Agatha Christie

They Do It with Mirrors

A Miss Marple Mystery

One

Mrs. Van Rydock moved a little back from the mirror and sighed.

âWell, thatâll have to do,â she murmured.

âThink itâs all right, Jane?â

Miss Marple eyed the Lanvanelli creation appraisingly.

âIt seems to me a very beautiful gown,â she said.

âThe gownâs all right,â said Mrs. Van Rydock and sighed.

âTake it off, Stephanie,â she said.

The elderly maid with the grey hair and the small pinched mouth, eased the gown carefully up over Mrs. Van Rydockâs up-stretched arms.

Mrs. Van Rydock stood in front of the glass in her peach satin slip. She was exquisitely corseted. Her still shapely legs were encased in fine nylon stockings. Her face, beneath a layer of cosmetics and constantly toned up by massage, appeared almost girlish at a slight distance. Her hair was less grey than tending to hydrangea blue and was perfectly set. It was practically impossible when looking at Mrs. Van Rydock, to imagine what she would be like in a natural state. Everything that money could do had been done for herâreinforced by diet, massage, and constant exercises.

Ruth Van Rydock looked humorously at her friend.

âDo you think most people would guess, Jane, that you and I are practically the same age?â

Miss Marple responded loyally.

âNot for a moment, Iâm sure,â she said reassuringly. âIâm afraid, you know, that I look every minute of my age!â

Miss Marple was white-haired, with a soft pink-and-white wrinkled face and innocent china blue eyes. She looked a very sweet old lady. Nobody would have called Mrs. Van Rydock a sweet old lady.

âI guess you do, Jane,â said Mrs. Van Rydock. She grinned suddenly, âAnd so do I. Only not in the same way. âWonderful how that old hag keeps her figure.â Thatâs what they say of me. But they know Iâm an old hag all right! And, my God, do I feel like one!â

She dropped heavily onto the satin, quilted chair.

âThatâs all right, Stephanie,â she said. âYou can go.â

Stephanie gathered up the dress and went out.

âGood old Stephanie,â said Ruth Van Rydock. âSheâs been with me for over thirty years now. Sheâs the only woman who knows what I really look like! Jane, I want to talk to you.â

Miss Marple leant forward a little. Her face took on a receptive expression. She looked, somehow, an incongruous figure in the ornate bedroom of the expensive hotel suite. She was dressed in rather dowdy black, carried a large shopping bag, and looked every inch a lady.

âIâm worried, Jane. About Carrie Louise.â

âCarrie Louise?â Miss Marple repeated the name musingly. The sound of it took her a long way back.

The pensionnat in Florence. Herself, the pink and white English girl from a Cathedral close. The two Martin girls, Americans, exciting to the English girl because of their quaint ways of speech and their forthright manner and vitality. Ruth, tall, eager, on top of the world, Carrie Louise, small, dainty, wistful.

âWhen did you see her last, Jane?â

âOh! not for many many years. It must be twenty-five at least. Of course, we still send cards at Christmas.â

Such an odd thing, friendship! She, young Jane Marple, and the two Americans. Their ways diverging almost at once, and yet the old affection persisting; occasional letters, remembrances at Christmas. Strange that Ruth whose homeâor rather homesâhad been in America should be the sister whom she had seen the more often of the two. No, perhaps not strange. Like most Americans of her class, Ruth had been cosmopolitan. Every year or two she had come over to Europe, rushing from London to Paris, on to the Riviera, and back again, and always keen to snatch a few moments wherever she was, with her old friends. There had been many meetings like this one. In Claridgeâs, or the Savoy, or the Berkeley, or the Dorchester. A recherchÃ© meal, affectionate reminiscences, and a hurried and affectionate good-bye. Ruth had never had time to visit St. Mary Mead. Miss Marple had not, indeed, ever expected it. Everyoneâs life has a tempo. Ruthâs was presto whereas Miss Marpleâs was content to be adagio.

So it was American Ruth whom she had seen most of, whereas Carrie Louise who lived in England, she had not now seen for over twenty years. Odd, but quite natural, because when one lives in the same country there is no need to arrange meetings with old friends. One assumes that, sooner or later, one will see them without contrivance. Only, if you move in different spheres, that does not happen. The paths of Jane Marple and Carrie Louise did not cross. It was as simple as that.

âWhy are you worried about Carrie Louise, Ruth?â asked Miss Marple.

âIn a way thatâs what worries me most! I just donât know.â

âSheâs not ill?â

âSheâs very delicateâalways has been. I wouldnât say sheâd been any worse than usualâconsidering that sheâs getting on just as we all are.â

âUnhappy?â

âOh no.â

No, it wouldnât be that, thought Miss Marple. It would be difficult to imagine Carrie Louise unhappyâand yet there were times in her life when she must have been. Onlyâthe picture did not come clearly. Bewilderedâyesâincredulousâyesâbut violent griefâno.

Mrs. Van Rydockâs words came appositely.

âCarrie Louise,â she said, âhas always lived right out of this world. She doesnât know what itâs like. Maybe itâs that that worries me.â

âHer circumstances,â began Miss Marple, then stopped, shaking her head. âNo,â she said.

âNo, itâs she herself,â said Ruth Van Rydock. âCarrie Louise was always the one of us who had ideals. Of course, it was the fashion when we were young to have idealsâwe all had them, it was the proper thing for young girls. You were going to nurse lepers, Jane, and I was going to be a nun. One gets over all that nonsense. Marriage, I suppose one might say, knocks it out of one. Still, take it by and large, I havenât done badly out of marriage.â

Miss Marple thought that Ruth was expressing it mildly. Ruth had been married three times, each time to an extremely wealthy man, and the resultant divorces had increased her bank balance without in the least souring her disposition.

âOf course,â said Mrs. Van Rydock, âIâve always been tough. Things donât get me down. Iâve not expected too much of life and certainly not expected too much of menâand Iâve done very well out of itâand no hard feelings. Tommy and I are still excellent friends, and Julius often asks me my opinion about the market.â Her face darkened. âI believe thatâs what worries me about Carrie Louiseâsheâs always had a tendency, you know, to marry cranks.â

âCranks?â

âPeople with ideals. Carrie Louise was always a pushover for ideals. There she was, as pretty as they make them, just seventeen and listening with her eyes as big as saucers to old Gulbrandsen holding forth about his plans for the human race. Over fifty, and she married him, a widower with a family of grown-up childrenâall because of his philanthropic ideas. She used to sit listening to him spellbound. Just like Desdemona and Othello. Only fortunately there was no Iago about to mess things upâand anyway Gulbrandsen wasnât coloured. He was a Swede or a Norwegian or something.â

Miss Marple nodded thoughtfully. The name of Gulbrandsen had an international significance. A man who with shrewd business acumen and perfect honesty had built up a fortune so colossal that really philanthropy had been the only solution to the disposal of it. The name still held significance. The Gulbrandsen Trust, the Gulbrandsen Research Fellowships, the Gulbrandsen Administrative Almshouses, and best known of all the vast educational College for the sons of working men.

âShe didnât marry him for his money, you know,â said Ruth, âI should have if Iâd married him at all. But not Carrie Louise. I donât know what would have happened if he hadnât died when she was thirty-two. Thirty-twoâs a very nice age for a widow. Sheâs got experience, but sheâs still adaptable.â

The spinster listening to her, nodded gently whilst her mind reviewed, tentatively, widows she had known in the village of St. Mary Mead.

âI was really happiest about Carrie Louise when she was married to Johnnie Restarick. Of course, he married her for her moneyâor if not exactly that, at any rate he wouldnât have married her if she hadnât had any. Johnnie was a selfish pleasure-loving lazy hound, but thatâs so much safer than a crank. All Johnnie wanted was to live soft. He wanted Carrie Louise to go to the best dressmakers and have yachts and cars and enjoy herself with him. That kind of man is so very safe. Give him comfort and luxury and heâll purr like a cat and be absolutely charming to you. I never took that scene designing and theatrical stuff of his very seriously. But Carrie Louise was thrilled by itâsaw it all as Art with a capital A and really forced him back into those surroundings and then that dreadful Yugoslavian woman got hold of him and just swept him off with her. He didnât really want to go. If Carrie Louise had waited and been sensible, he would have come back to her.â

âDid she care very much?â asked Miss Marple.

âThatâs the funny thing. I donât really believe she did. She was absolutely sweet about it allâbut then she would be. She is sweet. Quite anxious to divorce him so that he and that creature could get married. And offering to give those two boys of his by his first marriage a home with her because it would be more settled for them. So there poor Johnnie wasâhe had to marry the woman and she led him an awful six months and then drove him over a precipice in a car in a fit of rage. They said it was an accident, but I think it was just temper!â

Mrs. Van Rydock paused, took up a mirror and gazed at her face searchingly. She picked up her eyebrow tweezers and pulled out a hair.

âAnd what does Carrie Louise do next but marry this man Lewis Serrocold. Another crank! Another man with ideals! Oh I donât say he isnât devoted to herâI think he isâbut heâs bitten by that same bug of wanting to improve everybodyâs lives for them. And really, you know, nobody can do that but yourself.â

âI wonder,â said Miss Marple.

âOnly, of course, thereâs a fashion in these things, just like there is in clothes. (My dear, have you seen what Christian Dior is trying to make us wear in the way of skirts?) Where was I? Oh yes, fashion. Well, thereâs a fashion in philanthropy too. It used to be education in Gulbrandsenâs day. But thatâs out of date now. The State has stepped in. Everyone expects education as a matter of rightâand doesnât think much of it when they get it! Juvenile delinquencyâthatâs what is the rage nowadays. All these young criminals and potential criminals. Everyoneâs mad about them. You should see Lewis Serrocoldâs eyes sparkle behind those thick glasses of his. Crazy with enthusiasm! One of those men of enormous willpower who like living on a banana and a piece of toast and put all their energies into a cause. And Carrie Louise eats it upâjust as she always did. But I donât like it, Jane. Theyâve had meetings of the trustees and the whole place has been turned over to this new idea. Itâs a training establishment now for these juvenile criminals, complete with psychiatrists and psychologists and all the rest of it. There Lewis and Carrie Louise are, living there, surrounded by these boysâwho arenât perhaps quite normal. And the place stiff with occupational therapists and teachers and enthusiasts, half of them quite mad. Cranks, all the lot of them, and my little Carrie Louise in the middle of it all!â

She pausedâand stared helplessly at Miss Marple.

Miss Marple said in a faintly puzzled voice:

âBut you havenât told me yet, Ruth, what you are really afraid of.â

âI tell you, I donât know! And thatâs what worries me. Iâve just been down thereâfor a flying visit. And I felt all along that there was something wrong. In the atmosphereâin the houseâI know Iâm not mistaken. Iâm sensitive to atmosphere, always have been. Did I ever tell you how I urged Julius to sell out of Amalgamated Cereals before the crash came? And wasnât I right? Yes, something is wrong down there. But I donât know why or whatâif itâs these dreadful young jailbirdsâor if itâs nearer home. I canât say what it is. Thereâs Lewis just living for his ideas and not noticing anything else, and Carrie Louise, bless her, never seeing or hearing or thinking anything except whatâs a lovely sight, or a lovely sound, or a lovely thought. Itâs sweet but it isnât practical. There is such a thing as evilâand I want you, Jane, to go down there right away and find out just exactly whatâs the matter.â

âMe?â exclaimed Miss Marple. âWhy me?â

âBecause youâve got a nose for that sort of thing. You always had. Youâve always been a sweet innocent looking creature, Jane, and all the time underneath nothing has ever surprised you, you always believe the worst.â

âThe worst is so often true,â murmured Miss Marple.

âWhy you have such a poor idea of human nature, I canât thinkâliving in that sweet peaceful village of yours, so old world and pure.â

âYou have never lived in a village, Ruth. The things that go on in a pure peaceful village would probably surprise you.â

âOh I daresay. My point is that they donât surprise you. So you will go down to Stonygates and find out whatâs wrong, wonât you?â

âBut, Ruth dear, that would be a most difficult thing to do.â

âNo, it wouldnât. Iâve thought it all out. If you wonât be absolutely mad at me, Iâve prepared the ground already.â

Mrs. Van Rydock paused, eyed Miss Marple rather uneasily, lighted a cigarette, and plunged rather nervously into explanation.

âYouâll admit, Iâm sure, that things have been difficult in this country since the war, for people with small fixed incomesâfor people like you, that is to say, Jane.â

âOh yes, indeed. But for the kindness, the really great kindness of my nephew Raymond, I donât know really where I should be.â

âNever mind your nephew,â said Mrs. Van Rydock. âCarrie Louise knows nothing about your nephewâor if she does, she knows him as a writer and has no idea that heâs your nephew. The point, as I put it to Carrie Louise, is that itâs just too bad about dear Jane. Really sometimes hardly enough to eat, and of course far too proud ever to appeal to old friends. One couldnât, I said, suggest moneyâbut a nice long rest in lovely surroundings, with an old friend and with plenty of nourishing food, and no cares or worriesââ Ruth Van Rydock paused and then added defiantly, âNow go onâbe mad at me if you want to be.â

Miss Marple opened her china blue eyes in gentle surprise.

âBut why should I be mad at you, Ruth? A very ingenious and plausible approach. Iâm sure Carrie Louise responded.â

âSheâs writing to you. Youâll find the letter when you get back. Honestly, Jane, you donât feel that Iâve taken an unpardonable liberty? You wonât mindââ

She hesitated and Miss Marple put her thoughts deftly into words.

âGoing to Stonygates as an object of charityâmore or less under false pretences? Not in the leastâif it is necessary. You think it is necessaryâand I am inclined to agree with you.â

Mrs. Van Rydock stared at her.

âBut why? What have you heard?â

âI havenât heard anything. Itâs just your conviction. Youâre not a fanciful woman, Ruth.â

âNo, but I havenât anything definite to go upon.â

âI remember,â said Miss Marple thoughtfully, âone Sunday morning at churchâit was the second Sunday in Adventâsitting behind Grace Lamble and feeling more and more worried about her. Quite sure, you know, that something was wrongâbadly wrongâand yet being quite unable to say why. A most disturbing feeling and very, very definite.â

âAnd was there something wrong?â

âOh yes. Her father, the old admiral, had been very peculiar for some time, and the very next day he went for her with the coal hammer, roaring out that she was Antichrist masquerading as his daughter. He nearly killed her. They took him away to the asylum and she eventually recovered after months in hospitalâbut it was a very near thing.â

âAnd youâd actually had a premonition that day in church?â

âI wouldnât call it a premonition. It was founded on factâthese things usually are, though one doesnât always recognise it at the time. She was wearing her Sunday hat the wrong way round. Very significant, really, because Grace Lamble was a most precise woman, not at all vague or absentmindedâand the circumstances under which she would not notice which way her hat was put on to go to church were really extremely limited. Her father, you see, had thrown a marble paperweight at her and it had shattered the looking glass. She had caught up her hat, put it on, and hurried out of the house. Anxious to keep up appearances and for the servants not to hear anything. She put down these actions, you see, to âdear Papaâs Naval temper,â she didnât realise that his mind was definitely unhinged. Though she ought to have realised it clearly enough. He was always complaining to her of being spied upon and of enemiesâall the usual symptoms, in fact.â

Mrs. Van Rydock gazed respectfully at her friend.

âMaybe, Jane,â she said, âthat St. Mary Mead of yours isnât quite the idyllic retreat that Iâve always imagined it.â

âHuman nature, dear, is very much the same everywhere. It is more difficult to observe it closely in a city, that is all.â

âAnd youâll go to Stonygates?â

âIâll go to Stonygates. A little unfair, perhaps, on my nephew Raymond. To let it be thought that he does not assist me, I mean. Still the dear boy is in Mexico for six months. And by that time it should all be over.â

âWhat should all be over?â

âCarrie Louiseâs invitation will hardly be for an indefinite stay. Three weeks, perhapsâa month. That should be ample.â

âFor you to find out what is wrong?â

âFor me to find out what is wrong.â

âMy, Jane,â said Mrs. Van Rydock, âyouâve got a lot of confidence in yourself, havenât you?â

Miss Marple looked faintly reproachful.

âYou have confidence in me, Ruth. Or so you say â¦ I can only assure you that I shall endeavour to justify your confidence.â

Two

Before catching her train back to St. Mary Mead (Wednesday special cheap day return) Miss Marple, in a precise and businesslike fashion, collected certain data.

âCarrie Louise and I have corresponded after a fashion, but it has largely been a matter of Christmas cards or calendars. Itâs just the facts I should like, Ruth dearâand also some idea as to whom exactly I shall encounter in the household at Stonygates.â

âWell, you know about Carrie Louiseâs marriage to Gulbrandsen. There were no children and Carrie Louise took that very much to heart. Gulbrandsen was a widower, and had three grown-up sons. Eventually they adopted a child. Pippa, they called herâa lovely little creature. She was just two years old when they got her.â

âWhere did she come from? What was her background?â

âReally, now, Jane, I canât rememberâif I ever heard, that is. An adoption society, maybe? Or some unwanted child that Gulbrandsen had heard about. Why? Do you think itâs important?â

âWell, one always likes to know the background, so to speak. But please go on.â

âThe next thing that happened was that Carrie Louise found that she was going to have a baby after all. I understand from doctors that that quite often happens.â

Miss Marple nodded.

âI believe so.â

âAnyway, it did happen, and in a funny kind of way, Carrie Louise was almost disconcerted, if you can understand what I mean. Earlier, of course, sheâd have been wild with joy. As it was, sheâd given such a devoted love to Pippa that she felt quite apologetic to Pippa for putting her nose out of joint, so to speak. And then Mildred, when she arrived, was really a very unattractive child. Took after the Gulbrandsensâwho were solid and worthyâbut definitely homely. Carrie Louise was always so anxious to make no difference between the adopted child and her own child that I think she rather tended to overindulge Pippa and pass over Mildred. Sometimes I think that Mildred resented it. However I didnât see them often. Pippa grew up a very beautiful girl and Mildred grew up a plain one. Eric Gulbrandsen died when Mildred was fifteen and Pippa eighteen. At twenty Pippa married an Italian, the Marchese di San Severianoâoh quite a genuine Marcheseânot an adventurer, or anything like that. She was by way of being an heiress (naturally, or San Severiano wouldnât have married herâyou know what Italians are!). Gulbrandsen left an equal sum in trust for both his own and his adopted daughter. Mildred married a Canon Streteâa nice man but given to colds in the head. About ten or fifteen years older than she was. Quite a happy marriage, I believe.

âHe died a year ago and Mildred has come back to Stonygates to live with her mother. But thatâs getting on too fast; Iâve skipped a marriage or two. Iâll go back to them. Pippa married her Italian. Carrie Louise was quite pleased about the marriage. Guido had beautiful manners and was very handsome, and he was a fine sportsman. A year later Pippa had a daughter and died in childbirth. It was a terrible tragedy and Guido San Severiano was very cut up. Carrie Louise went to and fro between Italy and England a good deal and it was in Rome that she met Johnnie Restarick and married him. The Marchese married again and he was quite willing for his little daughter to be brought up in England by her exceedingly wealthy grandmother. So they all settled down at Stonygates, Johnnie Restarick and Carrie Louise, and Johnnieâs two boys, Alexis and Stephen (Johnnieâs first wife was a Russian), and the baby Gina. Mildred married her Canon soon afterwards. Then came all this business of Johnnie and the Yugoslavian woman and the divorce. The boys still came to Stonygates for their holidays and were devoted to Carrie Louise and then in 1938, I think it was, Carrie Louise married Lewis.â

Mrs. Van Rydock paused for breath.

âYouâve not met Lewis?â

Miss Marple shook her head.

âNo, I think I last saw Carrie Louise in 1928. She very sweetly took me to Covent Gardenâto the Opera.â

âOh yes. Well, Lewis was a very suitable person for her to marry. He was the head of a very celebrated firm of chartered accountants. I think he met her first over some question of the finances of the Gulbrandsen Trust and the College. He was well off, just about her own age, and a man of absolutely upright life. But he was a crank. He was absolutely rabid on the subject of the redemption of young criminals.â

Ruth Van Rydock sighed.

âAs I said just now, Jane, there are fashions in philanthropy. In Gulbrandsenâs time it was education. Before that it was soup kitchensââ

Miss Marple nodded.

âYes, indeed. Port wine jelly and calfâs head broth taken to the sick. My mother used to do it.â

âThatâs right. Feeding the body gave way to feeding the mind. Everyone went mad on educating the lower classes. Well, thatâs passed. Soon, I expect, the fashionable thing to do will be not to educate your children, preserve their illiteracy carefully until theyâre eighteen. Anyway the Gulbrandsen Trust and Education Fund was in some difficulties because the state was taking over its functions. Then Lewis came along with his passionate enthusiasm about constructive training for juvenile delinquents. His attention had been drawn to the subject first in the course of his professionâauditing accounts where ingenious young men had perpetrated frauds. He was more and more convinced that juvenile delinquents were not subnormalâthat they had excellent brains and abilities and only needed the right direction.â

âThere is something in that,â said Miss Marple. âBut it is not entirely true. I rememberââ

She broke off and glanced at her watch.

âOh dearâI mustnât miss the 6:30.â

Ruth Van Rydock said urgently:

âAnd you will go to Stonygates?â

Gathering up her shopping bag and her umbrella Miss Marple said:

âIf Carrie Louise asks meââ

âShe will ask you. Youâll go? Promise, Jane?â

Jane Marple promised.

Three

Miss Marple got out of the train at Market Kindle station. A kindly fellow passenger handed out her suitcase after her, and Miss Marple, clutching a string bag, a faded leather handbag and some miscellaneous wraps, uttered appreciative twitters of thanks.

âSo kind of you, Iâm sure â¦ So difficult nowadaysânot many porters. I get so flustered when I travel.â

The twitters were drowned by the booming noise of the station announcer saying loudly but indistinctly that the 3:18 was standing at Platform 1 and was about to proceed to various unidentifiable stations.

Market Kindle was a large empty windswept station with hardly any passengers or railway staff to be seen on it. Its claim to distinction lay in having six platforms and a bay where a very small train of one carriage was puffing importantly.

Miss Marple, rather more shabbily dressed than was her custom (so lucky that she hadnât given away the old speckledy), was peering around her uncertainly when a young man came up to her.

âMiss Marple?â he said. His voice had an unexpectedly dramatic quality about it, as though the utterance of her name were the first words of a part he was playing in amateur theatricals. âIâve come to meet youâfrom Stonygates.â

Miss Marple looked gratefully at him, a charming helpless looking old lady with, if he had chanced to notice it, very shrewd blue eyes. The personality of the young man did not quite match his voice. It was less important, one might almost say insignificant. His eyelids had a trick of fluttering nervously.

âOh, thank you,â said Miss Marple. âThereâs just this suitcase.â

She noticed that the young man did not pick up her suitcase himself. He flipped a finger at a porter who was trundling some packing cases past on a trolley.

âBring it out, please,â he said, and added importantly, âFor Stonygates.â

The porter said cheerfully:

âRightyho. Shanât be long.â

Miss Marple fancied that her new acquaintance was not too pleased about this. It was as if Buckingham Palace had been dismissed as no more important than 3 Laburnum Road.

He said, âThe railways get more impossible every day!â

Guiding Miss Marple towards the exit, he said: âIâm Edgar Lawson. Mrs. Serrocold asked me to meet you. I help Mr. Serrocold in his work.â

There was again the faint insinuation that a busy and important man had, very charmingly, put important affairs on one side out of chivalry to his employerâs wife.

And again the impression was not wholly convincingâit had a theatrical flavour.

Miss Marple began to wonder about Edgar Lawson.

They came out of the station and Edgar guided the old lady to where a rather elderly Ford V.8 was standing.

He was just saying, âWill you come in front with me, or would you prefer the back?â when there was a diversion.

A new gleaming two-seater Rolls Bentley came purring into the station yard and drew up in front of the Ford. A very beautiful young woman jumped out of it and came across to them. The fact that she wore dirty corduroy slacks and a simple aertex shirt open at the neck seemed somehow to enhance the fact that she was not only beautiful but expensive.

âThere you are, Edgar. I thought I wouldnât make it in time. I see youâve got Miss Marple. I came to meet her.â She smiled dazzlingly at Miss Marple showing a row of lovely teeth in a sunburnt southern face. âIâm Gina,â she said. âCarrie Louiseâs granddaughter. What was your journey like? Simply foul? What a nice string bag. I love string bags. Iâll take it and the coats and then you can get in better.â

Edgarâs face flushed. He protested.

âLook here, Gina, I came to meet Miss Marple. It was all arrangedâ¦.â

Again the teeth flashed in that wide, lazy smile.

âOh I know, Edgar, but I suddenly thought it would be nice if I came along. Iâll take her with me and you can wait and bring her cases up.â

She slammed the door on Miss Marple, ran round to the other side, jumped in the driving seat, and they purred swiftly out of the station.

Looking back, Miss Marple noticed Edgar Lawsonâs face.

âI donât think, my dear,â she said, âthat Mr. Lawson is very pleased.â

Gina laughed.

âEdgarâs a frightful idiot,â she said. âAlways so pompous about things. Youâd really think he mattered!â

Miss Marple asked, âDoesnât he matter?â

âEdgar?â There was an unconscious note of cruelty in Ginaâs scornful laugh. âOh, heâs bats anyway.â

âBats?â

âTheyâre all bats at Stonygates,â said Gina. âI donât mean Lewis and Grandam and me and the boysâand not Miss Bellever, of course. But the others. Sometimes I feel Iâm going a bit bats myself living there. Even Aunt Mildred goes out on walks and mutters to herself all the timeâand you donât expect a Canonâs widow to do that, do you?â

They swung out of the station approach and accelerated up the smooth-surfaced, empty road. Gina shot a swift, sideways glance at her companion.

âYou were at school with Grandam, werenât you? It seems so queer.â

Miss Marple knew perfectly what she meant. To youth it seems very odd to think that age was once young and pigtailed and struggled with decimals and English literature.

âIt must,â said Gina with awe in her voice, and obviously not meaning to be rude, âhave been a very long time ago.â

âYes, indeed,â said Miss Marple. âYou feel that more with me than you do with your grandmother, I expect?â

Gina nodded. âItâs cute of you saying that. Grandam, you know, gives one a curiously ageless feeling.â

âIt is a long time since Iâve seen her. I wonder if I shall find her much changed.â

âHer hairâs grey, of course,â said Gina vaguely. âAnd she walks with a stick because of her arthritis. Itâs got much worse lately. I suppose thatââ she broke off, and then asked, âHave you been to Stonygates before?â

âNo, never. Iâve heard a great deal about it, of course.â

âItâs pretty ghastly really,â said Gina cheerfully. âA sort of Gothic monstrosity. What Steve calls Best Victorian Lavatory period. But itâs fun, too, in a way. Only, of course, everythingâs madly earnest, and you tumble over psychiatrists everywhere underfoot. Enjoying themselves madly. Rather like scoutmasters, only worse. The young criminals are rather pets, some of them. One showed me how to diddle locks with a bit of wire and one angelic-faced boy gave me a lot of points about coshing people.â

Miss Marple considered this information thoughtfully.

âItâs the thugs I like best,â said Gina. âI donât fancy the queers so much. Of course, Lewis and Dr. Maverick think theyâre all queersâI mean they think itâs repressed desires and disordered home life and their mothers getting off with soldiers and all that. I donât really see it myself because some people have had awful home lives and yet have managed to turn out quite all right.â

âIâm sure it is all a very difficult problem,â said Miss Marple.

Gina laughed, again showing her magnificent teeth.

âIt doesnât worry me much. I suppose some people have these sorts of urges to make the world a better place. Lewis is quite dippy about it allâheâs going to Aberdeen next week because thereâs a case coming up in the police courtâa boy with five previous convictions.â

âThe young man who met me at the station? Mr. Lawson. He helps Mr. Serrocold, he told me. Is he his secretary?â

âOh Edgar hasnât brains enough to be a secretary. Heâs a case, really. He used to stay at hotels and pretend he was a V.C. or a fighter pilot and borrow money and then do a flit. I think heâs just a rotter. But Lewis goes through a routine with them all. Makes them feel one of the family and gives them jobs to do and all that to encourage their sense of responsibility. I daresay we shall be murdered by one of them one of these days.â Gina laughed merrily.

Miss Marple did not laugh.

They turned in through some imposing gates where a commissionaire was standing on duty in a military manner and drove up a drive flanked with rhododendrons. The drive was badly kept and the grounds seemed neglected.

Interpreting her companionâs glance, Gina said, âNo gardeners during the war, and since we havenât bothered. But it does look rather terrible.â

They came round a curve and Stonygates appeared in its full glory. It was, as Gina had said, a vast edifice of Victorian Gothicâa kind of temple to plutocracy. Philanthropy had added to it in various wings and outbuildings which, while not positively dissimilar in style, had robbed the structure as a whole of any cohesion or purpose.

âHideous, isnât it?â said Gina affectionately. âThereâs Grandam on the terrace. Iâll stop here and you can go and meet her.â

Miss Marple advanced along the terrace towards her old friend.

From a distance, the slim little figure looked curiously girlish in spite of the stick on which she leaned and her slow and obviously rather painful progress. It was as though a young girl was giving an exaggerated imitation of old age.

âJane,â said Mrs. Serrocold.

âDear Carrie Louise.â

Yes, unmistakably Carrie Louise. Strangely unchanged, strangely youthful still, although, unlike her sister, she used no cosmetics or artificial aids to youth. Her hair was grey, but it had always been of a silvery fairness and the colour had changed very little. Her skin had still a rose leaf pink and white appearance, though now it was a crumpled rose leaf. Her eyes had still their starry innocent glance. She had the slender youthful figure of a girl and her head kept its eager birdlike tilt.

âI do blame myself,â said Carrie Louise in her sweet voice, âfor letting it be so long. Years since I saw you, Jane dear. Itâs just lovely that youâve come at last to pay us a visit here.â

From the end of the terrace Gina called:

âYou ought to come in, Grandam. Itâs getting coldâand Jolly will be furious.â

Carrie Louise gave her little silvery laugh.

âThey all fuss about me so,â she said. âThey rub it in that Iâm an old woman.â

âAnd you donât feel like one.â

âNo, I donât, Jane. In spite of all my aches and painsâand Iâve got plenty. Inside I go on feeling just a chit like Gina. Perhaps everyone does. The glass shows them how old they are and they just donât believe it. It seems only a few months ago that we were at Florence. Do you remember FrÃ¤ulein Schweich and her boots?â

The two elderly women laughed together at events that had happened nearly half a century ago.

They walked together to a side door. In the doorway a gaunt, elderly lady met them. She had an arrogant nose, a short haircut and wore stout, well-cut tweeds.

She said fiercely:

âItâs absolutely crazy of you, Cara, to stay out so late. Youâre absolutely incapable of taking care of yourself. What will Mr. Serrocold say?â

âDonât scold me, Jolly,â said Carrie Louise pleadingly. She introduced Miss Bellever to Miss Marple.

âThis is Miss Bellever who is simply everything to me. Nurse, dragon, watchdog, secretary, housekeeper, and very faithful friend.â

Juliet Bellever sniffed, and the end of her big nose turned rather pink, a sign of emotion.

âI do what I can,â she said gruffly. âThis is a crazy household. You simply canât arrange any kind of planned routine.â

âDarling Jolly, of course you canât. I wonder why you ever try. Where are you putting Miss Marple?â

âIn the Blue Room. Shall I take her up?â asked Miss Bellever.

âYes, please do, Jolly. And then bring her down to tea. Itâs in the library today, I think.â

The Blue Room had heavy curtains of a rich, faded blue brocade that must have been, Miss Marple thought, about fifty years old. The furniture was mahogany, big and solid, and the bed was a vast mahogany fourposter. Miss Bellever opened a door into a connecting bathroom. This was unexpectedly modern, orchid in colouring and with much dazzling chromium.

She observed grimly:

âJohn Restarick had ten bathrooms put into the house when he married Cara. The plumbing is about the only thing thatâs ever been modernized. He wouldnât hear of the rest being alteredâsaid the whole place was a perfect period piece. Did you ever know him at all?â

âNo, I never met him. Mrs. Serrocold and I have met very seldom though we have always corresponded.â

âHe was an agreeable fellow,â said Miss Bellever. âNo good, of course! A complete rotter. But pleasant to have about the house. Great charm. Women liked him far too much. That was his undoing in the end. Not really Caraâs type.â

She added, with a brusque resumption of her practical manner:

âThe housemaid will unpack for you. Do you want a wash before tea?â

Receiving an affirmative answer, she said that Miss Marple would find her waiting at the top of the stairs.

Miss Marple went into the bathroom and washed her hands and dried them a little nervously on a very beautiful orchid coloured face towel. Then she removed her hat and patted her soft white hair into place.

Opening her door she found Miss Bellever waiting for her and was conducted down the big gloomy staircase and across a vast dark hall and into a room where bookshelves went up to the ceiling and a big window looked out over an artificial lake.

Carrie Louise was standing by the window and Miss Marple joined her.

âWhat a very imposing house this is,â said Miss Marple. âI feel quite lost in it.â

âYes, I know. Itâs ridiculous, really. It was built by a prosperous iron masterâor something of that kind. He went bankrupt not long after. I donât wonder really. There were about fourteen living roomsâall enormous. Iâve never seen what people can want with more than one sitting room. And all those huge bedrooms. Such a lot of unnecessary space. Mine is terribly overpoweringâand quite a long way to walk from the bed to the dressing table. And great heavy dark crimson curtains.â

âYou havenât had it modernized and redecorated?â

Carrie Louise looked vaguely surprised.

âNo. On the whole itâs very much as it was when I first lived here with Eric. Itâs been repainted, of course, but they always do it the same colour. Those things donât really matter, do they? I mean I shouldnât have felt justified in spending a lot of money on that kind of thing when there are so many things that are so much more important.â

âHave there been no changes at all in the house?â

âOh yesâheaps of them. Weâve just kept a kind of block in the middle of the house as it wasâthe Great Hall and the rooms off and over. Theyâre the best ones and Johnnieâmy second husbandâwas lyrical over them and said they should never be touched or alteredâand, of course, he was an artist and a designer and he knew about these things. But the East and West wings have been completely remodelled. All the rooms partitioned off and divided up, so that we have offices, and bedrooms for the teaching staff, and all that. The boys are all in the College buildingâyou can see it from here.â

Miss Marple looked out towards where large red brick buildings showed through a belt of sheltering trees. Then her eyes fell on something nearer at hand, and she smiled a little.

âWhat a very beautiful girl Gina is,â she said.

Carrie Louiseâs face lit up.

âYes, isnât she?â she said softly. âItâs so lovely to have her back here again. I sent her to America at the beginning of the warâto Ruth. Did Ruth talk about her at all?â

âNo. At least she did just mention her.â

Carrie Louise sighed.

âPoor Ruth! She was frightfully upset over Ginaâs marriage. But Iâve told her again and again that I donât blame her in the least. Ruth doesnât realise, as I do, that the old barriers and class shibboleths are goneâor at any rate are going.

âGina was doing war workâand she met this young man. He was a marine and had a very good war record. And a week later they were married. It was all far too quick, of course, no time to find out if they were really suited to each otherâbut thatâs the way of things nowadays. Young people belong to their generation. We may think theyâre unwise in many of their doings, but we have to accept their decisions. Ruth, though, was terribly upset.â

âShe didnât consider the young man suitable?â

âShe kept saying that one didnât know anything about him. He came from the middle west and he hadnât any moneyâand naturally no profession. There are hundreds of boys like that everywhereâbut it wasnât Ruthâs idea of what was right for Gina. However, the thing was done. I was so glad when Gina accepted my invitation to come over here with her husband. Thereâs so much going on hereâjobs of every kind, and if Walter wants to specialise in medicine or get a degree or anything he could do it in this country. After all, this is Ginaâs home. Itâs delightful to have her back, to have someone so warm and gay and alive in the house.â

Miss Marple nodded and looked out of the window again at the two young people standing near the lake.

âTheyâre a remarkably handsome couple, too,â she said. âI donât wonder Gina fell in love with him!â

âOh, but thatâthat isnât Wally.â There was, quite suddenly, a touch of embarrassment, or restraint, in Mrs. Serrocoldâs voice. âThatâs Steveâthe younger of Johnnie Restarickâs two boys. When Johnnieâwhen he went away, heâd no place for the boys in the holidays, so I always had them here. They look on this as their home. And Steveâs here permanently now. He runs our dramatic branch. We have a theatre, you know, and playsâwe encourage all the artistic instincts. Lewis says that so much of this juvenile crime is due to exhibitionism; most of the boys have had such a thwarted, unhappy home life, and these hold-ups and burglaries make them feel heroes. We urge them to write their own plays and act in them and design and paint their own scenery. Steve is in charge of the theatre. Heâs so keen and enthusiastic. Itâs wonderful what life heâs put into the whole thing.â

âI see,â said Miss Marple slowly.

Her long distance sight was good (as many of her neighbours knew to their cost in the village of St. Mary Mead) and she saw very clearly the dark handsome face of Stephen Restarick as he stood facing Gina, talking eagerly. Ginaâs face she could not see, since the girl had her back to them, but there was no mistaking the expression in Stephen Restarickâs face.

âIt isnât any business of mine,â said Miss Marple, âbut I suppose you realise, Carrie Louise, that heâs in love with her.â

âOh noââ Carrie Louise looked troubled. âOh no, I do hope not.â

âYou were always up in the clouds, Carrie Louise. Thereâs not the least doubt about it.â

Four

1

Before Mrs. Serrocold could say anything, her husband came in from the hall carrying some open letters in his hand.

Lewis Serrocold was a short man, not particularly impressive in appearance, but with a personality that immediately marked him out. Ruth had once said of him that he was more like a dynamo than a human being. He usually concentrated entirely on what was immediately occupying his attention and paid no attention to the objects or persons who were surrounding it.

âA bad blow, dearest,â he said. âThat boy, Jackie Flint. Back at his tricks again. And I really did think he meant to go straight this time if he got a proper chance. He was most earnest about it. You know we found heâd always been keen on railwaysâand both Maverick and I thought that if he got a job on the railways heâd stick to it and make good. But itâs the same story. Petty thieving from the parcels office. Not even stuff he could want or sell. That shows that it must be psychological. We havenât really got to the root of the trouble. But Iâm not giving up.â

âLewisâthis is my old friend, Jane Marple.â

âOh, how dâyou do,â said Mr. Serrocold absently. âSo gladâtheyâll prosecute, of course. A nice lad, too, not too many brains but a really nice boy. Unspeakable home he came from. Iââ

He suddenly broke off, and the dynamo was switched onto the guest.

âWhy, Miss Marple, Iâm so delighted youâve come to stay with us for a while. It will make such a great difference to Caroline to have a friend of old days with whom she can exchange memories. She has, in many ways, a grim time hereâso much sadness in the stories of these poor children. We do hope youâll stay with us a very long time.â

Miss Marple felt the magnetism and realised how attractive it would have been to her friend. That Lewis Serrocold was a man who would always put causes before people she did not doubt for a moment. It might have irritated some women, but not Carrie Louise.

Lewis Serrocold sorted out another letter.

âAt any rate weâve some good news. This is from the Wiltshire and Somerset Bank. Young Morris is doing extremely well. Theyâre thoroughly satisfied with him and, in fact, are promoting him next month. I always knew that all he needed was responsibilityâthat, and a thorough grasp of the handling of money and what it means.â

He turned to Miss Marple.

âHalf these boys donât know what money is. It represents to them going to the pictures or to the dogs, or buying cigarettesâand theyâre clever with figures and find it exciting to juggle them round. Well, I believe inâwhat shall I say?ârubbing their noses in the stuffâtrain them in accountancy, in figuresâshow them the whole inner romance of money, so to speak. Give them skill and then responsibilityâlet them handle it officially. Our greatest successes have been that wayâonly two out of thirty-eight have let us down. Oneâs head cashier in a firm of druggistsâa really responsible positionââ

He broke off to say: âTeaâs in, dearest,â to his wife.

âI thought we were having it here. I told Jolly.â

âNo, itâs in the Hall. The others are there.â

âI thought they were all going to be out.â

Carrie Louise linked her arm through Miss Marpleâs and they went into the Great Hall. Tea seemed a rather incongruous meal in its surroundings. The tea things were piled haphazard on a trayâwhile utility cups mixed with the remnants of what had been Rockingham and Spode tea services. There was a loaf of bread, two pots of jam, and some cheap and unwholesome-looking cakes.

A plump middle-aged woman with grey hair sat behind the tea table and Mrs. Serrocold said:

âThis is Mildred, Jane. My daughter Mildred. You havenât seen her since she was a tiny girl.â

Mildred Strete was the person most in tune with the house that Miss Marple had so far seen. She looked prosperous and dignified. She had married late in her thirties a Canon of the Church of England and was now a widow. She looked exactly like a Canonâs widow, respectable and slightly dull. She was a plain woman with a large unexpressive face and dull eyes. She had been, Miss Marple reflected, a very plain little girl.

âAnd this is Wally HuddâGinaâs husband.â

Wally was a big young man, with hair brushed up on his head and a sulky expression. He nodded awkwardly and went on cramming cake into his mouth.

Presently Gina came in with Stephen Restarick. They were both very animated.

âGinaâs got a wonderful idea for that backcloth,â said Stephen. âYou know, Gina, youâve got a very definite flair for theatrical designing.â

Gina laughed and looked pleased. Edgar Lawson came in and sat down by Lewis Serrocold. When Gina spoke to him, he made a pretence of not answering.

Miss Marple found it all a little bewildering and was glad to go to her room and lie down after tea.

There were more people still at dinner, a young Doctor Maverick who was either a psychiatrist or a psychologistâMiss Marple was rather hazy about the differenceâand whose conversation, dealing almost entirely with the jargon of his trade, was practically unintelligible to her. There were also two spectacled young men who held posts on the teaching side and a Mr. Baumgarten who was an occupational therapist and three intensely bashful youths who were doing their âhouse guestâ week. One of them, a fair-haired lad with very blue eyes was, Gina informed her in a whisper, the expert with the âcosh.â

The meal was not a particularly appetizing one. It was indifferently cooked and indifferently served. A variety of costumes was worn. Miss Bellever wore a high black dress, Mildred Strete wore an evening dress and a woollen cardigan over it. Carrie Louise had on a short dress of grey woolâGina was resplendent in a kind of peasant getup. Wally had not changed, nor had Stephen Restarick, Edgar Lawson had on a neat, dark blue suit. Lewis Serrocold wore the conventional dinner jacket. He ate very little and hardly seemed to notice what was on his plate.

After dinner Lewis Serrocold and Dr. Maverick went away to the latterâs office. The occupational therapist and the schoolmasters went away to some lair of their own. The three âcasesâ went back to the college. Gina and Stephen went to the theatre to discuss Ginaâs idea for a set. Mildred knitted an indeterminate garment and Miss Bellever darned socks. Wally sat in a chair gently tilted backwards and stared into space. Carrie Louise and Miss Marple talked about old days. The conversation seemed strangely unreal.

Edgar Lawson alone seemed unable to find a niche. He sat down and then got up restlessly.

âI wonder if I ought to go to Mr. Serrocold,â he said rather loudly. âHe may need me.â

Carrie Louise said gently, âOh, I donât think so. He was going to talk over one or two points with Dr. Maverick this evening.â

âThen I certainly wonât butt in! I shouldnât dream of going where I wasnât wanted. Iâve already wasted time today going down to the station when Mrs. Hudd meant to go herself.â

âShe ought to have told you,â said Carrie Louise. âBut I think she just decided at the last moment.â

âYou do realise, Mrs. Serrocold, that she made me look a complete fool! A complete fool!â

âNo, no,â said Carrie Louise, smiling. âYou mustnât have these ideas.â

âI know Iâm not needed or wanted â¦ Iâm perfectly aware of that. If things had been differentâif Iâd had my proper place in life it would be very different. Very different indeed. Itâs no fault of mine that I havenât got my proper place in life.â

âNow, Edgar,â said Carrie Louise. âDonât work yourself up about nothing. Jane thinks it was very kind of you to meet her. Gina always has these sudden impulsesâshe didnât mean to upset you.â

âOh yes, she did. It was done on purposeâto humiliate meââ

âOh Edgarââ

âYou donât know half of whatâs going on, Mrs. Serrocold. Well, I wonât say anymore now except good night.â

Edgar went out shutting the door with a slam behind him.

Miss Bellever snorted:

âAtrocious manners.â

âHeâs so sensitive,â said Carrie Louise vaguely.

Mildred Strete clicked her needles and said sharply:

âHe really is a most odious young man. You shouldnât put up with such behavior, Mother.â

âLewis says he canât help it.â

Mildred said sharply:

âEveryone can help behaving rudely. Of course I blame Gina very much. Sheâs so completely scatterbrained in everything she undertakes. She does nothing but make trouble. One day she encourages the young man and the next day she snubs him. What can you expect?â

Wally Hudd spoke for the first time that evening.

He said:

âThat guyâs crackers. Thatâs all there is to it! Crackers!â

2

In her bedroom that night, Miss Marple tried to review the pattern of Stonygates, but it was as yet too confused. There were currents and crosscurrents hereâbut whether they could account for Ruth Van Rydockâs uneasiness it was impossible to tell. It did not seem to Miss Marple that Carrie Louise was affected in any way by what was going on round her. Stephen was in love with Gina. Gina might or might not be in love with Stephen. Walter Hudd was clearly not enjoying himself. These were incidents that might and did occur in all places and at most times. There was, unfortunately, nothing exceptional about them. They ended in the divorce court and everybody hopefully started againâwhen fresh tangles were created. Mildred Strete was clearly jealous of Gina and disliked her. That, Miss Marple thought, was very natural.

She thought over what Ruth Van Rydock had told her. Carrie Louiseâs disappointment at not having a childâthe adoption of little Pippaâand then the discovery that, after all, a child was on the way.

âOften happens like that,â Miss Marpleâs doctor had told her. âRelief of tension, maybe, and then Nature can do its work.â

He had added that it was usually hard lines on the adopted child.

But that had not been so in this case. Both Gulbrandsen and his wife had adored little Pippa. She had made her place too firmly in their hearts to be lightly set aside. Gulbrandsen was already a father. Paternity meant nothing new to him. Carrie Louiseâs maternal yearnings had been assuaged by Pippa. Her pregnancy had been uncomfortable and the actual birth difficult and prolonged. Possibly Carrie Louise, who had never cared for reality, did not enjoy her first brush with it.

There remained two little girls growing up, one pretty and amusing, the other plain and dull. Which again, Miss Marple thought, was quite natural. For when people adopt a baby girl, they choose a pretty one. And though Mildred might have been lucky and taken after the Martins who had produced handsome Ruth and dainty Carrie Louise, Nature elected that she should take after the Gulbrandsens who were large and stolid and uncompromisingly plain.

Moreover Carrie Louise was determined that the adopted child should never feel her position and in making sure of this she was overindulgent to Pippa and sometimes less than fair to Mildred.

Pippa had married and gone away to Italy, and Mildred, for a time, had been the only daughter of the house. But then Pippa had died and Carrie Louise had brought Pippaâs baby back to Stonygates and once more Mildred had been out of it. There had been the new marriageâthe Restarick boys. In 1934 Mildred had married Canon Strete, a scholarly antiquarian about ten or fifteen years older, and had gone away to live in the south of England. Presumably she had been happyâbut one did not really know. There had been no children. And now here she was, back again in the same house where she had been brought up. And once again, Miss Marple thought, not particularly happy in it.

Gina, Stephen, Wally, Mildred, Miss Bellever who liked an ordered routine and was unable to enforce it. Lewis Serrocold, who was clearly blissfully and wholeheartedly happy, an idealist able to translate his ideals into practical measures. In none of these personalities did Miss Marple find what Ruthâs words had led her to believe she might find. Carrie Louise seemed secure, remote at the heart of the whirlpoolâas she had been all her life. What then, in that atmosphere, had Ruth felt to be wrong â¦? Did she, Jane Marple, feel it also?

What of the outer personalities of the whirlpoolâthe occupational therapists, the schoolmasters, earnest, harmless young men, confident young Dr. Maverick, the three pink-faced, innocent-eyed young delinquentsâEdgar Lawsonâ¦.

And here, just before she fell asleep, Miss Marpleâs thoughts stopped and revolved speculatively round the figure of Edgar Lawson. Edgar Lawson reminded her of someone or something. There was something a little wrong about Edgar Lawsonâperhaps more than a little. Edgar Lawson was maladjustedâthat was the phrase, wasnât it? But surely that didnât, and couldnât, touch Carrie Louise?

Mentally, Miss Marple shook her head.

What worried her was something more than that.

Five

1

Gently eluding her hostess the next morning, Miss Marple went out into the gardens. Their condition distressed her. They had once been an ambitiously set-out achievement. Clumps of rhododendrons, smooth slopes of lawn, massed borders of herbaceous plants, clipped box-hedges surrounding a formal rose garden. Now all was largely derelict, the lawns raggedly mown, the borders full of weeds with tangled flowers struggling through them, the paths moss-covered and neglected. The kitchen gardens on the other hand, enclosed by red brick walls, were prosperous and well stocked. That, presumably, was because they had a utility value. So, also, a large portion of what had once been lawn and flower garden, was now fenced off and laid out in tennis courts and a bowling green.

Surveying the herbaceous border, Miss Marple clicked her tongue vexedly and pulled up a flourishing plant of groundsel.

As she stood with it in her hand, Edgar Lawson came into view. Seeing Miss Marple, he stopped and hesitated. Miss Marple had no mind to let him escape. She called him briskly. When he came she asked him if he knew where any gardening tools were kept.

Edgar said vaguely that there was a gardener somewhere who would know.

âItâs such a pity to see this border so neglected,â twittered Miss Marple. âIâm so fond of gardens.â And since it was not her intention that Edgar should go in search of any necessary implement she went on quickly:

âItâs about all an old and useless woman can find to do. Now I donât suppose you ever bother your head about gardens, Mr. Lawson. You have so much real and important work to do. Being in a responsible position here, with Mr. Serrocold. You must find it all most interesting.â

He answered quickly, almost eagerly:

âYesâyesâit is interesting.â

âAnd you must be of the greatest assistance to Mr. Serrocold.â

His face darkened.

âI donât know. I canât be sure. Itâs whatâs behind it allââ

He broke off. Miss Marple watched him thoughtfully. A pathetic undersized young man, in a neat dark suit. A young man that few people would look at twice, or remember if they did lookâ¦.

There was a garden seat nearby and Miss Marple drifted towards it and sat. Edgar stood frowning in front of her.

âIâm sure,â said Miss Marple brightly, âthat Mr. Serrocold relies on you a great deal.â

âI donât know,â said Edgar. âI really donât know.â He frowned and almost absently sat down beside her. âIâm in a very difficult position.â

âYes?â said Miss Marple.

The young man Edgar sat staring in front of him.

âThis is all highly confidential,â he said suddenly.

âOf course,â said Miss Marple.

âIf I had my rightsââ

âYes?â

âI might as well tell you â¦ you wonât let it go any further Iâm sure?â

âOh no.â She noticed he did not wait for her disclaimer.

âMy fatherâactually, my father is a very important man.â

This time there was no need to say anything. She had only to listen.

âNobody knows except Mr. Serrocold. You see, it might prejudice my fatherâs position if the story got out.â He turned to her. He smiled. A sad, dignified smile. âYou see, Iâm Winston Churchillâs son.â

âOh,â said Miss Marple. âI see.â

And she did see. She remembered a rather sad story in St. Mary Meadâand the way it had gone.

Edgar Lawson went on, and what he said had the familiarity of a stage scene.

âThere were reasons. My mother wasnât free. Her own husband was in an asylumâthere could be no divorceâno question of marriage. I donât really blame them. At least, I think I donât â¦ Heâs done, always, everything he could. Discreetly, of course. And thatâs where the trouble has arisen. Heâs got enemiesâand theyâre against me, too. Theyâve managed to keep us apart. They watch me. Wherever I go, they spy on me. And they make things go wrong for me.â

Miss Marple shook her head.

âDear, dear,â she said.

âIn London I was studying to be a doctor. They tampered with my examsâthey altered the answers. They wanted me to fail. They followed me about the streets. They told things about me to my landlady. They hound me wherever I go.â

âOh, but you canât be sure of that,â said Miss Marple soothingly.

âI tell you I know! Oh theyâre very cunning. I never get a glimpse of them or find out who they are. But I shall find out â¦ Mr. Serrocold took me away from London and brought me down here. He was kindâvery kind. But even here, you know, Iâm not safe. Theyâre here, too. Working against me. Making the others dislike me. Mr. Serrocold says that isnât trueâbut Mr. Serrocold doesnât know. Or elseâI wonderâsometimes Iâve thoughtââ

He broke off. He got up.

âThis is all confidential,â he said. âYou do understand that, donât you? But if you notice anyone following meâspying, I meanâyou might let me know who it is!â

He went away, thenâneat, pathetic, insignificant. Miss Marple watched him and wonderedâ¦.

A voice spoke.

âNuts,â it said. âJust nuts.â

Walter Hudd was standing beside her. His hands were thrust deep in his pockets and he was frowning as he stared after Edgarâs retreating figure.

âWhat kind of a joint is this, anyway?â he said. âTheyâre all bughouse, the whole lot of them.â

Miss Marple said nothing and Walter went on.

âThat Edgar guyâwhat do you make of him? Says his fatherâs really Lord Montgomery. Doesnât seem likely to me! Not Monty! Not from all Iâve heard about him.â

âNo,â said Miss Marple. âIt doesnât seem very likely.â

âHe told Gina something quite differentâsome bunk about being really the heir to the Russian throneâsaid he was some Grand Dukeâs son or other. Hell, doesnât the chap know who his father really was?â

âI should imagine not,â said Miss Marple. âThat is probably just the trouble.â

Walter sat down beside her, dropping his body onto the seat with a slack movement. He repeated his former statement.

âTheyâre all bughouse here.â

âYou donât like being at Stonygates?â

The young man frowned.

âI simply donât get itâthatâs all! I donât get it. Take this placeâthe houseâthe whole setup. Theyâre rich, these people. They donât need doughâtheyâve got it. And look at the way they live. Cracked antique china and cheap plain stuff all mixed up. No proper upper class servantsâjust some casual hired help. Tapestries and drapes and chaircovers all satin and brocade and stuffâand itâs falling to pieces! Big silver tea urns and what do you knowâall yellow and tarnished for want of cleaning. Mrs. Serrocold just doesnât care. Look at that dress she had on last night. Darned under the arms, nearly worn outâand yet she could go to a store and order what she liked. Bond Street or whatever it is. Dough? Theyâre rolling in dough.â

He paused and sat, deliberating.

âI understand being poor. Thereâs nothing much wrong with it. If youâre young and strong and ready to work. I never had much money, but I was all set to get where I wanted. I was going to open a garage. Iâd got a bit of money put by. I talked to Gina about it. She listened. She seemed to understand. I didnât know much about her. All those girls in uniform, they look about the same. I mean you canât tell from looking at them whoâs got dough and who hasnât. I thought she was a cut above me, perhaps, education and all that. But it didnât seem to matter. We fell for each other. We got married. Iâd got my bit put by and Gina had some too, she told me. We were going to set up a gas station back homeâGina was willing. Just a couple of crazy kids we wereâmad about each other. Then that snooty aunt of Ginaâs started making trouble â¦ And Gina wanted to come here to England to see her grandmother. Well, that seemed fair enough. It was her home, and I was curious to see England anyway. Iâd heard a lot about it. So we came. Just a visitâthatâs what I thought.â

The frown became a scowl.

âBut it hasnât turned out like that. Weâre caught up in this crazy business. Why donât we stay hereâmake our home hereâthatâs what they say. Plenty of jobs for me. Jobs! I donât want a job feeding candy to gangster kids and helping them play at kidsâ games â¦ whatâs the sense of it all? This place could be swellâreally swellâdonât people whoâve got money understand their luck? Donât they understand that most of the world canât have a swell place like this and that theyâve got one? Isnât it plain crazy to kick your luck when youâve got it? I donât mind working if Iâve got to. But Iâll work the way I like and at what I likeâand Iâll work to get somewhere. This place makes me feel Iâm tangled up in a spiderâs web. And GinaâI canât make Gina out. Sheâs not the same girl I married over in the States. I canâtâdang it allâI canât even talk to her now. Oh hell!â

Miss Marple said gently:

âI quite see your point of view.â

Wally shot a swift glance at her.

âYouâre the only one Iâve shot my mouth off to so far. Most of the time I shut up like a clam. Donât know what it is about youâyouâre English right enough, really Englishâbut in the durndest way you remind me of my aunt Betsy back home.â

âNow thatâs very nice.â

âA lot of sense she had,â Wally continued reflectively. âLooked as frail as though you could snap her in two, but actually she was toughâyes, sir, Iâll say she was tough.â

He got up.

âSorry talking to you this way,â he apologised. For the first time, Miss Marple saw him smile. It was a very attractive smile and Wally Hudd was suddenly transfigured from an awkward sulky boy into a handsome and appealing young man. âHad to get things off my chest, I suppose. But too bad picking on you.â

âNot at all, my dear boy,â said Miss Marple. âI have a nephew of my ownâonly, of course, a great deal older than you are.â

Her mind dwelt for a moment on the sophisticated modern writer Raymond West. A greater contrast to Walter Hudd could not have been imagined.

âYouâve got other company coming,â said Walter Hudd. âThat dame doesnât like me. So Iâll quit. So long, maâam. Thanks for the talk.â

He strode away and Miss Marple watched Mildred Strete coming across the lawn to join her.

2

âI see youâve been victimised by that terrible young man,â said Mrs. Strete, rather breathlessly, as she sank down on the seat. âWhat a tragedy that is.â

âA tragedy?â

âGinaâs marriage. It all came about from sending her off to America. I told Mother at the time it was most unwise. After all, this is quite a quiet district. We had hardly any raids here. I do so dislike the way many people gave way to panic about their familiesâand themselves, too, very often.â

âIt must have been difficult to decide what was right to do,â said Miss Marple thoughtfully. âWhere children were concerned, I mean. With the prospect of possible invasion, it might have meant their being brought up under a German regimeâas well as the danger of bombs.â

âAll nonsense,â said Mrs. Strete. âI never had the least doubt that we should win. But Mother has always been quite unreasonable where Gina is concerned. The child was always spoilt and indulged in every way. There was absolutely no need to take her away from Italy in the first place.â

âHer father raised no objection, I understand?â

âOh San Severiano! You know what Italians are. Nothing matters to them but money. He married Pippa for her money, of course.â

âDear me. I always understood he was very devoted to her and was quite inconsolable at her death.â

âHe pretended to be, no doubt. Why Mother ever countenanced her marrying a foreigner, I canât imagine. Just the usual American pleasure in a title, I suppose.â

Miss Marple said mildly:

âI have always thought that dear Carrie Louise was almost too unworldly in her attitude to life.â

âOh I know. Iâve no patience with it. Motherâs fads and whims and idealistic projects. Youâve no idea, Aunt Jane, of all that it has meant. I can speak with knowledge, of course. I was brought up in the middle of it all.â

It was with a very faint shock that Miss Marple heard herself addressed as Aunt Jane. And yet that had been the convention of those times. Her Christmas presents to Carrie Louiseâs children were always labelled âWith love from Aunt Janeâ and as âAunt Janeâ they thought of her, when they thought of her at all. Which was not, Miss Marple supposed, very often.

She looked thoughtfully at the middle-aged woman sitting beside her. At the pursed tight mouth, the deep lines from the nose down, the hands tightly pressed together.

She said gently:

âYou must have hadâa difficult childhood.â

Mildred Strete turned eager grateful eyes to her.

âOh Iâm so glad that somebody appreciates that. People donât really know what children go through. Pippa, you see, was the pretty one. She was older than I was, too. It was always she who got all the attention. Both Father and Mother encouraged her to push herself forwardânot that she needed any encouragementâto show off. I was always the quiet one. I was shyâPippa didnât know what shyness was. A child can suffer a great deal, Aunt Jane.â

âI know that,â said Miss Marple.

ââMildredâs so stupidââthatâs what Pippa used to say. But I was younger than she was. Naturally I couldnât be expected to keep up with her in lessons. And itâs very unfair on a child when her sister is always put in front of her.

ââWhat a lovely little girl,â people used to say to Mamma. They never noticed me. And it was Pippa that Papa used to joke and play with. Someone ought to have seen how hard it was on me. All the notice and attention going to her. I wasnât old enough to realise that itâs character that matters.â

Her lips trembled, then hardened again.

âAnd it was unfairâreally unfairâI was their own child. Pippa was only adopted. I was the daughter of the house. She wasânobody.â

âProbably they were extra indulgent to her on that account,â said Miss Marple.

âThey liked her best,â said Mildred Strete. And added: âA child whose own parents didnât want herâor more probably illegitimate.â

She went on:

âItâs come out in Gina. Thereâs bad blood there. Blood will tell. Lewis can have what theories he likes about environment. Bad blood does tell. Look at Gina.â

âGina is a very lovely girl,â said Miss Marple.

âHardly in behaviour,â said Mrs. Strete. âEveryone but Mother notices how she is carrying on with Stephen Restarick. Quite disgusting, I call it. Admittedly she made a very unfortunate marriage, but marriage is marriage and one should be prepared to abide by it. After all, she chose to marry that dreadful young man.â

âIs he so dreadful?â

âOh dear, Aunt Jane! He really looks to me quite like a gangster. And so surly and rude. He hardly opens his mouth. And he always looks so dirty and uncouth.â

âHe is unhappy, I think,â said Miss Marple mildly.

âI really donât know why he should beâapart from Ginaâs behaviour, I mean. Everything has been done for him here. Lewis has suggested several ways in which he could try to make himself usefulâbut he prefers to skulk about doing nothing.â She burst out, âOh this whole place is impossibleâquite impossible. Lewis thinks of nothing but these horrible young criminals. And Mother thinks of nothing but him. Everything Lewis does is right. Look at the state of the gardenâthe weedsâthe overgrowth. And the houseânothing properly done. Oh, I know a domestic staff is difficult nowadays, but it can be got. Itâs not as though there were any shortage of money. Itâs just that nobody cares. If it were my houseââ She stopped.

âIâm afraid,â said Miss Marple, âthat we have all to face the fact that conditions are different. These large establishments are a great problem. It must be sad for you, in a way, to come back here and find everything so different. Do you really prefer living here toâwellâsomewhere of your own?â

Mildred Strete flushed.

âAfter all, itâs my home,â she said. âIt was my fatherâs house. Nothing can alter that. Iâve a right to be here if I choose. And I do choose. If only Mother were not so impossible! She wonât even buy herself proper clothes. It worries Jolly a lot.â

âI was going to ask you about Miss Bellever.â

âSuch a comfort having her here. She adores Mother. Sheâs been with her a long time nowâshe came in John Restarickâs time. And was wonderful, I believe, during the whole sad business. I expect you heard that he ran away with a dreadful Yugoslavian womanâa most abandoned creature. Sheâs had any amount of lovers, I believe. Mother was very fine and dignified about it all. Divorced him as quietly as possible. Even went so far as to have the Restarick boys for their holidaysâquite unnecessary, really, other arrangements could have been made. It would have been unthinkable, of course, to have let them go to their father and that woman. Anyway, Mother had them here â¦ And Miss Bellever stood by all through things and was a tower of strength. I sometimes think she makes Mother even more vague than she need be, by doing all the practical things herself. But I really donât know what Mother would do without her.â

She paused and then remarked in a tone of surprise:

âHere is Lewis. How odd. He seldom comes out in the garden.â

Mr. Serrocold came towards them in the same single-minded way that he did everything. He appeared not to notice Mildred, because it was only Miss Marple who was in his mind.

âIâm so sorry,â he said. âI wanted to take you round our institution and show you everything. Caroline asked me to. Unfortunately I have to go off to Liverpool. The case of that boy and the railways parcels office. But Maverick will take you. Heâll be here in a few minutes. I shanât be back until the day after tomorrow. It will be splendid if we can get them not to prosecute.â

Mildred Strete got up and walked away. Lewis Serrocold did not notice her go. His earnest eyes gazed at Miss Marple through thick glasses.

âYou see,â he said, âthe Magistrates nearly always take the wrong view. Sometimes theyâre too severe, but sometimes theyâre too lenient. If these boys get a sentence of a few months itâs no deterrentâthey get a kind of a kick out of it, even. Boast about it to their girlfriends. But a severe sentence often sobers them. They realise that the game isnât worth it. Or else itâs better not to serve a prison sentence at all. Corrective trainingâconstructional training like we have here.â

Miss Marple burst firmly into speech.

âMr. Serrocold,â she said. âAre you quite satisfied about young Mr. Lawson? Is heâis he quite normal?â

A disturbed expression appeared on Lewis Serrocoldâs face.

âI do hope heâs not relapsing. What has he been saying?â

âHe told me that he was Winston Churchillâs sonââ

âOf courseâof course. The usual statements. Heâs illegitimate, as youâve probably guessed, poor lad, and of very humble beginnings. He was a case recommended to me by a society in London. Heâd assaulted a man in the street who he said was spying on him. All very typicalâDr. Maverick will tell you. I went into his case history. Mother was of a poor class but a respectable family in Plymouth. Father a sailorâshe didnât even know his name â¦ child brought up in difficult circumstances. Started romancing about his father and later about himself. Wore uniform and decorations he wasnât entitled toâall quite typical. But Maverick considers the prognosis hopeful. If we can give him confidence in himself. Iâve given him responsibility here, tried to make him appreciate that itâs not a manâs birth that matters, but what he is. Iâve tried to give him confidence in his own ability. The improvement was marked. I was very happy about him. And now you sayââ

He shook his head.

âMightnât he be dangerous, Mr. Serrocold?â

âDangerous? I donât think he has shown any suicidal tendencies.â

âI wasnât thinking of suicide. He talked to me of enemiesâof persecution. Isnât that, forgive meâa dangerous sign?â

âI donât really think it has reached such a pitch. But Iâll speak to Maverick. So far, he has been hopefulâvery hopeful.â

He looked at his watch.

âI must go. Ah, here is our dear Jolly. She will take charge of you.â

Miss Bellever, arriving briskly, said, âThe car is at the door, Mr. Serrocold. Dr. Maverick rang through from the Institute. I said I would bring Miss Marple over. He will meet us at the gates.â

âThank you. I must go. My briefcase?â

âIn the car, Mr. Serrocold.â

Lewis Serrocold hurried away. Looking after him, Miss Bellever said:

âSomeday that man will drop down dead in his tracks. Itâs against human nature never to relax or rest. He only sleeps four hours a night.â

âHe is very devoted to this cause,â said Miss Marple.

âNever thinks of anything else,â said Miss Bellever grimly. âNever dreams of looking after his wife or considering her in any way. Sheâs a sweet creature, as you know, Miss Marple, and she ought to have love and attention. But nothingâs thought of or considered here except a lot of whining boys and young men who want to live easily and dishonestly and donât care about the idea of doing a little hard work. What about the decent boys from decent homes? Why isnât something done for them? Honesty just isnât interesting to cranks like Mr. Serrocold and Dr. Maverick and all the bunch of half-baked sentimentalists weâve got here. I and my brothers were brought up the hard way, Miss Marple, and we werenât encouraged to whine. Soft, thatâs what the world is nowadays!â

They had crossed the garden and passed through a palisaded gate and had come to the entrance gate which Eric Gulbrandsen had erected as an entrance to his College, a sturdily built, hideous, red brick building.

Dr. Maverick, looking, Miss Marple decided, distinctly abnormal himself, came out to meet them.

âThank you, Miss Bellever,â he said. âNow, Missâerâoh yes, Miss MarpleâIâm sure youâre going to be interested in what weâre doing here. In our splendid approach to this great problem. Mr. Serrocold is a man of great insightâgreat vision. And weâve got Sir John Stillwell behind usâmy old chief. He was at the Home Office until he retired, and his influence turned the scales in getting this started. Itâs a medical problemâthatâs what weâve got to get the legal authorities to understand. Psychiatry came into its own in the war. The one positive good that did come out of itâNow first of all I want you to see our initial approach to the problem. Look upââ

Miss Marple looked up at the words carved over the large arched doorway.

Â 

RECOVER HOPE ALL YE WHO ENTER HERE

Â 

âIsnât that splendid? Isnât that just the right note to strike? You donât want to scold these ladsâor punish them. Thatâs what theyâre hankering after half the time, punishment. We want to make them feel what fine fellows they are.â

âLike Edgar Lawson?â said Miss Marple.

âInteresting case, that. Have you been talking to him?â

âHe has been talking to me,â said Miss Marple. She added apologetically, âI wondered if, perhaps, he isnât a little mad?â

Dr. Maverick laughed cheerfully.

âWeâre all mad, dear lady,â he said as he ushered her in through the door. âThatâs the secret of existence. Weâre all a little mad.â

Six

On the whole it was rather an exhausting day. Enthusiasm in itself can be extremely wearing, Miss Marple thought. She felt vaguely dissatisfied with herself and her own reactions. There was a pattern hereâperhaps several patterns, and yet she herself could obtain no clear glimpse of it or them. Any vague disquietude she felt centered round the pathetic but inconspicuous personality of Edgar Lawson. If she could only find in her memory the right parallel.

Painstakingly she rejected the curious behaviour of Mr. Selkirkâs delivery vanâthe absentminded postmanâthe gardener who worked on Whitmondayâand that very curious affair of the summer weight combinations.

Something that she could not quite put her finger on was wrong about Edgar Lawsonâsomething that went beyond the observed and admitted facts. But for the life of her, Miss Marple did not see how that wrongness, whatever it was, affected her friend Carrie Louise. In the confused patterns of life at Stonygates, peopleâs troubles and desires impinged on each other. But none of them (again as far as she could see) impinged on Carrie Louise.

Carrie Louise â¦ Suddenly Miss Marple realised that it was she alone, except for the absent Ruth, who used that name. To her husband, she was Caroline. To Miss Bellever, Cara. Stephen Restarick usually addressed her as Madonna. To Wally she was formally Mrs. Serrocold, and Gina elected to address her as Grandamâa mixture, she had explained, of Grande Dame and Grandmamma.

Was there some significance, perhaps, in the various names that were found for Caroline Louise Serrocold? Was she to all of them a symbol and not quite a real person?

When on the following morning Carrie Louise, dragging her feet a little as she walked, came and sat down on the garden seat beside her friend and asked her what she was thinking about, Miss Marple replied promptly:

âYou, Carrie Louise.â

âWhat about me?â

âTell me honestlyâis there anything here that worries you?â

âWorries me?â The other woman raised wondering, clear blue eyes. âBut, Jane, what should worry me?â

âWell, most of us have worries.â Miss Marpleâs eyes twinkled a little. âI have. Slugs, you knowâand the difficulty of getting linen properly darnedâand not being able to get sugar candy for making my damson gin. Oh, lots of little thingsâit seems unnatural that you shouldnât have any worries at all.â

âI suppose I must have really,â said Mrs. Serrocold vaguely. âLewis works too hard, and Stephen forgets his meals slaving at the theatre and Gina is very jumpyâbut Iâve never been able to alter peopleâI donât see how you can. So it wouldnât be any good worrying, would it?â

âMildredâs not very happy, either, is she?â

âOh no,â said Carrie Louise. âMildred never is happy. She wasnât as a child. Quite unlike Pippa who was always radiant.â

âPerhaps,â suggested Miss Marple, âMildred has cause not to be happy?â

Carrie Louise said quietly:

âBecause of being jealous? Yes, I daresay. But people donât really need a cause for feeling what they do feel. Theyâre just made that way. Donât you think so, Jane?â

Miss Marple thought briefly of Miss Moncrieff, a slave to a tyrannical invalid mother. Poor Miss Moncrieff who longed for travel and to see the world. And of how St. Mary Mead in a decorous way had rejoiced when Mrs. Moncrieff was laid in the churchyard and Miss Moncrieff, with a nice little income, was free at last. And of how Miss Moncrieff, starting on her travels, had got no further than HayÃ©res where, calling to see one of âmotherâs oldest friends,â she had been so moved by the plight of an elderly hypochondriac that she had cancelled her travel reservations and taken up her abode in the villa to be bullied, overworked, and to long, wistfully, once more, for the joys of a wider horizon.

Miss Marple said:

âI expect youâre right, Carrie Louise.â

âOf course, my being so free from cares is partly due to Jolly. Dear Jolly. She came to me when Johnnie and I were just married and was wonderful from the first. She takes care of me as though I were a baby and quite helpless. Sheâd do anything for me. I feel quite ashamed sometimes. I really believe Jolly would murder someone for me, Jane. Isnât that an awful thing to say?â

âSheâs certainly very devoted,â agreed Miss Marple.

âShe gets so indignant.â Mrs. Serrocoldâs silvery laugh rang out. âSheâd like me to be always ordering wonderful clothes, and surrounding myself with luxuries, and she thinks everybody ought to put me first and to dance attendance on me. Sheâs the one person whoâs absolutely unimpressed by Lewisâ enthusiasm. All our poor boys are, in her view, pampered young criminals and not worth taking trouble over. She thinks this place is damp and bad for my rheumatism, and that I ought to go to Egypt or somewhere warm and dry.â

âDo you suffer much from rheumatism?â

âItâs got much worse lately. I find it difficult to walk. Horrid cramps in my legs. Oh wellââagain there came that bewitching elfin smile, âage must tell.â

Miss Bellever came out of the French windows and hurried across to them.

âA telegram, Cara, just came over the telephone. Arriving this afternoon, Christian Gulbrandsen.â

âChristian?â Carrie Louise looked very surprised. âIâd no idea he was in England.â

âThe Oak Suite, I suppose?â

âYes, please, Jolly. Then there will be no stairs.â

Miss Bellever nodded and turned back to the house.

âChristian Gulbrandsen is my stepson,â said Carrie Louise. âEricâs eldest son. Actually heâs two years older than I am. Herâs one of the trustees of the Instituteâthe principal trustee. How very annoying that Lewis is away. Christian hardly ever stays longer than one night. Heâs an immensely busy man. And there are sure to be so many things they would want to discuss.â

Christian Gulbrandsen arrived that afternoon in time for tea. He was a big heavy featured man, with a slow methodical way of talking. He greeted Carrie Louise with every sign of affection.

âAnd how is our little Carrie Louise? You do not look a day older. Not a day.â

His hands on her shouldersâhe stood smiling down at her. A hand tugged his sleeve.

âChristian!â

âAhââhe turnedââit is Mildred? How are you, Mildred?â

âIâve not really been at all well lately.â

âThat is bad. That is bad.â

There was a strong resemblance between Christian Gulbrandsen and his half sister Mildred. There was nearly thirty years of difference in age and they might easily have been taken for father and daughter. Mildred herself seemed particularly pleased by his arrival. She was flushed and talkative, and had talked repeatedly during the day of âmy brother,â âmy brother Christian,â âmy brother, Mr. Gulbrandsen.â

âAnd how is little Gina?â said Gulbrandsen, turning to that young woman. âYou and your husband are still here, then?â

âYes. Weâve quite settled down, havenât we, Wally?â

âLooks like it,â said Wally.

Gulbrandsenâs small shrewd eyes seemed to sum up Wally quickly. Wally, as usual, looked sullen and unfriendly.

âSo here I am with all the family again,â said Gulbrandsen.

His voice displayed a rather determined genialityâbut in actual fact, Miss Marple thought, he was not feeling particularly genial. There was a grim set to his lips and a certain preoccupation in his manner.

Introduced to Miss Marple he swept a keen look over her as though measuring and appraising this newcomer.

âWeâd no idea you were in England, Christian,â said Mrs. Serrocold.

âNo, I came over rather unexpectedly.â

âIt is too bad that Lewis is away. How long can you stay?â

âI meant to go tomorrow. When will Lewis be back?â

âTomorrow afternoon or evening.â

âIt seems, then, that I must stay another night.â

âIf youâd only let us knowââ

âMy dear Carrie Louise, my arrangements, they were made very suddenly.â

âYou will stay to see Lewis?â

âYes, it is necessary that I see Lewis.â

Miss Bellever said to Miss Marple, âMr. Gulbrandsen and Mr. Serrocold are both trustees of the Gulbrandsen Institute. The others are the Bishop of Cromer and Mr. Gilroy.â

Presumably, then, it was on business concerned with the Gulbrandsen Institute that Christian Gulbrandsen had come to Stonygates. It seemed to be assumed so by Miss Bellever and everyone else. And yet Miss Marple wondered.

Once or twice the old man cast a thoughtful puzzled look at Carrie Louise when she was not aware of itâa look that puzzled Carrie Louiseâs watching friend. From Carrie Louise he shifted his gaze to the others, examining them one and all with a kind of covert appraisal that seemed distinctly odd.

After tea Miss Marple withdrew tactfully from the others to the library, but rather to her surprise when she had settled herself with her knitting, Christian Gulbrandsen came in and sat down beside her.

âYou are a very old friend, I think, of our dear Carrie Louise?â he said.

âWe were at school together in Italy, Mr. Gulbrandsen. Many many years ago.â

âAh yes. And you are fond of her?â

âYes, indeed,â said Miss Marple warmly.

âSo, I think, is everyone. Yes, I truly think that. It should be so. For she is a very dear and enchanting person. Always, since my father married her, I and my brothers have loved her very much. She has been to us like a very dear sister. She was a faithful wife to my father and loyal to all his ideas. She has never thought of herself, but put the welfare of others first.â

âShe has always been an idealist,â said Miss Marple.

âAn idealist? Yes. Yes, that is so. And therefore it may be that she does not truly appreciate the evil that there is in the world.â

Miss Marple looked at him, surprised. His face was very stern.

âTell me,â he said. âHow is her health?â

Again Miss Marple felt surprised.

âShe seems to me very wellâapart from arthritisâor rheumatism.â

âRheumatism? Yes. And her heart? Her heart is good?â

âAs far as I know.â Miss Marple was still more surprised. âBut until yesterday I had not seen her for many years. If you want to know the state of her health, you should ask somebody in the house here. Miss Bellever, for instance.â

âMiss BelleverâYes, Miss Bellever. Or Mildred?â

âOr, as you say, Mildred.â

Miss Marple was faintly embarrassed.

Christian Gulbrandsen was staring at her very hard.

âThere is not between the mother and daughter, a very great sympathy, would you say?â

âNo, I donât think there is.â

âI agree. It is a pityâher only child, but there it is. Now this Miss Bellever, you think, is really attached to her?â

âVery much so.â

âAnd Carrie Louise leans on this Miss Bellever?â

âI think so.â

Christian Gulbrandsen was frowning. He spoke as though more to himself than to Miss Marple.

âThere is the little Ginaâbut she is so young. It is difficultââ He broke off. âSometimes,â he said simply, âit is hard to know what is best to be done. I wish very much to act for the best. I am particularly anxious that no harm and no unhappiness should come to that dear lady. But it is not easyânot easy at all.â

Mrs. Strete came into the room at that moment.

âOh there you are, Christian. We were wondering where you were. Dr. Maverick wants to know if you would like to go over anything with him.â

âThat is the new young doctor here? Noâno, I will wait until Lewis returns.â

âHeâs waiting in Lewisâ study. Shall I tell himââ

âI will have a word with him myself.â

Gulbrandsen hurried out. Mildred Strete stared after him and then stared at Miss Marple.

âI wonder if anything is wrong. Christian is very unlike himself â¦ Did he say anythingââ

âHe only asked me about your motherâs health.â

âHer health? Why should he ask you about that?â

Mildred spoke sharply, her large square face flushing unbecomingly.

âI really donât know.â

âMotherâs health is perfectly good. Surprisingly so for a woman of her age. Much better than mine as far as that goes.â She paused a moment before saying, âI hope you told him so?â

âI donât really know anything about it,â said Miss Marple. âHe asked me about her heart.â

âHer heart?â

âYes.â

âThereâs nothing wrong with Motherâs heart. Nothing at all!â

âIâm delighted to hear you say so, my dear.â

âWhat on earth put all these queer ideas into Christianâs head?â

âIâve no idea,â said Miss Marple.

Seven

1

The next day passed uneventfully to all appearances, yet to Miss Marple it seemed that there were signs of an inner tension. Christian Gulbrandsen spent his morning with Dr. Maverick in going round the Institute and in discussing the general results of the Instituteâs policy. In the early afternoon Gina took him for a drive and after that Miss Marple noticed that he induced Miss Bellever to show him something in the gardens. It seemed to her that it was a pretext for ensuring a tÃªte-Ã -tÃªte with that grim woman. And yet, if Christian Gulbrandsenâs unexpected visit had only to do with business matters, why this wish for Miss Belleverâs company, since the latter dealt only with the domestic side of matters?

But in all this, Miss Marple could tell herself that she was being fanciful. The only really disturbing incident of the day happened about four oâclock. She had rolled up her knitting and had gone out in the garden to take a little stroll before tea. Rounding a straggling rhododendron she came upon Edgar Lawson who was striding along muttering to himself and who nearly ran into her.

He said, âI beg your pardon,â hastily, but Miss Marple was startled by the queer staring expression of his eyes.

âArenât you feeling well, Mr. Lawson?â

âWell? How should I be feeling well? Iâve had a shockâa terrible shock.â

âWhat kind of a shock?â

The young man gave a swift glance past her, and then a sharp uneasy glance to either side. His doing so gave Miss Marple a nervous feeling.

âShall I tell you?â He looked at her doubtfully. âI donât know. I donât really know. Iâve been so spied upon.â

Miss Marple made up her mind. She took him firmly by the arm.

âIf we walk down this path â¦ there, now, there are no trees or bushes near. Nobody can overhear.â

âNoâno, youâre right.â He drew a deep breath, bent his head and almost whispered his next words. âIâve made a discovery. A terrible discovery.â

âWhat kind of a discovery?â

Edgar Lawson began to shake all over. He was almost weeping.

âTo have trusted someone! To have believed â¦ and it was liesâall lies. Lies to keep me from finding out the truth. I canât bear it. Itâs too wicked. You see, he was the one person I trusted, and now to find out that all the time heâs been at the bottom of it all. Itâs he whoâs been my enemy! Itâs he who has been having me followed about and spied upon. But he canât get away with it anymore. I shall speak out. I shall tell him I know what he has been doing.â

âWho is âheâ?â demanded Miss Marple.

Edgar Lawson drew himself up to his full height. He might have looked pathetic and dignified. But actually he only looked ridiculous.

âIâm speaking of my father.â

âViscount Montgomeryâor do you mean Winston Churchill?â

Edgar threw her a glance of scorn.

âThey let me think thatâjust to keep me from guessing the truth. But I know now. Iâve got a friendâa real friend. A friend who tells me the truth and lets me know just how Iâve been deceived. Well, my father will have to reckon with me. Iâll throw his lies in his face! Iâll challenge him with the truth. Weâll see what heâs got to say to that.â

And suddenly breaking away, Edgar went off at a run and disappeared in the park.

Her face grave, Miss Marple went back to the house.

âWeâre all a little mad, dear lady,â Dr. Maverick had said.

But it seemed to her that in Edgarâs case it went rather further than that.

2

Lewis Serrocold arrived back at six thirty. He stopped the car at the gates and walked to the house through the park. Looking out of her window, Miss Marple saw Christian Gulbrandsen go out to meet him and the two men, having greeted one another, turned and paced to and fro, up and down the terrace.

Miss Marple had been careful to bring her bird glasses with her. At this moment she brought them into action. Was there, or was there not, a flight of siskins by that far clump of trees?

She noted as the glasses swept down before rising that both men were looking seriously disturbed. Miss Marple leant out a little further. Scraps of conversation floated up to her now and then. If either of the men should look up, it would be quite clear that an enraptured bird-watcher had her attention fixed on a point far removed from their conversation.

ââhow to spare Carrie Louise the knowledgeââ Gulbrandsen was saying.

The next time they passed below, Lewis Serrocold was speaking.

ââif it can be kept from her. I agree that it is she who must be consideredâ¦.â

Other faint snatches came to the listener.

ââReally seriousââ âânot justifiedââ âtoo big a responsibility to takeââ âwe should, perhaps, take outside adviceââ

Finally Miss Marple heard Christian Gulbrandsen say, âAch, it grows cold. We must go inside.â

Miss Marple drew her head in through the window with a puzzled expression. What she had heard was too fragmentary to be easily pieced togetherâbut it served to confirm that vague apprehension that had been gradually growing upon her and about which Ruth Van Rydock had been so positive.

Whatever was wrong at Stonygates, it definitely affected Carrie Louise.

3

Dinner that evening was a somewhat constrained meal. Both Gulbrandsen and Lewis were absentminded and absorbed in their own thoughts. Walter Hudd glowered even more than usual and, for once, Gina and Stephen seemed to have little to say either to each other or to the company at large. Conversation was mostly sustained by Dr. Maverick who had a lengthy, technical discussion with Mr. Baumgarten, the occupational therapist.

When they moved into the Hall after dinner, Christian Gulbrandsen excused himself almost at once. He said he had an important letter to write.

âSo if you will forgive me, dear Carrie Louise, I will go now to my room.â

âYou have all you want there? Jolly?â

âYes, yes. Everything. A typewriter, I asked, and one has been put there. Miss Bellever has been most kind and attentive.â

He left the Great Hall by the door on the left which led past the foot of the main staircase and along a corridor, at the end of which was a suite of bedroom and bathroom.

When he had gone out, Carrie Louise said:

âNot going down to the theatre tonight, Gina?â

The girl shook her head. She went over and sat by the window overlooking the front drive and the court.

Stephen glanced at her, then strolled over to the big grand piano. He sat down at it and strummed very softlyâa queer melancholy little tune. The two occupational therapists, Mr. Baumgarten and Mr. Lacy, and Dr. Maverick, said good night and left. Walter turned the switch of a reading lamp and with a crackling noise half the lights in the Hall went out.

He growled.

âThat darned switch is always faulty. Iâll go and put a new fuse in.â

He left the Hall and Carrie Louise murmured, âWallyâs so clever with electrical gadgets and things like that. You remember how he fixed that toaster?â

âIt seems to be all he does do here,â said Mildred Strete. âMother, have you taken your tonic?â

Miss Bellever looked annoyed.

âI declare I completely forgot tonight.â She jumped up and went into the dining room, returning presently with a small glass containing a little rose-coloured fluid.

Smiling a little, Carrie Louise held out an obedient hand.

âSuch horrid stuff and nobody lets me forget it,â she said, making a wry face.

And then, rather unexpectedly, Lewis Serrocold said: âI donât think I should take it tonight, my dear. Iâm not sure it really agrees with you.â

Quietly, but with that controlled energy always so apparent in him, he took the glass from Miss Bellever and put it down on the big oak Welsh dresser.

Miss Bellever said sharply:

âReally, Mr. Serrocold, I canât agree with you there. Mrs. Serrocold has been very much better sinceââ

She broke off and turned sharply:

The front door was pushed violently open and allowed to swing to with a crash. Edgar Lawson came into the big dim Hall with the air of a star performer making a triumphal entry.

He stood in the middle of the floor and struck an attitude.

It was almost ridiculousâbut not quite ridiculous.

Edgar said theatrically:

âSo I have found you, O mine enemy!â

He said it to Lewis Serrocold.

Mr. Serrocold looked mildly astonished.

âWhy, Edgar, what is the matter?â

âYou can say that to meâyou! You know whatâs the matter. Youâve been deceiving me, spying on me, working with my enemies against me.â

Lewis took him by the arm.

âNow, now, my dear lad, donât excite yourself. Tell me all about it quietly. Come into my office.â

He led him across the Hall and through a door on the right closing it behind him. After he had done so, there was another sound, the sharp sound of a key being turned in the lock.

Miss Bellever looked at Miss Marple, the same idea in both their minds. It was not Lewis Serrocold who had turned the key.

Miss Bellever said sharply: âThat young man is just about to go off his head in my opinion. It isnât safe.â

Mildred said, âHeâs a most unbalanced young manâand absolutely ungrateful for everything thatâs been done for himâyou ought to put your foot down, Mother.â

With a faint sigh Carrie Louise murmured:

âThereâs no harm in him really. Heâs fond of Lewis. Heâs very fond of him.â

Miss Marple looked at her curiously. There had been no fondness in the expression that Edgar had turned on Lewis Serrocold a few moments previously, very far from it. She wondered, as she had wondered before, if Carrie Louise deliberately turned her back on reality.

Gina said sharply:

âHe had something in his pocket. Edgar, I mean. Playing with it.â

Stephen murmured as he took his hands from the keys:

âIn a film it would certainly have been a revolver.â

Miss Marple coughed.

âI think, you know,â she said apologetically, âit was a revolver.â

From behind the closed doors of Lewisâ office the sound of voices had been plainly discernible. Now, suddenly, they became clearly audible. Edgar Lawson shouted whilst Lewis Serrocoldâs voice kept its even, reasonable note.

âLiesâliesâlies, all lies. Youâre my father. Iâm your son. Youâve deprived me of my rights. I ought to own this place. You hate meâyou want to get rid of me!â

There was a soothing murmur from Lewis and then the hysterical voice rose still higher. It screamed out foul epithets. Edgar seemed rapidly losing control of himself. Occasional words came from Lewisââcalmâjust be calmâyou know none of this is trueââ But they seemed not to soothe, but on the contrary to enrage the young man still further.

Insensibly everyone in the Hall was silent, listening intently to what went on behind the locked door of Lewisâ study.

âIâll make you listen to me,â yelled Edgar. âIâll take that supercilious expression off your face. Iâll have revenge, I tell you. Revenge for all youâve made me suffer.â

The other voice came curtly, unlike Lewisâ usual unemotional tones.

âPut that revolver down!â

Gina cried sharply:

âEdgar will kill him. Heâs crazy. Canât we get the police or something?â

Carrie Louise, still unmoved, said softly:

âThereâs no need to worry, Gina. Edgar loves Lewis. Heâs just dramatising himself, thatâs all.â

Edgarâs voice sounded through the door in a laugh that Miss Marple had to admit sounded definitely insane.

âYes, Iâve got a revolverâand itâs loaded. No, donât speak, donât move. Youâre going to hear me out. Itâs you who started this conspiracy against me and now youâre going to pay for it.â

What sounded like the report of a firearm made them all start, but Carrie Louise said:

âItâs all right, itâs outsideâin the park somewhere.â

Behind the locked door, Edgar was raving in a high screaming voice.

âYou sit there looking at meâlooking at meâpretending to be unmoved. Why donât you get down on your knees and beg for mercy? Iâm going to shoot, I tell you. Iâm going to shoot you dead! Iâm your sonâyour unacknowledged despised sonâyou wanted me hidden away, out of the world altogether, perhaps. You set your spies to follow meâto hound me downâyou plotted against me. You, my father! My father. Iâm only a bastard, arenât I? Only a bastard. You went on filling me up with lies. Pretending to be kind to me, and all the timeâall the time â¦ youâre not fit to live. I wonât let you live.â

Again there came a stream of obscene profanity. Somewhere during the scene Miss Marple was conscious of Miss Bellever saying:

âWe must do something,â and leaving the Hall.

Edgar seemed to pause for breath and then he shouted out,

âYouâre going to dieâto die. Youâre going to die now. Take that, you devil, and that!â

Two sharp cracks rang outânot in the park this time, but definitely behind the locked door.

Somebody, Miss Marple thought it was Mildred, cried out:

âOh God, what shall we do?â

There was a thud from inside the room and then a sound, almost more terrible than what had gone before, the sound of slow, heavy sobbing.

Somebody strode past Miss Marple and started shaking and rattling the door.

It was Stephen Restarick.

âOpen the door. Open the door,â he shouted.

Miss Bellever came back into the Hall. In her hand she held an assortment of keys.

âTry some of these,â she said breathlessly.

At that moment the fused lights came on again. The Hall sprang into life again after its eerie dimness.

Stephen Restarick began trying the keys.

They heard the inside key fall out as he did so.

Inside, that wild desperate sobbing went on.

Walter Hudd, coming lazily back into the Hall, stopped dead and demanded:

âSay, whatâs going on round here?â

Mildred said tearfully,

âThat awful crazy young man has shot Mr. Serrocold.â

âPlease.â It was Carrie Louise who spoke. She got up and came across to the study door. Very gently she pushed Stephen Restarick aside. âLet me speak to him.â

She calledâvery softlyââEdgar â¦ Edgar â¦ let me in, will you? Please, Edgar.â

They heard the key fitted into the lock. It turned and the door was slowly opened.

But it was not Edgar who opened it. It was Lewis Serrocold. He was breathing hard as though he had been running, but otherwise he was unmoved.

âItâs all right, dearest,â he said. âDearest, itâs quite all right.â

âWe thought youâd been shot,â said Miss Bellever gruffly.

Lewis Serrocold frowned. He said with a trifle of asperity:

âOf course I havenât been shot.â

They could see into the study by now. Edgar Lawson had collapsed by the desk. He was sobbing and gasping. The revolver lay on the floor where it had dropped from his hand.

âBut we heard the shots,â said Mildred.

âOh yes, he fired twice.â

âAnd he missed you?â

âOf course he missed me,â snapped Lewis.

Miss Marple did not consider that there was any of course about it. The shots must have been fired at fairly close range.

Lewis Serrocold said irritably:

âWhereâs Maverick? Itâs Maverick we need.â

Miss Bellever said:

âIâll get him. Shall I ring up the police as well?â

âPolice? Certainly not.â

âOf course, we must ring up the police,â said Mildred. âHeâs dangerous.â

âNonsense,â said Lewis Serrocold. âPoor lad. Does he look dangerous?â

At the moment he did not look dangerous. He looked young and pathetic and rather repulsive.

His voice had lost its carefully acquired accent.

âI didnât mean to do it,â he groaned. âI dunno what came over meâtalking all that stuffâI must have been mad.â

Mildred sniffed.

âI really must have been mad. I didnât mean to. Please, Mr. Serrocold, I really didnât mean to.â

Lewis Serrocold patted him on the shoulder.

âThatâs all right, my boy. No damage done.â

âI might have killed you, Mr. Serrocold.â

Walter Hudd walked across the room and peered at the wall behind the desk.

âThe bullets went in here,â he said. His eye dropped to the desk and the chair behind it. âMust have been a near miss,â he said grimly.

âI lost my head. I didnât rightly know what I was doing. I thought heâd done me out of my rights. I thoughtââ

Miss Marple put in the question she had been wanting to ask for some time.

âWho told you,â she asked, âthat Mr. Serrocold was your father?â

Just for a second, a sly expression peeped out of Edgarâs distracted face. It was there and gone in a flash.

âNobody,â he said. âI just got it into my head.â

Walter Hudd was staring down at the revolver where it lay on the floor.

âWhere the hell did you get that gun?â he demanded.

âGun?â Edgar stared down at it.

âLooks mighty like my gun,â said Walter. He stooped down and picked it up. âBy heck, it is! You took it out of my room, you creeping louse you.â

Lewis Serrocold interposed between the cringing Edgar and the menacing American.

âAll this can be gone into later,â he said. âAh, hereâs Maverick. Take a look at him, will you, Maverick?â

Dr. Maverick advanced upon Edgar with a kind of professional zest. âThis wonât do, Edgar,â he said. âThis wonât do, you know.â

âHeâs a dangerous lunatic,â said Mildred sharply. âHeâs been shooting off a revolver and raving. He only just missed my stepfather.â

Edgar gave a little yelp and Dr. Maverick said reprovingly:

âCareful, please, Mrs. Strete.â

âIâm sick of all this. Sick of the way you all go on here! I tell you this manâs a lunatic.â

With a bound, Edgar wrenched himself away from Dr. Maverick and fell to the floor at Serrocoldâs feet.

âHelp me. Help me. Donât let them take me away and shut me up. Donât let themâ¦.â

An unpleasing scene, Miss Marple thought.

Mildred said angrily, âI tell you heâsââ

Her mother said soothingly,

âPlease, Mildred. Not now. Heâs suffering.â

Walter muttered,

âSuffering cripes! Theyâre all cuckoo round here.â

âIâll take charge of him,â said Dr. Maverick. âYou come with me, Edgar. Bed and a sedativeâand weâll talk everything over in the morning. Now you trust me, donât you?â

Rising to his feet and trembling a little, Edgar looked doubtfully at the young doctor and then at Mildred Strete.

âShe saidâI was a lunatic.â

âNo, no, youâre not a lunatic.â

Miss Belleverâs footsteps rang purposefully across the Hall. She came in with her lips pursed together and a flushed face.

âIâve telephoned the police,â she said grimly. âThey will be here in a few minutes.â

Carrie Louise cried, âJolly!â in tones of dismay.

Edgar uttered a wail.

Lewis Serrocold frowned angrily.

âI told you, Jolly, I did not want the police summoned. This is a medical matter.â

âThatâs as may be,â said Miss Bellever. âIâve my own opinion. But I had to call the police. Mr. Gulbrandsenâs been shot dead.â

Eight

It was a moment or two before anyone took in what she was saying.

Carrie Louise said incredulously:

âChristian shot? Dead? Oh, surely, thatâs impossible.â

âIf you donât believe me,â said Miss Bellever, pursing her lips, and addressing not so much Carrie Louise, as the assembled company, âgo and look for yourselves.â

She was angry. And her anger sounded in the crisp sharpness of her voice.

Slowly, unbelievingly, Carrie Louise took a step towards the door. Lewis Serrocold put a hand on her shoulder.

âNo, dearest, let me go.â

He went out through the doorway. Dr. Maverick, with a doubtful glance at Edgar, followed him. Miss Bellever went with them.

Miss Marple gently urged Carrie Louise into a chair. She sat down, her eyes looking hurt and stricken.

âChristianâshot?â she said again.

It was the bewildered, hurt tone of a child.

Walter Hudd remained close by Edgar Lawson, glowering down at him. In his hand he held the gun that he had picked up from the floor.

Mrs. Serrocold said in a wondering voice:

âBut who could possibly want to shoot Christian?â

It was not a question that demanded an answer.

Walter muttered under his breath:

âNuts! The whole lot of them.â

Stephen had moved protectively closer to Gina. Her young, startled face was the most vivid thing in the room.

Suddenly the front door opened and a rush of cold air, together with a man in a big overcoat, came in.

The heartiness of his greeting seemed incredibly shocking.

âHullo, everybody, whatâs going on tonight? A lot of fog on the road. I had to go dead slow.â

For a startled moment, Miss Marple thought that she was seeing double. Surely the same man could not be standing by Gina and coming in by the door. Then she realised that it was only a likeness and not, when you looked closely, such a very strong likeness. The two men were clearly brothers with a strong family resemblance, but no more.

Where Stephen Restarick was thin to the point of emaciation, the newcomer was sleek. The big coat with the astrakhan collar fitted the sleekness of body snugly. A handsome young man and one who bore upon him the authority and good humour of success.

But Miss Marple noted one thing about him. His eyes, as he entered the Hall, looked immediately at Gina.

He said, a little doubtfully:

âYou did expect me? You got my wire?â

He was speaking now to Carrie Louise. He came towards her.

Almost mechanically, she put up her hand to him. He took it and kissed it gently. It was an affectionate act of homage, not a mere theatrical courtesy.

She murmured:

âOf course, Alex dearâof course. Only, you seeâthings have been happeningââ

âHappening?â

Mildred gave the information, gave it with a kind of grim relish that Miss Marple found distasteful.

âChristian Gulbrandsen,â she said. âMy brother Christian Gulbrandsen has been found shot dead.â

âGood God,â Alex registered a more than life-size dismay. âSuicide, do you mean?â

Carrie Louise moved swiftly.

âOh no,â she said. âIt couldnât be suicide. Not Christian! Oh no.â

âUncle Christian would never shoot himself, Iâm sure,â said Gina.

Alex Restarick looked from one person to the other. From his brother Stephen he received a short confirmative nod. Walter Hudd stared back at him with faint resentment. Alexâs eyes rested on Miss Marple with a sudden frown. It was as though he had found some unwanted prop on a stage set.

He looked as though he would like her explained. But nobody explained her, and Miss Marple continued to look an old, fluffy and sweetly bewildered old lady.

âWhen?â asked Alex. âWhen did this happen, I mean?â

âJust before you arrived,â said Gina. âAboutâoh three or four minutes ago, I suppose. Why, of course, we actually heard the shot. Only we didnât notice itânot really.â

âDidnât notice it? Why not?â

âWell, you see, there were other things going on â¦â Gina spoke rather hesitantly.

âSure were,â said Walter with emphasis.

Juliet Bellever came into the Hall by the door from the library.

âMr. Serrocold suggests that we should all wait in the library. It would be convenient for the police. Except for Mrs. Serrocold. Youâve had a shock, Cara. Iâve ordered some hot bottles to be put in your bed. Iâll take you up andââ

Rising to her feet, Carrie Louise shook her head.

âI must see Christian first,â she said.

âOh, no, dear. Donât upset yourselfââ

Carrie Louise put her very gently to one side.

âDear Jollyâyou donât understand.â She looked round and said, âJane?â

Miss Marple had already moved towards her.

âCome with me, will you, Jane?â

They moved together towards the door. Dr. Maverick, coming in, almost collided with them.

Miss Bellever exclaimed:

âDr. Maverick. Do stop her. So foolish.â

Carrie Louise looked calmly at the young doctor. She even gave a tiny smile.

Dr. Maverick said:

âYou want to go andâsee him?â

âI must.â

âI see.â He stood aside. âIf you feel you must, Mrs. Serrocold. But afterwards, please go and lie down and let Miss Bellever look after you. At the moment you do not feel the shock, but I assure you that you will do so.â

âYes. I expect you are quite right. I will be quite sensible. Come, Jane.â

The two women moved out through the door, past the foot of the main staircase and along the corridor, past the dining room on the right and the double door, leading to the kitchen quarters on the left, past the side door to the terrace and on to the door that gave admission to the Oak Suite that had been alloted to Christian Gulbrandsen. It was a room furnished as a sitting room more than a bedroom, with a bed in an alcove to one side and a door leading into a dressing room and bathroom.

Carrie Louise stopped on the threshold. Christian Gulbrandsen had been sitting at the big mahogany desk with a small portable typewriter open in front of him. He sat there now, but slumped sideways in the chair. The high arms of the chair prevented him from slipping to the floor.

Lewis Serrocold was standing by the window. He had pulled the curtain a little aside and was gazing out into the night.

He looked round and frowned.

âMy dearest, you shouldnât have come.â

He came towards her and she stretched out a hand to him. Miss Marple retreated a step or two.

âOh yes, Lewis. I had toâsee him. One has to know just exactly how things are.â

She walked slowly towards the desk.

Lewis said warningly:

âYou mustnât touch anything. The police must have things left exactly as we found them.â

âOf course. He was shot deliberately by someone, then?â

âOh yes.â Lewis Serrocold looked a little surprised that the question had even been asked. âI thoughtâyou knew that?â

âI did really. Christian would not commit suicide, and he was such a competent person that it could not possibly have been an accident. That only leavesââshe hesitated a momentââmurder.â

She walked up behind the desk and stood looking down at the dead man. There was sorrow and affection in her face.

âDear Christian,â she said. âHe was always good to me.â

Softly, she touched the top of his head with her fingers.

âBless you and thank you, dear Christian,â she said.

Lewis Serrocold said with something more like emotion than Miss Marple had ever seen in him before:

âI wish to God I could have spared you this, Caroline.â

His wife shook her head gently.

âYou canât really spare anyone anything,â she said. âThings always have to be faced sooner or later. And therefore it had better be sooner. Iâll go and lie down now. I suppose youâll stay here, Lewis, until the police come?â

âYes.â

Carrie Louise turned away and Miss Marple slipped an arm around her.

Nine

Inspector Curry and his entourage found Miss Bellever alone in the Great Hall when they arrived.

She came forward efficiently.

âI am Juliet Bellever, companion and secretary to Mrs. Serrocold.â

âIt was you who found the body and telephoned to us?â

âYes. Most of the household are in the libraryâthrough that door there. Mr. Serrocold remained in Mr. Gulbrandsenâs room to see that nothing was disturbed. Dr. Maverick, who first examined the body, will be here very shortly. He had to take aâcase over to the other wing. Shall I lead the way?â

âIf you please.â

âCompetent woman,â thought the Inspector to himself. âSeems to have got the whole thing taped.â

He followed her along the corridor.

For the next twenty minutes the routine of police procedure was duly set in motion. The photographer took the necessary pictures. The police surgeon arrived and was joined by Dr. Maverick. Half an hour later, the ambulance had taken away the mortal remains of Christian Gulbrandsen, and Inspector Curry started his official interrogation.

Lewis Serrocold took him into the library and he glanced keenly round the assembled people making brief notes in his mind. An old lady with white hair, a middle-aged lady, the good-looking girl heâd seen driving her car round the countryside, that odd-looking American husband of hers. A couple of young men who were mixed up in the outfit somewhere or other and the capable woman, Miss Bellever, whoâd phoned him and met him on arrival.

Inspector Curry had already thought out a little speech and he now delivered it as planned.

âIâm afraid this is all very upsetting to you,â he said, âand I hope not to keep you too long this evening. We can go into things more thoroughly tomorrow. It was Miss Bellever who found Mr. Gulbrandsen dead and Iâll ask Miss Bellever to give me an outline of the general situation as that will save too much repetition. Mr. Serrocold, if you want to go up to your wife, please do and when I have finished with Miss Bellever, I should like to talk to you. Is that all quite clear? Perhaps there is some small room whereââ

Lewis Serrocold said:

âMy office, Jolly?â

Miss Bellever nodded, and said, âI was just going to suggest it.â

She led the way across the Great Hall and Inspector Curry and his attendant sergeant followed her.

Miss Bellever arranged them and herself suitably. It might have been she and not Inspector Curry who was in charge of the investigation.

The moment had come, however, when the initiative passed to him. Inspector Curry had a pleasant voice and manner. He looked quiet and serious and just a little apologetic. Some people made the mistake of underrating him. Actually he was as competent in his way as Miss Bellever was in hers. But he preferred not to make a parade of the fact.

He cleared his throat.

âIâve had the main facts from Mr. Serrocold. Mr. Christian Gulbrandsen was the eldest son of the late Eric Gulbrandsen, the founder of the Gulbrandsen Trust and Fellowship â¦ and all the rest of it. He was one of the trustees of this place and he arrived here unexpectedly yesterday. That is correct?â

âYes.â

Inspector Curry was pleased by her conciseness. He went on.

âMr. Serrocold was away in Liverpool. He returned this evening by the 6:30 train.â

âYes.â

âAfter dinner this evening, Mr. Gulbrandsen announced his intention of working in his own room and left the rest of the party here after coffee had been served. Correct?â

âYes.â

âNow, Miss Bellever, please tell me in your own words how you came to discover him dead.â

âThere was a rather unpleasant incident this evening. A young man, a psychopathic case, became very unbalanced and threatened Mr. Serrocold with a revolver. They were locked in this room. The young man eventually fired the revolverâyou can see the bullet holes in the wall there. Fortunately Mr. Serrocold was unhurt. After firing the shots, this young man went completely to pieces. Mr. Serrocold sent me to find Dr. Maverick. I got through on the house phone, but he was not in his room. I found him with one of his colleagues and gave him the message and he came here at once. On my own way back, I went to Mr. Gulbrandsenâs room. I wanted to ask him if there was anything he would likeâhot milk, or whisky before settling for the night. I knocked, but there was no response, so I opened the door. I saw that Mr. Gulbrandsen was dead. I then rang you up.â

âWhat entrances and exits are there to the house? And how are they secured? Could anyone have come in from outside without being heard or seen?â

âAnyone could have come in by the side door to the terrace. That is not locked until we all go to bed, as people come in and out that way to go to the College buildings.â

âAnd you have, I believe, between two hundred and two hundred and fifty juvenile delinquents in the College?â

âYes. But the College buildings are well secured and patrolled. I should say it was most unlikely that anyone could leave the College unsponsored.â

âWe shall have to check up on that, of course. Had Mr. Gulbrandsen given any cause forâshall we say, rancour? Any unpopular decisions as to policy?â

Miss Bellever shook her head.

âOh no, Mr. Gulbrandsen had nothing whatever to do with the running of the College, or with administrative matters.â

âWhat was the purpose of his visit?â

âI have no idea.â

âBut he was annoyed to find Mr. Serrocold absent, and immediately decided to wait until he returned?â

âYes.â

âSo his business here was definitely with Mr. Serrocold?â

âYes. But it would beâbecause it would be almost certainly business to do with the Institute.â

âYes, presumably that is so. Did he have a conference with Mr. Serrocold?â

âNo, there was no time. Mr. Serrocold only arrived just before dinner this evening.â

âBut after dinner, Mr. Gulbrandsen said he had important letters to write and went away to do so. He didnât suggest a session with Mr. Serrocold?â

Miss Bellever hesitated.

âNo. No, he didnât.â

âSurely that was rather oddâif he had waited on at inconvenience to himself to see Mr. Serrocold?â

âYes, it was odd.â

The oddness of it seemed to strike Miss Bellever for the first time.

âMr. Serrocold did not accompany him to his room?â

âNo. Mr. Serrocold remained in the Hall.â

âAnd you have no idea at what time Mr. Gulbrandsen was killed?â

âI think it is possible that we heard the shot. If so, it was at twenty-three minutes past nine.â

âYou heard a shot? And it did not alarm you?â

âThe circumstances were peculiar.â

She explained in rather more detail the scene between Lewis Serrocold and Edgar Lawson which had been in progress.

âSo it occurred to no one that the shot might actually have come from within the house?â

âNo. No, I certainly donât think so. We were all so relieved, you know, that the shot didnât come from in here.â

Miss Bellever added rather grimly:

âYou donât expect murder and attempted murder in the same house on the same night.â

Inspector Curry acknowledged the truth of that.

âAll the same,â said Miss Bellever, suddenly, âyou know I believe thatâs what made me go along to Mr. Gulbrandsenâs room later. I did mean to ask him if he would like anything, but it was a kind of excuse to reassure myself that everything was all right.â

Inspector Curry stared at her for a moment.

âWhat made you think it mightnât be all right?â

âI donât know. I think it was the shot outside. It hadnât meant anything at the time. But afterwards it came back into my mind. I told myself that it was only a backfire from Mr. Restarickâs carââ

âMr. Restarickâs car?â

âYes. Alex Restarick. He arrived by car this eveningâhe arrived just after all this happened.â

âI see. When you discovered Mr. Gulbrandsenâs body, did you touch anything in the room?â

âOf course not.â Miss Bellever sounded reproachful. âNaturally I knew that nothing must be touched or moved.â

âAnd just now, when you took us into the room, everything was exactly as it had been when you found the body?â

Miss Bellever considered. She sat back screwing up her eyes. She had, Inspector Curry thought, one of those photographic memories.

âOne thing was different,â she said. âThere was nothing in the typewriter.â

âYou mean,â said Inspector Curry, âthat when you first went in, Mr. Gulbrandsen had been writing a letter on the typewriter, and that that letter had since been removed?â

âYes, Iâm almost sure that I saw the white edge of the paper sticking up.â

âThank you, Miss Bellever. Who else went into that room before we arrived?â

âMr. Serrocold, of course. He remained there when I came to meet you. And Mrs. Serrocold and Miss Marple went there. Mrs. Serrocold insisted.â

âMrs. Serrocold and Miss Marple,â said Inspector Curry. âWhich is Miss Marple?â

âThe old lady with white hair. She was a school friend of Mrs. Serrocoldâs. She came on a visit about four days ago.â

âWell, thank you, Miss Bellever. All that you have told us is quite clear. Iâll go into things with Mr. Serrocold now. Ah, but perhapsâMiss Marpleâs an old lady, isnât she? Iâll just have a word with her first and then she can go off to bed. Rather cruel to keep an old lady like that up,â said Inspector Curry virtuously. âThis must have been a shock to her.â

âIâll tell her, shall I?â

âIf you please.â

Miss Bellever went out. Inspector Curry looked at the ceiling.

âGulbrandsen?â he said. âWhy Gulbrandsen? Two hundred odd, maladjusted youngsters on the premises. No reason any of them shouldnât have done it. Probably one of them did. But why Gulbrandsen? The stranger within the gates.â

Sergeant Lake said: âOf course, we donât know everything yet.â

Inspector Curry said:

âSo far, we donât know anything at all.â

He jumped up and was gallant when Miss Marple came in. She seemed a little flustered and he hurried to put her at her ease.

âNow donât upset yourself, Maâam.â The old ones like Maâam, he thought. To them, police officers were definitely of the lower classes and should show respect to their betters. âThis is all very distressing, I know. But weâve just got to get the facts clear. Get it all clear.â

âOh yes, I know,â said Miss Marple. âSo difficult, isnât it? To be clear about anything, I mean. Because if youâre looking at one thing, you canât be looking at another. And one so often looks at the wrong thing, though whether because one happens to do so or because youâre meant to, itâs very hard to say. Misdirection, the conjurers call it. So clever, arenât they? And I never have known how they manage with a bowl of goldfishâbecause really that cannot fold up small, can it?â

Inspector Curry blinked a little and said soothingly:

âQuite so. Now, Maâam, Iâve had an account of this eveningâs events from Miss Bellever. A most anxious time for all of you, Iâm sure.â

âYes, indeed. It was all so dramatic, you know.â

âFirst this to-do between Mr. Serrocold andââhe looked down at a note he had madeââthis Edgar Lawson.â

âA very odd young man,â said Miss Marple. âI have felt all along that there was something wrong about him.â

âIâm sure you have,â said Inspector Curry. âAnd then, after that excitement was over, there came Mr. Gulbrandsenâs death. I understand that you went with Mrs. Serrocold to see theâerâthe body.â

âYes, I did. She asked me to come with her. We are very old friends.â

âQuite so. And you went along to Mr. Gulbrandsenâs room. Did you touch anything while you were in the room, either of you?â

âOh no. Mr. Serrocold warned us not to.â

âDid you happen to notice, Maâam, whether there was a letter or a piece of paper, say, in the typewriter?â

âThere wasnât,â said Miss Marple promptly. âI noticed that at once because it seemed to me odd. Mr. Gulbrandsen was sitting there at the typewriter, so he must have been typing something. Yes, I thought it very odd.â

Inspector Curry looked at her sharply. He said:

âDid you have much conversation with Mr. Gulbrandsen while he was here?â

âVery little.â

âThere is nothing especialâor significant that you can remember?â

Miss Marple considered.

âHe asked me about Mrs. Serrocoldâs health. In particular, about her heart.â

âHer heart? Is there something wrong with her heart?â

âNothing whatever, I understand.â

Inspector Curry was silent for a moment or two, then he said:

âYou heard a shot this evening during the quarrel between Mr. Serrocold and Edgar Lawson?â

âI didnât actually hear it myself. I am a little deaf, you know. But Mrs. Serrocold mentioned it as being outside in the park.â

âMr. Gulbrandsen left the party immediately after dinner, I understand?â

âYes, he said he had letters to write.â

âHe didnât show any wish for a business conference with Mr. Serrocold?â

âNo.â

Miss Marple added:

âYou see, theyâd already had one little talk.â

âThey had? When? I understood that Mr. Serrocold only returned home just before dinner.â

âThatâs quite true, but he walked up through the park, and Mr. Gulbrandsen went out to meet him and they walked up and down the terrace together.â

âWho else knows this?â

âI shouldnât think anybody else,â said Miss Marple. âUnless, of course, Mr. Serrocold told Mrs. Serrocold. I just happened to be looking out of my windowâat some birds.â

âBirds?â

âBirds.â Miss Marple added after a moment or two, âI thought, perhaps, they might be siskins.â

Inspector Curry was uninterested in siskins.

âYou didnât,â he said delicately, âhappen toâerâoverhear anything of what they said?â

Innocent, china blue eyes met his.

âOnly fragments, Iâm afraid,â said Miss Marple gently.

âAnd those fragments?â

Miss Marple was silent a moment, then she said:

âI do not know the actual subject of their conversation, but their immediate concern was to keep whatever it was from the knowledge of Mrs. Serrocold. To spare herâthat was how Mr. Gulbrandsen put it, and Mr. Serrocold said, âI agree that it is she who must be considered.â They also mentioned a âbig responsibilityâ and that they should, perhaps, âtake outside advice.ââ

She paused.

âI think, you know, you had better ask Mr. Serrocold himself about all this.â

âWe shall do so, Maâam. Now there is nothing else that struck you as unusual this evening?â

Miss Marple considered.

âIt was all so unusual, if you know what I meanââ

âQuite so. Quite so.â

Something flickered into Miss Marpleâs memory.

âThere was one rather unusual incident. Mr. Serrocold stopped Mrs. Serrocold from taking her medicine. Miss Bellever was quite put out about it.â

She smiled in a deprecating fashion.

âBut that, of course, is such a little thingâ¦.â

âYes, of course. Well, thank you, Miss Marple.â

As Miss Marple went out of the room, Sergeant Lake said: âSheâs old, but sheâs sharpâ¦.â

Ten

Lewis Serrocold came into the office and immediately the whole focus of the room shifted. He turned to close the door behind him, and in doing so he created an atmosphere of privacy. He walked over and sat down, not in the chair Miss Marple had just vacated but in his own chair behind the desk. Miss Bellever had settled Inspector Curry in a chair drawn up to one side of the desk, as though unconsciously she had reserved Lewis Serrocoldâs chair against his coming.

When he had sat down, Lewis Serrocold looked at the two police officers thoughtfully. His face looked drawn and tired. It was the face of a man who was passing through a severe ordeal, and it surprised Inspector Curry a little because, though Christian Gulbrandsenâs death must undeniably have been a shock to Lewis Serrocold, yet Gulbrandsen had not been a close friend or relation, only a rather remote connection by marriage.

In an odd way, the tables seemed to have been turned. It did not seem as though Lewis Serrocold had come into the room to answer police questioning. It seemed rather that Lewis Serrocold had arrived to preside over a court of inquiry. It irritated Inspector Curry a little.

He said briskly: âNow, Mr. Serrocoldââ

Lewis Serrocold still seemed lost in thought. He said with a sigh, âHow difficult it is to know the right thing to do.â

Inspector Curry said:

âI think we will be the judges as to that, Mr. Serrocold. Now about Mr. Gulbrandsen, he arrived unexpectedly, I understand?â

âQuite unexpectedly.â

âYou did not know he was coming?â

âI had not the least idea of it.â

âAnd you have no idea of why he came?â

Lewis Serrocold said quietly,

âOh yes, I know why he came. He told me.â

âWhen?â

âI walked up from the station. He was watching from the house and came out to meet me. It was then that he explained what had brought him here.â

âBusiness connected with the Gulbrandsen Institute, I suppose?â

âOh no, it was nothing to do with the Gulbrandsen Institute.â

âMiss Bellever seemed to think it was.â

âNaturally. That would be the assumption. Gulbrandsen did nothing to correct that impression. Neither did I.â

âWhy, Mr. Serrocold?â

Lewis Serrocold said slowly:

âBecause it seemed to both of us important that no hint should arise as to the real purpose of his visit.â

âWhat was the real purpose?â

Lewis Serrocold was silent for a minute or two. He sighed.

âGulbrandsen came over here regularly twice a year for meetings of the trustees. The last meeting was only a month ago. Consequently he was not due to come over again for another five months. I think, therefore, that anyone might realise that the business that brought him must definitely be urgent business, but I still think that the normal assumption would be that it was a business visit, and that the matterâhowever urgentâwould be a Trust matter. As far as I know, Gulbrandsen did nothing to contradict that impressionâor thought he didnât. Yes, perhaps that is nearer the truthâhe thought he didnât.â

âIâm afraid, Mr. Serrocold, that I donât quite follow you.â

Lewis Serrocold did not answer at once. Then he said gravely:

âI fully realise that with Gulbrandsenâs deathâwhich was murder, undeniably murder, I have got to put all the facts before you. But, frankly, I am concerned for my wifeâs happiness and peace of mind. It is not for me to dictate to you, Inspector, but if you can see your way to keeping certain things from her as far as possible, I shall be grateful. You see, Inspector Curry, Christian Gulbrandsen came here expressly to tell me that he believed my wife was being slowly and cold-bloodedly poisoned.â

âWhat?â

Curry leaned forward incredulously.

Serrocold nodded.

âYes, it was, as you can imagine, a tremendous shock to me. I had had no suspicion of such a thing myself, but as soon as Christian told me, I realised that certain symptoms my wife had complained of lately, were quite compatible with that belief. What she took to be rheumatism, leg cramps, pain, and occasional sickness. All that fits in very well with the symptoms of arsenic poisoning.â

âMiss Marple told us that Christian Gulbrandsen asked her about the condition of Mrs. Serrocoldâs heart?â

âDid he now? That is interesting. I suppose he thought that a heart poison would be used since it paved the way to a sudden death without undue suspicion. But I think myself that arsenic is more likely.â

âYou definitely think, then, that Christian Gulbrandsenâs suspicions were well founded?â

âOh yes, I think so. For one thing, Gulbrandsen would hardly come to me with such a suggestion unless he was fairly sure of his facts. He was a cautious and hardheaded man, difficult to convince, but very shrewd.â

âWhat was his evidence?â

âWe had no time to go into that. Our interview was a hurried one. It served only the purpose of explaining his visit, and a mutual agreement that nothing whatever should be said to my wife about the matter until we were sure of our facts.â

âAnd whom did he suspect of administering poison?â

âHe did not say, and actually I donât think he knew. He may have suspected. I think now that he probably did suspectâotherwise why should he be killed?â

âBut he mentioned no name to you?â

âHe mentioned no name. We agreed that we must investigate the matter thoroughly, and he suggested inviting the advice and cooperation of Dr. Galbraith, the Bishop of Cromer. Dr. Galbraith is a very old friend of the Gulbrandsens and is one of the trustees of the Institute. He is a man of great wisdom and experience and would be of great help and comfort to my wife ifâif it was necessary to tell her of our suspicions. We meant to rely on his advice as to whether or not to consult the police.â

âQuite extraordinary,â said Curry.

âGulbrandsen left us after dinner to write to Dr. Galbraith. He was actually in the act of typing a letter to him when he was shot.â

âHow do you know?â

Lewis said calmly,

âBecause I took the letter out of the typewriter. I have it here.â

From his breast pocket, he drew out a folded typewritten sheet of paper and handed it to Curry.

The latter said sharply.

âYou shouldnât have taken this, or touched anything in the room.â

âI touched nothing else. I know that I committed an unpardonable offence in your eyes in moving this, but I had a very strong reason. I felt certain that my wife would insist on coming into the room and I was afraid that she might read something of what is written here. I admit myself in the wrong, but I am afraid I would do the same again. I would do anythingâanythingâto save my wife unhappiness.â

Inspector Curry said no more for the moment. He read the typewritten sheet.

Dear Dr. Galbraith. If it is at all possible, I beg that you will come to Stonygates as soon as you receive this. A crisis of extraordinary gravity has arisen and I am at a loss how to deal with it. I know how deep your affection is for our dear Carrie Louise, and how grave your concern will be for anything that affects her. How much has she got to know? How much can we keep from her? Those are the questions that I find so difficult to answer.

Not to beat about the bush, I have reason to believe that that sweet and innocent lady is being slowly poisoned. I first suspected this whenâ

Here the letter broke off abruptly.

Curry said:

âAnd when he had reached this point, Christian Gulbrandsen was shot?â

âYes.â

âBut why on earth was this letter left in the typewriter?â

âI can only conceive of two reasonsâone that the murderer had no idea to whom Gulbrandsen was writing and what was the subject of the letter. Secondlyâhe may not have had time. He may have heard someone coming and only had just time to escape unobserved.â

âAnd Gulbrandsen gave you no hint as to who he suspectedâif he did suspect anyone?â

There was, perhaps, a very slight pause before Lewis answered. âNone whatever.â

He added, rather obscurely:

âChristian was a very fair man.â

âHow do you think this poison, arsenic or whatever it may beâwas or is being administered?â

âI thought over that whilst I was changing for dinner, and it seemed to me that the most likely vehicle was some medicine, a tonic, that my wife was taking. As regards food we all partook of the same dishes and my wife has nothing specially prepared for her. But anyone could add arsenic to the medicine bottle.â

âWe must take the medicine and have it analysed.â

Lewis said quietly:

âI already have a sample of it. I took it this evening before dinner.â

From a drawer in the desk, he took out a small, corked bottle with a red fluid in it.

Inspector Curry said with a curious glance:

âYou think of everything, Mr. Serrocold.â

âI believe in acting promptly. Tonight, I stopped my wife from taking her usual dose. It is still in a glass on the oak dresser in the Hallâthe bottle of tonic itself is in the drawing room.â

Curry leaned forward across the desk. He lowered his voice and spoke confidentially and without officialdom.

âYouâll excuse me, Mr. Serrocold, but just why are you so anxious to keep this from your wife? Are you afraid sheâd panic? Surely, for her own sake, it would be as well if she were warned.â

âYesâyes, that may well be so. But I donât think you quite understand. Without knowing my wife, Caroline, it would be difficult. My wife, Inspector Curry, is an idealist, a completely trustful person. Of her it may truly be said that she sees no evil, hears no evil, and speaks no evil. It would be inconceivable to her that anyone could wish to kill her. But we have to go farther than that. It is not just âanyone.â It is a caseâsurely you see thatâof somebody possibly very near and dear to herâ¦.â

âSo thatâs what you think?â

âWe have got to face facts. Close at hand we have a couple of hundred warped and stunted personalities who have expressed themselves often enough by crude and senseless violence. But by the very nature of things, none of them can be suspect in this case. A slow poisoner is someone living in the intimacy of family life. Think of the people who are here in this house; her husband, her daughter, her granddaughter, her granddaughterâs husband, her stepson whom she regards as her own son, Miss Bellever, her devoted companion and friend of many years. All very near and dear to herâand yet the suspicion must ariseâis it one of them?â

Curry answered slowly,

âThere are outsidersââ

âYes, in a sense. There is Dr. Maverick, one or two of the staff are often with us, there are the servantsâbut, frankly, what possible motive could they have?â

Inspector Curry said,

âAnd thereâs youngâwhat is his name againâEdgar Lawson?â

âYes. But he has only been down here as a casual visitor just lately. He has no possible motive. Besides, he is deeply attached to Carolineâjust as everyone is.â

âBut heâs unbalanced. What about this attack on you tonight?â

Serrocold waved it aside impatiently.

âSheer childishness. He had no intention of harming me.â

âNot with these two bullet holes in the wall? He shot at you, didnât he?â

âHe didnât mean to hit me. It was playacting, no more.â

âRather a dangerous form of playacting, Mr. Serrocold.â

âYou donât understand. You must talk to our psychiatrist, Dr. Maverick. Edgar is an illegitimate child. He has consoled himself for his lack of a father and a humble origin by pretending to himself that he is the son of a celebrated man. Itâs a well-known phenomenon, I assure you. He was improving, improving very much. Then, for some reason, he had a setback. He identified me as his âfatherâ and made a melodramatic attack, waving a revolver and uttering threats. I was not in the least alarmed. When he had actually fired the revolver, he broke down and sobbed, and Dr. Maverick took him away and gave him a sedative. Heâll probably be quite normal tomorrow morning.â

âYou donât wish to bring a charge against him?â

âThat would be the worst thing possibleâfor him, I mean.â

âFrankly, Mr. Serrocold, it seems to me he ought to be under restraint. People who go about firing off revolvers to bolster up their egosâ! One has to think of the community, you know.â

âTalk to Dr. Maverick on the subject,â urged Lewis. âHeâll give you the professional point of view. In any case,â he added, âpoor Edgar certainly did not shoot Gulbrandsen. He was in here threatening to shoot me.â

âThatâs the point I was coming to, Mr. Serrocold. Weâve covered the outside. Anyone, it seems, could have come in from outside, and shot Mr. Gulbrandsen, since the terrace door was unlocked. But there is a narrower field inside the house, and in view of what you have been telling me, it seems to me that very close attention must be paid to that. It seems possible that, with the exception of old Missâerâyes, Marple who happened to be looking out of her bedroom window, no one was aware that you and Christian Gulbrandsen had already had a private interview. If so, Gulbrandsen may have been shot to prevent him communicating his suspicions to you. Of course, it is too early to say as yet what other motives may exist. Mr. Gulbrandsen was a wealthy man, I presume?â

âYes, he was a very wealthy man. He has sons and daughters and grandchildrenâall of whom will probably benefit by his death. But I do not think that any of his family are in this country, and they are all solid and highly respectable people. As far as I know, there are no black sheep amongst them.â

âHad he any enemies?â

âI should think it most unlikely. He wasâreally, he was not that type of man.â

âSo it boils down, doesnât it, to this house and the people in it? Who from inside the house could have killed him?â

Lewis Serrocold said slowly,

âThat is difficult for me to say. There are the servants and the members of my household and our guests. They are, from your point of view, all possibilities, I suppose. I can only tell you that, as far as I know, everyone except the servants was in the Great Hall when Christian left it and whilst I was there, nobody left it.â

âNobody at all?â

âI thinkââLewis frowned in an effort of remembranceââoh yes. Some of the lights fusedâMr. Walter Hudd went to see to it.â

âThatâs the young American gentleman?â

âYesâof course, I donât know what took place after Edgar and I came in here.â

âAnd you canât give me anything nearer than that, Mr. Serrocold?â

Lewis Serrocold shook his head.

âNo, Iâm afraid I canât help you. Itâsâitâs all quite inconceivable.â

Inspector Curry sighed. He said:

âYou can tell the party that they can all go to bed. Iâll talk to them tomorrow.â

When Serrocold had left the room, Inspector Curry said to Lake:

âWellâwhat do you think?â

âKnowsâor thinks he knows, who did it,â said Lake.

âYes. I agree with you. And he doesnât like it a bitâ¦.â

Eleven

1

Gina greeted Miss Marple with a rush as the latter came down to breakfast the next morning.

âThe police are here again,â she said. âTheyâre in the library this time. Wally is absolutely fascinated by them. He canât understand their being so quiet and so remote. I think heâs really quite thrilled by the whole thing. Iâm not. I hate it. I think itâs horrible. Why do you think Iâm so upset? Because Iâm half Italian?â

âVery possibly. At least perhaps it explains why you donât mind showing what you feel.â

Miss Marple smiled just a little as she said this.

âJollyâs frightfully cross,â said Gina, hanging on Miss Marpleâs arm and propelling her into the dining room. âI think really because the police are in charge and she canât exactly ârunâ them like she runs everybody else.

âAlex and Stephen,â continued Gina severely, as they came into the dining room where the two brothers were finishing their breakfast, âjust donât care.â

âGina dearest,â said Alex, âyou are most unkind. Good morning, Miss Marple. I care intensely. Except for the fact that I hardly knew your Uncle Christian, Iâm far and away the best suspect. You do realise that, I hope.â

âWhy?â

âWell, I was driving up to the house at about the right time, it seems. And theyâve been checking up on times and it seems that I took too much time between the lodge and the houseâtime enough, the implication is, to leave the car, run round the house, go in through the side door, shoot Christian and rush out and back to the car again.â

âAnd what were you really doing?â

âI thought little girls were taught quite young not to ask indelicate questions. Like an idiot, I stood for several minutes taking in the fog effect in the headlights and thinking what Iâd use to get that effect on a stage. For my new âLimehouseâ ballet.â

âBut you can tell them that!â

âNaturally. But you know what policemen are like. They say âthank youâ very civilly and write it all down, and youâve no idea what they are thinking except that one does feel they have rather sceptical minds.â

âIt would amuse me to see you in a spot, Alex,â said Stephen with his thin, rather cruel smile. âNow Iâm quite all right! I never left the Hall last night.â

Gina cried, âBut they couldnât possibly think it was one of us!â

Her dark eyes were round and dismayed.

âDonât say it must have been a tramp, dear,â said Alex, helping himself lavishly to marmalade. âItâs so hackneyed.â

Miss Bellever looked in at the door and said:

âMiss Marple, when you have finished your breakfast, will you go to the library?â

âYou again,â said Gina. âBefore any of us.â

She seemed a little injured.

âHi, what was that?â asked Alex.

âDidnât hear anything,â said Stephen.

âIt was a pistol shot.â

âTheyâve been firing shots in the room where Uncle Christian was killed,â said Gina. âI donât know why. And outside too.â

The door opened again and Mildred Strete came in. She was wearing black with some onyx beads.

She murmured good morning without looking at anyone and sat down.

In a hushed voice she said:

âSome tea, please, Gina. Nothing much to eatâjust some toast.â

She touched her nose and eyes delicately with the handkerchief she held in one hand. Then she raised her eyes and looked in an un-seeing way at the two brothers. Stephen and Alex became uncomfortable. Their voices dropped to almost a whisper and presently they got up and left.

Mildred Strete said, whether to the universe or Miss Marple was not quite certain, âNot even a black tie!â

âI donât suppose,â said Miss Marple apologetically, âthat they knew beforehand that a murder was going to happen.â

Gina made a smothered sound and Mildred Strete looked sharply at her.

âWhereâs Walter this morning?â she asked.

Gina flushed.

âI donât know. I havenât seen him.â

She sat there uneasily like a guilty child.

Miss Marple got up.

âIâll go to the library now,â she said.

2

Lewis Serrocold was standing by the window in the library.

There was no one else in the room.

He turned as Miss Marple came in and came forward to meet her, taking her hand in his.

âI hope,â he said, âthat you are not feeling the worse for the shock. To be at close quarters with what is undoubtedly murder must be a great strain on anyone who has not come in contact with such a thing before.â

Modesty forbade Miss Marple to reply that she was, by now, quite at home with murder. She merely said that life in St. Mary Mead was not quite so sheltered as outside people believed.

âVery nasty things go on in a village, I assure you,â she said. âOne has an opportunity of studying things there that one would never have in a town.â

Lewis Serrocold listened indulgently, but with only half an ear.

He said very simply: âI want your help.â

âBut of course, Mr. Serrocold.â

âIt is a matter that affects my wifeâaffects Caroline. I think that you are really attached to her?â

âYes, indeed. Everyone is.â

âThat is what I believed. It seems that I am wrong. With the permission of Inspector Curry, I am going to tell you something that no one else as yet knows. Or perhaps I should say what only one person knows.â

Briefly, he told her what he had told Inspector Curry the night before.

Miss Marple looked horrified.

âI canât believe it, Mr. Serrocold. I really canât believe it.â

âThat is what I felt when Christian Gulbrandsen told me.â

âI should have said that dear Carrie Louise had not got an enemy in the world.â

âIt seems incredible that she should have. But you see the implication? Poisoningâslow poisoningâis an intimate family matter. It must be one of our closely knit little householdââ

âIf it is true. Are you sure that Mr. Gulbrandsen was not mistaken?â

âChristian was not mistaken. He is too cautious a man to make such a statement without foundation. Besides, the police took away Carolineâs medicine bottle and a separate sample of its contents. There was arsenic in both of themâand arsenic was not prescribed. The actual quantitative tests will take longerâbut the actual fact of arsenic being present is established.â

âThen her rheumatismâthe difficulty in walkingâall thatââ

âYes, leg cramps are typical, I understand. Also, before you came, Caroline had had one or two severe attacks of a gastric natureâI never dreamed until Christian cameââ

He broke off. Miss Marple said softly: âSo Ruth was right!â

âRuth?â

Lewis Serrocold sounded surprised. Miss Marple flushed.

âThere is something I have not told you. My coming here was not entirely fortuitous. If you will let me explainâIâm afraid I tell things so badly. Please have patience.â

Lewis Serrocold listened whilst Miss Marple told him of Ruthâs unease and urgency.

âExtraordinary,â he commented. âI had no idea of this.â

âIt was all so vague,â said Miss Marple. âRuth herself didnât know why she had this feeling. There must be a reasonâin my experience there always isâbut âsomething wrongâ was as near as she could get.â

Lewis Serrocold said grimly:

âWell, it seems that she was right. Now, Miss Marple, you see how I am placed. Am I to tell Caroline of this?â

Miss Marple said quickly, âOh no,â in a distressed voice, and then flushed and stared doubtfully at Lewis. He nodded.

âSo you feel as I do? As Christian Gulbrandsen did. Should we feel like that with an ordinary woman?â

âCarrie Louise is not an ordinary woman. She lives by her trust, by her belief in human natureâoh dear, I am expressing myself very badly. But I do feel that until we know whoââ

âYes, that is the crux. But you do see, Miss Marple, that there is a risk in saying nothingââ

âAnd so you want me toâhow shall I put it?âwatch over her?â

âYou see, you are the only person whom I can trust,â said Lewis Serrocold simply. âEveryone here seems devoted. But are they? Now your attachment goes back many years.â

âAnd also I only arrived a few days ago,â said Miss Marple pertinently.

Lewis Serrocold smiled.

âExactly.â

âIt is a very mercenary question,â said Miss Marple apologetically. âBut who exactly would benefit if dear Carrie Louise were to die?â

âMoney!â said Lewis bitterly. âIt always boils down to money, does it?â

âWell, I really think it must in this case. Because Carrie Louise is a very sweet person with a great deal of charm, and one cannot really imagine anyone disliking her. She couldnât, I mean, have an enemy. So then it does boil down, as you put it, to a question of money, because as you donât need me to tell you, Mr. Serrocold, people will quite often do anything for money.â

âI suppose so, yes.â

He went on: âNaturally Inspector Curry has already taken up that point. Mr. Gilroy is coming down from London today and can give detailed information. Gilroy, Gilroy, Jaimes and Gilroy are a very eminent firm of lawyers. This Gilroyâs father was one of the original trustees and they drew up both Carolineâs will and the original will of Eric Gulbrandsen. I will put it in simple terms for youââ

âThank you,â said Miss Marple gratefully. âSo mystifying the law, I always think.â

âEric Gulbrandsen after endowment of the College and his various fellowships and trusts and other charitable bequests, and having settled an equal sum on his daughter Mildred and on his adopted daughter Pippa (Ginaâs mother), left the remainder of his vast fortune in trust, the income from it to be paid to Caroline for her lifetime.â

âAnd after her death?â

âAfter her death it was to be divided equally between Mildred and Pippaâor their children, if they themselves had predeceased Caroline.â

âSo that, in fact, it goes to Mrs. Strete and to Gina.â

âYes. Caroline has also quite a considerable fortune of her ownâthough not in the Gulbrandsen class. Half of this she made over to me four years ago. Of the remaining amount, she left ten thousand pounds to Juliet Bellever, and the rest equally divided between Alex and Stephen Restarick, her two stepsons.â

âOh dear,â said Miss Marple. âThatâs bad. Thatâs very bad.â

âYou mean?â

âIt means everyone in the house had a financial motive.â

âYes. And yet, you know, I canât believe that any of these people would do murder. I simply canât â¦ Mildred is her daughterâand already quite well provided for. Gina is devoted to her grandmother. She is generous and extravagant, but has no acquisitive feelings. Jolly Bellever is fanatically devoted to Caroline. The two Restaricks care for Caroline as though she were really their mother. They have no money of their own to speak of, but quite a lot of Carolineâs income has gone towards financing their enterprisesâespecially so with Alex. I simply canât believe either of those two would deliberately poison her for the sake of inheriting money at her death. I just canât believe any of it, Miss Marple.â

âThereâs Ginaâs husband, isnât there?â

âYes,â said Lewis gravely. âThere is Ginaâs husband.â

âYou donât really know much about him. And one canât help seeing that heâs a very unhappy young man.â

Lewis sighed.

âHe hasnât fitted in hereâno. Heâs no interest in or sympathy for what weâre trying to do. But after all, why should he? Heâs young, crude, and he comes from a country where a man is esteemed by the success he makes of life.â

âWhilst here we are so very fond of failures,â said Miss Marple.

Lewis Serrocold looked at her sharply and suspiciously.

She flushed a little and murmured rather incoherently:

âI think sometimes, you know, one can overdo things the other way â¦ I mean the young people with a good heredity, and brought up wisely in a good homeâand with grit and pluck and the ability to get on in lifeâwell, they are really, when one comes down to itâthe sort of people a country needs.â

Lewis frowned and Miss Marple hurried on, getting pinker and pinker and more and more incoherent.

âNot that I donât appreciateâI do indeedâyou and Carrie Louiseâa really noble workâreal compassionâand one should have compassionâbecause after all itâs what people are that countsâgood and bad luckâand much more expected (and rightly) of the lucky ones. But I do think sometimes oneâs sense of proportionâoh, I donât mean you, Mr. Serrocold. Really I donât know what I meanâbut the English are rather odd that way. Even in war, so much prouder of their defeats and their retreats than of their victories. Foreigners never can understand why weâre so proud of Dunkerque. Itâs the sort of thing theyâd prefer not to mention themselves. But we always seem to be almost embarrassed by a victoryâand treat it as though it werenât quite nice to boast about it. And look at all our poets! âThe Charge of the Light Brigade.â And the little Revenge went down in the Spanish Main. Itâs really a very odd characteristic when you come to think of it!â

Miss Marple drew a fresh breath.

âWhat I really mean is that everything here must seem rather peculiar to young Walter Hudd.â

âYes,â Lewis allowed. âI see your point. And Walter has certainly a fine war record. Thereâs no doubt about his bravery.â

âNot that that helps,â said Miss Marple candidly. âBecause war is one thing, and everyday life is quite another. And actually to commit a murder, I think you do need braveryâor perhaps, more often, just conceit. Yes, conceit.â

âBut I would hardly say that Walter Hudd had a sufficient motive.â

âWouldnât you?â said Miss Marple. âHe hates it here. He wants to get away. He wants to get Gina away. And if itâs really money he wants, it would be important for Gina to get all the money before sheâerâdefinitely forms an attachment to someone else.â

âAn attachment to someone else,â said Lewis, in an astonished voice.

Miss Marple wondered at the blindness of enthusiastic social reformers.

âThatâs what I said. Both the Restaricks are in love with her, you know.â

âOh, I donât think so,â said Lewis absently.

He went on:

âStephenâs invaluable to usâquite invaluable. The way heâs got those lads coming alongâkeenâinterested. They gave a splendid show last month. Scenery, costumes, everything. It just shows, as Iâve always said to Maverick, that itâs lack of drama in their lives that leads these boys to crime. To dramatise yourself is a childâs natural instinct. Maverick saysâah yes, Maverickââ

Lewis broke off.

âI want Maverick to see Inspector Curry about Edgar. The whole thing is so ridiculous really.â

âWhat do you really know about Edgar Lawson, Mr. Serrocold?â

âEverything,â said Lewis positively. âEverything, that is, that one needs to know. His background, upbringingâhis deep-seated lack of confidence in himselfââ

Miss Marple interrupted.

âCouldnât Edgar Lawson have poisoned Mrs. Serrocold?â she asked.

âHardly. Heâs only been here a few weeks. And anyway, itâs ridiculous! Why should Edgar want to poison my wife? What could he possibly gain by doing so?â

âNothing material, I know. But he might haveâsome odd reason. He is odd, you know.â

âYou mean unbalanced?â

âI suppose so. No, I donâtânot quite. What I mean is, heâs all wrong.â

It was not a very lucid exposition of what she felt. Lewis Serrocold accepted the words at their face value.

âYes,â he said with a sigh. âHeâs all wrong, poor lad. And he was showing such marked improvement. I canât really understand why he had this sudden setbackâ¦.â

Miss Marple leaned forward eagerly.

âYes, thatâs what I wondered. Ifââ

She broke off as Inspector Curry came into the room.

Twelve

1

Lewis Serrocold went away and Inspector Curry sat down and gave Miss Marple a rather peculiar smile.

âSo Mr. Serrocold has been asking you to act as watchdog,â he said.

âWell, yes,â she added apologetically. âI hope you donât mindââ

âI donât mind. I think itâs a very good idea. Does Mr. Serrocold know just how well qualified you are for the post?â

âI donât quite understand, Inspector.â

âI see. He thinks youâre just a very nice, elderly lady who was at school with his wife.â He shook his head at her. âWe know youâre a bit more than that, Miss Marple, arenât you? Crime is right down your street. Mr. Serrocold only knows one aspect of crimeâthe promising beginners. Makes me a bit sick, sometimes. Daresay Iâm wrong and old-fashioned. But there are plenty of good decent lads about, lads who could do with a start in life. But there, honesty has to be its own rewardâmillionaires donât leave trust funds to help the worthwhile. Wellâwell, donât pay any attention to me. Iâm old-fashioned. Iâve seen boysâand girlsâwith everything against them, bad homes, bad luck, every disadvantage, and theyâve had the grit to win through. Thatâs the kind I shall leave my packet to, if I ever have one. But then, of course, thatâs what I never shall have. Just my pension and a nice bit of garden.â

He nodded his head at Miss Marple.

âSuperintendent Blacker told me about you last night. Said youâd had a lot of experience of the seamy side of human nature. Well now, letâs have your point of view. Whoâs the nigger in the woodpile? The G.I. husband?â

âThat,â said Miss Marple, âwould be very convenient for everybody.â

Inspector Curry smiled softly to himself.

âA G.I. pinched my best girl,â he said reminiscently. âNaturally, Iâm prejudiced. His manner doesnât help. Letâs have the amateur point of view. Whoâs been secretly and systematically poisoning Mrs. Serrocold?â

âWell,â said Miss Marple judicially, âone is always inclined, human nature being what it is, to think of the husband. Or if itâs the other way round, the wife. Thatâs the first assumption, donât you think, in a poisoning case?â

âI agree with you every time,â said Inspector Curry.

âBut reallyâin this caseââ Miss Marple shook her head. âNo, franklyâI cannot seriously consider Mr. Serrocold. Because you see, Inspector, he really is devoted to his wife. Naturally he would make a parade of being soâbut it isnât a parade. Itâs very quiet, but itâs genuine. He loves his wife, and Iâm quite certain he wouldnât poison her.â

âTo say nothing of the fact that he wouldnât have any motive for doing so. Sheâs made over her money to him already.â

âOf course,â said Miss Marple primly, âthere are other reasons for a gentleman wanting his wife out of the way. An attachment to a young woman, for instance. But I really donât see any signs of it in this case. Mr. Serrocold does not act as though he had any romantic preoccupation. Iâm really afraid,â she sounded quite regretful about it, âwe shall have to wash him out.â

âRegrettable, isnât it?â said the Inspector. He grinned. âAnd anyway, he couldnât have killed Gulbrandsen. It seems to me that thereâs no doubt that the one thing hinges on the other. Whoever is poisoning Mrs. Serrocold killed Gulbrandsen to prevent him spilling the beans. What weâve got to get at now is who had an opportunity to kill Gulbrandsen last night. And our prize suspectâthereâs no doubt about itâis young Walter Hudd. It was he who switched on a reading lamp which resulted in a fuse going, thereby giving him the opportunity to leave the Hall and go to the fuse box. The fuse box is in the kitchen passage which opens off from the main corridor. It was during his absence from the Great Hall that the shot was heard. So thatâs suspect No 1 perfectly placed for committing the crime.â

âAnd suspect No 2?â asked Miss Marple.

âSuspect 2 is Alex Restarick who was alone in his car between the lodge and the house and took too long getting there.â

âAnybody else?â Miss Marple leaned forward eagerlyâremembering to add, âItâs very kind of you to tell me all this.â

âItâs not kindness,â said Inspector Curry. âIâve got to have your help. You put your finger on the spot when you said âAnybody else?â Because there Iâve got to depend on you. You were there, in the Hall last night, and you can tell me who left itâ¦.â

âYesâyes, I ought to be able to tell you â¦ but can I? You seeâthe circumstancesââ

âYou mean that you were all listening to the argument going on behind the door of Mr. Serrocoldâs study.â

Miss Marple nodded vehemently.

âYes, you see we were all really very frightened. Mr. Lawson lookedâhe really didâquite demented. Apart from Mrs. Serrocold who seemed quite unaffected, we all feared that he would do a mischief to Mr. Serrocold. He was shouting, you know, and saying the most terrible thingsâwe could hear them quite plainlyâand what with that and with most of the lights being outâI didnât really notice anything else.â

âYou mean that whilst that scene was going on, anybody could have slipped out of the Hall, gone along the corridor, shot Mr. Gulbrandsen, and slipped back again?â

âI think it would have been possibleâ¦.â

âCould you say definitely that anybody was in the Great Hall the whole time?â

Miss Marple considered.

âI could say that Mrs. Serrocold wasâbecause I was watching her. She was sitting quite close to the study door, and she never moved from her seat. It surprised me, you know, that she was able to remain so calm.â

âAnd the others?â

âMiss Bellever went outâbut I thinkâI am almost sureâthat that was after the shot. Mrs. Strete? I really donât know. She was sitting behind me, you see. Gina was over by the far window. I think she remained there the whole time but, of course, I cannot be sure. Stephen was at the piano. He stopped playing when the quarrel began to get heatedââ

âWe mustnât be misled by the time you heard the shot,â said Inspector Curry. âThatâs a trick thatâs been done before now, you know. Fake up a shot so as to fix the time of a crime, and fix it wrong. If Miss Bellever had cooked up something of that kind (farfetchedâbut you never know) then sheâd leave as she did, openly, after the shot was heard. No, we canât go by the shot. The limits are between when Christian Gulbrandsen left the Hall to the moment when Miss Bellever found him dead, and we can only eliminate those people who were known not to have had opportunity. That gives us Lewis Serrocold and young Edgar Lawson in the study, and Mrs. Serrocold in the Hall. Itâs very unfortunate, of course, that Gulbrandsen should be shot on the same evening that this schemozzle happened between Serrocold and this young Lawson.â

âJust unfortunate, you think?â murmured Miss Marple.

âOh? What do you think?â

âIt occurred to me,â murmured Miss Marple, âthat it might have been contrived.â

âSo thatâs your idea?â

âWell, everybody seems to think it very odd that Edgar Lawson should quite suddenly have a relapse, so to speak. Heâd got this curious complex, or whatever the term is, about his unknown father. Winston Churchill and Viscount Montgomeryâall quite likely in his state of mind. Just any famous man he happened to think of. But suppose somebody puts it into his head that itâs Lewis Serrocold who is really his father, that itâs Lewis Serrocold who has been persecuting himâthat he ought, by rights, to be the crown prince, as it were, of Stonygates. In his weak mental state heâll accept the ideaâwork himself up into a frenzy, and sooner or later will make the kind of scene he did make. And what a wonderful cover that will be! Everybody will have their attention fixed on the dangerous situation that is developingâespecially if somebody has thoughtfully supplied him with a revolver.â

âHm, yes. Walter Huddâs revolver.â

âOh yes,â said Miss Marple, âIâd thought of that. But you know, Walter is uncommunicative and heâs certainly sullen and ungracious, but I donât really think heâs stupid.â

âSo you donât think itâs Walter?â

âI think everybody would be very relieved if it was Walter. That sounds very unkind, but itâs because he is an outsider.â

âWhat about his wife?â asked Inspector Curry. âWould she be relieved?â

Miss Marple did not answer. She was thinking of Gina and Stephen Restarick standing together as she had seen them on her first day. And she thought of the way Alex Restarickâs eyes had gone straight to Gina as he had entered the Hall last night. What was Ginaâs own attitude?

2

Two hours later Inspector Curry tilted back his chair, stretched himself, and sighed.

âWell,â he said, âweâve cleared a good deal of ground.â

Sergeant Lake agreed.

âThe servants are out,â he said. âThey were together all through the critical periodâthose that sleep here. The ones that donât live in had gone home.â

Curry nodded. He was suffering from mental fatigue.

He had interviewed physiotherapists, members of the teaching staff, and what he called to himself, the âtwo young lagsâ whose turn it had been to dine with the family that night. All their stories dovetailed and checked. He could write them off. Their activities and habits were communal. There were no lonely souls among them. Which was useful for the purposes of alibis. Curry had kept Dr. Maverick who was, as far as he could judge, the chief person in charge of the Institute, to the end.

âBut weâll have him in now, Lake.â

So the young doctor bustled in, neat and spruce and rather inhuman-looking behind his pince-nez.

Maverick confirmed the statements of his staff, and agreed with Curryâs findings. There had been no slackness, no loophole in the College impregnability. Christian Gulbrandsenâs death could not be laid to the account of the âyoung patientsâ as Curry almost called themâso hypnotized had he become by the fervent medical atmosphere.

âBut patients is exactly what they are, Inspector,â said Dr. Maverick with a little smile.

It was a superior smile, and Inspector Curry would not have been human if he had not resented it just a little.

He said professionally:

âNow as regards your own movements, Dr. Maverick? Can you give me an account of them?â

âCertainly. I have jotted them down for you with the approximate times.â

Dr. Maverick had left the Great Hall at fifteen minutes after nine with Mr. Lacy and Mr. Baumgarten. They had gone to Mr. Baumgartenâs rooms where they had all three remained discussing certain courses of treatment until Miss Bellever had come hurrying in and asked Dr. Maverick to go to the Great Hall. That was at approximately half past nine. He had gone at once to the Hall and had found Edgar Lawson in a state of collapse.

Inspector Curry stirred a little.

âJust a minute, Dr. Maverick. Is this young man, in your opinion, definitely a mental case?â

Dr. Maverick smiled the superior smile again.

âWe are all mental cases, Inspector Curry.â

Tomfool answer, thought the Inspector. He knew quite well he wasnât a mental case, whatever Dr. Maverick might be!

âIs he responsible for his actions? He knows what he is doing, I suppose?â

âPerfectly.â

âThen when he fired that revolver at Mr. Serrocold it was definitely attempted murder.â

âNo, no, Inspector Curry. Nothing of that kind.â

âCome now, Dr. Maverick. Iâve seen the two bullet holes in the wall. They must have gone dangerously near to Mr. Serrocoldâs head.â

âPerhaps. But Lawson had no intention of killing Mr. Serrocold or even of wounding him. He is very fond of Mr. Serrocold.â

âIt seems a curious way of showing it.â

Dr. Maverick smiled again. Inspector Curry found that smile very trying.

âEverything one does is intentional. Every time you, Inspector, forget a name or a face it is because, unconsciously, you wish to forget it.â

Inspector Curry looked unbelieving.

âEvery time you make a slip of the tongue, that slip has a meaning. Edgar Lawson was standing a few feet away from Mr. Serrocold. He could easily have shot him dead. Instead, he missed him. Why did he miss him? Because he wanted to miss him. It is as simple as that. Mr. Serrocold was never in any dangerâand Mr. Serrocold himself was quite aware of that fact. He understood Edgarâs gesture for exactly what it wasâa gesture of defiance and resentment against a universe that has denied him the simple necessities of a childâs lifeâsecurity and affection.â

âI think Iâd like to see this young man.â

âCertainly if you wish. His outburst last night has had a cathartic effect. There is a great improvement today. Mr. Serrocold will be very pleased.â

Inspector Curry stared hard at him, but Dr. Maverick was serious as always.

Curry sighed.

âDo you have any arsenic?â he asked.

âArsenic?â The question took Dr. Maverick by surprise. It was clearly unexpected. âWhat a very curious question. Why arsenic?â

âJust answer the question, please.â

âNo, I have no arsenic of any kind in my possession.â

âBut you have some drugs?â

âOh certainly. Sedatives. Morphiaâthe barbiturates. The usual things.â

âDo you attend Mrs. Serrocold?â

âNo. Dr. Gunter of Market Kimble is the family physician. I hold a medical degree, of course, but I practice purely as a psychiatrist.â

âI see. Well, thank you very much, Dr. Maverick.â

As Dr. Maverick went out, Inspector Curry murmured to Lake that psychiatrists gave him a pain in the neck.

âWeâll get on to the family now,â he said. âIâll see young Walter Hudd first.â

Walter Huddâs attitude was cautious. He seemed to be studying the police officer with a slightly wary expression. But he was quite cooperative.

There was a good deal of defective wiring in Stonygatesâthe whole electric system was very old-fashioned. They wouldnât stand for a system like that in the States.

âIt was installed, I believe, by the late Mr. Gulbrandsen when electric light was a novelty,â said Inspector Curry with a faint smile.

âIâll say thatâs so! Sweet old feudal English and never been brought up to date.â

The fuse which controlled most of the lights in the Great Hall had gone, and he had gone out to the fuse box to see about it. In due course he got it repaired and came back.

âHow long were you away?â

âWhy, that I couldnât say for sure. The fuse box is in an awkward place. I had to get steps and a candle. I was maybe ten minutesâperhaps a quarter of an hour.â

âDid you hear a shot?â

âWhy no, I didnât hear anything like that. There are double doors through to the kitchen quarters, and one of them is lined with a kind of felt.â

âI see. And when you came back into the Hall, what did you see?â

âThey were all crowded round the door into Mr. Serrocoldâs study. Mrs. Strete said that Mr. Serrocold had been shotâbut actually that wasnât so. Mr. Serrocold was quite all right. The boob had missed him.â

âYou recognised the revolver?â

âSure I recognised it! It was mine.â

âWhen did you see it last?â

âTwo or three days ago.â

âWhere did you keep it?â

âIn the drawer in my room.â

âWho knew that you kept it there?â

âI wouldnât know who knows what in this house.â

âWhat do you mean by that, Mr. Hudd?â

âAw, theyâre all nuts!â

âWhen you came into the Hall, was everybody else there?â

âWhat dâyou mean by everybody?â

âThe same people who were there when you went to repair the fuse.â

âGina was there â¦ and the old lady with white hairâand Miss Bellever â¦ I didnât notice particularlyâbut I should say so.â

âMr. Gulbrandsen arrived quite unexpectedly the day before yesterday, did he not?â

âI guess so. It wasnât his usual routine, I understand.â

âDid anyone seem upset by his arrival?â

Walter Hudd took a moment or two before he answered, âWhy no, I wouldnât say so.â

Once more there was a touch of caution in his manner.

âHave you any idea why he came?â

âTheir precious Gulbrandsen Trust I suppose. The whole setup here is crazy.â

âYou have these âsetupsâ as you call it, in the States.â

âItâs one thing to endow a scheme, and another to give it the personal touch as they do here. I had enough of psychiatrists in the army. This place is stiff with them. Teaching young thugs to make raffia baskets and carve pipe racks. Kidsâ games! Itâs sissy!â

Inspector Curry did not comment on this criticism. Possibly he agreed with it.

He said, eyeing Walter carefully:

âSo you have no idea who could have killed Mr Gulbrandsen?â

âOne of the bright boys from the College practising his technique, Iâd say.â

âNo, Mr. Hudd, thatâs out. The College, in spite of its carefully produced atmosphere of freedom, is none the less a place of detention and is run on those lines. Nobody can run in and out of it after dark and commit murders.â

âI wouldnât put it past them! Wellâif you want to fix it nearer home, Iâd say your best bet was Alex Restarick.â

âWhy do you say that?â

âHe had the opportunity. He drove up through the grounds alone in his car.â

âAnd why should he kill Christian Gulbrandsen?â

Walter shrugged his shoulders.

âIâm a stranger. I donât know the family setups. Maybe the old boy had heard something about Alex and was going to spill the beans to the Serrocolds.â

âWith what result?â

âThey might cut off the dough. He can use doughâuses a good deal of it by all accounts.â

âYou meanâin theatrical enterprises?â

âThatâs what he calls it?â

âDo you suggest it was otherwise?â

Again Walter Hudd shrugged his shoulders.

âI wouldnât know,â he said.

Thirteen

1

Alex Restarick was voluble. He also gestured with his hands.

âI know, I know! Iâm the ideal suspect. I drive down here alone and on the way to the house, I get a creative fit. I canât expect you to understand. How should you?â

âI might,â Curry put in drily, but Alex Restarick swept on.

âItâs just one of those things! They come upon you thereâs no knowing when or how. An effectâan ideaâand everything else goes to the winds. Iâm producing Limehouse Nights next month. Suddenlyâlast nightâthe setup was wonderful â¦the perfect lighting. Fogâand the headlights cutting through the fog and being thrown backâand reflecting dimly a tall pile of buildings. Everything helped! The shotsâthe running footstepsâand the chug-chugging of the electric power engineâcould have been a launch on the Thames. And I thoughtâthatâs itâbut what am I going to use to get just these effects?âandââ

Inspector Curry broke in.

âYou heard shots? Where?â

âOut of the fog, Inspector.â Alex waved his hands in the airâplump, well-kept hands. âOut of the fog. That was the wonderful part about it.â

âIt didnât occur to you that anything was wrong?â

âWrong? Why should it?â

âAre shots such a usual occurrence?â

âAh, I knew you wouldnât understand! The shots fitted into the scene I was creating. I wanted shots. Dangerâopiumâcrazy business. What did I care what they were really? Backfires from a lorry on the road? A poacher after rabbits?â

âThey snare rabbits mostly round here.â

Alex swept on:

âA child letting off fireworks? I didnât even think about them asâshots. I was in Limehouseâor rather at the back of the stallsâlooking at Limehouse.â

âHow many shots?â

âI donât know,â said Alex petulantly. âTwo or three. Two close together, I do remember that.â

Inspector Curry nodded.

âAnd the sound of running footsteps, I think you said? Where were they?â

âThey came to me out of the fog. Somewhere near the house.â

Inspector Curry said gently:

âThat would suggest that the murderer of Christian Gulbrandsen came from outside.â

âOf course. Why not? You donât really suggest, do you, that he came from inside the house?â

Still very gently, Inspector Curry said:

âWe have to think of everything.â

âI suppose so,â said Alex Restarick generously. âWhat a soul-destroying job yours must be, Inspector! The details, the times and places, the pettifogging pettiness of it. And in the endâwhat good is it all? Does it bring the wretched Christian Gulbrandsen back to life?â

âThereâs quite a satisfaction in getting your man, Mr. Restarick.â

âThe Wild Western touch!â

âDid you know Mr. Gulbrandsen well?â

âNot well enough to murder him, Inspector. I had met him, off and on, since I lived here as a boy. He made brief appearances from time to time. One of our captains of industry. The type does not interest me. He has quite a collection, I believe, of Thorwaldsenâs statuaryââ Alex shuddered. âThat speaks for itself, does it not? My God, these rich men!â

Inspector Curry eyed him meditatively. Then he said, âDo you take any interest in poisons, Mr. Restarick?â

âIn poisons? My dear man, he was surely not poisoned first and shot afterwards. That would be too madly detective story.â

âHe was not poisoned. But you havenât answered my question.â

âPoison has a certain appeal â¦ It has not the crudeness of the revolver bullet or the blunt weapon. I have no special knowledge of the subject, if that is what you mean.â

âHave you ever had arsenic in your possession?â

âIn sandwichesâafter the show? The idea has its allurements. You donât know Rose Glidon? These actresses who think they have a name! No, I have never thought of arsenic. One extracts it from weed killer or flypapers, I believe.â

âHow often are you down here, Mr. Restarick?â

âIt varies, Inspector. Sometimes not for several weeks. But I try to get down for weekends whenever I can. I always regard Stonygates as my true home.â

âMrs. Serrocold has encouraged you to do so?â

âWhat I owe Mrs. Serrocold can never be repaid. Sympathy, understanding, affectionââ

âAnd quite a lot of solid cash as well, I believe?â

Alex looked faintly disgusted.

âShe treats me as a son, and she has belief in my work.â

âHas she ever spoken to you about her will?â

âCertainly. But may I ask what is the point of all these questions, Inspector? There is nothing wrong with Mrs. Serrocold.â

âThere had better not be,â said Inspector Curry grimly.

âNow what can you possibly mean by that?â

âIf you donât know, so much the better,â said Inspector Curry. âAnd if you doâIâm warning you.â

When Alex had gone Sergeant Lake said:

âPretty bogus, would you say?â

Curry shook his head.

âDifficult to say. He may have genuine creative talent. He may just like living soft and talking big. One doesnât know. Heard running footsteps, did he? Iâd be prepared to bet he made that up.â

âFor any particular reason?â

âDefinitely for a particular reason. We havenât come to it yet, but we will.â

âAfter all, sir, one of those smart lads may have got out of the College buildings unbeknownst. Probably a few cat burglars amongst them, and if soââ

âThatâs what weâre meant to think. Very convenient. But if thatâs so, Lake, Iâll eat my new soft hat.â

2

âI was at the piano,â said Stephen Restarick. âIâd been strumming softly when the row blew up. Between Lewis and Edgar.â

âWhat did you think of it?â

âWellâto tell the truth I didnât really take it seriously. The poor beggar has these fits of venom. Heâs not really loopy, you know. All this nonsense is a kind of blowing off steam. The truth is, we all get under his skinâparticularly Gina, of course.â

âGina? You mean Mrs. Hudd? Why does she get under his skin?â

âBecause sheâs a womanâand a beautiful woman, and because she thinks heâs funny! Sheâs half Italian, you know, and the Italians have that unconscious vein of cruelty. Theyâve no compassion for anyone whoâs old or ugly, or peculiar in any way. They point with their fingers and jeer. Thatâs what Gina did, metaphorically speaking. Sheâd no use for young Edgar. He was ridiculous, pompous, and, at bottom, fundamentally unsure of himself. He wanted to impress, and he only succeeded in looking silly. It wouldnât mean anything to her that the poor fellow suffered a lot.â

âAre you suggesting that Edgar Lawson is in love with Mrs. Hudd?â asked Inspector Curry.

Stephen replied cheerfully:

âOh yes. As a matter of fact we all are, more or less! She likes us that way.â

âDoes her husband like it?â

âHe takes a dim view. He suffers, too, poor fellow. The thing canât last, you know. Their marriage, I mean. It will break up before long. It was just one of these war affairs.â

âThis is all very interesting,â said the Inspector. âBut weâre getting away from our subject, which is the murder of Christian Gulbrandsen.â

âQuite,â said Stephen. âBut I canât tell you anything about it. I sat at the piano, and I didnât leave the piano until dear Jolly came in with some rusty old keys and tried to fit one to the lock of the study door.â

âYou stayed at the piano. Did you continue to play the piano?â

âA gentle obbligato to the life and death struggle in Lewisâ study? No, I stopped playing when the tempo rose. Not that I had any doubts as to the outcome. Lewis has what I can only describe as a dynamic eye. He could easily break up Edgar just by looking at him.â

âYet Edgar Lawson fired two shots at him.â

Stephen shook his head gently.

âJust putting on an act, that was. Enjoying himself. My dear mother used to do it. She died or ran away with someone when I was four, but I remember her blazing off with a pistol if anything upset her. She did it at a nightclub once. Made a pattern on the wall. She was an excellent shot. Quite a bit of trouble she caused. She was a Russian dancer, you know.â

âIndeed. Can you tell me, Mr. Restarick, who left the Hall yesterday evening whilst you were thereâduring the relevant time?â

âWallyâto fix the lights. Juliet Bellever to find a key to fit the study door. Nobody else, as far as I know.â

âWould you have noticed if somebody did?â

Stephen considered.

âProbably not. That is, if they just tiptoed out and back again. It was so dark in the Hallâand there was the fight to which we were all listening avidly.â

âIs there anyone you are sure was there the whole time?â

âMrs. Serrocoldâyes, and Gina. Iâd swear to them.â

âThank you, Mr. Restarick.â

Stephen went towards the door. Then he hesitated and came back.

âWhatâs all this,â he said, âabout arsenic?â

âWho mentioned arsenic to you?â

âMy brother.â

âAhâyes.â

Stephen said:

âHas somebody been giving Mrs. Serrocold arsenic?â

âWhy should you mention Mrs. Serrocold?â

âIâve read of the symptoms of arsenic poisoning. Peripheral neuritis, isnât it? It would square more or less with what sheâs been suffering from lately. And then Lewis snatching away her tonic last night. Is that whatâs been going on here?â

âThe matter is under investigation,â said Inspector Curry in his most official manner.

âDoes she know about it herself?â

âMr. Serrocold was particularly anxious that she should not beâalarmed.â

âAlarmed isnât the right word, Inspector. Mrs. Serrocold is never alarmed â¦ Is that what lies behind Christian Gulbrandsenâs death? Did he find out she was being poisonedâbut how could he find out? Anyway, the whole thing seems most improbable. It doesnât make sense.â

âIt surprises you very much, does it, Mr. Restarick?â

âYes, indeed. When Alex spoke to me, I could hardly believe it.â

âWho, in your opinion, would be likely to administer arsenic to Mrs. Serrocold?â

For a moment, a grin appeared upon Stephen Restarickâs handsome face.

âNot the usual person. You can wash out the husband. Lewis Serrocoldâs got nothing to gain. And also he worships that woman. He canât bear her to have an ache in her little finger.â

âWho then? Have you any idea?â

âOh yes. Iâd say it was a certainty.â

âExplain please.â

Stephen shook his head.

âItâs a certainty psychologically speaking. Not in any other way. No evidence of any kind. And you probably wouldnât agree.â

Stephen Restarick went out nonchalantly, and Inspector Curry drew cats on the sheet of paper in front of him.

He was thinking three things. A, that Stephen Restarick thought a good deal of himself, B, that Stephen Restarick and his brother presented a united front; and C, that Stephen Restarick was a handsome man where Walter Hudd was a plain one.

He wondered about two other thingsâwhat Stephen meant by âpsychologically speakingâ and whether Stephen could possibly have seen Gina from his seat at the piano. He rather thought not.

3

Into the Gothic gloom of the library, Gina brought an exotic glow. Even Inspector Curry blinked a little at the radiant young woman who sat down, leaned forward over the table and said expectantly, âWell?â

Inspector Curry, observing her scarlet shirt and dark green slacks said drily:

âI see youâre not wearing mourning, Mrs. Hudd?â

âI havenât got any,â said Gina. âI know everyone is supposed to have a little black number and wear it with pearls. But I donât. I hate black. I think itâs hideous, and only receptionists and housekeepers and people like that ought to wear it. Anyway Christian Gulbrandsen wasnât really a relation. Heâs my grandmotherâs stepson.â

âAnd I suppose you didnât know him very well?â

Gina shook her head.

âHe came here three or four times when I was a child, but then in the war I went to America, and I only came back here to live about six months ago.â

âYou have definitely come back here to live? Youâre not just on a visit?â

âI havenât really thought,â said Gina.

âYou were in the Great Hall last night, when Mr. Gulbrandsen went to his room?â

âYes. He said good night and went away. Grandam asked if he had everything he wanted and he said yesâthat Jolly had fixed him up fine. Not those words, but that kind of thing. He said he had letters to write.â

âAnd then?â

Gina described the scene between Lewis and Edgar Lawson. It was the same story as Inspector Curry had by now heard many times, but it took an added colour, a new gusto, under Ginaâs handling. It became drama.

âIt was Wallyâs revolver,â she said. âFancy Edgarâs having the guts to go and pinch it out of his room. Iâd never have believed heâd have the guts.â

âWere you alarmed when they went into the study and Edgar Lawson locked the door?â

âOh no,â said Gina, opening her enormous brown eyes very wide. âI loved it. It was so ham, you know, and so madly theatrical. Everything Edgar does is always ridiculous. One canât take him seriously for a moment.â

âHe did fire the revolver, though?â

âYes. We all thought then that heâd shot Lewis after all.â

âAnd did you enjoy that?â Inspector Curry could not refrain from asking.

âOh no, I was terrified, then. Everyone was, except Grandam. She never turned a hair.â

âThat seems rather remarkable.â

âNot really. Sheâs that kind of person. Not quite in this world. Sheâs the sort of person who never believes anything bad can happen. Sheâs sweet.â

âDuring all this scene, who was in the Hall?â

âOh, we were all there. Except Uncle Christian, of course.â

âNot all, Mrs. Hudd. People went in and out.â

âDid they?â asked Gina vaguely.

âYour husband, for instance, went out to fix the lights.â

âYes. Wallyâs great at fixing things.â

âDuring his absence, a shot was heard, I understand. A shot that you all thought came from the park?â

âI donât remember that â¦ Oh yes, it was just after the lights had come on again and Wally had come back.â

âDid anyone else leave the Hall?â

âI donât think so. I donât remember.â

âWhere were you sitting, Mrs. Hudd?â

âOver by the window.â

âNear the door to the library?â

âYes.â

âDid you yourself leave the Hall at all?â

âLeave? With all the excitement? Of course not.â

Gina sounded scandalised by the idea.

âWhere were the others sitting?â

âMostly round the fireplace, I think. Aunt Mildred was knitting and so was Aunt JaneâMiss Marple, I meanâGrandam was just sitting.â

âAnd Mr. Stephen Restarick?â

âStephen? He was playing the piano to begin with. I donât know where he went later.â

âAnd Miss Bellever?â

âFussing about, as usual. She practically never sits down. She was looking for keys or something.â

She said suddenly:

âWhatâs all this about Grandamâs tonic? Did the chemist make a mistake in making it up or something?â

âWhy should you think that?â

âBecause the bottleâs disappeared and Jollyâs been fussing round madly looking for it, in no end of a stew. Alex told her the police had taken it away. Did you?â

Instead of replying to the question, Inspector Curry said:

âMiss Bellever was upset, you say?â

âOh! Jolly always fusses,â said Gina carelessly. âShe likes fussing. Sometimes I wonder how Grandam can stand it.â

âJust one last question, Mrs. Hudd. Youâve no ideas yourself as to who killed Christian Gulbrandsen and why?â

âOne of the queers did it, I should think. The thug ones are really quite sensible. I mean they only cosh people so as to rob a till or get money or jewelryânot just for fun. But one of the queersâyou know, what they call mentally maladjustedâmight do it for fun, donât you think? Because I canât see what other reason there could be for killing Uncle Christian except fun, do you? At least I donât mean fun, exactlyâbutââ

âYou canât think of a motive?â

âYes, thatâs what I mean,â said Gina gratefully. âHe wasnât robbed or anything, was he?â

âBut you know, Mrs. Hudd, the College buildings were locked and barred. Nobody could get out from there without a pass.â

âDonât you believe it,â Gina laughed merrily. âThose boys could get out from anywhere! Theyâve taught me a lot of tricks.â

âSheâs a lively one,â said Lake when Gina had departed. âFirst time Iâve seen her close up. Lovely figure, hasnât she. Sort of a foreign figure, if you know what I mean.â

Inspector Curry threw him a cold glance. Sergeant Lake said hastily that she was a merry one. âSeems to have enjoyed it all, as you might say.â

âWhether Stephen Restarick is right or not about her marriage breaking up, I notice that she went out of her way to mention that Walter Hudd was back in the Great Hall, before that shot was heard.â

âWhich, according to everyone else, isnât so?â

âExactly.â

âShe didnât mention Miss Bellever leaving the Hall to look for keys, either.â

âNo,â said the Inspector thoughtfully, âshe didnâtâ¦.â

Fourteen

1

Mrs. Strete fitted into the library very much better than Gina Hudd had done. There was nothing exotic about Mrs. Strete. She wore black with onyx beads, and she wore a hairnet over carefully arranged grey hair.

She looked, Inspector Curry reflected, exactly as the relict of a canon of the Established Church should lookâwhich was almost odd, because so few people ever did look like what they really were.

Even the tight line of her lips had an ascetic ecclesiastical flavour. She expressed Christian Endurance, and possibly Christian Fortitude. But not, Curry thought, Christian Charity.

Moreover it was clear that Mrs. Strete was offended.

âI should have thought that you could have given me some idea of when you would want me, Inspector. I have been forced to sit around waiting all the morning.â

It was, Curry judged, her sense of importance that was hurt. He hastened to pour oil on the troubled waters.

âIâm very sorry, Mrs. Strete. Perhaps you donât quite know how we set about these things. We start, you know, with the less important evidenceâget it out of the way, so to speak. Itâs valuable to keep to the last a person on whose judgement we can relyâa good observerâby whom we can check what has been told us up to date.â

Mrs. Strete softened visibly.

âOh, I see. I hadnât quite realisedâ¦.â

âNow youâre a woman of mature judgement, Mrs. Strete. A woman of the world. And then this is your homeâyouâre the daughter of the house, and you can tell me all about the people who are in it.â

âI can certainly do that,â said Mildred Strete.

âSo you see that when we come to the question of who killed Christian Gulbrandsen, you can help us a great deal.â

âBut is there any question? Isnât it perfectly obvious who killed my brother?â

Inspector Curry leant back in his chair. His hand stroked his small neat moustache.

âWellâwe have to be careful,â he said. âYou think itâs obvious?â

âOf course. That dreadful American husband of poor Ginaâs. Heâs the only stranger here. We know absolutely nothing about him. Heâs probably one of these dreadful American gangsters.â

âBut that wouldnât quite account for his killing Christian Gulbrandsen, would it? Why should he?â

âBecause Christian had found out something about him. Thatâs what he came here for so soon after his last visit.â

âAre you sure of that, Mrs. Strete?â

âAgain it seems to me quite obvious. He let it be thought his visit was in connection with the Trustâbut thatâs nonsense. He was here for that only a month ago. And nothing of importance has arisen since. So he must have come on some private business. He saw Walter on his last visit, and he may have recognised himâor perhaps made inquiries about him in the Statesânaturally he has agents all over the worldâand found out something really damaging. Gina is a very silly girl. She always has been. It is just like her to marry a man she knows nothing aboutâsheâs always been man mad! A man wanted by the police, perhaps, or a man whoâs already married, or some bad character in the underworld. But my brother Christian wasnât an easy man to deceive. He came here, Iâm sure, to settle the whole business. Expose Walter and show him up for what he is. And so, naturally, Walter shot him.â

Inspector Curry, adding some out-sized whiskers to one of the cats on his blotting pad, said:

âYeâes.â

âDonât you agree with me that thatâs what must have happened?â

âIt could beâyes,â admitted the Inspector.

âWhat other solution could there be? Christian had no enemies. What I canât understand is why you havenât already arrested Walter?â

âWell, you see, Mrs. Strete, we have to have evidence.â

âYou could probably get that easily enough. If you wired to Americaââ

âOh yes, we shall check up on Mr. Walter Hudd. You can be sure of that. But until we can prove motive, thereâs not very much to go upon. Thereâs opportunity, of courseââ

âHe went out just after Christian, pretending the lights had fusedââ

âThey did fuse.â

âHe could easily arrange that.â

âTrue.â

âThat gave him his excuse. He followed Christian to his room, shot him and then repaired the fuse and came back to the Hall.â

âHis wife says he came back before you heard the shot from outside.â

âNot a bit of it! Gina would say anything. The Italians are never truthful. And sheâs a Roman Catholic, of course.â

Inspector Curry sidestepped the ecclesiastical angle.

âYou think his wife was in it with him?â

Mildred Strete hesitated for a moment.

âNoâno, I donât think that.â She seemed rather disappointed not to think so. She went on, âThat must have been partly the motiveâto prevent Ginaâs learning the truth about him. After all, Gina is his bread and butter.â

âAnd a very beautiful girl.â

âOh yes. Iâve always said Gina is good-looking. A very common type in Italy, of course. But if you ask me, itâs money that Walter Hudd is after. Thatâs why he came over here and has settled down living on the Serrocolds.â

âMrs. Hudd is very well off, I understand?â

âNot at present. My father settled the same sum on Ginaâs mother, as he did on me. But, of course, she took her husbandâs nationality (I believe the law is altered now) and what with the war and his being a Fascist, Gina has very little of her own. My mother spoils her, and her American aunt, Mrs. Van Rydock, spent fabulous sums on her and bought her everything she wanted during the war years. Nevertheless, from Walterâs point of view, he canât lay his hands on much until my motherâs death when a very large fortune will come to Gina.â

âAnd to you, Mrs. Strete.â

A faint colour came into Mildred Streteâs cheek.

âAnd to me, as you say. My husband and myself always lived quietly. He spent very little money except on booksâhe was a great scholar. My own money has almost doubled itself. It is more than enough for my simple needs. Still one can always use money for benefit of others. Any money that comes to me, I shall regard as a sacred trust.â

âBut it wonât be in a Trust, will it?â said Curry, wilfully misunderstanding. âIt will come to you, absolutely.â

âOh yesâin that sense. Yes, it will be mine absolutely.â

Something in the ring of that last word made Inspector Curry raise his head sharply. Mrs. Strete was not looking at him. Her eyes were shining, and her long thin mouth was curved in a triumphant smile.

Inspector Curry said in a considering voice:

âSo in your viewâand, of course, youâve had ample opportunities of judgingâMr. Walter Hudd wants the money that will come to his wife when Mrs. Serrocold dies. By the way, sheâs not very strong is she, Mrs. Strete?â

âMy mother has always been delicate.â

âQuite so. But delicate people often live as long or longer than people who have robust health.â

âYes, I suppose they do.â

âYou havenât noticed your motherâs health failing just lately?â

âShe suffers from rheumatism. But then one must have something as one grows older. Iâve no sympathy with people who make a fuss over inevitable aches and pains.â

âDoes Mrs. Serrocold make a fuss?â

Mildred Strete was silent for a moment. She said at last:

âShe does not make a fuss herself, but she is used to being made a fuss of. My stepfather is far too solicitous. And as for Miss Bellever, she makes herself positively ridiculous. In any case, Miss Bellever has had a very bad influence in this house. She came here many years ago, and her devotion to my mother, though admirable in itself, has really become somewhat of an infliction. She literally tyrannises over my mother. She runs the whole house and takes far too much upon herself. I think it annoys Lewis sometimes. I should never be surprised if he told her to go. She has no tactâno tact whatever, and it is trying for a man to find his wife completely dominated by a bossy woman.â

Inspector Curry nodded his head gently.

âI see â¦ I seeâ¦.â

He watched her speculatively.

âThereâs one thing I donât quite get, Mrs. Strete. The position of the two Restarick brothers?â

âMore foolish sentiment. Their father married my poor mother for her money. Two years afterwards, he ran away with a Yugoslavian singer of the lowest morals. He was a very unworthy person. My mother was softhearted enough to be sorry for these two boys. Since it was out of the question for them to spend their holidays with a woman of such notorious morals, she more or less adopted them. They have been hangers-on here ever since. Oh yes, weâve plenty of spongers in this house, I can tell you that.â

âAlex Restarick had an opportunity of killing Christian Gulbrandsen. He was in his car aloneâdriving from the lodge to the houseâwhat about Stephen?â

âStephen was in the Hall with us. I donât approve of Alex Restarickâhe is getting to look very coarse and I imagine he leads an irregular lifeâbut I donât really see him as a murderer. Besides, why should he kill my brother?â

âThatâs what we always come back to, isnât it?â said Inspector Curry genially. âWhat did Christian Gulbrandsen knowâabout someoneâthat made it necessary for that someone to kill him?â

âExactly,â said Mrs. Strete triumphantly. âIt must be Walter Hudd.â

âUnless itâs someone nearer home.â

Mildred said sharply:

âWhat did you mean by that?â

Inspector Curry said slowly:

âMr. Gulbrandsen seemed very concerned about Mrs. Serrocoldâs health whilst he was here.â

Mrs. Strete frowned.

âMen always fuss over Mother because she looks fragile. I think she likes them to! Or else Christian had been listening to Juliet Bellever.â

âYouâre not worried about your motherâs health yourself, Mrs. Strete?â

âNo. I hope Iâm sensible. Naturally Mother is not youngââ

âAnd death comes to all of us,â said Inspector Curry. âBut not ahead of its appointed time. Thatâs what we have to prevent.â

He spoke meaningly. Mildred Strete flared into sudden animation.

âOh itâs wickedâwicked. No one else here really seems to care. Why should they? Iâm the only person who was a blood relation to Christian. To Mother, he was only a grown-up stepson. To Gina, he isnât really any relation at all. But he was my own brother.â

âHalf brother,â suggested Inspector Curry.

âHalf brother, yes. But we were both Gulbrandsens in spite of the difference in age.â

Curry said gently, âYesâyes, I see your pointâ¦.â

Tears in her eyes, Mildred Strete marched out. Curry looked at Lake.

âSo sheâs quite sure itâs Walter Hudd,â he said. âWonât entertain for a moment the idea of its being anybody else.â

âAnd she may be right.â

âShe certainly may. Wally fits. Opportunityâand motive. Because if he wants money quick, his wifeâs grandmother would have to die. So Wally tampers with her tonic, and Christian Gulbrandsen sees him do itâor hears about it in some way. Yes, it fits very nicely.â

He paused and said:

âBy the way, Mildred Strete likes money â¦ She maynât spend it, but she likes it. Iâm not sure why â¦ She may be a miserâwith a miserâs passion. Or she may like the power that money gives. Money for benevolence, perhaps? Sheâs a Gulbrandsen. She may want to emulate Father.â

âComplex, isnât it?â said Sergeant Lake, and scratched his head.

Inspector Curry said:

âWeâd better see this screwy young man, Lawson, and after that weâll go to the Great Hall and work out who was whereâand if and whyâand when â¦ weâve heard one or two rather interesting things this morning.â

2

It was very difficult, Inspector Curry thought, to get a true estimate of someone from what other people said.

Edgar Lawson had been described by a good many different people that morning, but looking at him now, Curryâs own impressions were almost ludicrously different.

Edgar did not impress him as âqueerâ or âdangerousâ or âarrogantâ or even as âabnormal.â He seemed a very ordinary young man, very much cast down and in a state of humility approaching that of Uriah Heepâs. He looked young and slightly common and rather pathetic.

He was only too anxious to talk and to apologize.

âI know Iâve done very wrong. I donât know what came over meâreally I donât. Making that scene and kicking up such a row. And actually shooting off a pistol. At Mr. Serrocold, too, whoâs been so good to me and so patient, too.â

He twisted his hands nervously. They were rather pathetic hands, with bony wrists.

âIf Iâve got to be had up for it, Iâll come with you at once. I deserve it. Iâll plead guilty.â

âNo charge has been made against you,â said Inspector Curry crisply. âSo weâve no evidence on which to act. According to Mr. Serrocold, letting off the pistol was an accident.â

âThatâs because heâs so good. There never was a man as good as Mr. Serrocold! Heâs done everything for me. And I go and repay him by acting like this.â

âWhat made you act as you did?â

Edgar looked embarrassed.

âI made a fool of myself.â

Inspector Curry said drily:

âSo it seems. You told Mr. Serrocold in the presence of witnesses that you had discovered that he was your father. Was that true?â

âNo, it wasnât.â

âWhat put that idea into your head? Did someone suggest it to you?â

âWell, itâs a bit hard to explain.â

Inspector Curry looked at him thoughtfully, then said in a kindly voice:

âSuppose you try. We donât want to make things hard for you.â

âWell, you see, I had rather a hard time of it as a kid. The other boys jeered at me. Because I hadnât got a father. Said I was a little bastardâwhich I was, of course. Mum was usually drunk and she had men coming in all the time. My father was a foreign seaman, I believe. The house was always filthy and it was all pretty fair hell. And then I got to thinking suppose my Dad had been not just some foreign sailor, but someone importantâand I used to make up a thing or two. Kid stuff firstâchanged at birthâreally the rightful heirâthat sort of thing. And then I went to a new school and I tried it on once or twice hinting things. Said my father was really an Admiral in the navy. I got to believing it myself. I didnât feel so bad then.â

He paused and then went on.

âAnd thenâlaterâI thought up some other ideas. I used to stay at hotels and told a lot of silly stories about being a fighter pilotâor about being in military intelligence. I got all sort of mixed up. I didnât seem able to stop telling lies.

âOnly I didnât really try to get money by it. It was just swank so as to make people think a bit more of me. I didnât want to be dishonest. Mr. Serrocold will tell youâand Dr. Maverickâtheyâve got all the stuff about it.â

Inspector Curry nodded. He had already studied Edgarâs case history and his police record.

âMr. Serrocold got me clear in the end and brought me down here. He said he needed a secretary to help himâand I did help him! I really did. Only the others laughed at me. They were always laughing at me.â

âWhat others? Mrs. Serrocold?â

âNo, not Mrs. Serrocold. Sheâs a ladyâsheâs always gentle and kind. No, but Gina treated me like dirt. And Stephen Restarick. And Mrs. Strete looked down on me for not being a gentleman. So did Miss Belleverâand whatâs she? Sheâs a paid companion, isnât she?â

Curry noted the signs of rising excitement.

âSo you didnât find them very sympathetic?â

Edgar said passionately:

âIt was because of me being a bastard. If Iâd had a proper father they wouldnât have gone on like that.â

âSo you appropriated a couple of famous fathers?â

Edgar blushed.

âI always seem to get to telling lies,â he muttered.

âAnd finally, you said Mr. Serrocold was your father. Why?â

âBecause that would stop them once for all, wouldnât it? If he was my father they couldnât do anything to me!â

âYes. But you accused him of being your enemyâof persecuting you.â

âI knowââ He rubbed his forehead. âI got things all wrong. There are times when I donâtâwhen I donât get things quite right. I get muddled.â

âAnd you took the revolver from Mr. Walter Huddâs room?â

Edgar looked puzzled.

âDid I? Is that where I got it?â

âDonât you remember where you got it?â

Edgar said:

âI meant to threaten Mr. Serrocold with it. I meant to frighten him. It was kid stuff all over again.â

Inspector Curry said patiently, âHow did you get the revolver?â

âYou just saidâout of Walterâs room.â

âYou remember doing that now?â

âI must have got it from his room. I couldnât have got hold of it any other way, could I?â

âI donât know,â said Inspector Curry. âSomebodyâmight have given it to you?â

Edgar was silentâhis face a blank.

âIs that how it happened?â

Edgar said passionately:

âI donât remember. I was so worked up. I walked about the garden in a red mist of rage. I thought people were spying on me, watching me, trying to hound me down. Even that nice white-haired old lady â¦ I canât understand it all now. I feel I must have been mad. I donât remember where I was and what I was doing half of the time!â

âSurely you remember who told you Mr. Serrocold was your father?â

Edgar gave the same blank stare.

âNobody told me,â he said sullenly. âIt just came to me.â

Inspector Curry sighed. He was not satisfied. But he judged he could make no further progress at present.

âWell, watch your step in future,â he said.

âYes, sir. Yes, indeed, I will.â

As Edgar went Inspector Curry slowly shook his head.

âThese pathological cases are the devil!â

âDâyou think heâs mad, sir?â

âMuch less mad than Iâd imagined. Weak-headed, boastful, a liarâyet a certain pleasant simplicity about him. Highly suggestible I should imagineâ¦.â

âYou think someone did suggest things to him?â

âOh yes, old Miss Marple was right there. Sheâs a shrewd old bird. But I wish I knew who it was. He wonât tell. If we only knew that â¦ Come on, Lake, letâs have a thorough reconstruction of the scene in the Hall.â

3

âThat fixes it pretty well.â

Inspector Curry was sitting at the piano. Sergeant Lake was in a chair by the window overlooking the lake.

Curry went on.

âIf Iâm half-turned on the piano stool, watching the study door, I canât see you.â

Sergeant Lake rose softly and edged quietly through the door to the library.

âAll this side of the room was dark. The only lights that were on were the ones beside the study door. No, Lake, I didnât see you go. Once in the library, you could go out through the other door to the corridorâtwo minutes to run along to the Oak Suite, shoot Gulbrandsen and come back through the library to your chair by the window.

âThe women by the fire have their backs to you. Mrs. Serrocold was sitting hereâon the right of the fireplace, near the study door. Everyone agrees she didnât move and sheâs the only one whoâs in the line of direct vision. Miss Marple was here. She was looking past Mrs. Serrocold to the study. Mrs. Strete was on the left of the fireplaceâclose to the door out of the Hall to the lobby, and itâs a very dark corner. She could have gone and come back. Yes, itâs possible.â

Curry grinned suddenly.

âAnd I could go.â He slipped off the music stool and sidled along the wall and out through the door. âThe only person who might notice I wasnât still at the piano would be Gina Hudd. And you remember what Gina said, âStephen was at the piano to begin with. I donât know where he was later.ââ

âSo you think itâs Stephen?â

âI donât know who it is,â said Curry. âIt wasnât Edgar Lawson or Lewis Serrocold or Mrs. Serrocold or Miss Jane Marple. But for the restââ He sighed. âItâs probably the American. Those fused lights were a bit too convenientâa coincidence. And yet, you know, I rather like the chap. Still, that isnât evidence.â

He peered thoughtfully at some music on the side of the piano. âHindemith? Whoâs he? Never heard of him. Shostakovitch! What names these people have.â He got up and then looked down at the old-fashioned music stool. He lifted the top of it.

âHereâs the old-fashioned stuff. Handelâs Largo. Czernyâs Exercises. Dates back to old Gulbrandsen, most of this. âI know a lovely GardenââVicarâs wife used to sing that when I was a boyââ

He stoppedâthe yellow pages of the song in his hand. Beneath them, reposing on Chopinâs Preludes, was a small automatic pistol.

âStephen Restarick,â exclaimed Sergeant Lake joyfully.

âNow donât jump to conclusions,â Inspector Curry warned him. âTen to one thatâs what weâre meant to think.â

Fifteen

1

Miss Marple climbed the stairs and tapped on the door of Mrs. Serrocoldâs bedroom.

âMay I come in, Carrie Louise?â

âOf course, Jane dear.â

Carrie Louise was sitting in front of the dressing table, brushing her silvery hair. She turned her head over her shoulder.

âIs it the police? Iâll be ready in a few minutes.â

âAre you all right?â

âYes, of course. Jolly insisted on my having my breakfast in bed. And Gina came into the room with it on tiptoe as though I might be at deathâs door! I donât think people realise that tragedies like Christianâs death are much less shock to someone old. Because one knows by then how anything may happenâand how little anything really matters that happens in this world.â

âYeâes,â said Miss Marple dubiously.

âDonât you feel the same, Jane? I should have thought you would.â

Miss Marple said slowly:

âChristian was murdered.â

âYes â¦ I see what you mean. You think that does matter?â

âDonât you?â

âNot to Christian,â said Carrie Louise simply. âIt matters, of course, to whoever murdered him.â

âHave you any idea who murdered him?â

Mrs. Serrocold shook her head in a bewildered fashion.

âNo, Iâve absolutely no idea. I canât even think of a reason. It must have been something to do with his being here beforeâjust over a month ago. Because otherwise I donât think he would have come here suddenly again for no particular reason. Whatever it was must have started off then. Iâve thought and Iâve thought, but I canât remember anything unusual.â

âWho was here in the house?â

âOh! the same people who are here nowâyes, Alex was down from London about then. Andâoh yes, Ruth was here.â

âRuth?â

âHer usual flying visit.â

âRuth,â said Miss Marple again. Her mind was active. Christian Gulbrandsen and Ruth? Ruth had come away worried and apprehensive, but had not known why. Something was wrong was all that Ruth could say. Christian Gulbrandsen had also been worried and apprehensive, but Christian Gulbrandsen had known or suspected something that Ruth did not. He had known or suspected that someone was trying to poison Carrie Louise. How had Christian Gulbrandsen come to entertain those suspicions? What had he seen or heard? Was it something that Ruth also had seen or heard but which she had failed to appreciate at its rightful significance? Miss Marple wished that she knew what it could possibly have been. Her own vague hunch that it (whatever it was) had to do with Edgar Lawson seemed unlikely since Ruth had not even mentioned him.

She sighed.

âYouâre all keeping something from me, arenât you?â asked Carrie Louise.

Miss Marple jumped a little as the quiet voice spoke.

âWhy do you say that?â

âBecause you are. Not Jolly. But everyone else. Even Lewis. He came in while I was having my breakfast, and he acted very oddly. He drank some of my coffee and even had a bit of toast and marmalade. Thatâs so unlike him, because he always has tea, and he doesnât like marmalade, so he must have been thinking of something elseâand I suppose he must have forgotten to have his own breakfast. He does forget things like meals, and he looked so concerned and preoccupied.â

âMurderââ began Miss Marple.

Carrie Louise said quickly:

âOh, I know. Itâs a terrible thing. Iâve never been mixed up in it before. You have, havenât you, Jane?â

âWellâyesâactually I have,â Miss Marple admitted.

âSo Ruth told me.â

âDid she tell you that last time she was down here?â asked Miss Marple curiously.

âNo, I donât think it was then. I canât really remember.â

Carrie Louise spoke vaguely, almost absentmindedly.

âWhat are you thinking about, Carrie Louise?â

Mrs. Serrocold smiled and seemed to come back from a long way away.

âI was thinking of Gina,â she said. âAnd of what you said about Stephen Restarick. Ginaâs a dear girl, you know, and she does really love Wally. Iâm sure she does.â

Miss Marple said nothing.

âGirls like Gina like to kick up their heels a bit.â Mrs. Serrocold spoke in an almost pleading voice. âTheyâre young and they like to feel their power. Itâs natural, really. I know Wally Hudd isnât the sort of man we imagined Gina marrying. Normally sheâd never have met him. But she did meet him, and fell in love with himâand presumably she knows her own business best.â

âProbably she does,â said Miss Marple.

âBut itâs so very important that Gina should be happy.â

Miss Marple looked curiously at her friend.

âItâs important, I suppose, that everyone should be happy.â

âOh yes. But Ginaâs a very special case. When we took her motherâwhen we took Pippaâwe felt that it was an experiment that had simply got to succeed. You see, Pippaâs motherââ

Carrie Louise paused.

Miss Marple said, âWho was Pippaâs mother?â

Carrie Louise said, âEric and I agreed that we would never tell anybody that. She never knew herself.â

âIâd like to know,â said Miss Marple.

Mrs. Serrocold looked at her doubtfully.

âIt isnât just curiosity,â said Miss Marple. âI reallyâwellâneed to know. I can hold my tongue, you know.â

âYou could always keep a secret, Jane,â said Carrie Louise with a reminiscent smile. âDr. Galbraithâheâs the Bishop of Cromer nowâhe knows. But no one else. Pippaâs mother was Katherine Elsworth.â

âElsworth? Wasnât that the woman who administered arsenic to her husband? Rather a celebrated case.â

âYes.â

âShe was hanged?â

âYes. But you know itâs not at all sure that she did it. The husband was an arsenic eaterâthey didnât understand so much about those things then.â

âShe soaked flypapers.â

âThe maidâs evidence, we always thought, was definitely malicious.â

âAnd Pippa was her daughter?â

âYes. Eric and I determined to give the child a fresh start in lifeâwith love and care and all the things a child needs. We succeeded. Pippa wasâherself. The sweetest, happiest creature imaginable.â

Miss Marple was silent a long time.

Carrie Louise turned away from the dressing table.

âIâm ready now. Perhaps youâll ask the Inspector or whatever he is to come up to my sitting room. He wonât mind, Iâm sure.â

2

Inspector Curry did not mind. In fact, he rather welcomed the chance of seeing Mrs. Serrocold on her own territory.

As he stood there waiting for her, he looked round him curiously. It was not his idea of what he termed to himself âa rich womanâs boudoir.â

It had an old-fashioned couch and some rather uncomfortable looking Victorian chairs with twisted woodwork backs. The chintzes were old and faded but of an attractive pattern displaying the Crystal Palace. It was one of the smaller rooms, though even then it was larger than the drawing room of most modern houses. But it had a cosy, rather crowded appearance with its little tables, its bric-a-brac, and its photographs. Curry looked at an old snapshot of two little girls, one dark and lively, the other plain, and staring out sulkily on the world from under a heavy fringe. He had seen that same expression that morning. âPippa and Mildredâ was written on the photograph. There was a photograph of Eric Gulbrandsen hanging on the wall, with a gold mount and a heavy ebony frame. Curry had just found a photograph of a good-looking man with eyes crinkling with laughter, whom he presumed was John Restarick, when the door opened and Mrs. Serrocold came in.

She wore black, a floating and diaphanous black. Her little pink-and-white face looked unusually small under its crown of silvery hair, and there was a frailness about her that caught sharply at Inspector Curryâs heart. He understood, at that moment, a good deal that had perplexed him earlier in the morning. He understood why people were so anxious to spare Caroline Louise Serrocold everything that could be spared her.

And yet, he thought, she isnât the kind that would ever make a fussâ¦.

She greeted him, asked him to sit down, and took a chair near him. It was less he who put her at her ease than she who put him at his. He started to ask his questions and she answered them readily and without hesitation. The failure of the lights, the quarrel between Edgar Lawson and her husband, the shot they had heardâ¦.

âIt did not seem to you that the shot was in the house?â

âNo, I thought it came from outside. I thought it might have been the backfire of a car.â

âDuring the quarrel between your husband and this young fellow Lawson in the study, did you notice anybody leaving the Hall?â

âWally had already gone to see about the lights. Miss Bellever went out shortly afterwardsâto get something, but I canât remember what.â

âWho else left the Hall?â

âNobody, so far as I know.â

âWould you know, Mrs. Serrocold?â

She reflected a moment.

âNo, I donât think I should.â

âYou were completely absorbed in what you could hear going on in the study?â

âYes.â

âAnd you were apprehensive as to what might happen there?â

âNoâno, I wouldnât say that. I didnât think anything would really happen.â

âBut Lawson had a revolver?â

âYes.â

âAnd was threatening your husband with it?â

âYes. But he didnât mean it.â

Inspector Curry felt his usual slight exasperation at this statement. So she was another of them!

âYou canât possibly have been sure of that, Mrs. Serrocold.â

âWell, but I was sure. In my own mind, I mean. What is it the young people sayâputting on an act? Thatâs what I felt it was. Edgarâs only a boy. He was being melodramatic and silly and fancying himself as a bold desperate character. Seeing himself as the wronged hero in a romantic story. I was quite sure he would never fire that revolver.â

âBut he did fire it, Mrs. Serrocold.â

Carrie Louise smiled.

âI expect it went off by accident.â

Again exasperation mounted in Inspector Curry.

âIt was not by accident. Lawson fired that revolver twiceâand fired it at your husband. The bullets only just missed him.â

Carrie Louise looked startled and then grave.

âI canât really believe that. Oh yesââ she hurried on to forestall the Inspectorâs protest. âOf course, I have to believe it, if you tell me so. But I still feel there must be a simple explanation. Perhaps Dr. Maverick can explain it to me.â

âOh yes, Dr. Maverick will explain it all right,â said Curry grimly. âDr. Maverick can explain anything. Iâm sure of that.â

Unexpectedly Mrs. Serrocold said:

âI know that a lot of what we do here seems to you foolish and pointless, and psychiatrists can be very irritating sometimes. But we do achieve results, you know. We have our failures, but we have successes too. And what we try to do is worth doing. And though you probably wonât believe it, Edgar is really devoted to my husband. He started this silly business about Lewisâ being his father because he wants so much to have a father like Lewis. But what I canât understand is why he should suddenly get violent. He had been so very much betterâreally practically normal. Indeed, he has always seemed normal to me.â

The Inspector did not argue the point.

He said, âThe revolver that Edgar Lawson had was one belonging to your granddaughterâs husband. Presumably Lawson took it from Walter Huddâs room. Now tell me, have you ever seen this weapon before?â

On the palm of his hand he held out the small black automatic.

Carrie Louise looked at it.

âNo, I donât think so.â

âI found it in the piano stool. It has recently been fired. We havenât had time to check on it fully yet, but I should say that it is almost certainly the weapon with which Mr. Gulbrandsen was shot.â

She frowned.

âAnd you found it in the piano stool?â

âUnder some very old music. Music that I should say had not been played for years.â

âHidden, then?â

âYes. You remember who was at the piano last night?â

âStephen Restarick.â

âHe was playing?â

âYes. Just softly. A funny, melancholy little tune.â

âWhen did he stop playing, Mrs. Serrocold?â

âWhen did he stop? I donât know.â

âBut he did stop? He didnât go on playing all through the quarrel?â

âNo. The music just died down.â

âDid he get up from the piano stool?â

âI donât know. Iâve no idea what he did until he came over to the study door to try and fit a key to it.â

âCan you think of any reason why Stephen Restarick should shoot Mr. Gulbrandsen?â

âNone whatever,â she added thoughtfully, âI donât believe he did.â

âGulbrandsen might have found something discreditable about him.â

âThat seems to me very unlikely.â

Inspector Curry had a wild wish to reply:

âPigs may fly but theyâre very unlikely birds.â It had been a saying of his grandmotherâs. Miss Marple, he thought, was sure to know it.

3

Carrie Louise came down the broad stairway, and three people converged upon her from different directions, Gina from the long corridor, Miss Marple from the library, and Juliet Bellever from the Great Hall.

Gina spoke first.

âDarling!â she exclaimed passionately. âAre you all right? They havenât bullied you or given you third degree or anything?â

âOf course not, Gina. What odd ideas you have! Inspector Curry was charming and most considerate.â

âSo he ought to be,â said Miss Bellever. âNow, Cara, Iâve got all your letters here and a parcel. I was going to bring them up to you.â

âBring them into the library,â said Carrie Louise.

All four of them went into the library.

Carrie Louise sat down and began opening her letters. There were about twenty or thirty of them.

As she opened them, she handed them to Miss Bellever who sorted them into heaps, explaining to Miss Marple as she did so, âThree main categories. Oneâfrom relations of the boys. Those I hand over to Dr. Maverick. Begging letters I deal with myself. And the rest are personalâand Cara gives me notes on how to deal with them.â

The correspondence once disposed of, Mrs. Serrocold turned her attention to the parcel, cutting the string with scissors.

Out of the neat wrappings, there appeared an attractive box of chocolates tied up with a gold ribbon.

âSomeone must think itâs my birthday,â said Mrs. Serrocold with a smile.

She slipped off the ribbon and opened the box. Inside was a visiting card. Carrie Louise looked at it with slight surprise.

âWith love from Alex,â she read. âHow odd of him to send me a box of chocolates by post on the same day he was coming down here.â

Uneasiness stirred in Miss Marpleâs mind.

She said quickly:

âWait a minute, Carrie Louise. Donât eat one yet.â

Mrs. Serrocold looked faintly surprised.

âI was going to hand them round.â

âWell, donât. Wait while I askâis Alex about the house, do you know, Gina?â

Gina said quickly, âAlex was in the Hall just now, I think.â

She went across, opened the door, and called him.

Alex Restarick appeared in the doorway a moment later.

âMadonna darling! So youâre up. None the worse?â

He came across to Mrs. Serrocold and kissed her gently on both cheeks.

Miss Marple said:

âCarrie Louise wants to thank you for the chocolates.â

Alex looked surprised.

âWhat chocolates?â

âThese chocolates,â said Carrie Louise.

âBut I never sent you any chocolates, darling.â

âThe box has got your card in,â said Miss Bellever.

Alex peered down.

âSo it has. How odd. How very odd â¦ I certainly didnât send them.â

âWhat a very extraordinary thing,â said Miss Bellever.

âThey look absolutely scrumptious,â said Gina, peering into the box. âLook, Grandam, there are your favourite Kirsch ones in the middle.â

Miss Marple gently but firmly took the box away from her. Without a word she took it out of the room and went to find Lewis Serrocold. It took her some time because he had gone over to the Collegeâshe found him in Dr. Maverickâs room there. She put the box on the table in front of him. He listened to her brief account of the circumstances. His face grew suddenly stern and hard.

Carefully, he and the doctor lifted out chocolate after chocolate and examined them.

âI think,â said Dr. Maverick, âthat these ones I have put aside have almost certainly been tampered with. You see the unevenness of the chocolate coating underneath? The next thing to do is to get them analysed.â

âBut it seems incredible,â said Miss Marple. âWhy, everyone in the house might have been poisoned!â

Lewis nodded. His face was still white and hard.

âYes. There is a ruthlessnessâa disregardââ he broke off. âActually, I think all these particular chocolates are Kirsch flavouring. That is Carolineâs favourite. So, you see, there is knowledge behind this.â

Miss Marple said quietly:

âIf it is as you suspectâif there isâpoisonâin these chocolates, then Iâm afraid Carrie Louise will have to know what is going on. She must be put upon her guard.â

Lewis Serrocold said heavily:

âYes. She will have to know that someone wants to kill her. I think that she will find it almost impossible to believe.â

Sixteen

1

ââEre, Miss. Is it true as thereâs an âideous poisoner at work?â

Gina pushed the hair back from her forehead, and jumped as the hoarse whisper reached her. There was paint on her cheek and paint on her slacks. She and her selected helpers had been busy on the backcloth of the Nile at sunset for their next theatrical production.

It was one of these helpers who was now asking the question. Ernie, the boy who had given her such valuable lessons in the manipulations of locks. Ernieâs fingers were equally dextrous at stage carpentry, and he was one of the most enthusiastic theatrical assistants.

His eyes now were bright and beady with pleasurable anticipation.

âWhere on earth did you get that idea?â asked Gina indignantly.

Ernie shut one eye.

âItâs all round the dorms,â he said. âBut look âere, Miss, it wasnât one of us. Not a thing like that. And nobody wouldnât do a thing to Mrs. Serrocold. Even Jenkins wouldnât cosh her. âTisnât as though it was the old bitch. Wouldnât âalf like to poison âer, I wouldnât.â

âDonât talk like that about Miss Bellever.â

âSorry, Miss. It slipped out. What poison was it, Miss? Strickline, was it? Makes you arch your back and die in agonies, that does. Or was it Prussian acid?â

âI donât know what youâre talking about, Ernie.â

Ernie winked again.

âNot âalf you donât. Mr. Alex it was done it, so they say. Brought them chocs down from London. But thatâs a lie. Mr. Alex wouldnât do a thing like that, would he, Miss?â

âOf course he wouldnât,â said Gina.

âMuch more likely to be Mr. Birnbaum. When heâs giving us P.T. he makes the most awful faces and Don and I think as heâs batty.â

âJust move that turpentine out of the way.â

Ernie obeyed, murmuring to himself:

âDonât âarf see life âere! Old Gulbrandsen done in yesterday and now a secret poisoner. Dâyou think itâs the same person doing both? What ud you say, Miss, if I told you as I know oo it was done âim in?â

âYou canât possibly know anything about it.â

âCoo, carnât I neither? Supposinâ I was outside last night and saw something.â

âHow could you have been out? The College is locked up after roll call at seven.â

âRoll call â¦ I can get out whenever I likes, Miss. Locks donât mean nothing to me. Get out and walk round the grounds just for the fun of it, I do.â

Gina said:

âI wish youâd stop telling lies, Ernie.â

âWhoâs telling lies?â

âYou are. You tell lies and you boast about things that youâve never done at all.â

âThatâs what you say, Miss. You wait till the coppers come round and arsk me all about what I saw last night.â

âWell, what did you see?â

âAh,â said Ernie, âwouldnât you like to know?â

Gina made a rush at him and he beat a strategic retreat. Stephen came over from the other side of the theatre and joined Gina. They discussed various technical matters and then, side by side, they walked back towards the house.

âThey all seem to know about Grandam and the chocs,â said Gina. âThe boys, I mean. How do they get to know?â

âLocal grapevine of some kind.â

âAnd they knew about Alexâs card. Stephen, surely it was very stupid to put Alexâs card in the box when he was actually coming down here.â

âYes, but who knew he was coming down here? He decided to come on the spur of the moment and sent a telegram. Probably the box was posted by then. And if he hadnât come down, putting his card in would have been quite a good idea. Because he does send Caroline chocolates sometimes.â

He went on slowly:

âWhat I simply canât understand isââ

âIs why anyone should want to poison Grandam,â Gina cut in. âI know. Itâs inconceivable! Sheâs so adorableâand absolutely everyone does adore her.â

Stephen did not answer. Gina looked at him sharply.

âI know what youâre thinking, Steve!â

âI wonder.â

âYouâre thinking that Wallyâdoesnât adore her. But Wally would never poison anyone. The ideaâs laughable.â

âThe loyal wife!â

âDonât say that in that sneering tone of voice.â

âI didnât mean to sneer. I think you are loyal. I admire you for it. But, darling Gina, you canât keep it up, you know.â

âWhat do you mean, Steve?â

âYou know quite well what I mean. You and Wally donât belong together. Itâs just one of those things that doesnât work. He knows it, too. The split is going to come any day now. And youâll both be much happier when it has come.â

Gina said:

âDonât be idiotic.â

Stephen laughed.

âCome now, you canât pretend that youâre suited to each other or that Wallyâs happy here.â

âOh, I donât know whatâs the matter with him,â cried Gina. âHe sulks the whole time. He hardly speaks. IâI donât know what to do about him. Why canât he enjoy himself here? We had such fun together onceâeverything was funâand now he might be a different person. Why do people have to change so?â

âDo I change?â

âNo, Steve darling. Youâre always Steve. Do you remember how I used to tag round after you in the holidays?â

âAnd what a nuisance I used to think youâthat miserable little kid Gina. Well, the tables are turned now. Youâve got me where you want me, havenât you, Gina?â

Gina said quickly:

âIdiot.â She went on hurriedly, âDo you think Ernie was lying? He was pretending he was roaming about in the fog last night, and hinting that he could tell things about the murder. Do you think that might be true?â

âTrue? Of course not. You know how he boasts. Anything to make himself important.â

âOh I know. I only wonderedââ

They walked along side by side without speaking.

2

The setting sun illumined the west faÃ§ade of the house. Inspector Curry looked towards it.

âIs this about the place where you stopped your car last night?â he asked.

Alex Restarick stood back a little as though considering.

âNear enough,â he said. âItâs difficult to tell exactly because of the fog. Yes, I should say this was the place.â

Inspector Curry stood looking round with an appraising eye.

The gravelled sweep of drive swept round in a slow curve, and at this point, emerging from a screen of rhododendrons, the west faÃ§ade of the house came suddenly into view with its terrace and yew hedges and steps leading down to the lawns. Thereafter the drive continued in its curving progress, sweeping through a belt of trees and round between the lake and the house until it ended in the big gravel sweep at the east side of the house.

âDodgett,â said Inspector Curry.

Police Constable Dodgett, who had been holding himself at the ready, started spasmodically into motion. He hurled himself across the intervening space of lawn in a diagonal line towards the house, reached the terrace, and went in by the side door. A few moments later, the curtains of one of the windows were violently agitated. Then Constable Dodgett reappeared out of the garden door, and ran back to rejoin them, breathing like a steam engine.

âTwo minutes and forty-two seconds,â said Inspector Curry, clicking the stop watch with which he had been timing him. âThey donât take long, these things, do they?â

His tone was pleasantly conversational.

âI donât run as fast as your constable,â said Alex. âI presume it is my supposed movements you have been timing?â

âIâm just pointing out that you had the opportunity to do murder. Thatâs all, Mr. Restarick. Iâm not making any accusationsâas yet.â

Alex Restarick said kindly to Constable Dodgett who was still panting:

âI canât run as fast as you can, but I believe Iâm in better training.â

âItâs since âaving the bronchitis last winter,â said Dodgett.

Alex turned back to the Inspector.

âSeriously, though, in spite of trying to make me uncomfortable and observing my reactionsâand you must remember that we artistic folk are oh! so sensitive, such tender plants!ââhis voice took on a mocking noteââyou canât really believe I had anything to do with all this? Iâd hardly send a box of poisoned chocolates to Mrs. Serrocold and put my card inside, would I?â

âThat might be what we are meant to think. Thereâs such a thing as a double bluff, Mr. Restarick.â

âOh, I see. How ingenious you are. By the way, those chocolates were poisoned?â

âThe six chocolates containing Kirsch flavouring in the top layer were poisoned, yes. They contained aconitine.â

âNot one of my favourite poisons, Inspector. Personally, I have a weakness for curare.â

âCurare has to be introduced into the bloodstream, Mr. Restarick, not into the stomach.â

âHow wonderfully knowledgeable the police force are,â said Alex admiringly.

Inspector Curry cast a quiet sideways glance at the young man. He noted the slightly pointed ears, the un-English Mongolian type of face. The eyes that danced with mischievous mockery. It would have been hard at any time to know what Alex Restarick was thinking. A satyrâor did he mean a faun? An overfed faun, Inspector Curry thought suddenly, and somehow there was an unpleasantness about that idea.

A twister with brainsâthatâs how he would sum up Alex Restarick. Cleverer than his brother. Mother had been a Russian or so he had heard. âRussiansâ to Inspector Curry were what âBonyâ had been in the early days of the nineteenth century and what âthe Hunsâ had been in the early twentieth century. Anything to do with Russia was bad in Inspector Curryâs opinion, and if Alex Restarick had murdered Gulbrandsen he would be a very satisfactory criminal. But unfortunately Curry was by no means convinced that he had.

Constable Dodgett, having recovered his breath, now spoke.

âI moved the curtains as you told me, sir,â he said. âAnd counted thirty. I noticed that the curtains have a hook torn off at the top. Means that thereâs a gap. Youâd see the light in the room from outside.â

Inspector Curry said to Alex:

âDid you notice light streaming out from that window last night?â

âI couldnât see the house at all because of the fog. I told you so.â

âFogâs patchy, though. Sometimes it clears for a minute here and there.â

âIt never cleared so that I could see the houseâthe main part, that is. The gymnasium building close at hand loomed up out of the mist in a deliciously unsubstantial way. It gave a perfect illusion of dock warehouses. As I told you, I am putting on a Limehouse Ballet andââ

âYou told me,â agreed Inspector Curry.

âOne gets in the habit, you know, of looking at things from the point of view of a stage set, rather than from the point of view of reality.â

âI daresay. And yet a stage setâs real enough, isnât it, Mr. Restarick?â

âI donât see exactly what you mean, Inspector.â

âWell, itâs made of real materialsâcanvas and wood and paint and cardboard. The illusion is in the eye of the beholder, not in the set itself. That, as I say, is real enough, as real behind the scenes as it is in front.â

Alex stared at him.

âNow that, you know, is a very penetrating remark, Inspector. Itâs given me an idea.â

âFor another ballet?â

âNo, not for another ballet â¦ Dear me, I wonder if weâve all been rather stupid?â

3

The Inspector and Dodgett went back to the house across the lawn. (Looking for footprints, Alex said to himself. But here he was wrong. They had looked for footprints very early that morning and had been unsuccessful because it had rained heavily at 2 A.M.) Alex walked slowly up the drive, turning over in his mind the possibilities of his new idea.

He was diverted from this however by the sight of Gina walking on the path by the lake. The house was on a slight eminence, and the ground sloped gently down from the front sweeps of gravel to the lake, which was bordered by rhododendrons and other shrubs. Alex ran down the gravel and found Gina.

âIf you could black out that absurd Victorian monstrosity,â he said, screwing up his eyes, âthis would make a very good Swan Lake, with you, Gina, as the Swan Maiden. You are more like the Snow Queen though, when I come to think of it. Ruthless, determined to have your own way, quite without pity or kindliness or the rudiments of compassion. You are very very feminine, Gina dear.â

âHow malicious you are, Alex dear!â

âBecause I refuse to be taken in by you? Youâre very pleased with yourself, arenât you, Gina? Youâve got us all where you want us. Myself, Stephen, and that large, simple husband of yours.â

âYouâre talking nonsense.â

âOh no, Iâm not. Stephenâs in love with you, Iâm in love with you, and Wallyâs desperately miserable. What more could a woman want?â

Gina looked at him and laughed.

Alex nodded his head vigorously.

âYou have the rudiments of honesty, Iâm glad to see. Thatâs the Latin in you. You donât go to the trouble of pretending that youâre not attractive to menâand that youâre terribly sorry about it if they are attracted to you. You like having men in love with you, donât you, cruel Gina? Even miserable little Edgar Lawson!â

Gina looked at him steadily.

She said in a quiet serious tone:

âIt doesnât last very long, you know. Women have a much worse time of it in the world than men do. Theyâre more vulnerable. They have children, and they mindâterriblyâabout their children. As soon as they lose their looks, the men they love donât love them anymore. Theyâre betrayed and deserted and pushed aside. I donât blame men. Iâd be the same myself. I donât like people who are old or ugly or ill, or who whine about their troubles, or who are ridiculous like Edgar, strutting about and pretending heâs important and worthwhile. You say Iâm cruel? Itâs a cruel world! Sooner or later it will be cruel to me! But now Iâm young and Iâm nice looking and people find me attractive.â Her teeth flashed out in her peculiar, warm sunny smile. âYes, I enjoy it, Alex. Why shouldnât I?â

âWhy indeed?â said Alex. âWhat I want to know is what you are going to do about it. Are you going to marry Stephen or are you going to marry me?â

âIâm married to Wally.â

âTemporarily. Every woman should make one mistake matrimoniallyâbut thereâs no need to dwell on it. Having tried out the show in the provinces, the time has come to bring it to the West End.â

âAnd youâre the West End?â

âIndubitably.â

âDo you really want to marry me? I canât imagine you married.â

âI insist on marriage. Affaires, I always think, are so very old-fashioned. Difficulties with passports and hotels and all that. I shall never have a mistress unless I canât get her any other way!â

Ginaâs laugh rang out fresh and clear.

âYou do amuse me, Alex.â

âIt is my principal asset. Stephen is much better looking than I am. Heâs extremely handsome and very intense which, of course, women adore. But intensity is fatiguing in the home. With me, Gina, you will find life entertaining.â

âArenât you going to say you love me madly?â

âHowever true that may be, I shall certainly not say it. It would be one up to you and one down to me if I did. No, all I am prepared to do is to make you a businesslike offer of marriage.â

âI shall have to think about it,â said Gina, smiling.

âNaturally. Besides, youâve got to put Wally out of his misery first. Iâve a lot of sympathy with Wally. It must be absolute hell for him to be married to you and trailed along at your chariot wheels into this heavy, family atmosphere of philanthropy.â

âWhat a beast you are, Alex!â

âA perceptive beast.â

âSometimes,â said Gina, âI donât think Wally cares for me one little bit. He just doesnât notice me anymore.â

âYouâve stirred him up with a stick and he doesnât respond? Most annoying.â

Like a flash, Gina swung her palm and delivered a ringing slap on Alexâs smooth cheek.

âTouchÃ©!â cried Alex.

With a quick, deft movement, he gathered her into his arms and before she could resist, his lips fastened on hers in a long ardent kiss. She struggled a moment and then relaxedâ¦.

âGina!â

They sprang apart. Mildred Strete, her face red, her lips quivering, glared at them balefully. For a moment, the eagerness of her words choked their utterance.

âDisgusting â¦ disgusting â¦ you abandoned beastly girl â¦ youâre just like your mother â¦ Youâre a bad lot â¦ I always knew you were a bad lot â¦ utterly depraved â¦ and youâre not only an adulteressâyouâre a murderess too. Oh yes, you are. I know what I know!â

âAnd what do you know? Donât be ridiculous, Aunt Mildred.â

âIâm no aunt of yours, thank goodness. No blood relation to you. Why you donât even know who your mother was or where she came from! But you know well enough what my father was like and my mother. What sort of a child do you think they would adopt? A criminalâs child or a prostituteâs probably! Thatâs the sort of people they were. They ought to have remembered that bad blood will tell. Though I daresay that itâs the Italian in you that makes you turn to poison.â

âHow dare you say that?â

âI shall say what I like. You canât deny now, can you, that somebody tried to poison Mother? And whoâs the most likely person to do that? Who comes into an enormous fortune if Mother dies? You do, Gina, and you may be sure that the police have not overlooked that fact.â

Still trembling, Mildred moved rapidly away.

âPathological,â said Alex. âDefinitely pathological. Really most interesting. It makes one wonder about the late Canon Strete â¦ religious scruples, perhaps?â¦ Or would you say impotent?â

âDonât be disgusting, Alex. Oh I hate her, I hate her, I hate her.â

Gina clenched her hands and shook with fury.

âLucky you hadnât got a knife in your stocking,â said Alex. âIf you had, dear Mrs. Strete might have known something about murder from the point of view of the victim. Calm down, Gina. Donât look so melodramatic and like Italian Opera.â

âHow dare she say I tried to poison Grandam?â

âWell, darling, somebody tried to poison her. And from the point of view of motive youâre well in the picture, arenât you?â

âAlex!â Gina stared at him, dismayed. âDo the police think so?â

âItâs extremely difficult to know what the police think â¦ They keep their own counsel remarkably well. Theyâre by no means fools, you know. That reminds meââ

âWhere are you going?â

âTo work out an idea of mine.â

Seventeen

1

âYou say somebody has been trying to poison me?â

Carrie Louiseâs voice held bewilderment and disbelief.

âYou know,â she said, âI canât really believe itâ¦.â

She waited a few moments, her eyes half closed.

Lewis said gently, âI wish I could have spared you this, dearest.â

Almost absently she stretched out a hand to him and he took it.

Miss Marple, sitting close by, shook her head sympathetically.

Carrie Louise opened her eyes.

âIs it really true, Jane?â she asked.

âIâm afraid so, my dear.â

âThen everythingââ Carrie Louise broke off.

She went on:

âIâve always thought I knew what was real and what wasnât â¦This doesnât seem realâbut it is â¦ so I may be wrong everywhere â¦ but who could want to do such a thing to me? Nobody in this house could want toâkill me?â

Her voice still held incredulity.

âThatâs what I would have thought,â said Lewis. âI was wrong.â

âAnd Christian knew about it? That explains it.â

âExplains what?â asked Lewis.

âHis manner,â said Carrie Louise. âIt was very odd, you know. Not at all his usual self. He seemedâupset about meâand as though he was wanting to say something to meâand then not saying it. And he asked me if my heart was strong. And if Iâd been well lately. Trying to hint to me, perhaps. But why not say something straight out? Itâs so much simpler just to say straight out.â

âHe didnât want toâcause you pain, Caroline.â

âPain? But whyâOh I see â¦â Her eyes widened. âSo thatâs what you believe. But youâre wrong, Lewis, quite wrong. I can assure you of that.â

Her husband avoided her eyes.

âIâm sorry,â said Mrs. Serrocold after a moment or two. âBut I canât believe anything of what has happened lately is true. Edgar shooting at you. Gina and Stephen. That ridiculous box of chocolates. It just isnât true.â

Nobody spoke.

Caroline Louise Serrocold sighed.

âI suppose,â she said, âthat I must have lived outside reality for a long time â¦ Please, both of you, I think I would like to be alone â¦ Iâve got to try and understandâ¦.â

2

Miss Marple came down the stairs and into the Great Hall to find Alex Restarick standing near the large, arched entrance door with his hand flung out in a somewhat flamboyant gesture.

âCome in, come in,â said Alex happily and as though he were the owner of the Great Hall. âIâm just thinking about last night.â

Lewis Serrocold, who had followed Miss Marple down from Carrie Louiseâs sitting room, crossed the Great Hall to his study and went in and shut the door.

âAre you trying to reconstruct the crime?â asked Miss Marple with subdued eagerness.

âEh?â Alex looked at her with a frown. Then his brow cleared.

âOh, that,â he said. âNo, not exactly. I was looking at the whole thing from an entirely different point of view. I was thinking of this place in the terms of the theatre. Not reality, but artificiality! Just come over here. Think of it in the terms of a stage set. Lighting, entrances, exits. Dramatis Personae. Noises off. All very interesting. Not all my own idea. The Inspector gave it to me. I think heâs rather a cruel man. He did his best to frighten me this morning.â

âAnd did he frighten you?â

âIâm not sure.â

Alex described the Inspectorâs experiment and the timing of the performance of the puffing Constable Dodgett.

âTime,â he said, âis so very misleading. One thinks things take such a long time, but really, of course, they donât.â

âNo,â said Miss Marple.

Representing the audience, she moved to a different position. The stage set now consisted of a vast, tapestry-covered wall going up to dimness, with a grand piano up L. and a window and window seat up R. Very near the window seat was the door into the library. The piano stool was only about eight feet from the door into the square lobby, which led to the corridor. Two very convenient exits! The audience, of course, had an excellent view of both of themâ¦.

But last night there had been no audience. Nobody, that is to say, had been facing the stage set that Miss Marple was now facing. The audience, last night, had been sitting with their backs to that particular stage.

How long, Miss Marple wondered, would it have taken to slip out of the room, run along the corridor, shoot Gulbrandsen and come back? Not nearly so long as one would think. Measured in minutes and seconds, a very short time indeedâ¦.

What had Carrie Louise meant when she had said to her husband: âSo thatâs what you believeâbut youâre wrong, Lewis!â

âI must say that that was a very penetrating remark of the Inspectorâs,â Alexâs voice cut in on her meditations. âAbout a stage set being real. Made of wood and cardboard and stuck together with glue and as real on the unpainted as on the painted side. âThe illusion,â he pointed out, âis in the eyes of the audience.ââ

âLike conjurers,â Miss Marple murmured vaguely. âThey do it with mirrors is, I believe, the slang phrase.â

Stephen Restarick came in, slightly out of breath.

âHullo, Alex,â he said. âThat little rat, Ernie GreggâI donât know if you remember him?â

âThe one who played Feste when you did Twelfth Night? Quite a bit of talent there I thought.â

âYes, heâs got talent of a sort. Very good with his hands, too. Does a lot of our carpentry. However, thatâs neither here nor there. Heâs been boasting to Gina that he gets out at night and wanders about the grounds. Says he was wandering round last night and boasts he saw something.â

Alex spun round.

âSaw what?â

âSays heâs not going to tell! Actually, Iâm pretty certain heâs only trying to show off and get into the limelight. Heâs an awful liar, but I thought perhaps he ought to be questioned.â

Alex said sharply, âI should leave him for a bit. Donât let him think weâre too interested.â

âPerhapsâyes I think you may be right there. This evening, perhaps.â

Stephen went on into the library.

Miss Marple, moving gently round the Hall in her character of mobile audience, collided with Alex Restarick as he stepped back suddenly.

Miss Marple said, âIâm so sorry.â

Alex frowned at her, said in an absent sort of way,

âI beg your pardon,â and then added in a surprised voice, âOh, itâs you.â

It seemed to Miss Marple an odd remark for someone with whom she had been conversing for some considerable time.

âI was thinking of something else,â said Alex Restarick. âThat boy Ernieââ He made vague motions with both hands.

Then, with a sudden change of manner, he crossed the Hall and went through the library door shutting it behind him.

The murmur of voices came from behind the closed door, but Miss Marple hardly noticed them. She was uninterested in the versatile Ernie and what he had seen or pretended to see. She had a shrewd suspicion that Ernie had seen nothing at all. She did not believe for a moment that on a cold raw foggy night like last night, Ernie would have troubled to use his picklocking activities and wander about in the park. In all probability, he never had got out at night. Boasting, that was all it had been.

âLike Johnnie Backhouse,â thought Miss Marple who always had a good storehouse of parallels to draw upon, selected from inhabitants of St. Mary Mead.

âI seen you last night,â had been Johnnie Backhouseâs unpleasant taunt to all he thought it might affect.

It had been a surprisingly successful remark. So many people, Miss Marple reflected, have been in places where they are anxious not to be seen!

She dismissed Johnnie from her mind and concentrated on a vague something which Alexâs account of Inspector Curryâs remarks had stirred to life. Those remarks had given Alex an idea. She was not sure that they had not given her an idea, too. The same idea? Or a different one?

She stood where Alex Restarick had stood. She thought to herself, âThis is not a real hall. This is only cardboard and canvas and wood. This is a stage sceneâ¦.â Scrappy phrases flashed across her mind. âIllusionââ âIn the eyes of the audience.â âThey do it with mirrorsâ¦.â Bowls of goldfish â¦ yards of coloured ribbon â¦ vanishing ladies â¦ All the panoply and misdirection of the conjurerâs artâ¦.

Something stirred in her consciousnessâa pictureâsomething that Alex had said â¦ something that he had described to her â¦ Constable Dodgett puffing and panting â¦ panting â¦ something shifted in her mindâcame into sudden focusâ¦.

âWhy of course!â said Miss Marple. âThat must be itâ¦.â

Eighteen

1

âOh, Wally, how you startled me!â

Gina, emerging from the shadows by the theatre, jumped back a little, as the figure of Wally Hudd materialised out of the gloom. It was not yet quite dark, but had that eerie half light when objects lose their reality and take on the fantastic shapes of nightmare.

âWhat are you doing down here? You never come near the theatre as a rule.â

âMaybe I was looking for you, Gina. Itâs usually the best place to find you, isnât it?â

Wallyâs soft, faintly drawling voice held no special insinuation and yet Gina flinched a little.

âItâs a job and Iâm keen on it. I like the atmosphere of paint and canvas, and backstage generally.â

âYes. It means a lot to you. Iâve seen that. Tell me, Gina, how long do you think it will be before this business is all cleared up?â

âThe inquestâs tomorrow. It will just be adjourned for a fortnight or something like that. At least, thatâs what Inspector Curry gave us to understand.â

âA fortnight,â said Wally thoughtfully. âI see. Say three weeks, perhaps. And after thatâweâre free. Iâm going back to the States then.â

âOh! but I canât run off like that,â cried Gina. âI couldnât leave Grandam. And weâve got these two new productions weâre working onââ

âI didnât say âwe.â I said I was going.â

Gina stopped and looked up at her husband. Something in the effect of the shadows made him seem very big. A big, quiet figureâand in some way, or so it seemed to her, faintly menacing â¦ standing over her. Threateningâwhat?

âDo you meanââshe hesitatedââyou donât want me to come?â

âWhy, noâI didnât say that.â

âYou donât care if I come or not? Is that it?â

She was suddenly angry.

âSee here, Gina. This is where weâve got to have a showdown. We didnât know much about each other when we marriedânot much about each otherâs backgrounds, not much about the other oneâs folks. We thought it didnât matter. We thought nothing mattered except having a swell time together. Well, stage one is over. Your folks didnâtâand donâtâthink much of me. Maybe theyâre right. Iâm not their kind. But if you think Iâm staying on here, kicking my heels, and doing odd jobs in what I consider is just a crazy setupâwell, think again! I want to live in my own country, doing the kind of job I want to do, and can do. My idea of a wife is the kind of wife who used to go along with the old pioneers, ready for anything, hardship, unfamiliar country, danger, strange surroundings â¦ Perhaps thatâs too much to ask of you, but itâs that or nothing! Maybe I hustled you into marriage. If so, youâd better get free of me and start again. Itâs up to you. If you prefer one of these arty boysâitâs your life and youâve got to choose. But Iâm going home.â

âI think youâre an absolute pig,â said Gina. âIâm enjoying myself here.â

âIs that so? Well, Iâm not. You even enjoy murder, I suppose?â

Gina drew in her breath sharply.

âThatâs a cruel, wicked thing to say. I was very fond of Uncle Christian. And donât you realise that someone has been quietly poisoning Grandam for months? Itâs horrible!â

âI told you I didnât like it here. I donât like the kind of things that go on. Iâm quitting.â

âIf youâre allowed to! Donât you realise youâll probably be arrested for Uncle Christianâs murder? I hate the way Inspector Curry looks at you. Heâs just like a cat watching a mouse with a nasty sharp-clawed paw all ready to pounce. Just because you were out of the Hall fixing those lights, and because youâre not English, Iâm sure theyâll go fastening it on you.â

âTheyâll need some evidence first.â

Gina wailed:

âIâm frightened for you, Wally. Iâve been frightened all along.â

âNo good being scared. I tell you, theyâve got nothing on me!â

They walked in silence towards the house.

Gina said:

âI donât believe you really want me to come back to America with youâ¦.â

Walter Hudd did not answer.

Gina Hudd turned on him and stamped her foot.

âI hate you. I hate you. You are horribleâa beastâa cruel, unfeeling beast. After all Iâve tried to do for you! You want to be rid of me. You donât care if you never see me again. Well, I donât care if I never see you again! I was a stupid little fool ever to marry you, and I shall get a divorce as soon as possible, and I shall marry Stephen or Alexis and be much happier than I ever could be with you. And I hope you go back to the States and marry some horrible girl who makes you really miserable!â

âFine!â said Wally. âNow we know where we are!â

2

Miss Marple saw Gina and Wally go into the house together.

She was standing at the spot where Inspector Curry had made his experiment with Constable Dodgett earlier in the afternoon.

Miss Belleverâs voice behind her made her jump.

âYouâll get a chill, Miss Marple, standing about like that after the sunâs gone down.â

Miss Marple fell meekly into step with her and they walked briskly through the house.

âI was thinking about conjuring tricks,â said Miss Marple. âSo difficult when youâre watching them to see how theyâre done, and yet, once they are explained, so absurdly simple. (Although, even now, I canât imagine how conjurers produce bowls of goldfish!) Did you ever see the Lady who is Sawn in Half?âsuch a thrilling trick. It fascinated me when I was eleven years old, I remember. And I never could think how it was done. But the other day there was an article in some paper giving the whole thing away. I donât think a newspaper should do that, do you? It seems itâs not one girlâbut two. The head of the one and the feet of the other. You think itâs one girl and itâs really twoâand the other way round would work equally well, wouldnât it?â

Miss Bellever looked at her with faint surprise. Miss Marple was not often so fluffy and incoherent as this. âItâs been too much for the old lady, all this,â she thought.

âWhen you only look at one side of a thing, you only see one side,â continued Miss Marple. âBut everything fits in perfectly well if you can only make up your mind what is reality and what is illusion.â She added abruptly, âIs Carrie Louiseâall right?â

âYes,â said Miss Bellever. âSheâs all right. But it must have been a shock, you knowâfinding out that someone wanted to kill her. I mean particularly a shock to her, because she doesnât understand violence.â

âCarrie Louise understands some things that we donât,â said Miss Marple thoughtfully. âShe always has.â

âI know what you meanâbut she doesnât live in the real world.â

âDoesnât she?â

Miss Bellever looked at her in surprise.

âThere never was a more unworldly person than Caraââ

âYou donât think that perhapsââ Miss Marple broke off, as Edgar Lawson passed them, swinging along at a great pace. He gave a kind of shamefaced nod, but averted his face as he passed.

âIâve remembered now who he reminds me of,â said Miss Marple. âIt came to me suddenly, just a few moments ago. He reminds me of a young man called Leonard Wylie. His father was a dentist, but he got old and blind and his hand used to shake, and so people preferred to go to the son. But the old man was very miserable about it, and moped, said he was no good for anything anymore, and Leonard, who was very softhearted and rather foolish, began to pretend he drank more than he should. He always smelt of whisky, and he used to sham being rather fuddled when his patients came. His idea was that theyâd go back to the father again and say the younger man was no good.â

âAnd did they?â

âOf course not,â said Miss Marple. âWhat happened was what anybody with any sense could have told him would happen! The patients went to Mr. Reilly, the rival dentist. So many people with good hearts have no sense. Besides, Leonard Wylie was so unconvincing â¦ His idea of drunkenness wasnât in the least like real drunkenness, and he overdid the whiskyâspilling it on his clothes, you know, to a perfectly impossible extent.â

They went into the house by the side door.

Nineteen

Inside the house, they found the family assembled in the library. Lewis was walking up and down, and there was an air of general tension in the atmosphere.

âIs anything the matter?â asked Miss Bellever.

Lewis said shortly, âErnie Gregg is missing from roll call tonight.â

âHas he run away?â

âWe donât know. Maverick and some of the staff are searching the grounds. If we cannot find him we must communicate with the police.â

âGrandam!â Gina ran over to Carrie Louise, startled by the whiteness of her face. âYou look ill.â

âI am unhappy. The poor boyâ¦.â

Lewis said, âI was going to question him this evening as to whether he had seen anything noteworthy last night. I have the offer of a good post for him and I thought that after discussing that, I would bring up the other topic. Nowââ he broke off.

Miss Marple murmured softly:

âFoolish boy â¦ poor, foolish boyâ¦.â

She shook her head, and Mrs. Serrocold said gently:

âSo you think so too, Jane â¦?â

Stephen Restarick came in. He said, âI missed you at the theatre, Gina. I thought you said you wouldâHullo, whatâs up?â

Lewis repeated his information, and as he finished speaking, Dr. Maverick came in with a fair-haired boy with pink cheeks and a suspiciously angelic expression. Miss Marple remembered his being at dinner on the night she had arrived at Stonygates.

âIâve brought Arthur Jenkins along,â said Dr. Maverick. âHe seems to have been the last person to talk to Ernie.â

âNow, Arthur,â said Lewis Serrocold, âplease help us if you can. Where has Ernie gone? Is this just a prank?â

âI dunno, sir. Straight, I donât. Didnât say nothing to me, he didnât. All full of the play at the theatre he was, thatâs all. Said as how heâd had a smashing idea for the scenery, what Mrs. Hudd and Mr. Stephen thought was first class.â

âThereâs another thing, Arthur. Ernie claims he was prowling about the grounds after lockup last night. Was that true?â

ââCourse it ainât. Just boasting, thatâs all. Perishing liar, Ernie. He never got out at night. Used to boast he could, but he wasnât that good with locks! He couldnât do anything with a lock as was a lock. Anyway âe was in larst night, that I do know.â

âYouâre not saying that just to satisfy us, Arthur?â

âCross my heart,â said Arthur virtuously.

Lewis did not look quite satisfied.

âListen,â said Dr. Maverick. âWhatâs that?â

A murmur of voices was approaching. The door was flung open and, looking very pale and ill, the spectacled Mr. Birnbaum staggered in.

He gasped out, âWeâve found himâthem. Itâs horribleâ¦.â

He sank down on a chair and mopped his forehead.

Mildred Strete said sharply:

âWhat do you meanâfound them?â

Birnbaum was shaking all over.

âDown at the theatre,â he said. âTheir heads crushed inâthe big counterweight must have fallen on them. Alexis Restarick and that boy Ernie Gregg. Theyâre both deadâ¦.â

Twenty

âIâve brought you a cup of strong soup, Carrie Louise,â said Miss Marple. âNow please drink it.â

Mrs. Serrocold sat up in the big carved oak four poster bed. She looked very small and childlike. Her cheeks had lost their rose pink flush, and her eyes had a curiously absent look. She took the soup obediently from Miss Marple. As she sipped it, Miss Marple sat down in a chair beside the bed.

âFirst, Christian,â said Carrie Louise, âand now Alexâand poor, sharp, silly little Ernie. Did he reallyâknow anything?â

âI donât think so,â said Miss Marple. âHe was just telling liesâmaking himself important by hinting that he had seen or knew something. The tragedy is that somebody believed his liesâ¦.â

Carrie Louise shivered. Her eyes went back to their faraway look.

âWe meant to do so much for these boys â¦ we did do something. Some of them have done wonderfully well. Several of them are in really responsible positions. A few slid backâthat canât be helped. Modern civilised conditions are so complexâtoo complex for some simple and undeveloped natures. You know Lewisâ great scheme? He always felt that transportation was a thing that had saved many a potential criminal in the past. They were shipped overseasâand they made new lives in simpler surroundings. He wants to start a modern scheme on that basis. To buy up a great tract of territoryâor a group of islands. Finance it for some years, make it a cooperative self-supporting communityâwith everyone having a stake in it. But cut off so that the early temptation to go back to cities and the bad old ways can be neutralised. Itâs his dream. But it will take a lot of money, of course, and there arenât many philanthropists with vision now. We want another Eric. Eric would have been enthusiastic.â

Miss Marple picked up a little pair of scissors and looked at them curiously.

âWhat an odd pair of scissors,â she said. âTheyâve got two finger holes on one side and one on the other.â

Carrie Louiseâs eyes came back from that frightening far distance.

âAlex gave them to me this morning,â she said. âTheyâre supposed to make it easier to cut your right-hand nails. Dear boy, he was so enthusiastic. He made me try them then and there.â

âAnd I suppose he gathered up the nail clippings and took them tidily away,â said Miss Marple.

âYes,â said Carrie Louise. âHeââ she broke off. âWhy did you say that?â

âI was thinking about Alex. He had brains. Yes, he had brains.â

âYou meanâthatâs why he died?â

âI think soâyes.â

âHe and Ernieâit doesnât bear thinking about. When do they think it happened?â

âLate this evening. Between six and seven oâclock probablyâ¦.â

âAfter theyâd knocked off work for the day?â

âYes.â

Gina had been down there that eveningâand Wally Hudd. Stephen, too, said he had been down to look for Ginaâ¦.

But as far as that went, anybody could haveâ

Miss Marpleâs train of thought was interrupted.

Carrie Louise said quietly and unexpectedly:

âHow much do you know, Jane?â

Miss Marple looked up sharply. The eyes of the two women met.

Miss Marple said slowly, âIf I was quite sureâ¦.â

âI think you are sure, Jane.â

Jane Marple said slowly, âWhat do you want me to do?â

Carrie leaned back against her pillows.

âIt is in your hands, Jane. Youâll do what you think right.â

She closed her eyes.

âTomorrowââMiss Marple hesitatedââI shall have to try and talk to Inspector Curryâif heâll listenâ¦.â

Twenty-one

Inspector Curry said rather impatiently:

âYes, Miss Marple?â

âCould we, do you think, go into the Great Hall?â

Inspector Curry looked faintly surprised.

âIs that your idea of privacy? Surely in hereââ

He looked round the study.

âItâs not privacy Iâm thinking of so much. Itâs something I want to show you. Something Alex Restarick made me see.â

Inspector Curry, stifling a sigh, got up and followed Miss Marple.

âSomebody has been talking to you?â he suggested hopefully.

âNo,â said Miss Marple. âItâs not a question of what people have said. Itâs really a question of conjuring tricks. They do it with mirrors, you knowâthat sort of thingâif you understand me.â

Inspector Curry did not understand. He stared and wondered if Miss Marple was quite right in the head.

Miss Marple took up her stand and beckoned the Inspector to stand beside her.

âI want you to think of this place as a stage set, Inspector. As it was on the night Christian Gulbrandsen was killed. Youâre here in the audience looking at the people on the stage. Mrs. Serrocold and myself and Mrs. Strete and Gina and Stephenâand just like on the stage, there are entrances and exits and the characters go out to different places. Only you donât think when youâre in the audience where they are really going to. They go out âto the front doorâ or âto the kitchenâ and when the door opens you see a little bit of painted backcloth. But really of course they go out to the wingsâor the back of the stage with carpenters and electricians, and other characters waiting to come onâthey go outâto a different world.â

âI donât quite see, Miss Marpleââ

âOh, I knowâI daresay it sounds very sillyâbut if you think of this as a play and the scene is âthe Great Hall at Stonygatesââwhat exactly is behind the scene?âI meanâwhat is backstage? The terraceâisnât it?âthe terrace and a lot of windows opening onto it.

âAnd that, you see, is how the conjuring trick was done. It was the trick of the Lady Sawn in Half that made me think of it.â

âThe Lady Sawn in Half?â Inspector Curry was now quite sure that Miss Marple was a mental case.

âA most thrilling conjuring trick. You must have seen itâonly not really one girl but two girls. The head of one and the feet of the other. It looks like one person and is really two. And so I thought it could just as well be the other way about. Two people could be really one person.â

âTwo people really one?â Inspector Curry looked desperate.

âYes. Not for long. How long did your constable take in the park to run to this house and back? Two minutes and forty-five seconds, wasnât it? This would be less than that. Well under two minutes.â

âWhat was under two minutes?â

âThe conjuring trick. The trick when it wasnât two people but one person. In thereâin the study. Weâre only looking at the visible part of the stage. Behind the scenes, there is the terrace and a row of windows. So easy when there are two people in the study to open the study window, get out, run along the terrace (those footsteps Alex heard), in at the side door, shoot Christian Gulbrandsen and run back, and during that time, the other person in the study does both voices so that weâre all quite sure there are two people in there. And so there were most of the time, but not for that little period of underâtwo minutes.â

Inspector Curry found his breath and his voice.

âDo you mean that it was Edgar Lawson who ran along the terrace and shot Gulbrandsen? Edgar Lawson who poisoned Mrs. Serrocold?â

âBut you see, Inspector, no one has been poisoning Mrs. Serrocold at all. Thatâs where the misdirection comes in. Someone very cleverly used the fact that Mrs. Serrocoldâs sufferings from arthritis were not unlike the symptoms of arsenic poisoning. Itâs the old conjurerâs trick of forcing a card on you. Quite easy to add arsenic to a bottle of tonicâquite easy to add a few lines to a typewritten letter. But the real reason for Mr. Gulbrandsenâs coming here was the most likely reasonâsomething to do with the Gulbrandsen Trust. Money, in fact. Suppose that there had been embezzlementâembezzlement on a very big scaleâyou see where that points? To just one personââ

âLewis Serrocold?â

âLewis Serrocoldâ¦.â

Twenty-two

Part of a letter from Gina Hudd to her aunt Mrs. Van Rydock:

âand so you see, darling Aunt Ruth, the whole thing has been just like a nightmareâespecially the end of it. Iâve told you all about this funny young man Edgar Lawson. He always was a complete rabbitâand when the Inspector began questioning him and breaking him down, he lost his nerve completely and scuttled like a rabbit. Just lost his nerve and ranâliterally ran. Jumped out of the window and round the house and down the drive, and then there was a policeman coming to head him off, and he swerved and ran full tilt for the lake. He leaped into a rotten old punt thatâs mouldered there for years and pushed off. Quite a mad, senseless thing to do, of course, but as I say he was just a panic-stricken rabbit. And then Lewis gave a great shout and said, âThat puntâs rottenâ and raced off to the lake, too. The punt went down and there was Edgar struggling in the water. He couldnât swim. Lewis jumped in and swam out to him. He got to him, but they were both in difficulty because theyâd got among the reeds. One of the Inspectorâs men went in with a rope round him, but he got entangled, too, and they had to pull him in. Aunt Mildred said âTheyâll drownâtheyâll drownâtheyâll both drown â¦â in a silly sort of way, and Grandam just said âYes.â I canât describe to you just how she made that one word sound. Just âyesâ and it went through you likeâlike a sword.

Am I being just silly and melodramatic? I suppose I am. But it did sound like thatâ¦.

And thenâwhen it was all over, and theyâd got them out and tried artificial respiration (but it was no good), the Inspector came to us and said to Grandam:

âIâm afraid, Mrs. Serrocold, thereâs no hope.â

Grandam said very quietly:

âThank you, Inspector.â

Then she looked at us all. Me, longing to help but not knowing how, and Jolly, looking grim and tender and ready to minister as usual, and Stephen, stretching out his hands, and funny old Miss Marple looking so sad, and tired, and even Wally looking upset. All so fond of her and wanting to do something.

But Grandam just said, âMildred.â And Aunt Mildred said, âMother.â And they went away together into the house, Grandam looking so small and frail and leaning on Aunt Mildred. I never realised, until then, how fond of each other they were. It didnât show much, you know.

Gina paused and sucked the end of her fountain pen. She resumed:

About me and Wallyâweâre coming back to the States as soon as we canâ¦.

Twenty-three

âWhat made you guess, Jane?â

Miss Marple took her time about replying. She looked thoughtfully at the other twoâCarrie Louise thinner and frailer and yet curiously untouchedâand the old man with the sweet smile and the thick white hair. Dr. Galbraith, Bishop of Cromer.

The Bishop took Carrie Louiseâs hand in his.

âThis has been a great sorrow to you, my poor child, and a great shock.â

âA sorrow, yes, but not really a shock.â

âNo,â said Miss Marple. âThatâs what I discovered, you know. Everyone kept saying how Carrie Louise lived in another world from this and was out of touch with reality. But actually, Carrie Louise, it was reality you were in touch with, and not the illusion. You are never deceived by illusion like most of us are. When I suddenly realised that, I saw that I must go by what you thought and felt. You were quite sure that no one would try to poison you, you couldnât believe itâand you were quite right not to believe it, because it wasnât so! You never believed that Edgar would harm Lewisâand again you were right. He never would have harmed Lewis. You were sure that Gina did not love anyone but her husbandâand that, again, was quite true.

âSo therefore, if I was to go by you, all the things that seemed to be true were only illusions. Illusions created for a definite purposeâin the same ways that conjurers create illusions, to deceive an audience. We were the audience.

âAlex Restarick got an inkling of the truth first because he had the chance of seeing things from a different angleâfrom the outside angle. He was with the Inspector in the drive, and he looked at the house and realised the possibilities of the windowsâand he remembered the sound of running feet he had heard that night, and then, the timing of the constable showed him what a very short time things take to what we should imagine they would take. The constable panted a lot, and later, thinking of a puffing constable, I remembered that Lewis Serrocold was out of breath that night when he opened the study door. Heâd just been running hard, you seeâ¦.

âBut it was Edgar Lawson that was the pivot of it all to me. There was always something wrong to me about Edgar Lawson. All the things he said and did were exactly right for what he was supposed to be, but he himself wasnât right. Because he was actually a normal young man playing the part of a schizophrenicâand he was always, as it were, a little larger than life. He was always theatrical.

âIt must have all been very carefully planned and thought out. Lewis must have realised on the occasion of Christianâs last visit that something had aroused his suspicions. And he knew Christian well enough to know that if he suspected he would not rest until he had satisfied himself that his suspicions were either justified or unfounded.â

Carrie Louise stirred.

âYes,â she said. âChristian was like that. Slow and painstaking, but actually very shrewd. I donât know what it was aroused his suspicions but he started investigatingâand he found out the truth.â

The Bishop said: âI blame myself for not having been a more conscientious trustee.â

âIt was never expected of you to understand finance,â said Carrie Louise. âThat was originally Mr. Gilroyâs province. Then, when he died, Lewisâ great experience put him in what amounted to complete control. And that, of course, was what went to his head.â

The pink colour came up in her cheeks.

âLewis was a great man,â she said. âA man of great vision, and a passionate believer in what could be accomplishedâwith money. He didnât want it for himselfâor, at least, not in the greedy vulgar senseâhe did want the power of itâhe wanted the power to do great good with itââ

âHe wanted,â said the Bishop, âto be God.â His voice was suddenly stern. âHe forgot that man is only the humble instrument of Godâs will.â

âAnd so he embezzled the Trust funds?â said Miss Marple.

Dr. Galbraith hesitated.

âIt wasnât only thatâ¦.â

âTell her,â said Carrie Louise. âShe is my oldest friend.â

The Bishop said:

âLewis Serrocold was what one might call a financial wizard. In his years of highly technical accountancy, he had amused himself by working out various methods of swindling which were practically foolproof. This had been merely an academic study, but when he once began to envisage the possibilities that a vast sum of money could encompass, he put these methods into practice. You see, he had at his disposal some first class material. Amongst the boys who passed through here, he chose out a small select band. They were boys whose bent was naturally criminal, who loved excitement, and who had a very high order of intelligence. Weâve not got nearly to the bottom of it all, but it seems clear that this esoteric circle was secret and specially trained and by and by were placed in key positions, where, by carrying out Lewisâ directions, books were falsified in such a way that large sums of money were converted without any suspicion being aroused. I gather that the operations and the ramifications are so complicated that it will be months before the auditors can unravel it all. But the net result seems to be that under various names and banking accounts and companies, Lewis Serrocold would have been able to dispose of a colossal sum with which he intended to establish an overseas colony for a cooperative experiment in which juvenile delinquents should eventually own this territory and administer it. It may have been a fantastic dreamââ

âIt was a dream that might have come true,â said Carrie Louise.

âYes, it might have come true. But the means Lewis Serrocold adopted were dishonest means, and Christian Gulbrandsen discovered that. He was very upset, particularly by the realisation of what the discovery and the probable prosecution of Lewis would mean to you, Carrie Louise.â

âThatâs why he asked me if my heart was strong, and seemed so worried about my health,â said Carrie Louise. âI couldnât understand it.â

âThen Lewis Serrocold arrived back from the North, and Christian met him outside the house and told him that he knew what was going on. Lewis took it calmly, I think. Both men agreed they must do all they could to spare you. Christian said he would write to me and ask me to come here, as a co-trustee, to discuss the position.â

âBut of course,â said Miss Marple. âLewis Serrocold had already prepared for this emergency. It was all planned. He had brought the young man who was to play the part of Edgar Lawson to the house. There was a real Edgar Lawsonâof courseâin case the police looked up his record. This false Edgar knew exactly what he had to doâact the part of a schizophrenic victim of persecutionâand give Lewis Serrocold an alibi for a few vital minutes.

âThe next step had been thought out too. Lewisâ story that you, Carrie Louise, were being slowly poisonedâwhen one actually came to think of it there was only Lewisâ story of what Christian had told himâthat, and a few lines added on the typewriter whilst he was waiting for the police. It was easy to add arsenic to the tonic. No danger for you thereâsince he was on the spot to prevent you drinking it. The chocolates were just an added touchâand of course the original chocolates werenât poisonedâonly those he substituted before turning them over to Inspector Curry.â

âAnd Alex guessed,â said Carrie Louise.

âYesâthatâs why he collected your nail parings. They would show if arsenic actually had been administered over a long period.â

âPoor Alexâpoor Ernie.â

There was a momentâs silence as the other two thought of Christian Gulbrandsen, of Alexis Restarick, and of the boy Ernieâand of how quickly the act of murder could distort and deform.

âBut surely,â said the Bishop, âLewis was taking a big risk in persuading Edgar to be his accompliceâeven if he had some hold over himââ

Carrie shook her head.

âIt wasnât exactly a hold over him. Edgar was devoted to Lewis.â

âYes,â said Miss Marple. âLike Leonard Wylie and his father. I wonder perhaps ifââ

She paused delicately.

âYou saw the likeness, I suppose?â said Carrie Louise.

âSo you knew that all along?â

âI guessed. I knew Lewis had once had a short infatuation for an actress, before he met me. He told me about it. It wasnât serious, she was a golddigging type of woman and she didnât care for him, but Iâve no doubt at all that Edgar was actually Lewisâ sonâ¦.â

âYes,â said Miss Marple. âThat explains everythingâ¦.â

âAnd he gave his life for him in the end,â said Carrie Louise. She looked pleadingly at the Bishop. âHe did, you know.â

There was a silence, and then Carrie Louise said:

âIâm glad it ended that way â¦ with his life given in the hope of saving the boy â¦ people who can be very good can be very bad, too. I always knew that was true about Lewis â¦ Butâhe loved me very muchâand I loved him.â

âDid youâever suspect him?â asked Miss Marple.

âNo,â said Carrie Louise. âBecause I was puzzled by the poisoning. I knew Lewis would never poison me, and yet that letter of Christianâs said definitely that someone was poisoning meâso I thought that everything I thought I knew about people must be wrongâ¦.â

Miss Marple said, âBut when Alex and Ernie were found killed. You suspected then?â

âYes,â said Carrie Louise. âBecause I didnât think anyone else but Lewis would have dared. And I began to be afraid of what he might do nextâ¦.â

She shivered slightly.

âI admired Lewis. I admired hisâwhat shall I call itâhis goodness? But I do see that if youâreâgood, you have to be humble as well.â

Dr. Galbraith said gently:

âThat, Carrie Louise, is what I have always admired in youâyour humility.â

The lovely blue eyes opened wide in surprise.

âBut Iâm not cleverâand not particularly good. I can only admire goodness in other people.â

âDear Carrie Louise,â said Miss Marple.

Epilogue

âI think Grandam will be quite all right with Aunt Mildred,â said Gina. âAunt Mildred seems much nicer nowânot so peculiar, if you know what I mean?â

âI know what you mean,â said Miss Marple.

âSo Wally and I will go back to the States in a fortnightâs time.â

Gina cast a look sideways at her husband.

âI shall forget all about Stonygates and Italy and all my girlish past and become a hundred percent American. Our son will be always addressed as Junior. I canât say fairer than that, can I, Wally?â

âYou certainly cannot, Kate,â said Miss Marple.

Wally, smiling indulgently at an old lady who got names wrong, corrected her gently:

âGina, not Kate.â

But Gina laughed.

âShe knows what sheâs saying! You seeâsheâll call you Petruchio in a moment!â

âI just think,â said Miss Marple to Walter, âthat you have acted very wisely, my dear boy.â

âShe thinks youâre just the right husband for me,â said Gina.

Miss Marple looked from one to the other. It was very nice, she thought, to see two young people so much in love, and Walter Hudd was completely transformed from the sulky young man she had first encountered, into a good-humoured smiling giantâ¦.

âYou two remind me,â she said, âofââ

Gina rushed forward and placed a hand firmly over Miss Marpleâs mouth.

âNo, darling,â she exclaimed. âDonât say it. Iâm suspicious of these village parallels. Theyâve always got a sting in the tail. You really are a wicked old woman, you know.â

Her eyes went misty.

âWhen I think of you, and Aunt Ruth and Grandam all being young together â¦ how I wonder what you were all like! I canât imagine it somehowâ¦.â

âI donât suppose you can,â said Miss Marple. âIt was all a long time agoâ¦.â

The Agatha Christie Collection

THE HERCULE POIROT MYSTERIES

Match your wits with the famous Belgian detective.

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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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The Agatha Christie Collection

THE MISS MARPLE MYSTERIES

Join the legendary spinster sleuth from St. Mary Mead in solving murders far and wide.

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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

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THE TOMMY AND TUPPENCE MYSTERIES

Jump on board with the entertaining crime-solving couple from Young Adventurers Ltd.

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The Secret Adversary

Partners in Crime

N or M?

By the Pricking of My Thumbs

Postern of Fate

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Donâ€™t miss a single one of Agatha Christieâ€™s stand-alone novels and short-story collections.

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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.

www.AgathaChristie.com

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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 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

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 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

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 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

Credits

Cover illustration and design by Sara Wood

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.

This title was previously published as Murder with Mirrors.

AGATHA CHRISTIEÂ® MARPLEÂ® MISS MARPLEÂ® THEY DO IT WITH MIRRORSâ„¢. Copyright Â© 2011 Agatha Christie Limited (a Chorion company). All rights reserved. They Do It with Mirrors was first published in 1952.

THEY DO IT WITH MIRRORS Â© 1952. Published by permission of G.P. Putnamâ€™s Sons, a member of Penguin Group (USA) Inc. 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 978-0-06-207364-8

EPub Edition Â© MAY 2011 ISBN: 978-0-06-175387-9

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