. Would you like to get hold of her right away?â

âIf you can help me to do so, yes.â

âWell, at the moment,â said the young man, consulting his watch, âat the moment sheâll be outside Keatsâ house at Hampstead Heath. My carâs outside. Shall I run you up there?â

âThat would be very kind of you, Mrââ

âJethroe,â said the young man, âJohnny Jethroe.â

As they went down the stairs Dermot asked:

âWhy Keatsâ house?â

âWell, you know we donât pose fashion photographs in the studio anymore. We like them to seem natural, blown about by the wind. And if possible some rather unlikely background. You know, an Ascot frock against Wandsworth Prison, or a frivolous suit outside a poetâs house.â

Mr. Jethroe drove rapidly but skilfully up Tottenham Court Road, through Camden Town and finally to the neighbourhood of Hampstead Heath. On the pavement near Keatsâ house a pretty little scene was being enacted. A slim girl, wearing diaphanous organdie, was standing clutching an immense black hat. On her knees, a little way behind her, a second girl was holding the first girlâs skirt well pulled back so that it clung around her knees and legs. In a deep hoarse voice a girl with a camera was directing operations.

âFor goodnessâ sake, Jane, get your behind down. Itâs showing behind her right knee. Get down flatter. Thatâs it. No, more to the left. Thatâs right. Now youâre masked by the bush. Thatâll do. Hold it. Weâll have one more. Both hands on the back of the hat this time. Head up. Goodânow turn round, Elsie. Bend over. More. Bend! Bend, youâve got to pick up that cigarette case. Thatâs right. Thatâs heaven! Got it! Now move over to the left. Same pose, only just turn your head over your shoulder. So.â

âI canât see what you want to go taking photographs of my behind for,â said the girl called Elsie rather sulkily.

âItâs a lovely behind, dear. It looks smashing,â said the photographer. âAnd when you turn your head your chin comes up like the rising moon over a mountain. I donât think we need bother with anymore.â

âHiâ Margot,â said Mr. Jethroe.

She turned her head. âOh, itâs you. What are you doing here?â

âI brought someone along to see you. Chief-Inspector Craddock, CID.â

The girlâs eyes turned swiftly on to Dermot. He thought they had a wary, searching look but that, as he well knew, was nothing extraordinary. It was a fairly common reaction to detective-inspectors. She was a thin girl, all elbows and angles, but was an interesting shape for all that. A heavy curtain of black hair fell down either side of her face. She looked dirty as well as sallow and not particularly prepossessing, to his eyes. But he acknowledged that there was character there. She raised her eyebrows which were slightly raised by art already and remarked:

âAnd what can I do for you, Detective-Inspector Craddock?â

âHow do you do, Miss Bence. I wanted to ask you if you would be so kind as to answer a few questions about that very unfortuante business at Gossington Hall, near Much Benham. You went there, if I remember, to take some photographs.â

The girl nodded. âOf course. I remember quite well.â She shot him a quick searching look. âI didnât see you there. Surely it was somebody else. InspectorâInspectorââ

âInspector Cornish?â said Dermot.

âThatâs right.â

âWe were called in later.â

âYouâre from Scotland Yard?â

âYes.â

âYou butted in and took over from the local people. Is that it?â

âWell, it isnât quite a question of butting in, you know. Itâs up to the Chief Constable of the County to decide whether he wants to keep it in his own hands or whether he thinks itâll be better handled by us.â

âWhat makes him decide?â

âIt very often turns on whether the case has a local background or whether itâs a moreâuniversal one. Sometimes, perhaps, an international one.â

âAnd he decided, did he, that this was an international one?â

âTransatlantic, perhaps, would be a better word.â

âTheyâve been hinting that in the papers, havenât they? Hinting that the killer, whoever he was, was out to get Marina Gregg and got some wretched local woman by mistake. Is that true or is it a bit of publicity for their film?â

âIâm afraid there isnât much doubt about it, Miss Bence.â

âWhat do you want to ask me? Have I got to come to Scotland Yard?â

He shook his head. âNot unless you like. Weâll go back to your studio if you prefer.â

âAll right, letâs do that. My carâs just up the street.â

She walked rapidly along the footpath. Dermot went with her. Jethroe called after them.

âSo long darling, I wonât butt in. Iâm sure you and the Inspector are going to talk big secrets.â He joined the two models on the pavement and began an animated discussion with them.

Margot got into the car, unlocked the door on the other side, and Dermot Craddock got in beside her. She said nothing at all during the drive back to Tottenham Court Road. She turned down the cul-de-sac and at the bottom of it drove through an open doorway.

âGot my own parking place here,â she remarked. âItâs a furniture depository place really, but they rent me a bit of space. Parking a car is one of the big headaches in London, as you probably know only too well, though I donât suppose you deal with traffic, do you?â

âNo, thatâs not one of my troubles.â

âI should think murder would be infinitely preferable,â said Margot Bence.

She led the way back to the studio, motioned him to a chair, offered him a cigarette and sank down on the large pouffe opposite him. From behind the curtain of dark hair she looked at him in a sombre questioning way.

âShoot, stranger,â she said.

âYou were taking photographs on the occasion of this death, I understand.â

âYes.â

âYouâd been engaged professionally?â

âYes. They wanted someone to do a few specialized shots. I do quite a lot of that stuff. I do some work for film studios sometimes, but this time I was just taking photographs of the fÃªte, and afterwards a few shots of special people being greeted by Marina Gregg and Jason Rudd. Local notabilities or other personalities. That sort of thing.â

âYes. I understand that. You had your camera on the stairs, I understand?â

âA part of the time, yes. I got a very good angle from there. You get people coming up the stairs below you and you could swivel round and get Marina shaking hands with them. You could get a lot of different angles without having to move much.â

âI know, of course, that you answered some questions at the time as to whether youâd seen anything unusual, anything that might be helpful. They were general questions.â

âHave you got more specialized ones?â

âA little more specialized, I think. You had a good view of Marina Gregg from where you were standing?â

She nodded. âExcellent.â

âAnd of Jason Rudd?â

âOccasionally. But he was moving about more. Drinks and things and introducing people to one another. The locals to the celebrities. That kind of thing, I should imagine. I didnât see this Mrs. Baddeleyââ

âBadcock.â

âSorry, Badcock. I didnât see her drink the fatal draught or anything like that. In fact I donât think I really know which she was.â

âDo you remember the arrival of the mayor?â

âOh, yes. I remember the mayor all right. He had on his chain and his robes of office. I got one of him coming up the stairsâa close-upârather a cruel profile, and then I got him shaking hands with Marina.â

âThen you can fix that time at least in your mind. Mrs. Badcock and her husband came up the stairs to Marina Gregg immediately in front of him.â

She shook her head. âSorry. I still donât remember her.â

âThat doesnât matter so much. I presume that you had a pretty good view of Marina Gregg and that you had your eyes on her and were pointing the camera at her fairly often.â

âQuite right. Most of the time. Iâd wait till I got just the right moment.â

âDo you know a man called Ardwyck Fenn by sight?â

âOh yes. I know him well enough. Television networkâfilms too.â

âDid you take a photograph of him?â

âYes. I got him coming up with Lola Brewster.â

âThat would be just after the mayor?â

She thought a minute then agreed. âYes, about then.â

âDid you notice that about that time Marina Gregg seemed to feel suddenly ill? Did you notice any unusual expression on her face?â

Margot Bence leant forward, opened a cigarette box and took out a cigarette. She lit it. Although she had not answered Dermot did not press her. He waited, wondering what it was she was turning over in her mind. She said at last, abruptly:

âWhy do you ask me that?â

âBecause itâs a question to which I am very anxious to have an answerâa reliable answer.â

âDo you think my answerâs likely to be reliable?â

âYes I do, as a matter of fact. You must have the habit of watching peopleâs faces very closely, waiting for certain expressions, certain propitious moments.â

She nodded her head.

âDid you see anything of that kind?â

âSomebody else saw it too, did they?â

âYes. More than one person, but itâs been described rather differently.â

âHow did the other people describe it?â

âOne person has told me that she was taken faint.â

Margot Bence shook her head slowly.

âSomeone else said that she was startled.â He paused a moment then went on, âAnd somebody else describes her as having a frozen look on her face.â

âFrozen,â said Margot Bence thoughtfully.

âDo you agree to that last statement?â

âI donât know. Perhaps.â

âIt was put rather more fancifully still,â said Dermot. âIn the words of the late poet, Tennyson. âThe mirror crackâd from side to side; âThe doom has come upon me,â cried the Lady of Shalott.ââ

âThere wasnât any mirror,â said Margot Bence, âbut if there had been it might have cracked.â She got up abruptly. âWait,â she said. âIâll do something better than describe it to you. Iâll show you.â

She pushed aside the curtain at the far end and disappeared for some moments. He could hear her uttering impatient mutterings under her breath.

âWhat hell it is,â she said as she emerged again, âone never can find things when one wants them. Iâve got it now though.â

She came across to him and put a glossy print into his hand. He looked down at it. It was a very good photograph of Marina Gregg. Her hand was clasped in the hand of a woman standing in front of her, and therefore with her back to the camera. But Marina Gregg was not looking at the woman. Her eyes stared not quite into the camera but slightly obliquely to the left. The interesting thing to Dermot Craddock was that the face expressed nothing whatever. There was no fear on it, no pain. The woman portrayed there was staring at something, something she saw, and the emotion it aroused in her was so great that she was physically unable to express it by any kind of facial expression. Dermot Craddock had seen such a look once on a manâs face, a man who a second later had been shot deadâ¦.

âSatisfied?â asked Margot Bence.

Craddock gave a deep sigh. âYes, thank you. Itâs hard, you know, to make up oneâs mind if witnesses are exaggerating, if they are imagining they see things. But thatâs not so in this case. There was something to see and she saw it.â He asked, âCan I keep this picture?â

âOh, yes you can have the print. Iâve got the negative.â

âYou didnât send it to the Press?â

Margot Bence shook her head.

âI rather wonder why you didnât. After all, itâs rather a dramatic photograph. Some paper might have paid a good price for it.â

âI wouldnât care to do that,â said Margot Bence. âIf you look into somebodyâs soul by accident, you feel a bit embarrassed about cashing in.â

âDid you know Marina Gregg at all?â

âNo.â

âYou come from the States, donât you?â

âI was born in England. I was trained in America though. I came over here, oh, about three years ago.â

Dermot Craddock nodded. He had known the answers to his questions. They had been waiting for him among the other lists of information on his office table. The girl seemed straightforward enough. He asked:

âWhere did you train?â

âReingarden Studios. I was with Andrew Quilp for a time. He taught me a lot.â

âReingarden Studios and Andrew Quilp.â Dermot Craddock was suddenly alert. The names struck a chord of remembrance.

âYou lived in Seven Springs, didnât you?â

She looked amused.

âYou seem to know a lot about me. Have you been checking up?â

âYouâre a very well-known photographer, Miss Bence. There have been articles written about you, you know. Why did you come to England?â

She shrugged her shoulders.

âOh, I like a change. Besides, as I tell you, I was born in England although I went to the States as a child.â

âQuite a young child, I think.â

âFive years old if youâre interested.â

âI am interested. I think, Miss Bence, you could tell me a little more than you have done.â

Her face hardened. She stared at him.

âWhat do you mean by that?â

Dermot Craddock looked at her and risked it. It wasnât much to go on. Reingarden Studios and Andrew Quilp and the name of one town. But he felt rather as if old Miss Marple were at his shoulder egging him on.

âI think you knew Marina Gregg better than you say.â

She laughed. âProve it. Youâre imagining things.â

âAm I? I donât think I am. And it could be proved, you know, with a little time and care. Come now, Miss Bence, hadnât you better admit the truth? Admit that Marina Gregg adopted you as a child and that you lived with her for four years.â

She drew her breath in sharply with a hiss.

âYou nosy bastard!â she said.

It startled him a little, it was such a contrast to her former manner. She got up, shaking her black head of hair.

âAll right, all right, itâs true enough! Yes Marina Gregg took me over to America with her. My mother had eight kids. She lived in a slum somewhere. She was one of hundreds of people, I suppose, who wrote to any film actress that they happen to see or hear about, spilling a hard-luck story, begging her to adopt the child a mother couldnât give advantages to. Oh, itâs such a sickening business, all of it.â

âThere were three of you,â said Dermot. âThree children adopted at different times from different places.â

âThatâs right. Me and Rod and Angus. Angus was older than I was, Rod was practically a baby. We had a wonderful life. Oh, a wonderful life! All the advantages!â Her voice rose mockingly. âClothes and cars and a wonderful house to live in and people to look after us, good schooling and teaching, and delicious food. Everything piled on! And she herself, our âMom.â âMomâ in inverted commas, playing her part, crooning over us, being photographed with us! Ah, such a pretty sentimental picture.â

âBut she really wanted children,â said Dermot Craddock. âThat was real enough, wasnât it? It wasnât just a publicity stunt.â

âOh, perhaps. Yes, I think that was true. She wanted children. But she didnât want us! Not really. It was just a glorious bit of playacting. âMy family.â âSo lovely to have a family of my own.â And Izzy let her do it. He ought to have known better.â

âIzzy was Isidore Wright?â

âYes, her third husband or her fourth, I forget which. He was a wonderful man really. He understood her, I think, and he was worried sometimes about us. He was kind to us, but he didnât pretend to be a father. He didnât feel like a father. He only cared really about his own writing. Iâve read some of his things since. Theyâre sordid and rather cruel, but theyâre powerful. I think people will call him a great writer one day.â

âAnd this went on until when?â

Margot Benceâs smile curved suddenly. âUntil she got sick of that particular bit of playacting. No, thatâs not quite trueâ¦ She found she was going to have a child of her own.â

She laughed with sudden bitterness. âThen weâd had it! We werenât wanted anymore. Weâd done very well as little stopgaps, but she didnât care a damn about us really, not a damn. Oh, she pensioned us off very prettily. With a home and a foster-mother and money for our education and a nice little sum to start us off in the world. Nobody can say that she didnât behave correctly and handsomely. But sheâd never wanted usâall she wanted was a child of her own.â

âYou canât blame her for that,â said Dermot gently.

âI donât blame her for wanting a child of her own, no! But what about us? She took us away from our own parents, from the place where we belonged. My mother sold me for a mess of pottage, if you like, but she didnât sell me for advantage to herself. She sold me because she was a damnâ silly woman who thought Iâd get âadvantagesâ and âeducationâ and have a wonderful life. She thought she was doing the best for me. Best for me? If she only knew.â

âYouâre still very bitter, I see.â

âNo, Iâm not bitter now. Iâve got over that. Iâm bitter because Iâm remembering, because Iâve gone back to those days. We were all pretty bitter.â

âAll of you?â

âWell, not Rod. Rod never cared about anything. Besides he was rather small. But Angus felt like I did, only I think he was more revengeful. He said that when he was grown-up he would go and kill that baby she was going to have.â

âYou knew about the baby?â

âOh, of course I knew. And everyone knows what happened. She went crazy with rapture about having it and then when it was born it was an idiot! Serve her right. Idiot or no idiot, she didnât want us back again.â

âYou hate her very much.â

âWhy shouldnât I hate her? She did the worst thing to me that anyone can do to anyone else. Let them believe that theyâre loved and wanted and then show them that itâs all a sham.â

âWhat happened to your twoâIâll call them brothers, for the sake of convenience.â

âOh, we all drifted apart later. Rodâs farming somewhere in the Middle West. Heâs got a happy nature, and always had. Angus? I donât know. I lost sight of him.â

âDid he continue to feel regretful?â

âI shouldnât think so,â said Margot. âItâs not the sort of thing you can go on feeling. The last time I saw him, he said he was going on the stage. I donât know whether he did.â

âYouâve remembered, though,â said Dermot.

âYes. Iâve remembered,â said Margot Bence.

âWas Marina Gregg surprised to see you on that day or did she make the arrangements for your photography on purpose to please you?â

âShe?â The girl smiled scornfully. âShe knew nothing about the arrangements. I was curious to see her, so I did a bit of lobbying to get the job. As I say Iâve got some influence with studio people. I wanted to see what she looked like nowadays.â She stroked the surface of the table. âShe didnât even recognize me. What do you think of that? I was with her for four years. From five years old to nine and she didnât recognize me.â

âChildren change,â said Dermot Craddock, âthey change so much that youâd hardly know them. I have a niece I met the other day and I assure you Iâd have passed her in the street.â

âAre you saying that to make me feel better? I donât care really. Oh, what the hell, letâs be honest. I do care. I did. She had a magic, you know. Marina! A wonderful calamitous magic that took hold of you. You can hate a person and still mind.â

âYou didnât tell her who you were?â

She shook her head. âNo, I didnât tell her. Thatâs the last thing Iâd do.â

âDid you try and poison her, Miss Bence?â

Her mood changed. She got up and laughed.

âWhat ridiculous questions you do ask! But I suppose you have to. Itâs part of your job. No. I can assure you I didnât kill her.â

âThat isnât what I asked you, Miss Bence.â

She looked at him, frowning, puzzled.

âMarina Gregg,â he said, âis still alive.â

âFor how long?â

âWhat do you mean by that?â

âDonât you think itâs likely, Inspector, that someone will try again, and this timeâthis time, perhapsâtheyâll succeed?â

âPrecautions will be taken.â

âOh, Iâm sure they will. The adoring husband will look after her, wonât he, and make sure that no harm comes to her?â

He was listening carefully to the mockery in her voice.

âWhat did you mean when you said you didnât ask me that?â she said, harking back suddenly.

âI asked you if you tried to kill her. You replied that you didnât kill her. Thatâs true enough, but someone died, someone was killed.â

âYou mean I tried to kill Marina and instead I killed Mrs. Whatâs-her-name. If youâd like me to make it quite clear, I didnât try to poison Marina and I didnât poison Mrs. Badcock.â

âBut you know perhaps who did?â

âI donât know anything, Inspector, I assure you.â

âBut you have some idea?â

âOh, one always has ideas.â She smiled at him, a mocking smile. âAmong so many people it might be, mightnât it, the black-haired robot of a secretary, the elegant Hailey Preston, servants, maids, a masseur, the hairdresser, someone at the studios, so many peopleâand one of them mightnât be what he or she pretended to be.â

Then as he took an unconscious step towards her she shook her head vehemently.

âRelax, Inspector,â she said. âIâm only teasing you. Somebodyâs out for Marinaâs blood, but who it is Iâve no idea. Really. Iâve no idea at all.â

Sixteen

I

At No. 16 Aubrey Close, young Mrs. Baker was talking to her husband. Jim Baker, a big good-looking blond giant of a man, was intent on assembling a model construction unit.

âNeighbours!â said Cherry. She gave a toss of her black curly head. âNeighbours!â she said with venom.

She carefully lifted the frying pan from the stove, then neatly shot its contents onto two plates, one rather fuller than the other. She placed the fuller one before her husband.

âMixed grill,â she announced.

Jim looked up and sniffed appreciatively.

âThatâs something like,â he said. âWhat is today? My birthday?â

âYou have to be well nourished,â said Cherry.

She was looking very pretty in a cerise and white striped apron with little frills on it. Jim Baker shifted the component parts of a strato-cruiser to make room for his meal. He grinned at his wife and asked:

âWho says so?â

âMy Miss Marple for one!â said Cherry. âAnd if it comes to that,â she added, sitting down opposite Jim and pulling her plate towards her, âI should say she could do with a bit more solid nourishment herself. That old cat of a White Knight of hers, gives her nothing but carbohydrates. Itâs all she can think of! A ânice custard,â a ânice bread and butter pudding,â a ânice macaroni cheese.â Squashy puddings with pink sauce. And gas, gas, gas, all day. Talks her head off she does.â

âOh well,â said Jim vaguely, âitâs invalid diet, I suppose.â

âInvalid diet!â said Cherry and snorted. âMiss Marple isnât an invalidâsheâs just old. Always interfering, too.â

âWho, Miss Marple?â

âNo. That Miss Knight. Telling me how to do things! She even tries to tell me how to cook! I know a lot more about cooking than she does.â

âYouâre tops for cooking, Cherry,â said Jim appreciatively.

âThereâs something to cooking,â said Cherry, âsomething you can get your teeth into.â

Jim laughed. âIâm getting my teeth into this all right. Why did your Miss Marple say that I needed nourishing? Did she think I looked run-down, the other day when I came in to fix the bathroom shelf?â

Cherry laughed. âIâll tell you what she said to me. She said, âYouâve got a handsome husband, my dear. A very handsome husband.â Sounds like one of those period books they read aloud on the telly.â

âI hope you agreed with her?â said Jim with a grin.

âI said you were all right.â

âAll right indeed! Thatâs a nice lukewarm way of talking.â

âAnd then she said âYou must take care of your husband, my dear. Be sure you feed him properly. Men need plenty of good meat meals, well cooked.ââ

âHear, hear!â

âAnd she told me to be sure and prepare fresh food for you and not to buy ready-made pies and things and slip them in the oven to warm up. Not that I do that often,â added Cherry virtuously.

âYou canât do it too seldom for me,â said Jim. âThey donât taste a bit the same.â

âSo long as you notice what you eat,â said Cherry, âand arenât so taken up with those strato-cruisers and things youâre always building. And donât tell me you bought that set as a Christmas present for your nephew Michael. You bought it so that you could play with it yourself.â

âHeâs not quite old enough for it yet,â said Jim apologetically.

âAnd I suppose youâre going on dithering about with it all the evening. What about some music? Did you get that new record you were talking about?â

âYes, I did. Tchaikovski 1812.â

âThatâs the loud one with the battle, isnât it?â said Cherry. She made a face. âOur Mrs. Hartwell wonât half like that! Neighbours! Iâm fed up with neighbours. Always grousing and complaining. I donât know which is the worst. The Hartwells or the Barnabys. The Hartwells start rapping on the wall as early as twenty to eleven sometimes. Itâs a bit thick! After all even the telly and the BBC go on later than that. Why shouldnât we have a bit of music if we like? And always asking us to turn it down low.â

âYou canât turn these things down low,â said Jim with authority. âYou donât get the tone unless youâve got the volume. Everyone knows that. Itâs absolutely recognized in musical circles. And what about their catâalways coming over into our garden, digging up the beds, just when Iâve got it nice.â

âI tell you what, Jim. Iâm fed up with this place.â

âYou didnât mind your neighbours up in Huddersfield,â remarked Jim.

âIt wasnât the same there,â said Cherry. âI mean, youâre all independent there. If youâre in trouble, somebodyâd give you a hand and youâd give a hand to them. But you donât interfere. Thereâs something about a new estate like this that makes people look sideways at their neighbours. Because weâre all new I suppose. The amount of backbiting and tale-telling and writing to the council and one thing and another round here beats me! People in real towns are too busy for it.â

âYou may have something there, my girl.â

âDâyou like it here, Jim?â

âThe jobâs all right. And after all, this is a brand new house. I wish there was a bit more room in it so that I could spread myself a bit more. It would be fine if I could have a workshop.â

âI thought it was lovely at first,â said Cherry, âbut now Iâm not so sure. The house is all right and I love the blue paint and the bathroomâs nice, but I donât like the people and the feeling round here. Did I tell you that Lily Price and that Harry of hers have broken off? It was a funny business that day in that house they went to look over. You know when she more or less fell out of the window. She said Harry just stood there like a stuck pig.â

âIâm glad sheâs broken off with him. Heâs a no-good if I ever saw one,â said Jim.

âNo good marrying a chap just because a babyâs on the way,â said Cherry. âHe didnât want to marry her, you know. Heâs not a very nice fellow. Miss Marple said he wasnât,â she added thoughtfully. âShe spoke to Lily about him. Lily thought she was crackers.â

âMiss Marple? I didnât know sheâd ever seen him?â

âOh yes, she was round here walking the day she fell down and Mrs. Badcock picked her up and took her into her house. Do you think Arthur and Mrs. Bain will make a match of it?â

Jim frowned as he picked up a bit of strato-cruiser and consulted the instructional diagram.

âI do wish youâd listen when Iâm talking,â said Cherry.

âWhat did you say?â

âArthur Badcock and Mary Bain.â

âFor the Lordâs sake, Cherry, his wifeâs only just dead! You women! Iâve heard heâs in a terrible state of nerves stillâjumps if you speak to him.â

âI wonder whyâ¦ I shouldnât have thought heâd take it that way, would you?â

âCan you clear off this end of the table a bit?â said Jim, relinquishing even a passing interest in the affairs of his neighbours. âJust so that I can spread some of these pieces out a bit.â

Cherry heaved an exasperated sigh.

âTo get any attention round here, you have to be a super jet, or a turbo prop,â she said bitterly. âYou and your construction models!â

She piled the tray with the remains of supper and carried it over to the sink. She decided not to wash up, a necessity of daily life she always put off as long as possible. Instead, she piled everything into the sink, haphazard, slipped on a corduroy jacket and went out of the house, pausing to call over her shoulder:

âIâm just going to slip along to see Gladys Dixon. I want to borrow one of her Vogue patterns.â

âAll right, old girl.â Jim bent over his model.

Casting a venomous look at her next-door neighbourâs front door as she passed, Cherry went round the corner into Blenheim Close and stopped at No. 16. The door was open and Cherry tapped on it and went into the hall calling out:

âIs Gladdy about?â

âIs that you, Cherry?â Mrs. Dixon looked out of the kitchen. âSheâs upstairs in her room, dressmaking.â

âRight. Iâll go up.â

Cherry went upstairs to a small bedroom in which Gladys, a plump girl with a plain face, was kneeling on the floor, her cheeks flushed, and several pins in her mouth, tacking up a paper pattern.

âHallo, Cherry. Look, I got a lovely bit of stuff at Harperâs sale at Much Benham. Iâm going to do that crossover pattern with frills again, the one I did in Terylene before.â

âThatâll be nice,â said Cherry.

Gladys rose to her feet, panting a little.

âGot indigestion now,â she said.

âYou oughtnât to do dressmaking right after supper,â said Cherry, âbending over like that.â

âI suppose I ought to slim a bit,â said Gladys. She sat down on the bed.

âAny news from the studios?â asked Cherry, always avid for film news.

âNothing much. Thereâs a lot of talk still. Marina Gregg came back on the set yesterdayâand she created something frightful.â

âWhat about?â

âShe didnât like the taste of her coffee. You know, they have coffee in the middle of the morning. She took one sip and said there was something wrong with it. Which was nonsense, of course. There couldnât have been. It comes in a jug straight from the canteen. Of course I always put hers in a special china cup, rather poshâdifferent from the othersâbut itâs the same coffee. So there couldnât have been anything wrong with it, could there?â

âNerves, I suppose,â said Cherry. âWhat happened?â

âOh, nothing. Mr. Rudd just calmed everyone down. Heâs wonderful that way. He took the coffee from her and poured it down the sink.â

âThat seems to be rather stupid,â said Cherry slowly.

âWhyâwhat do you mean?â

âWell, if there was anything wrong with itânow nobody will ever know.â

âDo you think there really might have been?â asked Gladys looking alarmed.

âWellââ Cherry shrugged her shoulders, ââthere was something wrong with her cocktail the day of the fÃªte, wasnât there, so why not the coffee? If at first you donât succeed, try, try, try again.â

Gladys shivered.

âI donât half like it, Cherry,â she said. âSomebodyâs got it in for her all right. Sheâs had more letters, you know, threatening herâand there was that bust business the other day.â

âWhat bust business?â

âA marble bust. On the set. Itâs a corner of a room in some Austrian palace or other. Funny name like Shotbrown. Pictures and china and marble busts. This one was up on a bracketâsuppose it hadnât been pushed back enough. Anway, a heavy lorry went past out in the road and jarred it offâright onto the chair where Marina sits for her big scene with Count Somebody-or-other. Smashed to smithereens! Lucky they werenât shooting at the time. Mr. Rudd, he said not to say a word to her, and he put another chair there, and when she came yesterday and asked why the chair had been changed, he said the other chair was the wrong period, and this gave a better angle for the camera. But he didnât half like itâI can tell you that.â

The two girls looked at each other.

âItâs exciting in a way,â said Cherry slowly. âAnd yetâit isnâtâ¦.â

âI think Iâm going to give up working in the canteen at the studios,â said Gladys.

âWhy? Nobody wants to poison you or drop marble busts on your head!â

âNo. But itâs not always the person whoâs meant to get done in who gets done in. It may be someone else. Like Heather Badcock that day.â

âTrue enough,â said Cherry.

âYou know,â said Gladys, âIâve been thinking. I was at the Hall that day, helping. I was quite close to them at the time.â

âWhen Heather died?â

âNo, when she spilt the cocktail. All down her dress. A lovely dress it was, too, royal blue nylon taffeta. Sheâd got it quite new for the occasion. And it was funny.â

âWhat was funny?â

âI didnât think anything of it at the time. But it does seem funny when I think it over.â

Cherry looked at her expectantly. She accepted the adjective âfunnyâ in the sense that it was meant. It was not intended humorously.

âFor goodnessâ sake, what was funny?â she demanded.

âIâm almost sure she did it on purpose.â

âSpilt the cocktail on purpose?â

âYes. And I do think that was funny, donât you?â

âOn a brand-new dress? I donât believe it.â

âI wonder now,â said Gladys, âwhat Arthur Badcock will do with all Heatherâs clothes. That dress would clean all right. Or I could take out half a breadth, itâs a lovely full skirt. Do you think Arthur Badcock would think it very awful of me if I wanted to buy it off him? It would need hardly any alterationâand itâs lovely stuff.â

âYou wouldnâtââ Cherry hesitated ââmind?â

âMind what?â

âWellâhaving a dress that a woman had died inâI mean died that wayâ¦.â

Gladys stared at her.

âI hadnât thought of that,â she admitted. She considered for a moment or two. Then she cheered up.

âI canât see that it really matters,â she said. âAfter all, every time you buy something secondhand, somebodyâs usually worn it who has died, havenât they?â

âYes. But itâs not quite the same.â

âI think youâre being fanciful,â said Gladys. âItâs a lovely bright shade of blue, and really expensive stuff. About that funny business,â she continued thoughtfully, âI think Iâll go up to the hall tomorrow morning on my way to work and have a word with Mr. Giuseppe about it.â

âIs he the Italian butler?â

âYes. Heâs awfully handsome. Flashing eyes. Heâs got a terrible temper. When we go and help there, he chivvies us girls something terrible.â She giggled. âBut none of us really mind. He can be awfully nice sometimesâ¦ Anyway, I might just tell him about it, and ask him what I ought to do.â

âI donât see that youâve got anything to tell,â said Cherry.

âWell, it was funny,â said Gladys, defiantly clinging to her favourite adjective.

âI think,â said Cherry, âthat you just want an excuse to go and talk to Mr. Giuseppeâand youâd better be careful, my girl. You know what these wops are like! Affiliation orders all over the place. Hot-blooded and passionate, thatâs what these Italians are.â

Gladys sighed ecstatically.

Cherry looked at her friendâs fat slightly spotted face and decided that her warnings were unnecessary. Mr. Giuseppe, she thought, would have better fish to fry elsewhere.

II

âAha!â said Dr. Haydock, âunravelling, I see.â

He looked from Miss Marple to a pile of fluffy white fleecy wool.

âYou advised me to try unravelling if I couldnât knit,â said Miss Marple.

âYou seem to have been very thorough about it.â

âI made a mistake in the pattern right at the beginning. That made the whole thing go out of proportion, so Iâve had to unravel it all. Itâs a very elaborate pattern, you see.â

âWhat are elaborate patterns to you? Nothing at all.â

âI ought really, I suppose, with my bad eyesight, to stick to plain knitting.â

âYouâd find that very boring. Well, Iâm flattered that you took my advice.â

âDonât I always take your advice, Doctor Haydock?â

âYou do when it suits you,â said Dr. Haydock.

âTell me, Doctor, was it really knitting you had in mind when you gave me that advice?â

He met the twinkle in her eyes and twinkled back at her.

âHow are you getting on with unravelling the murder?â he asked.

âIâm afraid my faculties arenât quite what they were,â said Miss Marple, shaking her head with a sigh.

âNonsense,â said Dr. Haydock. âDonât tell me you havenât formed some conclusions.â

âOf course I have formed conclusions. Very definite ones.â

âSuch as?â asked Haydock inquiringly.

âIf the cocktail glass was tampered with that dayâand I donât see quite how that could have been doneââ

âMight have had the stuff ready in an eyedropper,â suggested Haydock.

âYou are so professional,â said Miss Marple admiringly. âBut even then it seems to me so very peculiar that nobody saw it happen.â

âMurder should not only be done, but be seen done! Is that it?â

âYou know exactly what I mean,â said Miss Marple.

âThat was a chance the murderer had to take,â said Haydock.

âOh quite so. Iâm not disputing that for a moment. But there were, I have found by inquiry and adding up the persons, at least eighteen to twenty people on the spot. It seems to me that amongst twenty people somebody must have seen that action occur.â

Haydock nodded. âOne would think so, certainly. But obviously no one did.â

âI wonder,â said Miss Marple thoughtfully.

âWhat have you got in mind exactly?â

âWell, there are three possibilities. Iâm assuming that at least one person would have seen something. One out of twenty. I think itâs only reasonable to assume that.â

âI think youâre begging the question,â said Haydock, âand I can see looming ahead one of those terrible exercises in probability where six men have white hats and six men have black and you have to work it out by mathematics how likely it is that the hats will get mixed-up and in what proportion. If you start thinking about things like that you would go round the bend. Let me assure you of that!â

âI wasnât thinking of anything like that,â said Miss Marple. âI was just thinking of what is likelyââ

âYes,â said Haydock thoughtfully, âyouâre very good at that. You always have been.â

âIt is likely, you know,â said Miss Marple, âthat out of twenty people one at least should be an observant one.â

âI give in,â said Haydock. âLetâs have the three possibilities.â

âIâm afraid Iâll have to put them in rather sketchily,â said Miss Marple. âI havenât quite thought it out. Inspector Craddock, and probably Frank Cornish before him, will have questioned everybody who was there so the natural thing would be that whoever saw anything of the kind would have said so at once.â

âIs that one of the possibilities?â

âNo, of course it isnât,â said Miss Marple, âbecause it hasnât happened. What you have to account for is if one person did see something why didnât that person say so?â

âIâm listening.â

âPossibility One,â said Miss Marple, her cheeks going pink with animation. âThe person who saw it didnât realise what they had seen. That would mean, of course, that it would have to be rather a stupid person. Someone, let us say, who can use their eyes but not their brain. The sort of person who, if you asked them. âDid you see anyone put anything in Marina Greggâs glass?â would answer, âOh, no,â but if you said âDid you see anyone put their hand over the top of Marina Greggâs glass?â would say âOh, yes, of course I did.ââ

Haydock laughed. âI admit,â he said, âthat one never quite allows for the moron in our midst. All right, I grant you Possibility One. The moron saw it, the moron didnât grasp what the action meant. And the second possibility?â

âThis oneâs far-fetched, but I do think it is just a possibility. It might have been a person whose action in putting something in a glass was natural.â

âWait, wait, explain that a little more clearly.â

âIt seems to me nowadays,â said Miss Marple, âthat people are always adding things to what they eat and drink. In my young days it was considered to be very bad manners to take medicines with oneâs meals. It was on a par with blowing your nose at the dinner table. It just wasnât done. If you had to take pills or capsules, or a spoonful of something, you went out of the room to do so. Thatâs not the case now. When staying with my nephew Raymond, I observed some of his guests seemed to arrive with quite a quantity of little bottles of pills and tablets. They take them with food, or before food, or after food. They keep aspirins and such things in their handbags and take them the whole timeâwith cups of tea or with their after-dinner coffee. You understand what I mean?â

âOh, yes,â said Dr. Haydock, âIâve got your meaning now and itâs interesting. You mean that someoneââ He stopped. âLetâs have it in your own words.â

âI meant,â said Miss Marple, âthat it would be quite possible, audacious but possible, for someone to pick up that glass which as soon as it was in his or her hand, of course, would be assumed to be his or her own drink and to add whatever was added quite openly. In that case, you see, people wouldnât think twice of it.â

âHeâor sheâcouldnât be sure of that, though,â Haydock pointed out.

âNo,â agreed Miss Marple, âit would be a gamble, a riskâbut it could happen. And then,â she went on, âthereâs the third possibility.â

âPossibility One, a moron,â said the doctor. âPossibility Two, a gamblerâwhatâs Possibility Three?â

âSomebody saw what happened, and has held their tongue deliberately.â

Haydock frowned. âFor what reason?â he asked. âAre you suggesting blackmail? If soââ

âIf so,â said Miss Marple, âitâs a very dangerous thing to do.â

âYes, indeed.â He looked sharply at the placid old lady with the white fleecy garment on her lap. âIs the third possibility the one you consider the most probable one?â

âNo,â said Miss Marple, âI wouldnât go so far as that. I have, at the moment, insufficient grounds. Unless,â she added carefully, âsomeone else gets killed.â

âDo you think someone else is going to get killed?â

âI hope not,â said Miss Marple. âI trust and pray not. But it so often happens, Doctor Haydock. Thatâs the sad and frightening thing. It so often happens.â

Seventeen

Ella put down the telephone receiver, smiled to herself and came out of the public telephone box. She was pleased with herself.

âChief-Inspector God Almighty Craddock!â she said to herself. âIâm twice as good as he is at the job. Variations on the theme of: âFly, all is discovered!ââ

She pictured to herself with a good deal of pleasure the reactions recently suffered by the person at the other end of the line. That faint menacing whisper coming through the receiver. âI saw youâ¦.â

She laughed silently, the corners of her mouth curving up in a feline cruel line. A student of psychology might have watched her with some interest. Never until the last few days had she had this feeling of power. She was hardly aware herself of how much the heady intoxication of it affected herâ¦.

âDamn that old woman,â thought Ella. She could feel Mrs. Bantryâs eyes following her as she walked up the drive.

A phrase came into her head for no particular reason.

The pitcher goes to the well once too oftenâ¦.

Nonsense. Nobody could suspect that it was she who had whispered those menacing wordsâ¦.

She sneezed.

âDamn this hay fever,â said Ella Zielinsky.

When she came into her office, Jason Rudd was standing by the window.

He wheeled round.

âI couldnât think where you were.â

âI had to go and speak to the gardener. There wereââ she broke off as she caught sight of his face.

She asked sharply: âWhat is it?â

His eyes seemed set deeper in his face than ever. All the gaiety of the clown was gone. This was a man under strain. She had seen him under strain before but never looking like this.

She said again: âWhat is it?â

He held a sheet of paper out to her. âItâs the analysis of that coffee. The coffee that Marina complained about and wouldnât drink.â

âYou sent it to be analysed?â She was startled. âBut you poured it away down the sink. I saw you.â

His wide mouth curled up in a smile. âIâm pretty good at sleight of hand, Ella,â he said. âYou didnât know that, did you? Yes, I poured most of it away but I kept a little and I took it along to be analysed.â

She looked down at the paper in her hand.

âArsenic.â She sounded incredulous.

âYes, arsenic.â

âSo Marina was right about it tasting bitter?â

âShe wasnât right about that. Arsenic has no taste. But her instinct was quite right.â

âAnd we thought she was just being hysterical!â

âShe is hysterical! Who wouldnât be? She has a woman drop dead at her feet practically. She gets threatening notesâone after anotherâthereâs not been anything today, has there?â

Ella shook her head.

âWho plants the damned things? Oh well, I suppose itâs easy enoughâall these open windows. Anyone could slip in.â

âYou mean we ought to keep the house barred and locked? But itâs such hot weather. Thereâs a man posted in the grounds, after all.â

âYes, and I donât want to frighten her more than sheâs frightened already. Threatening notes donât matter two hoots. But arsenic, Ella, arsenicâs differentâ¦.â

âNobody could tamper with food here in the house.â

âCouldnât they, Ella? Couldnât they?â

âNot without being seen. No unauthorized personââ

He interrupted.

âPeople will do things for money, Ella.â

âHardly murder!â

âEven that. And they mightnât realize it was murderâ¦ The servantsâ¦.â

âIâm sure the servants are all right.â

âGiuseppe now. I doubt if Iâd trust Giuseppe very far if it came to the question of moneyâ¦ Heâs been with us some time, of course, butââ

âMust you torture yourself like this, Jason?â

He flung himself down in the chair. He leaned forward, his long arms hanging down between his knees.

âWhat to do?â he said slowly and softly. âMy God, what to do?â

Ella did not speak. She sat there watching him.

âShe was happy here,â said Jason. He was speaking more to himself than to Ella. He stared down between his knees at the carpet. If he had looked up, the expression on her face might perhaps have surprised him.

âShe was happy,â he said again. âShe hoped to be happy and she was happy. She was saying so that day, the day Mrs. Whatâs-her-nameââ

âBantry?â

âYes. The day Mrs. Bantry came to tea. She said it was âso peaceful.â She said that at last sheâd found a place where she could settle down and be happy and feel secure. My goodness, secure!â

âHappy ever after?â Ellaâs voice held a slight tone of irony. âYes, put like that, it sounds just like a fairy story.â

âAt any rate she believed it.â

âBut you didnât,â said Ella. âYou never thought it would be like that?â

Jason Rudd smiled. âNo. I didnât go the whole hog. But I did think for a while, a yearâtwo yearsâthere might be a period of calm and content. It might have made a new woman of her. It might have given her confidence in herself. She can be happy, you know. When she is happy sheâs like a child. Just like a child. And nowâthis had to happen to her.â

Ella moved restlessly. âThings have to happen to all of us,â she said brusquely. âThatâs the way life is. You just have to take it. Some of us can, some of us canât. Sheâs the kind that canât.â

She sneezed.

âYour hay fever bad again?â

âYes. By the way, Giuseppeâs gone to London.â

Jason looked faintly surprised.

âTo London? Why?â

âSome kind of family trouble. Heâs got relations in Soho, and one of themâs desperately ill. He went to Marina about it and she said it was all right, so I gave him the day off. Heâll be back sometime tonight. You donât mind do you?â

âNo,â said Jason, âI donât mindâ¦.â

He got up and walked up and down.

âIf I could take her awayâ¦nowâ¦at once.â

âScrap the picture? But just think.â

His voice rose.

âI canât think of anything but Marina. Donât you understand? Sheâs in danger. Thatâs all I can think about.â

She opened her mouth impulsively, then closed it.

She gave another muffled sneeze and rose.

âIâd better get my atomizer.â

She left the room and went to her bedroom, a word echoing in her mind.

Marinaâ¦ Marinaâ¦ Marinaâ¦ Always Marinaâ¦.

Fury rose up in her. She stilled it. She went into the bathroom and picked up the spray she used.

She inserted the nozzle into one nostril and squeezed.

The warning came a second too lateâ¦ Her brain recognized the unfamiliar odour of bitter almondsâ¦but not in time to paralyse the squeezing fingers.

Eighteen

I

Frank Cornish replaced the receiver.

âMiss Brewster is out of London for the day,â he announced.

âIs she now?â said Craddock.

âDo you think sheââ

âI donât know. I shouldnât think so, but I donât know. Ardwyck Fenn?â

âOut. I left word for him to ring you. And Margot Bence, Personality Photographer, has got an assignment somewhere in the country. Her pansy partner didnât know whereâor said he didnât. And the butlerâs hooked it to London.â

âI wonder,â said Craddock thoughtfully, âif the butler has hooked it for good. I always suspect dying relatives. Why was he suddenly anxious to go to London today?â

âHe could have put the cyanide in the atomizer easily enough before he left.â

âAnybody could.â

âBut I think heâs indicated. It could hardly be someone from outside.â

âOh, yes, it could. Youâd have to judge your moment. You could leave a car in one of the side drives, wait until everyone is in the dining room, say, and slip in through a window and upstairs. The shrubberies come close up to the house.â

âDamnâ risky.â

âThis murderer doesnât mind taking risks, you know. Thatâs been apparent all along.â

âWeâve had a man on duty in the grounds.â

âI know. One man wasnât enough. So long as it was a question of these anonymous letters I didnât feel so much urgency. Marina Gregg herself is being well guarded. It never occurred to me that anyone else was in danger. Iââ

The telephone rang. Cornish took the call.

âItâs the Dorchester. Mr. Ardwyck Fenn is on the line.â

He proffered the receiver to Craddock who took it.

âMr. Fenn? This is Craddock here.â

âAh, yes. I heard you had rung me. I have been out all day.â

âI am sorry to tell you, Mr. Fenn, that Miss Zielinsky died this morningâof cyanide poisoning.â

âIndeed? I am shocked to hear it. An accident? Or not an accident?â

âNot an accident. Prussic acid had been put in an atomizer she was in the habit of using.â

âI see. Yes, I seeâ¦â There was a short pause. âAnd why, may I ask, should you ring me about this distressing occurrence?â

âYou knew Miss Zielinsky, Mr. Fenn?â

âCertainly I knew her. I have known her for some years. But she was not an intimate friend.â

âWe hoped that you could, perhaps, assist us?â

âIn what way?â

âWe wondered if you could suggest any motive for her death. She is a stranger in this country. We know very little about her friends and associates and the circumstances of her life.â

âI would suggest that Jason Rudd is the person to question about that.â

âNaturally. We have done so. But there might be an off-chance that you might know something about her that he does not.â

âIâm afraid that is not so. I know next to nothing about Ella Zielinsky except that she was a most capable young woman, and first-class at her job. About her private life I know nothing at all.â

âSo you have no suggestions to make?â

Craddock was ready for the decisive negative, but to his surprise it did not come. Instead there was a pause. He could hear Ardwyck Fenn breathing rather heavily at the other end.

âAre you still there, Chief-Inspector?â

âYes, Mr. Fenn. Iâm here.â

âI have decided to tell you something that may be of assistance to you. When you hear what it is, you will realize that I have every reason to keep it to myself. But I judge that in the end that might be unwise. The facts are these. A couple of days ago I received a telephone call. A voice spoke to me in a whisper. It saidâI am quoting nowâI saw youâ¦ I saw you put the tablets in the glassâ¦ You didnât know there had been an eyewitness, did you? Thatâs all for nowâvery soon you will be told what you have to do.â

Craddock uttered an ejaculation of astonishment.

âSurprising, was it not, Mr. Craddock? I will assure you categorically that the accusation was entirely unfounded. I did not put tablets in anybodyâs glass. I defy anyone to prove that I did. The suggestion is utterly absurd. But it would seem, would it not, that Miss Zielinsky was embarking on blackmail.â

âYou recognized her voice?â

âYou cannot recognize a whisper. But it was Ella Zielinsky all right.â

âHow do you know?â

âThe whisperer sneezed heavily before ringing off. I knew that Miss Zielinsky suffered from hay fever.â

âAnd you thinkâwhat?â

âI think that Miss Zielinsky got hold of the wrong person at her first attempt. It seems to me possible that she was more successful later. Blackmail can be a dangerous game.â

Craddock pulled himself together.

âI must thank you for your statement, Mr. Fenn. As a matter of form, I shall have to check upon your movements today.â

âNaturally. My chauffeur will be able to give you precise information.â

Craddock rang off and repeated what Fenn had said. Cornish whistled.

âEither that lets him out completely. Or elseââ

âOr else itâs a magnificent piece of bluff. It could be. Heâs the kind of man who has the nerve for it. If thereâs the least chance that Ella Zielinsky left a record of her suspicions, then this taking of the bull by the horns is a magnificent bluff.â

âAnd his alibi?â

âWeâve come across some very good faked alibis in our time,â said Craddock. âHe could afford to pay a good sum for one.â

II

It was past midnight when Giuseppe returned to Gossington. He took a taxi from Much Benham, as the last train on the branch line to St. Mary Mead had gone.

He was in very good spirits. He paid off the taxi at the gate, and took a short cut through the shrubbery. He opened the back door with his key. The house was dark and silent. Giuseppe shut and bolted the door. As he turned to the stair which led to his own comfortable suite of bed and bath, he noticed that there was a draught. A window open somewhere, perhaps. He decided not to bother. He went upstairs smiling and fitted a key into his door. He always kept his suite locked. As he turned the key and pushed the door open, he felt the pressure of a hard round ring in his back. A voice said, âPut your hands up and donât scream.â

Giuseppe threw his hands up quickly. He was taking no chances. Actually there was no chance to take.

The trigger was pressedâonceâtwice.

Giuseppe fell forwardâ¦.

III

Bianca lifted her head from her pillow.

Was that a shotâ¦ She was almost sure she had heard a shotâ¦ She waited some minutes. Then she decided she had been mistaken and lay down again.

Nineteen

I

âItâs too dreadful,â said Miss Knight. She put down her parcels and gasped for breath.

âSomething has happened?â asked Miss Marple.

âI really donât like to tell you about it, dear, I really donât. It might be a shock to you.â

âIf you donât tell me,â said Miss Marple, âsomebody else will.â

âDear, dear, thatâs true enough,â said Miss Knight. âYes, thatâs terribly true. Everybody talks too much, they say. And Iâm sure thereâs a lot in that. I never repeat anything myself. Very careful I am.â

âYou were saying,â said Miss Marple, âthat something rather terrible had happened?â

âIt really quite bowled me over,â said Miss Knight. âAre you sure you donât feel the draught from that window, dear?â

âI like a little fresh air,â said Miss Marple.

âAh, but we mustnât catch cold, must we?â said Miss Knight archly. âIâll tell you what. Iâll just pop out and make you a nice eggnog. Weâd like that, wouldnât we?â

âI donât know whether you would like it,â said Miss Marple. âI should be delighted for you to have it if you would like it.â

âNow, now,â said Miss Knight, shaking her finger, âso fond of our joke, arenât we?â

âBut you were going to tell me something,â said Miss Marple.

âWell, you mustnât worry about it,â said Miss Knight, âand you mustnât let it make you nervous in anyway, because Iâm sure itâs nothing to do with us. But with all these American gangsters and things like that, well I suppose itâs nothing to be surprised about.â

âSomebody else has been killed,â said Miss Marple, âis that it?â

âOh, thatâs very sharp of you, dear. I donât know what should put such a thing into your head.â

âAs a matter of fact,â said Miss Marple thoughtfully, âIâve been expecting it.â

âOh, really!â exclaimed Miss Knight.

âSomebody always sees something,â said Miss Marple, âonly sometimes it takes a little while for them to realize what it is they have seen. Who is it whoâs dead?â

âThe Italian butler. He was shot last night.â

âI see,â said Miss Marple thoughtfully. âYes, very likely, of course, but I should have thought that heâd have realized before now the importance of what he sawââ

âReally!â exclaimed Miss Knight. âYou talk as though you knew all about it. Why should he have been killed?â

âI expect,â said Miss Marple, thoughtfully, âthat he tried to blackmail somebody.â

âHe went to London yesterday, they say.â

âDid he now,â said Miss Marple, âthatâs very interesting, and suggestive too, I think.â

Miss Knight departed to the kitchen intent on the concoction of nourishing beverages. Miss Marple remained sitting thoughtfully till disturbed by the loud aggressive humming of the vacuum cleaner, assisted by Cherryâs voice singing the latest favourite ditty of the moment, âI Said to You and You Said to Me.â

Miss Knight popped her head round the kitchen door.

âNot quite so much noise, please, Cherry,â she said. âYou donât want to disturb Miss Marple, do you? You mustnât be thoughtless, you know.â

She shut the kitchen door again as Cherry remarked, either to herself or the world at large, âAnd who said you could call me Cherry, you old jelly-bag?â The vacuum continued to whine while Cherry sang in a more subdued voice. Miss Marple called in a high clear voice:

âCherry, come here a minute.â

Cherry switched off the vacuum and opened the drawing room door.

âI didnât mean to disturb you by singing, Miss Marple.â

âYour singing is much pleasanter than the horrid noise that vacuum makes,â said Miss Marple, âbut I know one has to go with the times. It would be no use on earth asking any of you young people to use the dustpan and brush in the old-fashioned way.â

âWhat, get down on my knees with a dustpan and brush?â Cherry registered alarm and surprise.

âQuite unheard of, I know,â said Miss Marple. âCome in and shut the door. I called you because I wanted to talk to you.â

Cherry obeyed and came towards Miss Marple looking inquiringly at her.

âWeâve not much time,â said Miss Marple. âThat oldâ Miss Knight I meanâwill come in any moment with an egg drink of some kind.â

âGood for you, I expect. Itâll pep you up,â said Cherry encouragingly.

âHad you heard,â asked Miss Marple, âthat the butler at Gossington Hall was shot last night?â

âWhat, the wop?â demanded Cherry.

âYes. His name is Giuseppe, I understand.â

âNo,â said Cherry, âI hadnât heard that. I heard that Mr. Ruddâs secretary had a heart attack yesterday, and somebody said she was actually deadâbut I suspect that was just a rumour. Who told you about the butler?â

âMiss Knight came back and told me.â

âOf course I havenât seen anyone to speak to this morning,â said Cherry, ânot before coming along here. I expect the news has only just got round. Was he bumped off?â she demanded.

âThat seems to be assumed,â said Miss Marple, âwhether rightly or wrongly I donât quite know.â

âThis is a wonderful place for talk,â said Cherry. âI wonder if Gladys got to see him or not,â she added thoughtfully.

âGladys?â

âOh, a sort of friend of mine. She lives a few doors away. Works in the canteen at the studios.â

âAnd she talked to you about Giuseppe?â

âWell, there was something that struck her as a bit funny and she was going to ask him what he thought about it. But if you ask me it was just an excuseâsheâs a bit sweet on him. Of course heâs quite handsome and Italians do have a way with themâ I told her to be careful about him, though. You know what Italians are.â

âHe went to London yesterday,â said Miss Marple, âand only returned in the evening I understand.â

âI wonder if she managed to get to see him before he went.â

âWhy did she want to see him, Cherry?â

âIt was just something which she felt was a bit funny,â said Cherry.

Miss Marple looked at her inquiringly. She was able to take the word âfunnyâ at the valuation it usually had for the Gladyses of the neighbourhood.

âShe was one of the girls who helped at the party there,â explained Cherry. âThe day of the fÃªte. You know, when Mrs. Badcock got hers.â

âYes?â Miss Marple was looking more alert than ever, much as a fox terrier might look at a waiting rat hole.

âAnd there was something that she saw that struck her as a bit funny.â

âWhy didnât she go to the police about it?â

âWell, she didnât really think it meant anything, you see,â explained Cherry. âAnyway she thought sheâd better ask Mr. Giuseppe first.â

âWhat was it that she saw that day?â

âFrankly,â said Cherry, âwhat she told me seemed nonsense! Iâve wondered, perhaps, if she was just putting me offâand what she was going to see Mr. Giuseppe about was something quite different.â

âWhat did she say?â Miss Marple was patient and pursuing.

Cherry frowned. âShe was talking about Mrs. Badcock and the cocktail and she said she was quite near her at the time. And she said she did it herself.â

âDid what herself?â

âSpilt her cocktail all down her dress, and ruined it.â

âYou mean it was clumsiness?â

âNo, not clumsiness. Gladys said she did it on purposeâthat she meant to do it. Well, I mean, that doesnât make sense, does it, however you look at it?â

Miss Marple shook her head, perplexed. âNo,â she said. âCertainly notâno, I canât see any sense in that.â

âSheâd got on a new dress too,â said Cherry. âThatâs how the subject came up. Gladys wondered whether sheâd be able to buy it. Said it ought to clean all right but she didnât like to go and ask Mr. Badcock herself. Sheâs very good at dressmaking, Gladys is, and she said it was lovely stuff. Royal blue artificial taffeta; and she said even if the stuff was ruined where the cocktail stained it, she could take out a seamâhalf a breadth sayâbecause it was one of those full skirts.â

Miss Marple considered this dressmaking problem for a moment and then set it aside.

âBut you think your friend Gladys might have been keeping something back?â

âWell, I just wondered because I donât see if thatâs all she sawâ Heather Badcock deliberately spilling her cocktail over herselfâ I donât see that thereâd be anything to ask Mr. Giuseppe about, do you?â

âNo, I donât,â said Miss Marple. She sighed. âBut itâs always interesting when one doesnât see,â she added. âIf you donât see what a thing means you must be looking at it wrong way round, unless of course you havenât got full information. Which is probably the case here.â She sighed. âItâs a pity she didnât go straight to the police.â

The door opened and Miss Knight bustled in holding a tall tumbler with a delicious pale yellow froth on top.

âNow here you are, dear,â she said, âa nice little treat. Weâre going to enjoy this.â

She pulled forward a little table and placed it beside her employer. Then she turned a glance on Cherry. âThe vacuum cleaner,â she said coldly, âis left in a most difficult position in the hall. I nearly fell over it. Anyone might have an accident.â

âRight-ho,â said Cherry. âIâd better get on with things.â

She left the room.

âReally,â said Miss Knight, âthat Mrs. Baker! Iâm continually having to speak to her about something or other. Leaving vacuum cleaners all over the place and coming in here chattering to you when you want to be quiet.â

âI called her in,â said Miss Marple. âI wanted to speak to her.â

âWell, I hope you mentioned the way the beds are made,â said Miss Knight. âI was quite shocked when I came to turn down your bed last night. I had to make it all over again.â

âThat was very kind of you,â said Miss Marple.

âOh, I never grudge being helpful,â said Miss Knight. âThatâs why Iâm here, isnât it. To make a certain person we know as comfortable and happy as possible. Oh dear, dear,â she added, âyouâve pulled out a lot of your knitting again.â

Miss Marple leaned back and closed her eyes. âIâm going to have a little rest,â she said. âPut the glass hereâthank you. And please donât come in and disturb me for at least three-quarters of an hour.â

âIndeed I wonât, dear,â said Miss Knight. âAnd Iâll tell that Mrs. Baker to be very quiet.â

She bustled out purposefully.

II

The good-looking young American glanced round him in a puzzled way.

The ramifications of the housing estate perplexed him.

He addressed himself politely to an old lady with white hair and pink cheeks who seemed to be the only human being in sight.

âExcuse me, maâam, but could you tell me where to find Blenheim Close?â

The old lady considered him for a moment. He had just begun to wonder if she was deaf, and had prepared himself to repeat his demand in a louder voice, when she spoke.

âAlong here to the right, then turn left, second to the right again, and straight on. What number do you want?â

âNo. 16.â He consulted a small piece of paper. âGladys Dixon.â

âThatâs right,â said the old lady. âBut I believe she works at the Hellingforth Studios. In the canteen. Youâll find her there if you want her.â

âShe didnât turn up this morning,â explained the young man. âI want to get hold of her to come up to Gossington Hall. Weâre very shorthanded there today.â

âOf course,â said the old lady. âThe butler was shot last night, wasnât he?â

The young man was slightly staggered by this reply.

âI guess news gets round pretty quickly in these parts,â he said.

âIt does indeed,â said the old lady. âMr. Ruddâs secretary died of some kind of seizure yesterday, too, I understand.â She shook her head. âTerrible. Quite terrible. What are we coming to?â

Twenty

I

A little later in the day yet another visitor found his way to 16 Blenheim Close. Detective-Sergeant William (Tom) Tiddler.

In reply to his sharp knock on the smart yellow painted door, it was opened to him by a girl of about fifteen. She had long straggly fair hair and was wearing tight black pants and an orange sweater.

âMiss Gladys Dixon live here?â

âYou want Gladys? Youâre unlucky. She isnât here.â

âWhere is she? Out for the evening?â

âNo. Sheâs gone away. Bit of a holiday like.â

âWhereâs she gone to?â

âThatâs telling,â said the girl.

Tom Tiddler smiled at her in his most ingratiating manner. âMay I come in? Is your mother at home?â

âMumâs out at work. She wonât be in until half past seven. But she canât tell you anymore than I can. Gladys has gone off for a holiday.â

âOh, I see. When did she go?â

âThis morning. All of a sudden like. Said sheâd got the chance of a free trip.â

âPerhaps you wouldnât mind giving me her address.â

The fair-haired girl shook her head. âHavenât got an address,â she said. âGladys said sheâd send us her address as soon as she knew where she was going to stay. As like as not she wonât though,â she added. âLast summer she went to Newquay and never sent us as much as a postcard. Sheâs slack that way and besides, she says, why do mothers have to bother all the time?â

âDid somebody stand her this holiday?â

âMust have,â said the girl. âSheâs pretty hard up at the moment. Went to the sales last week.â

âAnd youâve no idea at all who gave her this trip orâerâpaid for her going there?â

The fair girl bristled suddenly.

âNow donât get any wrong ideas. Our Gladys isnât that sort. She and her boyfriend may like to go to the same place for holidays in August, but thereâs nothing wrong about it. She pays for herself. So donât you get ideas, mister.â

Tiddler said meekly that he wouldnât get ideas but he would like the address if Gladys Dixon should send a postcard.

He returned to the station with the result of his various inquiries. From the studios, he had learnt that Gladys Dixon had rung up that day and said she wouldnât be able to come to work for about a week. He had also learned some other things.

âNo end of a shemozzle thereâs been there lately,â he said. âMarina Greggâs been having hysterics most days. Said some coffee she was given was poisoned. Said it tasted bitter. Awful state of nerves she was in. Her husband took it and threw it down the sink and told her not to make so much fuss.â

âYes?â said Craddock. It seemed plain there was more to come.

âBut word went round as Mr. Rudd didnât throw it all away. He kept some and had it analysed and it was poison.â

âIt sounds to me,â said Craddock, âvery unlikely. Iâll have to ask him about that.â

II

Jason Rudd was nervous, irritable.

âSurely, Inspector Craddock,â he said, âI was only doing what I had a perfect right to do.â

âIf you suspected anything was wrong with that coffee, Mr. Rudd, it would have been much better if youâd turned it over to us.â

âThe truth of it is that I didnât suspect for a moment that anything was wrong with it.â

âIn spite of your wife saying that it tasted odd?â

âOh, that!â A faintly rueful smile came to Ruddâs face. âEver since the date of the fÃªte everything that my wife has eaten or drunk has tasted odd. What with that and the threatening notes that have been comingââ

âThere have been more of them?â

âTwo more. One through the window down there. The other one was slipped in the letter box. Here they are if you would like to see them.â

Craddock looked. They were printed, as the first one had been. One ran:

It wonât be long now. Prepare yourself.

The other had a rough drawing of a skull and crossbones and below it was written: This means you, Marina.

Craddockâs eyebrows rose.

âVery childish,â he said.

âMeaning you discount them as dangerous?â

âNot at all,â said Craddock. âA murdererâs mind usually is childish. Youâve really no idea at all, Mr. Rudd, who sent these?â

âNot the least,â said Jason. âI canât help feeling itâs more like a macabre joke than anything else. It seemed to me perhapsââ he hesitated.

âYes, Mr. Rudd?â

âIt could be somebody local, perhaps, whoâwho had been excited by the poisoning on the day of the fÃªte. Someone perhaps, who has a grudge against the acting profession. There are rural pockets where acting is considered to be one of the devilâs weapons.â

âMeaning that you think Miss Gregg is not actually threatened? But what about this business of the coffee?â

âI donât even know how you got to hear about that,â said Rudd with some annoyance.

Craddock shook his head.

âEveryoneâs talked about that. It always comes to oneâs ears sooner or later. But you should have come to us. Even when you got the result of the analysis you didnât let us know, did you?â

âNo,â said Jason. âNo, I didnât. But I had other things to think about. Poor Ellaâs death for one thing. And now this business of Giuseppe. Inspector Craddock, when can I get my wife away from here? Sheâs half frantic.â

âI can understand that. But there will be the inquests to attend.â

âYou do realize that her life is still in danger?â

âI hope not. Every precaution will be takenââ

âEvery precaution! Iâve heard that before, I thinkâ¦ I must get her away from here, Craddock. I must.â

III

Marina was lying on the chaise longue in her bedroom, her eyes closed. She looked grey with strain and fatigue.

Her husband stood there for a moment looking at her. Her eyes opened.

âWas that that Craddock man?â

âYes.â

âWhat did he come about? Ella?â

âEllaâand Giuseppe.â

Marina frowned.

âGiuseppe? Have they found out who shot him?â

âNot yet.â

âItâs all a nightmareâ¦ Did he say we could go away?â

âHe saidânot yet.â

âWhy not? We must. Didnât you make him see that I canât go on waiting day after day for someone to kill me. Itâs fantastic.â

âEvery precaution will be taken.â

âThey said that before. Did it stop Ella being killed? Or Giuseppe? Donât you see, theyâll get me in the endâ¦ There was something in my coffee that day at the studio. Iâm sure there wasâ¦if only you hadnât poured it away! If weâd kept it, we could have had it analysed or whatever you call it. Weâd have known for sureâ¦.â

âWould it have made you happier to know for sure?â

She stared at him, the pupils of her eyes widely dilated.

âI donât see what you mean. If theyâd known for sure that someone was trying to poison me, theyâd have let us leave here, theyâd have let us get away.â

âNot necessarily.â

âBut I canât go on like this! I canâtâ¦ I canâtâ¦ You must help me, Jason. You must do something. Iâm frightened. Iâm so terribly frightenedâ¦ Thereâs an enemy here. And I donât know who it isâ¦ It might be anyoneâanyone. At the studiosâor here in the house. Someone who hates meâbut why?â¦ Why?â¦ Someone who wants me deadâ¦ But who is it? Who is it? I thoughtâI was almost sureâit was Ella. But nowââ

âYou thought it was Ella?â Jason sounded astonished. âBut why?â

âBecause she hated meâoh yes she did. Donât men ever see these things? She was madly in love with you. I donât believe you had the least idea of it. But it canât be Ella, because Ellaâs dead. Oh, Jinks, Jinksâdo help meâget me away from hereâlet me go somewhere safeâ¦safeâ¦.â

She sprang up and walked rapidly up and down, turning and twisting her hands.

The director in Jason was full of admiration for those passionate, tortured movements. I must remember them, he thought. For Hedda Gabler, perhaps? Then, with a shock, he remembered that it was his wife he was watching.

âItâs all right, Marinaâall right. Iâll look after you.â

âWe must go away from this hateful houseâat once. I hate this houseâhate it.â

âListen, we canât go away immediately.â

âWhy not? Why not?â

âBecause,â said Rudd, âdeaths cause complicationsâ¦and thereâs something else to consider. Will running away do any good?â

âOf course it will. Weâll get away from this person who hates me.â

âIf thereâs anyone who hates you that much, they could follow you easily enough.â

âYou meanâyou meanâI shall never get away? I shall never be safe again?â

âDarlingâit will be all right. Iâll look after you. Iâll keep you safe.â

She clung to him.

âWill you, Jinks? Will you see that nothing happens to me?â

She sagged against him, and he laid her down gently on the chaise longue.

âOh, Iâm a coward,â she murmured, âa cowardâ¦if I knew who it wasâand why?â¦ Get me my pillsâthe yellow onesânot the brown. I must have something to calm me.â

âDonât take too many, for Godâs sake, Marina.â

âAll rightâall rightâ¦ Sometimes they donât have any effect anymoreâ¦â She looked up in his face.

She smiled, a tender exquisite smile.

âYouâll take care of me, Jinks? Swear youâll take care of meâ¦.â

âAlways,â said Jason Rudd. âTo the bitter end.â

Her eyes opened wide.

âYou looked soâso odd when you said that.â

âDid I? How did I look?â

âI canât explain. Likeâlike a clown laughing at something terribly sad, that no one else has seenâ¦.â

Twenty-one

I

It was a tired and depressed Inspector Craddock who came to see Miss Marple the following day.

âSit down and be comfortable,â she said. âI can see youâve had a very hard time.â

âI donât like to be defeated,â said Inspector Craddock. âTwo murders within twenty-four hours. Ah well, Iâm poorer at my job than I thought I was. Give me a nice cup of tea, Aunt Jane, with some thin bread and butter and soothe me with your earliest remembrances of St. Mary Mead.â

Miss Marple clicked with her tongue in a sympathetic manner.

âNow itâs no good talking like that, my dear boy, and I donât think bread and butter is at all what you want. Gentlemen, when theyâve had a disappointment, want something stronger than tea.â

As usual, Miss Marple said the word âgentlemenâ in the way of someone describing a foreign species.

âI should advise a good stiff whisky and soda,â she said.

âWould you really, Aunt Jane? Well, I wonât say no.â

âAnd I shall get it for you myself,â said Miss Marple, rising to her feet.

âOh, no, donât do that. Let me. Or what about Miss Whatâs-her-name?â

âWe donât want Miss Knight fussing about in here,â said Miss Marple. âShe wonât be bringing my tea for another twenty minutes so that gives us a little peace and quiet. Clever of you to come to the window and not through the front door. Now we can have a nice quiet little time by ourselves.â

She went to a corner cupboard, opened it and produced a bottle, a syphon of soda and a glass.

âYou are full of surprises,â said Dermot Craddock. âIâd no idea thatâs what you kept in your corner cupboard. Are you quite sure youâre not a secret drinker, Aunt Jane?â

âNow, now,â Miss Marple admonished him. âI have never been an advocate of teetotalism. A little strong drink is always advisable on the premises in case there is a shock or an accident. Invaluable at such times. Or, of course, if a gentleman should arrive suddenly. There!â said Miss Marple, handing him her remedy with an air of quiet triumph. âAnd you donât need to joke anymore. Just sit quietly there and relax.â

âWonderful wives there must have been in your young days,â said Dermot Craddock.

âIâm sure, my dear boy, you would find the young lady of the type you refer to as a very inadequate helpmeet nowadays. Young ladies were not encouraged to be intellectual and very few of them had university degrees or any kind of academic distinction.â

âThere are things that are preferable to academic distinctions,â said Dermot. âOne of them is knowing when a man wants whisky and soda and giving it to him.â

Miss Marple smiled at him affectionately.

âCome,â she said, âtell me all about it. Or as much as you are allowed to tell me.â

âI think you probably know as much as I do. And very likely you have something up your sleeve. How about your dogsbody, your dear Miss Knight? What about her having committed the crime?â

âNow why should Miss Knight have done such a thing?â demanded Miss Marple, surprised.

âBecause sheâs the most unlikely person,â said Dermot. âIt so often seems to hold good when you produce your answer.â

âNot at all,â said Miss Marple with spirit. âI have said over and over again, not only to you, my dear Dermotâif I may call you soâthat it is always the obvious person who has done the crime. One thinks so often of the wife or the husband and so very often it is the wife or the husband.â

âMeaning Jason Rudd?â He shook his head. âThat man adores Marina Gregg.â

âI was speaking generally,â said Miss Marple, with dignity. âFirst we had Mrs. Badcock apparently murdered. One asked oneself who could have done such a thing and the first answer would naturally be the husband. So one had to examine that possibility. Then we decided that the real object of the crime was Marina Gregg and there again we have to look for the person most intimately connected with Marina Gregg, starting as I say with the husband. Because there is no doubt about it that husbands do, very frequently, want to make away with their wives, though sometimes, of course, they only wish to make away with their wives and do not actually do so. But I agree with you, my dear boy, that Jason Rudd really cares with all his heart for Marina Gregg. It might be very clever acting, though I can hardly believe that. And one certainly cannot see a motive of any kind for his doing away with her. If he wanted to marry somebody else there could, I should say, be nothing more simple. Divorce, if I may say so, seems second nature to film stars. A practical advantage does not seem to arise either. He is not a poor man by any means. He has his own career, and is, I understand, most successful in it. So we must go farther afield. But it certainly is difficult. Yes, very difficult.â

âYes,â said Craddock, âit must hold particular difficulties for you because of course this film world is entirely new to you. You donât know the local scandals and all the rest of it.â

âI know a little more than you may think,â said Miss Marple. âI have studied very closely various numbers of Confidential, Film Life, Film Talk and Film Topics.â

Dermot Craddock laughed. He couldnât help it.

âI must say,â he said, âit tickles me to see you sitting there and telling me what your course of literature has been.â

âI found it very interesting,â said Miss Marple. âTheyâre not particularly well written, if I may say so. But it really is disappointing in a way that it is all so much the same as it used to be in my young days. Modern Society and Tit Bits and all the rest of them. A lot of gossip. A lot of scandal. A great preoccupation with who is in love with whom, and all the rest of it. Really, you know, practically exactly the same sort of thing goes on in St. Mary Mead. And in the Development too. Human nature, I mean, is just the same everywhere. One comes back, I think, to the question of who could have been likely to want to kill Marina Gregg, to want to so much that having failed once they sent threatening letters and made repeated attempts to do so. Someone perhaps a littleââ very gently she tapped her forehead.

âYes,â said Craddock, âthat certainly seems indicated. And of course it doesnât always show.â

âOh, I know,â agreed Miss Marple, fervently. âOld Mrs. Pikeâs second boy, Alfred, seemed perfectly rational and normal. Almost painfully prosaic, if you know what I mean, but actually, it seems, he had the most abnormal psychology, or so I understand. Really positively dangerous. He seems quite happy and contented, so Mrs. Pike told me, now that he is in Fairways Mental Home. They understand him there, and the doctors think him a most interesting case. That of course pleases him very much. Yes, it all ended quite happily, but she had one or two very near escapes.â

Craddock revolved in his mind the possibility of a parallel between someone in Marina Greggâs entourage and Mrs. Pikeâs second son.

âThe Italian butler,â continued Miss Marple, âthe one who was killed. He went to London, I understand, on the day of his death. Does anyone know what he did thereâif you are allowed to tell me, that is,â she added conscientiously.

âHe arrived in London at eleven-thirty in the morning,â said Craddock, âand what he did in London nobody knows until a quarter to two he visited his bank and made a deposit of five hundred pounds in cash. I may say that there was no confirmation of his story that he went to London to visit an ill relative or a relative who had got into trouble. None of his relatives there had seen him.â

Miss Marple nodded her head appreciatively.

âFive hundred pounds,â she said. âYes, thatâs quite an interesting sum, isnât it? I should imagine it would be the first instalment of a good many other sums, wouldnât you?â

âIt looks that way,â said Craddock.

âIt was probably all the ready money the person he was threatening could raise. He may even have pretended to be satisfied with that or he may have accepted it as a down payment and the victim may have promised to raise further sums in the immediate future. It seems to knock out the idea that Marina Greggâs killer could have been someone in humble circumstances who had a private vendetta against her. It would also knock out, I should say, the idea of someone whoâd obtained work as a studio helper or attendant or a servant or a gardener. UnlessââMiss Marple pointed outââsuch a person may have been the active agent whereas the employing agent may not have been in the neighbourhood. Hence the visit to London.â

âExactly. We have in London Ardwyck Fenn, Lola Brewster and Margot Bence. All three were present at the party. All three of them could have met Giuseppe at an arranged meeting place somewhere in London between the hours of eleven and a quarter to two. Ardwyck Fenn was out of his office during those hours. Lola Brewster had left her suite to go shopping. Margot Bence was not in her studio. By the wayââ

âYes?â said Miss Marple. âHave you something to tell me?â

âYou asked me,â said Dermot, âabout the children. The children that Marina Gregg adopted before she knew she could have a child of her own.â

âYes I did.â

Craddock told her what he had learned.

âMargot Bence,â said Miss Marple softly. âI had a feeling, you know, that it had something to do with childrenâ¦.â

âI canât believe that after all these yearsââ

âI know, I know. One never can. But do you really, my dear Dermot, know very much about children? Think back to your own childhood. Canât you remember some incident, some happening that caused you grief, or a passion quite incommensurate with its real importance? Some sorrow or passionate resentment that has really never been equalled since? There was such a book, you know, written by that brilliant writer. Mr. Richard Hughes. I forget the name of it but it was about some children who had been through a hurricane. Oh yesâthe hurricane in Jamaica. What made a vivid impression on them was their cat rushing madly through the house. It was the only thing they remembered. But the whole of the horror and excitement and fear that they had experienced was bound up in that one incident.â

âItâs odd you should say that,â said Craddock thoughtfully.

âWhy, has it made you remember something?â

âI was thinking of when my mother died. I was five I think. Five or six. I was having dinner in the nursery, jam roll pudding. I was very fond of jam roll pudding. One of the servants came in and said to my nursery governess, âIsnât it awful? Thereâs been an accident and Mrs. Craddock has been killed.ââ¦ Whenever I think of my motherâs death, dâyou know what I see?â

âWhat?â

âA plate with jam roll pudding on it, and Iâm staring at it. Staring at it and I can see as well now as then, how the jam oozed out of it at one side. I didnât cry or say anything. I remember just sitting there as though Iâd been frozen stiff, staring at the pudding. And dâyou know, even now if I see in a shop or a restaurant or in anyoneâs house a portion of jam roll pudding, a whole wave of horror and misery and despair comes over me. Sometimes for a moment I donât remember why. Does that seem very crazy to you?â

âNo,â said Miss Marple, âit seems entirely natural. Itâs very interesting, that. Itâs given me a sort of ideaâ¦.â

II

The door opened and Miss Knight appeared bearing the tea tray.

âDear, dear,â she exclaimed, âand so weâve got a visitor, have we? How very nice. How do you do, Inspector Craddock. Iâll just fetch another cup.â

âDonât bother,â Dermot called after her. âIâve had a drink instead.â

Miss Knight popped her head back round the door.

âI wonderâcould you just come here a minute, Mr. Craddock?â

Dermot joined her in the hall. She went to the dining room and shut the door.

âYou will be careful, wonât you?â she said.

âCareful? In what way, Miss Knight?â

âOur old dear in there. You know, sheâs so interested in everything but itâs not very good for her to get excited over murders and nasty things like that. We donât want her to brood and have bad dreams. Sheâs very old and frail, and she really must lead a very sheltered life. She always has, you know. Iâm sure all this talk of murders and gangsters and things like that is very, very bad for her.â

Dermot looked at her with faint amusement.

âI donât think,â he said gently, âthat anything that you or I could say about murders is likely unduly to excite or shock Miss Marple. I can assure you, my dear Miss Knight, that Miss Marple can contemplate murder and sudden death and indeed crime of all kinds with the utmost equanimity.â

He went back to the drawing room, and Miss Knight, clucking a little in an indignant manner, followed him. She talked briskly during tea with an emphasis on political news in the paper and the most cheerful subjects she could think of. When she finally removed the tea tray and shut the door behind her, Miss Marple drew a deep breath.

âAt last weâve got some peace,â she said. âI hope I shanât murder that woman some day. Now listen, Dermot, there are some things I want to know.â

âYes? What are they?â

âI want to go over very carefully what happened on the day of the fÃªte. Mrs. Bantry has arrived, and the vicar shortly after her. Then come Mr. and Mrs. Badcock, and on the stairs at that time were the mayor and his wife, this man Ardwyck Fenn, Lola Brewster, a reporter from the Herald & Argus of Much Benham, and this photographer girl, Margot Bence. Margot Bence, you said, had her camera at an angle on the stairs, and was taking photographs of the proceedings. Have you seen any of those photographs?â

âActually I brought one to show you.â

He took from his pocket an unmounted print. Miss Marple looked at it steadfastly. Marina Gregg with Jason Rudd a little behind her to one side, Arthur Badcock, his hand to his face, looking slightly embarrassed, was standing back, whilst his wife had Marina Greggâs hand in hers and was looking up at her and talking. Marina was not looking at Mrs. Badcock. She was staring over her head looking, it seemed, full into the camera, or possibly just slightly to the left of it.

âVery interesting,â said Miss Marple. âIâve had descriptions, you know, of what this look was on her face. A frozen look. Yes, that describes it quite well. A look of doom. Iâm not really so sure about that. Itâs more a kind of paralysis of feeling rather than apprehension of doom. Donât you think so? I wouldnât say it was actually fear, would you, although fear of course might take you that way. It might paralyse you. But I donât think it was fear. I think rather that it was shock. Dermot, my dear boy, I want you to tell me, if youâve got notes of it, what exactly Heather Badcock said to Marina Gregg on that occasion. I know roughly the gist of it, of course, but how near can you get to the actual words. I suppose you had accounts of it from different people.â

Dermot nodded.

âYes. Let me see. Your friend, Mrs. Bantry, then Jason Rudd and I think Arthur Badcock. As you say they varied a little in wording, but the gist of them was the same.â

âI know. Itâs the variations that I want. I think it might help us.â

âI donât see how,â said Dermot, âthough perhaps you do. Your friend, Mrs. Bantry, was probably the most definite on the point. As far as I rememberâwaitâI carry a good many of my jottings around with me.â

He took out a small notebook from his pocket, looked through it to refresh his memory.

âI havenât got the exact words here,â he said, âbut I made a rough note. Apparently Mrs. Badcock was very cheerful, rather arch, and delighted with herself. She said something like âI canât tell you how wonderful this is for me. You wonât remember but years ago in BermudaâI got up from bed when I had chicken pox and came along to see you and you gave me an autograph and itâs one of the proudest days of my life which I have never forgotten.ââ

âI see,â said Miss Marple, âshe mentioned the place but not the date, did she?â

âYes.â

âAnd what did Rudd say?â

âJason Rudd? He said that Mrs. Badcock told his wife that sheâd got up from bed when she had the flu and had come to meet Marina and she still had her autograph. It was a shorter account than your friendâs but the gist of it was the same.â

âDid he mention the time and place?â

âNo. I donât think he did. I think he said roughly that it was some ten or twelve years ago.â

âI see. And what about Mr. Badcock?â

âMr. Badcock said that Heather was extremely excited and anxious to meet Marina Gregg, that she was a great fan of Marina Greggâs and that sheâd told him that once when she was ill as a girl she managed to get up and meet Miss Gregg and get her autograph. He didnât go into any close particulars, as it was evidently in the days before he was married to his wife. He impressed me as not thinking the incident of much importance.â

âI see,â said Miss Marple. âYes, I seeâ¦.â

âAnd what do you see?â asked Craddock.

âNot quite as much as Iâd like to yet,â said Miss Marple, honestly, âbut I have a sort of feeling if I only knew why sheâd ruined her new dressââ

âWhoâMrs. Badcock?â

âYes. It seems to me such a very odd thingâsuch an inexplicable one unlessâof courseâDear me, I think I must be very stupid!â

Miss Knight opened the door and entered, switching the light on as she did so.

âI think we want a little light in here,â she said brightly.

âYes,â said Miss Marple, âyou are so right, Miss Knight. That is exactly what we did want. A little light. I think, you know, that at last weâve got it.â

The tÃªte-Ã -tÃªte seemed ended and Craddock rose to his feet.

âThere only remains one thing,â he said, âand that is for you to tell me just what particular memory from your own past is agitating your mind now.â

âEveryone always teases me about that,â said Miss Marple, âbut I must say that I was reminded just for a moment of the Lauristonsâ parlourmaid.â

âThe Lauristonsâ parlourmaid?â Craddock looked completely mystified.

âShe had, of course, to take messages on the telephone,â said Miss Marple, âand she wasnât very good at it. She used to get the general sense right, if you know what I mean, but the way she wrote it down used to make quite nonsense of it sometimes. I suppose really, because her grammar was so bad. The result was that some very unfortunate incidents occurred. I remember one in particular. A Mr. Burroughs, I think it was, rang up and said he had been to see Mr. Elvaston about the fence being broken down but he said that the fence wasnât his business at all to repair. It was on the other side of the property and he said he would like to know if that was really the case before proceeding further as it would depend on whether he was liable or not and it was important for him to know the proper lie of the land before instructing solicitors. A very obscure message, as you see. It confused rather than enlightened.â

âIf youâre talking about parlourmaids,â said Miss Knight with a little laugh, âthat must have been a very long time ago. Iâve never heard of a parlourmaid for many years now.â

âIt was a good many years ago,â said Miss Marple, âbut nevertheless human nature was very much the same then as it is now. Mistakes were made for very much the same reasons. Oh dear,â she added, âI am thankful that that girl is safely in Bournemouth.â

âThe girl? What girl?â asked Dermot.

âThat girl who did dressmaking and went up to see Giuseppe that day. What was her nameâ Gladys something.â

âGladys Dixon?â

âYes, thatâs the name.â

âSheâs in Bournemouth, do you say? How on earth do you know that?â

âI know,â said Miss Marple, âbecause I sent her there.â

âWhat?â Dermot stared at her. âYou? Why?â

âI went out to see her,â said Miss Marple, âand I gave her some money and told her to take a holiday and not to write home.â

âWhy on earth did you do that?â

âBecause I didnât want her to be killed, of course,â said Miss Marple, and blinked at him placidly.

Twenty-two

âSuch a sweet letter from Lady Conway,â Miss Knight said two days later as she deposited Miss Marpleâs breakfast tray. âYou remember my telling you about her? Just a little, you knowââ she tapped her foreheadââwanders sometimes. And her memoryâs bad. Canât recognize her relations always and tells them to go away.â

âThat might be shrewdness really,â said Miss Marple, ârather than a loss of memory.â

âNow, now,â said Miss Knight, âarenât we being naughty to make suggestions like that? Sheâs spending the winter at the Belgrave Hotel at Llandudno. Such a nice residential hotel. Splendid grounds and a very nice glassed-in terrace. Sheâs most anxious for me to come and join her there.â She sighed.

Miss Marple sat herself upright in bed.

âBut please,â she said, âif you are wantedâif you are needed there and would like to goââ

âNo, no, I couldnât hear of it,â cried Miss Knight. âOh, no, I never meant anything like that. Why, what would Mr. Raymond West say? He explained to me that being here might turn out to be a permanency. I should never dream of not fulfilling my obligations. I was only just mentioning the fact in passing, so donât worry, dear,â she added, patting Miss Marple on the shoulder. âWeâre not going to be deserted! No, no, indeed weâre not! Weâre going to be looked after and cosseted and made very happy and comfortable always.â

She went out of the room. Miss Marple sat with an air of determination, staring at her tray and failing to eat anything. Finally she picked up the receiver of the telephone and dialled with vigour.

âDr. Haydock?â

âYes?â

âJane Marple here.â

âAnd whatâs the matter with you? In need of my professional services?â

âNo,â said Miss Marple. âBut I want to see you as soon as possible.â

When Dr. Haydock came, he found Miss Marple still in bed waiting for him.

âYou look the picture of health,â he complained.

âThat is why I wanted to see you,â said Miss Marple. âTo tell you that I am perfectly well.â

âAn unusual reason for sending for the doctor.â

âIâm quite strong, Iâm quite fit, and itâs absurd to have anybody living in the house. So long as someone comes every day and does the cleaning and all that I donât see any need at all for having someone living here permanently.â

âI dare say you donât, but I do,â said Dr. Haydock.

âIt seems to me youâre turning into a regular old fussbudget,â said Miss Marple unkindly.

âAnd donât call me names!â said Dr. Haydock. âYouâre a very healthy woman for your age; you were pulled down a bit by bronchitis which isnât good for the elderly. But to stay alone in a house at your age is a risk. Supposing you fall down the stairs one evening or fall out of bed or slip in the bath. There youâd lie and nobodyâd know about it.â

âOne can imagine anything,â said Miss Marple. âMiss Knight might fall down the stairs and Iâd fall over her rushing out to see what had happened.â

âItâs no good your bullying me,â said Dr. Haydock. âYouâre an old lady and youâve got to be looked after in a proper manner. If you donât like this woman youâve got, change her and get somebody else.â

âThatâs not always so easy,â said Miss Marple.

âFind some old servant of yours, someone that you like, and whoâs lived with you before. I can see this old hen irritates you. Sheâd irritate me. There must be some old servant somewhere. That nephew of yours is one of the best-selling authors of the day. Heâd make it worth her while if you found the right person.â

âOf course dear Raymond would do anything of that kind. He is most generous,â said Miss Marple. âBut itâs not so easy to find the right person. Young people have their own lives to live, and so many of my faithful old servants, I am sorry to say, are dead.â

âWell, youâre not dead,â said Dr. Haydock, âand youâll live a good deal longer if you take proper care of yourself.â

He rose to his feet.

âWell,â he said. âNo good my stopping here. You look as fit as a fiddle. I shanât waste time taking your blood pressure or feeling your pulse or asking you questions. Youâre thriving on all this local excitement, even if you canât get about to poke your nose in as much as youâd like to do. Goodbye, Iâve got to go now and do some real doctoring. Eight to ten cases of German measles, half a dozen whooping coughs, and a suspected scarlet fever as well as my regulars!â

Dr. Haydock went out breezilyâbut Miss Marple was frowningâ¦ Something that he had saidâ¦what was it? Patients to seeâ¦the usual village ailmentsâ¦village ailments? Miss Marple pushed her breakfast tray farther away with a purposeful gesture. Then she rang up Mrs. Bantry.

âDolly? Jane here. I want to ask you something. Now pay attention. Is it true that you told Inspector Craddock that Heather Badcock told Marina Gregg a long pointless story about how she had chicken pox and got up in spite of it to go and meet Marina and get her autograph?â

âThat was it more or less.â

âChicken pox?â

âWell, something like that. Mrs. Allcock was talking to me about vodka at the time, so I wasnât really listening closely.â

âYouâre sure,â Miss Marple took a breath, âthat she didnât say whooping cough?â

âWhooping cough?â Mrs. Bantry sounded astounded. âOf course not. She wouldnât have had to powder her face and do it up for whooping cough.â

âI seeâthatâs what you went byâher special mention of makeup?â

âWell, she laid stress on itâshe wasnât the makingup kind. But I think youâre right, it wasnât chicken poxâ¦ Nettlerash, perhaps.â

âYou only say that,â said Miss Marple coldly, âbecause you once had nettlerash yourself and couldnât go to a wedding. Youâre hopeless, Dolly, quite hopeless.â

She put the receiver down with a bang, cutting off Mrs. Bantryâs astonished protest of âReally, Jane.â

Miss Marple made a ladylike noise of vexation like a cat sneezing to indicate profound disgust. Her mind reverted to the problem of her own domestic comfort. Faithful Florence? Could faithful Florence, that grenadier of a former parlourmaid be persuaded to leave her comfortable small house and come back to St. Mary Mead to look after her erstwhile mistress? Faithful Florence had always been very devoted to her. But faithful Florence was very attached to her own little house. Miss Marple shook her head vexedly. A gay rat-tat-tat sounded at the door. On Miss Marpleâs calling âCome inâ Cherry entered.

âCome for your tray,â she said. âHas anything happened? Youâre looking rather upset, arenât you?â

âI feel so helpless,â said Miss Marple. âOld and helpless.â

âDonât worry,â said Cherry, picking up the tray. âYouâre very far from helpless. You donât know the things I hear about you in this place! Why practically everybody in the Development knows about you now. All sorts of extraordinary things youâve done. They donât think of you as the old and helpless kind. Itâs she puts it into your head.â

âShe?â

Cherry gave a vigorous nod of her head backwards towards the door behind her.

âPussy, pussy,â she said. âYour Miss Knight. Donât you let her get you down.â

âSheâs very kind,â said Miss Marple, âreally very kind,â she added, in the tone of one who convinces herself.

âCare killed the cat, they say,â said Cherry. âYou donât want kindness rubbed into your skin, so to speak, do you?â

âOh, well,â said Miss Marple sighing, âI suppose we all have our troubles.â

âI should say we do,â said Cherry. âI oughtnât to complain but I feel sometimes that if I live next door to Mrs. Hartwell any longer thereâs going to be a regrettable incident. Sour-faced old cat, always gossiping and complaining. Jimâs pretty fed up too. He had a first-class row with her last night. Just because we had The Messiah on a bit loud! You canât object to The Messiah, can you? I mean, itâs religious.â

âDid she object?â

âShe created something terrible,â said Cherry. âBanged on the wall and shouted and one thing and another.â

âDo you have to have your music turned on so loud?â asked Miss Marple.

âJim likes it that way,â said Cherry. âHe says you donât get the tone unless you have full volume.â

âIt might,â suggested Miss Marple, âbe a little trying for anyone if they werenât musical.â

âItâs these houses being semi-detached,â said Cherry. âThin as anything, the walls. Iâm not so keen really on all this new building, when you come to think of it. It looks all very prissy and nice but you canât express your personality without somebody being down on you like a ton of bricks.â

Miss Marple smiled at her.

âYouâve got a lot of personality to express, Cherry,â she said.

âDâyou think so?â Cherry was pleased and she laughed. âI wonder,â she began. Suddenly she looked embarrassed. She put down the tray and came back to the bed.

âI wonder if youâd think it cheek if I asked you something? I meanâyouâve only got to say âout of the questionâ and thatâs that.â

âSomething you want me to do?â

âNot quite. Itâs those rooms over the kitchen. Theyâre never used nowadays, are they?â

âNo.â

âUsed to be a gardener and wife there once, so I heard. But thatâs old stuff. What I wonderedâwhat Jim and I wonderedâis if we could have them. Come and live here, I mean.â

Miss Marple stared at her in astonishment.

âBut your beautiful new house in the Development?â

âWeâre both fed up with it. We like gadgets, but you can have gadgets anywhereâget them on HP and there would be a nice lot of room here, especially if Jim could have the room over the stables. Heâd fix it up like new, and he could have all his construction models there, and wouldnât have to clear them away all the time. And if we had our stereogram there too, youâd hardly hear it.â

âAre you really serious about this, Cherry?â

âYes, I am. Jim and I, weâve talked about it a lot. Jim could fix things for you anytimeâyou know, plumbing or a bit of carpentry, and Iâd look after you every bit as well as your Miss Knight does. I know you think Iâm a bit slap-dashâbut Iâd try and take trouble with the beds and the washing-upâand Iâm getting quite a dab hand at cooking. Did Beef Stroganoff last night, itâs quite easy, really.â

Miss Marple contemplated her.

Cherry was looking like an eager kittenâvitality and joy of life radiated from her. Miss Marple thought once more of faithful Florence. Faithful Florence would, of course, keep the house far better. (Miss Marple put no faith in Cherryâs promise.) But she was at least sixty-fiveâperhaps more. And would she really want to be uprooted? She might accept that out of very real devotion for Miss Marple. But did Miss Marple really want sacrifices made for her? Wasnât she already suffering from Miss Knightâs conscientious devotion to duty?

Cherry, however inadequate her housework, wanted to come. And she had qualities that to Miss Marple at this moment seemed of supreme importance.

Warmheartedness, vitality, and a deep interest in everything that was going on.

âI donât want, of course,â said Cherry, âto go behind Miss Knightâs back in anyway.â

âNever mind about Miss Knight,â said Miss Marple, coming to a decision. âSheâll go off to someone called Lady Conway at a hotel in Llandudnoâand enjoy herself thoroughly. Weâll have to settle a lot of details, Cherry, and I shall want to talk to your husbandâbut if you really think youâd be happyâ¦.â

âItâd suit us down to the ground,â said Cherry. âAnd you really can rely on me doing things properly. Iâll even use the dustpan and brush if you like.â

Miss Marple laughed at this supreme offer.

Cherry picked up the breakfast tray again.

âI must get cracking. I got here late this morningâhearing about poor Arthur Badcock.â

âArthur Badcock? What happened to him?â

âHavenât you heard? Heâs up at the police station now,â said Cherry. âThey asked him if heâd come and âassist them with their inquiriesâ and you know what that always means.â

âWhen did this happen?â demanded Miss Marple.

âThis morning,â said Cherry. âI suppose,â she added, âthat it got out about his once having been married to Marina Gregg.â

âWhat!â Miss Marple sat up again. âArthur Badcock was once married to Marina Gregg?â

âThatâs the story,â said Cherry. âNobody had any idea of it. It was Mr. Upshaw put it about. Heâs been to the States once or twice on business for his firm and so he knows a lot of gossip from over there. It was a long time ago, you know. Really before sheâd begun her career. They were only married a year or two and then she won a film award and of course he wasnât good enough for her then, so they had one of these easy American divorces and he just faded out, as you might say. Heâs the fading out kind, Arthur Badcock. He wouldnât make a fuss. He changed his name and came back to England. Itâs all ever so long ago. You wouldnât think anything like that mattered nowadays, would you? Still, there it is. Itâs enough for the police to go on, I suppose.â

âOh, no,â said Miss Marple. âOh no. This mustnât happen. If I could only think what to doâNow, let me see.â She made a gesture to Cherry. âTake the tray away, Cherry, and send Miss Knight up to me. Iâm going to get up.â

Cherry obeyed. Miss Marple dressed herself with fingers that fumbled slightly. It irritated her when she found excitement of any kind affecting her. She was just hooking up her dress when Miss Knight entered.

âDid you want me? Cherry saidââ

Miss Marple broke in incisively.

âGet Inch,â she said.

âI beg your pardon,â said Miss Knight, startled.

âInch,â said Miss Marple, âget Inch. Telephone for him to come at once.â

âOh, oh I see. You mean the taxi people. But his nameâs Roberts, isnât it?â

âTo me,â said Miss Marple, âhe is Inch and always will be. But anyway get him. Heâs to come here at once.â

âYou want to go for a little drive?â

âJust get him, can you?â said Miss Marple. âAnd hurry, please.â

Miss Knight looked at her doubtfully and proceeded to do as she was told.

âWe are feeling all right, dear, arenât we?â she said anxiously.

âWe are both feeling very well,â said Miss Marple, âand I am feeling particularly well. Inertia does not suit me, and never has. A practical course of action, that is what I have been wanting for a long time.â

âHas that Mrs. Baker been saying something that has upset you?â

âNothing has upset me,â said Miss Marple. âI feel particularly well. I am annoyed with myself for being stupid. But really, until I got a hint from Dr. Haydock this morningânow I wonder if I remember rightly. Where is that medical book of mine?â She gestured Miss Knight aside and walked firmly down the stairs. She found the book she wanted on a shelf in the drawing room. Taking it out she looked up the index, murmured, âPage 210,â turned to the page in question, read for a few moments then nodded her head, satisfied.

âMost remarkable,â she said, âmost curious. I donât suppose anybody would ever have thought of it. I didnât myself, until the two things came together, so to speak.â

Then she shook her head, and a little line appeared between her eyes. If only there was someoneâ¦.

She went over in her mind the various accounts she had been given of that particular sceneâ¦.

Her eyes widened in thought. There was someoneâbut would he, she wondered, be any good? One never knew with the vicar. He was quite unpredictable.

Nevertheless she went to the telephone and dialled.

âGood morning, Vicar, this is Miss Marple.â

âOh, yes, Miss Marpleâanything I can do for you?â

âI wonder if you could help me on a small point. It concerns the day of the fÃªte when poor Mrs. Badcock died. I believe you were standing quite near Miss Gregg when Mr. and Mrs. Badcock arrived.â

âYesâyesâ I was just before them, I think. Such a tragic day.â

âYes, indeed. And I believe that Mrs. Badcock was recalling to Miss Gregg that they had met before in Bermuda. She had been ill in bed and had got up specially.â

âYes, yes, I do remember.â

âAnd do you remember if Mrs. Badcock mentioned the illness she was suffering from?â

âI think nowâlet me seeâyes, it was measlesâat least not real measlesâGerman measlesâa much less serious disease. Some people hardly feel ill at all with it. I remember my cousin Carolineâ¦.â

Miss Marple cut off reminiscences of Cousin Caroline by saying firmly: âThank you so much, Vicar,â and replacing the receiver.

There was an awed expression on her face. One of the great mysteries of St. Mary Mead was what made the vicar remember certain thingsâonly outstripped by the greater mystery of what the vicar could manage to forget!

âThe taxiâs here, dear,â said Miss Knight, bustling in. âItâs a very old one, and not too clean I should say. I donât really like you driving in a thing like that. You might pick up some germ or other.â

âNonsense,â said Miss Marple. Setting her hat firmly on her head and buttoning up her summer coat, she went out to the waiting taxi.

âGood morning, Roberts,â she said.

âGood morning, Miss Marple. Youâre early this morning. Where do you want to go?â

âGossington Hall, please,â said Miss Marple.

âIâd better come with you, hadnât I, dear?â said Miss Knight. âIt wonât take a minute just to slip on outdoor shoes.â

âNo, thank you,â said Miss Marple, firmly. âIâm going by myself. Drive on, Inch. I mean Roberts.â

Mr. Roberts drove on, merely remarking:

âAh, Gossington Hall. Great changes there and everywhere nowadays. All that development. Never thought anything like thatâd come to St. Mary Mead.â

Upon arrival at Gossington Hall Miss Marple rang the bell and asked to see Mr. Jason Rudd.

Giuseppeâs successor, a rather shaky-looking elderly man, conveyed doubt.

âMr. Rudd,â he said, âdoes not see anybody without an appointment, madam. And today especiallyââ

âI have no appointment,â said Miss Marple, âbut I will wait,â she added.

She stepped briskly past him into the hall and sat down on a hall chair.

âIâm afraid it will be quite impossible this morning, madam.â

âIn that case,â said Miss Marple, âI shall wait until this afternoon.â

Baffled, the new butler retired. Presently a young man came to Miss Marple. He had a pleasant manner and a cheerful, slightly American voice.

âIâve seen you before,â said Miss Marple. âIn the Development. You asked me the way to Blenheim Close.â

Hailey Preston smiled good-naturedly. âI guess you did your best, but you misdirected me badly.â

âDear me, did I?â said Miss Marple. âSo many Closes, arenât there? Can I see Mr. Rudd?â

âWhy, now, thatâs too bad,â said Hailey Preston. âMr. Ruddâs a busy man and heâsâerâfully occupied this morning and really canât be disturbed.â

âIâm sure heâs very busy,â said Miss Marple. âI came here quite prepared to wait.â

âWhy, Iâd suggest now,â said Hailey Preston, âthat you should tell me what it is you want. I deal with all these things for Mr. Rudd, you see. Everyone has to see me first.â

âIâm afraid,â said Miss Marple, âthat I want to see Mr. Rudd himself. And,â she added, âI shall wait here until I do.â

She settled herself more firmly in the large oak chair.

Hailey Preston hesitated, started to speak, finally turned away and went upstairs.

He returned with a large man in tweeds.

âThis is Dr. Gilchrist. Missâerââ

âMiss Marple.â

âSo youâre Miss Marple,â said Dr. Gilchrist. He looked at her with a good deal of interest.

Hailey Preston slipped away with celerity.

âIâve heard about you,â said Dr. Gilchrist. âFrom Dr. Haydock.â

âDr. Haydock is a very old friend of mine.â

âHe certainly is. Now you want to see Mr. Jason Rudd? Why?â

âIt is necessary that I should,â said Miss Marple.

Dr. Gilchristâs eyes appraised her.

âAnd youâre camping here until you do?â he asked.

âExactly.â

âYou would, too,â said Dr. Gilchrist. âIn that case I will give you a perfectly good reason why you cannot see Mr. Rudd. His wife died last night in her sleep.â

âDead!â exclaimed Miss Marple. âHow?â

âAn overdose of sleeping stuff. We donât want the news to leak out to the Press for a few hours. So Iâll ask you to keep this knowledge to yourself for the moment.â

âOf course. Was it an accident?â

âThat is definitely my view,â said Gilchrist.

âBut it could be suicide.â

âIt couldâbut most unlikely.â

âOr someone could have given it to her?â

Gilchrist shrugged his shoulders.

âA most remote contingency. And a thing,â he added firmly, âthat would be quite impossible to prove.â

âI see,â said Miss Marple. She took a deep breath. âIâm sorry, but itâs more necessary than ever that I should see Mr. Rudd.â

Gilchrist looked at her.

âWait here,â he said.

Twenty-three

Jason Rudd looked up as Gilchrist entered.

âThereâs an old dame downstairs,â said the doctor; âlooks about a hundred. Wants to see you. Wonât take no and says sheâll wait. Sheâll wait till this afternoon, I gather, or sheâll wait till this evening and sheâs quite capable, I should say, of spending the night here. Sheâs got something she badly wants to say to you. Iâd see her if I were you.â

Jason Rudd looked up from his desk. His face was white and strained.

âIs she mad?â

âNo. Not in the least.â

âI donât see why IâOh, all rightâsend her up. What does it matter?â

Gilchrist nodded, went out of the room and called to Hailey Preston.

âMr. Rudd can spare you a few minutes now, Miss Marple,â said Hailey Preston, appearing again by her side.

âThank you. Thatâs very kind of him,â said Miss Marple as she rose to her feet. âHave you been with Mr. Rudd long?â she asked.

âWhy, Iâve worked with Mr. Rudd for the last two and a half years. My job is public relations generally.â

âI see.â Miss Marple looked at him thoughtfully. âYou remind me very much,â she said, âof someone I knew called Gerald French.â

âIndeed? What did Gerald French do?â

âNot very much,â said Miss Marple, âbut he was a very good talker.â She sighed. âHe had had an unfortunate past.â

âYou donât say,â said Hailey Preston, slightly ill at ease. âWhat kind of a past?â

âI wonât repeat it,â said Miss Marple. âHe didnât like it talked about.â

Jason Rudd rose from his desk and looked with some surprise at the slender elderly lady who was advancing towards him.

âYou wanted to see me?â he said. âWhat can I do for you?â

âI am very sorry about your wifeâs death,â said Miss Marple. âI can see it has been a great grief to you and I want you to believe that I should not intrude upon you now or offer you sympathy unless it was absolutely necessary. But there are things that need badly to be cleared up unless an innocent man is going to suffer.â

âAn innocent man? I donât understand you.â

âArthur Badcock,â said Miss Marple. âHe is with the police now, being questioned.â

âQuestioned in connection with my wifeâs death? But thatâs absurd, absolutely absurd. Heâs never been near the place. He didnât even know her.â

âI think he knew her,â said Miss Marple. âHe was married to her once.â

âArthur Badcock? Butâhe wasâhe was Heather Badcockâs husband. Arenât you perhapsââ he spoke kindly and apologeticallyâ âMaking a little mistake?â

âHe was married to both of them,â said Miss Marple. âHe was married to your wife when she was very young, before she went into pictures.â

Jason Rudd shook his head.

âMy wife was first married to a man called Alfred Beadle. He was in real estate. They were not suited and they parted almost immediately.â

âThen Alfred Beadle changed his name to Badcock,â said Miss Marple. âHeâs in a real estate firm here. Itâs odd how some people never seem to like to change their job and want to go on doing the same thing. I expect really thatâs why Marina Gregg felt that he was no use to her. He couldnât have kept up with her.â

âWhat youâve told me is most surprising.â

âI can assure you that I am not romancing or imagining things. What I am telling you is sober fact. These things get round very quickly in a village, you know, though they take a little longer,â she added, âin reaching the Hall.â

âWell,â Jason Rudd stalled, uncertain what to say, then he accepted the position, âand what do you want me to do for you, Miss Marple?â he asked.

âI want, if I may, to stand on the stairs at the spot where you and your wife received guests on the day of the fÃªte.â

He shot a quick doubtful glance at her. Was this, after all, just another sensation-seeker? But Miss Marpleâs face was grave and composed.

âWhy certainly,â he said, âif you want to do so. Come with me.â

He led her to the staircase head and paused in the hollowed-out bay at the top of it.

âYouâve made a good many changes in the house since the Bantrys were here,â said Miss Marple. âI like this. Now, let me see. The tables would be about here, I suppose, and you and your wife would be standingââ

âMy wife stood here.â Jason showed her the place. âPeople came up the stairs, she shook hands with them and passed them on to me.â

âShe stood here,â said Miss Marple.

She moved over and took her place where Marina Gregg had stood. She remained there quite quietly without moving. Jason Rudd watched her. He was perplexed but interested. She raised her right hand slightly as though shaking, looked down the stairs as though to see people coming up it. Then she looked straight ahead of her. On the wall halfway up the stairs was a large picture, a copy of an Italian Old Master. On either side of it were narrow windows, one giving out on the garden and the other giving on to the end of the stables and the weathercock. But Miss Marple looked at neither of these. Her eyes were fixed on the picture itself.

âOf course you always hear a thing right the first time,â she said. âMrs. Bantry told me that your wife stared at the picture and her face âfroze,â as she put it.â She looked at the rich red and blue robes of the Madonna, a Madonna with her head slightly back, laughing up at the Holy Child that she was holding up in her arms. âGiacomo Belliniâs âLaughing Madonna,ââ she said. âA religious picture, but also a painting of a happy mother with her child. Isnât that so Mr. Rudd?â

âI would say so, yes.â

âI understand now,â said Miss Marple. âI understand quite well. The whole thing is really very simple, isnât it?â She looked at Jason Rudd.

âSimple?â

âI think you know how simple it is,â said Miss Marple. There was a peal on the bell below.

âI donât think,â said Jason Rudd, âI quite understand.â He looked down the stairway. There was a sound of voices.

âI know that voice,â said Miss Marple. âItâs Inspector Craddockâs voice, isnât it?â

âYes, it seems to be Inspector Craddock.â

âHe wants to see you, too. Would you mind very much if he joined us?â

âNot at all as far as I am concerned. Whether he will agreeââ

âI think he will agree,â said Miss Marple. âThereâs really not much time now to be lost is there? Weâve got to the moment when weâve got to understand just how everything happened.â

âI thought you said it was simple,â said Jason Rudd.

âIt was so simple,â said Miss Marple, âthat one just couldnât see it.â

The decayed butler arrived at this moment up the stairs.

âInspector Craddock is here, sir,â he said.

âAsk him to join us here, please,â said Jason Rudd.

The butler disappeared again and a moment or two later Dermot Craddock came up the stairs.

âYou!â he said to Miss Marple, âhow did you get here?â

âI came in Inch,â said Miss Marple, producing the usual confused effect that that remark always caused.

From slightly behind her Jason Rudd rapped his forehead interrogatively. Dermot Craddock shook his head.

âI was saying to Mr. Rudd,â said Miss Marple, ââhas the butler gone awayââ

Dermot Craddock cast a look down the stairs.

âOh, yes,â he said, âheâs not listening. Sergeant Tiddler will see to that.â

âThen that is all right,â said Miss Marple. âWe could of course have gone into a room to talk, but I prefer it like this. Here we are on the spot where the thing happened, which makes it so much easier to understand.â

âYou are talking,â said Jason Rudd, âof the day of the fÃªte here, the day when Heather Badcock was poisoned.â

âYes,â said Miss Marple, âand Iâm saying that it is all very simple if one only looks at it in the proper way. It all began, you see, with Heather Badcock being the kind of person she was. It was inevitable, really, that something of that kind should happen some day to Heather.â

âI donât understand what you mean,â said Jason Rudd. âI donât understand at all.â

âNo, it has to be explained a little. You see, when my friend, Mrs. Bantry who was here, described the scene to me, she quoted a poem that was a great favourite in my youth, a poem of dear Lord Tennysonâs. âThe Lady of Shalott.ââ She raised her voice a little.

âThe mirror crackâd from side to side;

âThe Curse is come upon me,â cried

The Lady of Shalott.

Thatâs what Mrs. Bantry saw, or thought she saw, though actually she misquoted and said doom instead of curseâperhaps a better word in the circumstances. She saw your wife speaking to Heather Badcock and heard Heather Badcock speaking to your wife and she saw this look of doom on your wifeâs face.â

âHavenât we been over that a great many times?â said Jason Rudd.

âYes, but we shall have to go over it once more,â said Miss Marple. âThere was that expression on your wifeâs face and she was looking not at Heather Badcock but at that picture. At a picture of a laughing, happy mother holding up a happy child. The mistake was that though there was doom foreshadowed in Marina Greggâs face, it was not on her the doom would come. The doom was to come upon Heather. Heather was doomed from the first moment that she began talking and boasting of an incident in the past.â

âCould you make yourself a little clearer?â said Dermot Craddock.

Miss Marple turned to him.

âOf course I will. This is something that you know nothing about. You couldnât know about it, because nobody has told you what it was Heather Badcock actually said.â

âBut they have,â protested Dermot. âTheyâve told me over and over again. Several people have told me.â

âYes,â said Miss Marple, âbut you donât know because, you see, Heather Badcock didnât tell it to you.â

âShe hardly could tell it to me seeing she was dead when I arrived here,â said Dermot.

âQuite so,â said Miss Marple. âAll you know is that she was ill but she got up from bed and came along to a celebration of some kind where she met Marina Gregg and spoke to her and asked for an autograph and was given one.â

âI know,â said Craddock with slight impatience. âIâve heard all that.â

âBut you didnât hear the one operative phrase, because no one thought it was important,â said Miss Marple. âHeather Badcock was ill in bedâwith German measles.â

âGerman measles? What on earth has that got to do with it?â

âItâs a very slight illness, really,â said Miss Marple. âIt hardly makes you feel ill at all. You have a rash which is easy to cover up with powder, and you have a little fever, but not very much. You feel quite well enough to go out and see people if you want to. And of course in repeating all this the fact that it was German measles didnât strike people particularly. Mrs. Bantry, for instance, just said that Heather had been ill in bed and mentioned chicken pox and nettlerash. Mr. Rudd here said that it was âflu, but of course he did that on purpose. But I think myself that what Heather Badcock said to Marina Gregg was that she had had German measles and got up from bed and went off to meet Marina. And thatâs really the answer to the whole thing, because, you see, German measles is extremely infectious. People catch it very easily. And thereâs one thing about it which youâve got to remember. If a woman contracts it in the first four months ofââ Miss Marple spoke the next word with a slight Victorian modesty ââofâerâpregnancy, it may have a terribly serious effect. It may cause an unborn child to be born blind or to be born mentally affected.â

She turned to Jason Rudd.

âI think I am correct in saying, Mr. Rudd, that your wife had a child who was born mentally afflicted and that she has never really recovered from the shock. She had always wanted a child and when at last the child came, this was the tragedy that happened. A tragedy she has never forgotten, that she has not allowed herself to forget and which ate into her as a kind of deep sore, an obsession.â

âItâs quite true,â said Jason Rudd. âMarina developed German measles early on in her pregnancy and was told by the doctor that the mental affliction of her child was due to that cause. It was not a case of inherited insanity or anything of that kind. He was trying to be helpful but I donât think it helped her much. She never knew how, or when or from whom she had contracted the disease.â

âQuite so,â said Miss Marple, âshe never knew until one afternoon here when a perfectly strange woman came up those stairs and told her the factâtold her, what was moreâwith a great deal of pleasure! With an air of being proud of what sheâd done! She thought sheâd been resourceful and brave and shown a lot of spirit in getting up from her bed, covering her face with makeup, and going along to meet the actress on whom she had such a crush and obtaining her autograph. Itâs a thing she has boasted of all through her life. Heather Badcock meant no harm. She never did mean harm but there is no doubt that people like Heather Badcock (and like my old friend Alison Wilde), are capable of doing a lot of harm because they lackânot kindness, they have kindnessâbut any real consideration for the way their actions may affect other people. She thought always of what an action meant to her, never sparing a thought to what it might mean to somebody else.â

Miss Marple nodded her head gently.

âSo she died, you see, for a simple reason out of her own past. You must imagine what that moment meant to Marina Gregg. I think Mr. Rudd understands it very well. I think she had nursed all those years a kind of hatred for the unknown person who had been the cause of her tragedy. And here suddenly she meets that person face to face. And a person who is gay, jolly and pleased with herself. It was too much for her. If she had had time to think, to calm down, to be persuaded to relaxâbut she gave herself no time. Here was this woman who had destroyed her happiness and destroyed the sanity and health of her child. She wanted to punish her. She wanted to kill her. And unfortunately the means were to hand. She carried with her that well-known specific, Calmo. A somewhat dangerous drug because you had to be careful of the exact dosage. It was very easy to do. She put the stuff into her own glass. If by any chance anyone noticed what she was doing they were probably so used to her pepping herself up or soothing herself down in any handy liquid that theyâd hardly notice it. Itâs possible that one person did see her, but I rather doubt it. I think that Miss Zielinsky did no more than guess. Marina Gregg put her glass down on the table and presently she managed to jog Heather Badcockâs arm so that Heather Badcock spilt her own drink all down her new dress. And thatâs where the element of puzzle has come into the matter, owing to the fact that people cannot remember to use their pronouns properly.

âIt reminds me so much of that parlourmaid I was telling you about,â she added to Dermot. âI only had the account, you see, of what Gladys Dixon said to Cherry which simply was that she was worried about the ruin of Heather Badcockâs dress with the cocktail spilt down it. What seemed so funny, she said, was that she did it on purpose. But the âsheâ that Gladys referred to was not Heather Badcock, it was Marina Gregg. As Gladys said: She did it on purpose! She jogged Heatherâs arm. Not by accident but because she meant to do so. We do know that she must have been standing very close to Heather because we have heard that she mopped up both Heatherâs dress and her own before pressing her cocktail on Heather. It was really,â said Miss Marple meditatively, âa very perfect murder; because, you see, it was committed on the spur of the moment without pausing to think or reflect. She wanted Heather Badcock dead and a few minutes later Heather Badcock was dead. She didnât realize, perhaps, the seriousness of what sheâd done and certainly not the danger of it until afterwards. But she realized it then. She was afraid, horribly afraid. Afraid that someone had seen her dope her own glass, that someone had seen her deliberately jog Heatherâs elbow, afraid that someone would accuse her of having poisoned Heather. She could see only one way out. To insist that the murder had been aimed at her, that she was the prospective victim. She tried that idea first on her doctor. She refused to let him tell her husband because I think she knew that her husband would not be deceived. She did fantastic things. She wrote notes to herself and arranged to find them in extraordinary places and at extraordinary moments. She doctored her own coffee at the studios one day. She did things that could really have been seen through fairly easily if one had happened to be thinking that way. They were seen through by one person.â

She looked at Jason Rudd.

âThis is only a theory of yours,â said Jason Rudd.

âYou can put it that way, if you like,â said Miss Marple, âbut you know quite well, donât you, Mr. Rudd, that Iâm speaking the truth. You know, because you knew from the first. You knew because you heard that mention of German measles. You knew and you were frantic to protect her. But you didnât realize how much you would have to protect her from. You didnât realize that it was not only a question of hushing up one death, the death of a woman whom you might say quite fairly had brought her death on herself. But there were other deathsâthe death of Giuseppe, a blackmailer, it is true, but a human being. And the death of Ella Zielinsky of whom I expect you were fond. You were frantic to protect Marina and also to prevent her from doing more harm. All you wanted was to get her safely away somewhere. You tried to watch her all the time, to make sure that nothing more should happen.â

She paused, and then coming nearer to Jason Rudd, she laid a gentle hand on his arm.

âI am very sorry for you,â she said, âvery sorry. I do realize the agony youâve been through. You cared for her so much, didnât you?â

Jason Rudd turned slightly away.

âThat,â he said, âis, I believe, common knowledge.â

âShe was such a beautiful creature,â said Miss Marple gently. âShe had such a wonderful gift. She had a great power of love and hate but no stability. Thatâs whatâs so sad for anyone, to be born with no stability. She couldnât let the past go and she could never see the future as it really was, only as she imagined it to be. She was a great actress and a beautiful and very unhappy woman. What a wonderful Mary, Queen of Scots she was! I shall never forget her.â

Sergeant Tiddler appeared suddenly on the stairs.

âSir,â he said, âcan I speak to you a moment?â

Craddock turned.

âIâll be back,â he said to Jason Rudd, then he went towards the stairs.

âRemember,â Miss Marple called after him, âpoor Arthur Badcock had nothing to do with this. He came to the fÃªte because he wanted to have a glimpse of the girl he had married long ago. I should say she didnât even recognize him. Did she?â she asked Jason Rudd.

Jason Rudd shook his head.

âI donât think so. She certainly never said anything to me. I donât think,â he added thoughtfully, âshe would recognize him.â

âProbably not,â said Miss Marple. âAnyway,â she added, âheâs quite innocent of wanting to kill her or anything of that kind. Remember that,â she added to Dermot Craddock as he went down the stairs.

âHeâs not been in any real danger, I can assure you,â said Craddock, âbut of course when we found out that he had actually been Miss Marina Greggâs first husband we naturally had to question him on the point. Donât worry about him, Aunt Jane,â he added in a low murmur, then he hurried down the stairs.

Miss Marple turned to Jason Rudd. He was standing there like a man in a daze, his eyes faraway.

âWould you allow me to see her?â said Miss Marple.

He considered her for a moment or two, then he nodded.

âYes, you can see her. You seem toâunderstand her very well.â

He turned and Miss Marple followed him. He preceded her into the big bedroom and drew the curtains slightly aside.

Marina Gregg lay in the great white shell of the bedâher eyes closed, her hands folded.

So, Miss Marple thought, might the Lady of Shalott have lain in the boat that carried her down to Camelot. And there, standing musing, was a man with a rugged, ugly face, who might pass as a Lancelot of a later day.

Miss Marple said gently, âItâs very fortunate for her that sheâtook an overdose. Death was really the only way of escape left to her. Yesâvery fortunate she took that overdoseâorâwas given it?â

His eyes met hers, but he did not speak.

He said brokenly, âShe wasâso lovelyâand she had suffered so much.â

Miss Marple looked back against the still figure.

She quoted softly the last lines of the poem:

âHe said: âShe has a lovely face;

God in His mercy lend her grace,

The Lady of Shalott.ââ

The Agatha Christie Collection

THE HERCULE POIROT MYSTERIES

Match your wits with the famous Belgian detective.

The Mysterious Affair at Styles

The Murder on the Links

Poirot Investigates

The Murder of Roger Ackroyd

The Big Four

The Mystery of the Blue Train

Peril at End House

Lord Edgware Dies

Murder on the Orient Express

Three Act Tragedy

Death in the Clouds

The A.B.C. Murders

Murder in Mesopotamia

Cards on the Table

Murder in the Mews and Other Stories

Dumb Witness

Death on the Nile

Appointment with Death

Hercule Poirotâ€™s Christmas

Sad Cypress

One, Two, Buckle My Shoe

Evil Under the Sun

Five Little Pigs

The Hollow

The Labors of Hercules

Taken at the Flood

The Underdog and Other Stories

Mrs. McGintyâ€™s Dead

After the Funeral

Hickory Dickory Dock

Dead Manâ€™s Folly

Cat Among the Pigeons

The Clocks

Third Girl

Halloweâ€™en Party

Elephants Can Remember

Curtain: Poirotâ€™s Last Case

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TheAgatha Christie Collection

THE MISS MARPLE MYSTERIES

Join the legendary spinster sleuth from St. Mary Mead in solving murders far and wide.

The Murder at the Vicarage

The Body in the Library

The Moving Finger

A Murder Is Announced

They Do It with Mirrors

A Pocket Full of Rye

4:50 From Paddington

The Mirror Crackâ€™d from Side to Side

A Caribbean Mystery

At Bertramâ€™s Hotel

Nemesis

Sleeping Murder

Miss Marple: The Complete Short Stories

THE TOMMY AND TUPPENCE MYSTERIES

Jump on board with the entertaining crime-solving couple from Young Adventurers Ltd.

The Secret Adversary

Partners in Crime

N or M?

By the Pricking of My Thumbs

Postern of Fate

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The Agatha Christie Collection

Donâ€™t miss a single one of Agatha Christieâ€™s stand-alone novels and short-story collections.

The Man in the Brown Suit

The Secret of Chimneys

The Seven Dials Mystery

The Mysterious Mr. Quin

The Sittaford Mystery

Parker Pyne Investigates

Why Didnâ€™t They Ask Evans?

Murder Is Easy

The Regatta Mystery and Other Stories

And Then There Were None

Towards Zero

Death Comes as the End

Sparkling Cyanide

The Witness for the Prosecution and Other Stories

Crooked House

Three Blind Mice and Other Stories

They Came to Baghdad

Destination Unknown

Ordeal by Innocence

Double Sin and Other Stories

The Pale Horse

Star over Bethlehem: Poems and Holiday Stories

Endless Night

Passenger to Frankfurt

The Golden Ball and Other Stories

The Mousetrap and Other Plays

The Harlequin Tea Set

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About the Author

Agatha Christie is the most widely published author of all time and in any language, outsold only by the Bible and Shakespeare. Her books have sold more than a billion copies in English and another billion in a hundred foreign languages. She is the author of eighty crime novels and short-story collections, nineteen plays, two memoirs, and six novels written under the name Mary Westmacott.

She first tried her hand at detective fiction while working in a hospital dispensary during World War I, creating the now legendary Hercule Poirot with her debut novel The Mysterious Affair at Styles. With The Murder in the Vicarage, published in 1930, she introduced another beloved sleuth, Miss Jane Marple. Additional series characters include the husband-and-wife crime-fighting team of Tommy and Tuppence Beresford, private investigator Parker Pyne, and Scotland Yard detectives Superintendent Battle and Inspector Japp.

Many of Christieâ€™s novels and short stories were adapted into plays, films, and television series. The Mousetrap, her most famous play of all, opened in 1952 and is the longest-running play in history. Among her best-known film adaptations are Murder on the Orient Express (1974) and Death on the Nile (1978), with Albert Finney and Peter Ustinov playing Hercule Poirot, respectively. On the small screen Poirot has been most memorably portrayed by David Suchet, and Miss Marple by Joan Hickson and subsequently Geraldine McEwan and Julia McKenzie.

Christie was first married to Archibald Christie and then to archaeologist Sir Max Mallowan, whom she accompanied on expeditions to countries that would also serve as the settings for many of her novels. In 1971 she achieved one of Britainâ€™s highest honors when she was made a Dame of the British Empire. She died in 1976 at the age of eighty-five. Her one hundred and twentieth anniversary was celebrated around the world in 2010.

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THE AGATHA CHRISTIE COLLECTION

The Man in the Brown Suit

The Secret of Chimneys

The Seven Dials Mystery

The Mysterious Mr. Quin

The Sittaford Mystery

Parker Pyne Investigates

Why Didnâ€™t They Ask Evans?

Murder Is Easy

The Regatta Mystery and Other Stories

And Then There Were None

Towards Zero

Death Comes as the End

Sparkling Cyanide

The Witness for the Prosecution and
Â Â Â Â Â  Other Stories

Crooked House

Three Blind Mice and Other Stories

They Came to Baghdad

Destination Unknown

Ordeal by Innocence

Double Sin and Other Stories

The Pale Horse

Star over Bethlehem: Poems and
Â Â Â Â Â  Holiday Stories

Endless Night

Passenger to Frankfurt

The Golden Ball and Other Stories

The Mousetrap and Other Plays

The Harlequin Tea Set

The Hercule Poirot Mysteries

The Mysterious Affair at Styles

The Murder on the Links

Poirot Investigates

The Murder of Roger Ackroyd

The Big Four

The Mystery of the Blue Train

Peril at End House

Lord Edgware Dies

Murder on the Orient Express

Three Act Tragedy

Death in the Clouds

The ABC Murders

Murder in Mesopotamia

Cards on the Table

Murder in the Mews and Other Stories

Dumb Witness

Death on the Nile

Appointment with Death

Hercule Poirotâ€™s Christmas

Sad Cypress

One, Two, Buckle My Shoe

Evil Under the Sun

Five Little Pigs

The Hollow

The Labors of Hercules

Taken at the Flood

The Underdog and Other Stories

Mrs. McGintyâ€™s Dead

After the Funeral

Hickory Dickory Dock

Dead Manâ€™s Folly

Cat Among the Pigeons

The Clocks

Third Girl

Halloweâ€™en Party

Elephants Can Remember

Curtain: Poirotâ€™s Last Case

The Miss Marple Mysteries

The Murder at the Vicarage

The Body in the Library

The Moving Finger

A Murder Is Announced

They Do It with Mirrors

A Pocket Full of Rye

4:50 from Paddington

The Mirror Crackâ€™d from Side to Side

A Caribbean Mystery

At Bertramâ€™s Hotel

Nemesis

Sleeping Murder

Miss Marple: The Complete
Â Â Â Â Â  Short Stories

The Tommy and Tuppence Mysteries

The Secret Adversary

Partners in Crime

N or M?

By the Pricking of My Thumbs

Postern of Fate

Copyright

This book is a work of fiction. The characters, incidents, and dialogue are drawn from the authorâ€™s imagination and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

AGATHA CHRISTIEÂ® MARPLEÂ® MISS MARPLEÂ® THE MIRROR CRACKâ€™D FROM SIDE TO SIDEâ„¢. Copyright Â© 2011 Agatha Christie Limited (a Chorion company). All rights reserved. The Mirror Crackâ€™d from Side to Side was first published in 1962.

THE MIRROR CRACKâ€™D FROM SIDE TO SIDE. Copyright Â© 2011 Agatha Christie Limited (a Chorion company). All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the nonexclusive, nontransferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on-screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, downloaded, decompiled, reverse-engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins e-books.

Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data is available upon request.

ISBN 978-0-06-207367-9

EPub Edition Â© MAY 2011 ISBN: 978-0-06-174805-9

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