The stories appearing in this volume have all been previously published in
the following books by Agatha Christie: The Tuesday Club Murders, The Regatta
Mystery and Other Stories, Three Blind Mice and Other Stories and Double
Sin and Other Stories

Copyright © 1985 by Agatha Christie Limited

All rights reserved

No part of this book may be reproduced in any form without permission in writing from the publisher.

Published by Dodd, Mead & Company, Inc.
79 Madison Avenue, New York, N.Y. 10016

Manufactured in the United States of America Designed by Terry Antonicelli
First Edition

LIBRARY OF CONGRESS CATALOGING IN PUBLICATION DATA

	Christie, Agatha, 1890-1976.
Miss Marple, the complete short stories.

1. Detective and mystery stories, English. I. Title.
	PR6005.H66A6 1985c 823'.912 	85-10220

	ISBN 0-396-08747-7


CONTENTS

	FROM THE TUESDAY CLUB
MURDERS
	The Tuesday Night Club 		3

	The Idol House of Astarte
		17

		Ingots of Gold 33

The Bloodstained Pavement
		47

	Motive v. Opportunity
		58

The Thumbmark of St. Peter
		72

	The Blue Geranium
	87
	The Companion 	105

	The Four Suspects
	125

	A Christmas Tragedy
	142

	The Herb of Death
	162
	The Affair at the Bungalow 		179

	Death by Drowning
	197

FROM THE REGATTA MYSTERY Miss Marple Tells a Story 221


vi 	CONTENTS

FROM THREE BLIND MICE
Strange Jest 235 The Case of the Perfect Maid
The Case of the Caretaker
Tape-Measure Murder 279

FROM DOUBLE SIN
Greenshaw's Folly 	297

	Sanctuary 324

249 264


THE

TUESDAY

CLUB

MURDERS


The Tuesday Night Club

U
nsolved Mysteries."
Raymond West blew out a cloud of smoke and repeated the words with a kind of deliberate self-conscious
pleasure.
"Unsolved mysteries."
He looked round him with satisfaction. The room was an old one with broad black beams across the ceiling and it was
furnished with good old furniture that belonged to it.
Hence Raymond West's approving glance. By profession he
was a writer and he liked the atmosphere to be flawless. His
Aunt Jane's house always pleased him as the right setting for
her personality. He looked across the hearth to where she sat
erect in the big grandfather chair. Miss Marple wore a black brocade dress, very much pinched in round the waist. Mech-lin
lace was arranged in a cascade down the front of the bodice.
She had on black lace mittens, and a black lace cap
surmounted the piled-up masses of her snowy hair. She was
knitting--something white and soft and fleecy. Her faded
blue eyes, benignant and kindly, surveyed her nephew and
her nephew's guests with gentle pleasure. They rested first
on Raymond himself, self-consciously debonair, then on
Joyce Lemprire, the artist, with her close-cropped black
head and queer hazel-green eyes, then on that well-groomed


4 MISS MA RPLE
man of the world, Sir Henry Clithering. There were two other people in the room, Dr. Pen&r, the elderly clergyman
of the parish, and Mr. Petherick, the solicitor, a dried-up little
man with eyeglasses which he looked over and not
through. Miss Marple gave a brief moment of attention to
all these people and returned to her knitting with a gentle
smile upon her lips.
Mr. Petherick gave the dry little cough with which he usually prefaced his remarks.
"What is that you say, Raymond? Unsolved mysteries? Ha--and what about them?"
"Nothing about them," said Joyce Lemprire. "Raymond just likes the sound of the words and of himself saying
them."
Raymond West threw her a glance of reproach at which she threw back her head and laughed.
"He is a humbug, isn't he, Miss Marple?" she demanded. "You know that, I am sure."
Miss Marple smiled gently at her but made no reply.
"Life itself is an unsolved mystery," said the clergyman gravely.
Raymond sat up in his chair and flung away his cigarette with an impulsive gesture.
"That's not what I mean. I was not talking philosophy," he said. "I was thinking of actual bare prosaic facts, things
that have happened and that no one has ever explained."
"I know just the sort of thing you mean, dear," said Miss Marple. "For instance Mrs. Carruthers had a very strange experience
yesterday morning. She bought two gills of pickled
shrimps at Elliot's. She called at two other shops and when
she got home she found she had not got the shrimps with
her. She went back to the two shops she had visited but
these shrimps had completely disappeared. Now that seems
to me very remarkable."


	THE TUESDAY NIGHT CLUB 	5

"A very fishy story," said Sir Henry Clithering gravely. "There are, of course, all kinds of possible explanations,"
said Miss Marple, her cheeks growing slightly pinker with
excitement. "For instance, somebody else--"
"My dear Aunt," said Raymond West with some amusement, "I didn't mean that sort of village incident. I was
thinking of murders and disappearances--the kind of thing
that Sir Henry could tell us about by the hour if he liked."
"But I never talk shop," said Sir Henry modestly. "No, I never talk shop."
Sir Henry Clithering had been until lately Commissioner of Scotland Yard.
"I suppose there are a lot of murders and things that never are solved by the police," said Joyce Lemprire.
"That is an admitted fact, I believe," said Mr. Petherick.
"I wonder," said Raymond West, "what class of brain
really succeeds best in unravelling a mystery? One always
feels that the average police detective must be hampered by
lack of imagination."
"That is the layman's point of view," said Sir Henry drily. "You really want a committee," said Joyce, smiling. "For
psychology and imagination go to the writer--"
She made an ironical bow to Raymond but he remained serious.
"The art of writing gives one an insight into human nature,'' he said gravely. "One sees, perhaps, motives that the
ordinary person would pass by."
"I know, dear," said Miss Marple, "that your books are very clever. But do you think that people are really so unpleasant
as you make them out to be?"
"My dear Aunt," said Raymond gently, "keep your beliefs. Heaven forbid that I should in any way shatter them."
"I mean," said Miss Marple, puckering her brow a little as she counted the stitches in her knitting, "that so many peo-


6 	MISS MARPLE

ple seem to me not to be either bad or good, but simply you know, very silly."
Mr. Petherick gave his dry little cough again.
"Don't you think, Raymond," he said, "that you attach too much weight to imagination? Imagination is a very dangerous
thing, as we lawyers know only too well. To be able
to sift evidence impartially, to take the facts and look at
them as facts--that seems to me the only logical method of
arriving at the truth. I may add that in my experience it is
the only one that succeeds."
"Bah!" cried Joyce, flinging back her black head indignantly. "I bet I could beat you all at this game. I am not
only a woman--and say what you like, women have an intuition
that is denied to men--I am an artist as well. I see
things that you don't. And then, too, as an artist I have
knocked about among all sorts and conditions of people. I
know life as darling Miss Marple here cannot possibly know
it."
"I don't know about that, dear," said Miss Marple. "Very painful and distressing things happen in villages sometimes."
"May I speak?" said Dr. Pender smiling. "It is the fashion nowadays to decry the clergy, I know, but we hear things,
we know a side of human character which is a sealed book to
the outside world."
"Well," said Joyce, "it seems to me we are a pretty representative gathering. How would it be if we formed a Club?
What is today? Tuesday? We will call it The Tuesday Night
Club. It is to meet every week, and each member in turn has
to propound a problem. Some mystery of which they have
personal knowledge, and to which, of course, they know the
answer. Let me see, how many are we? One, two, three, four,
five. We ought really to be six."
"You have forgotten me, dear," said Miss Marple, smiling brightly.


· 	THE TUESDAY NIGHT CLUB
	'7

Joyce was slightly taken aback, but she concealed the fact

quickly.
"That would be lovely, Miss Marple," she said. "I didn't think you would care to play."
"I think it would be very interesting," said Miss Marple, "especially with so many clever gentlemen present. I am
afraid I am not clever myself, but living all these years in St.
Mary Mead does give one an insight into human nature."
"I am sure your cooperation will be very valuable," said Sir Henry, courteously.
"Who is going to start?" said Joyce.
"I think there is no doubt as to that," said Dr. Pender, "when we have the great good fortune to have such a distinguished
man as Sir Henry staying with us"
He left his sentence unfinished, making a courtly bow in the direction of Sir Henry.
The latter was silent for a minute or two. At last he sighed and recrossed his legs and began:
"It is a little difficult for me to select just the kind of thing you want, but I think, as it happens, I know of an instance
which fits these conditions very aptly. You may have
seen some mention of the case in the papers of a year ago. It
was laid aside at the time as an unsolved mystery, but, as it
happens, the solution came into my hands not very many
days ago.
"The facts are very simple. Three people sat down to a supper consisting, amongst other things, of tinned lobster.
Later in the night, all three were taken ill, and a doctor was
hastily summoned. Two of the people recovered, the third
one died."
"Ah!" said Raymond approvingly.
"As I say, the facts as such were very simple. Death was considered to be due to ptomaine poisoning, a certificate was
given to that effect, and the victim was duly buried. But
things did not rest at that."


	8 	MISS MAR PLE

Miss Marple nodded her head.
"There was talk, I suppose," she said, "there csually is." "And now I must describe the actors in this littl151¢ drama. I
will call the husband and wife Mr. and Mrs. Jon es, and the
wife's companion Miss Clark. Mr. Jones was a trasveller for a
firm of manufacturing chemists. He was a good-looJ°king man
in a kind of coarse, florid way, aged about fifty. Hiis wife was
a rather commonplace woman, of about forty-five,"' The companion,
Miss Clark, was a woman of sixty, a sr5°ur cheery
woman with a beaming rubicund face. None of ' them, you
might say, very interesting.
"Now the beginning of the troubles arose in very curious way. Mr. Jones had been staying the previous6 night at a
small commercial hotel in Birmingham. It hap."Pened that the blotting paper in the blotting book had beenlno-r'ut intfr'esh
that day, and the chambermaid, having apparenty nlng
better to do, amused herself by studying the blc?tter in the
mirror just after Mr. Jones had been writing a letrer there. A
few days later there was a report in the papers of t/he death of
Mrs. Jones as the result of eating tinned lobster' and the
chambermaid then imparted to her fellow servant s the words
that she had deciphered on the blotting pad. TIey were as
follows: 'Entirely dependent on my wife ... v,/hen she is
dead I will ... hundreds and thousands ...'
You may remember that there had recently b n a ca.s.e of a wife being poisoned by her husband. It needed very little
to fire the imagination of these maids. Mr. Jones had
planned to do away with his wife and inherit undreds of
thousands of pounds! As it happened one of thdr maids had
relations living in the small market town where the Joneses
resided. She wrote to them, and they in return vd'rote to her.
Mr. Jones, it seemed, had been very attentive {o the local
d '
octor s daughter, a good-looking young woman of thirty-
three. Scandal began to hum. The Home Secret0'fy was peri-


THE TUESDAY NIGHT CLUB
9 tioned. Numerous anonymous letters poured into Scotland
Yard all accusing Mr. Jones of having murdered his wife. Now I may say that not for one moment did we think there
was anything in it except idle village talk and gossip. Nevertheless,
to quiet public opinion an exhumation order was
granted. It was one of these cases of popular superstition
based on nothing solid whatever, which proved to be so surprisingly
justified. As a result of the autopsy sufficient arsenic
was found to make it quite clear that the deceased lady had
died of arsenical poisoning. It was for Scotland Yard working
with the local authorities to prove how that arsenic had
been administered, and by whom."
"Ah!" said Joyce. "I like this. This is the real stuff."
uspcon naturally fell on the husband. He benefited by his wife's death. Not to the extent of the hundreds of thousands
romantically imagined by the hotel chambermaid, but
to the very solid amount of.Cs000. He had no money of his
own apart from what he earned, and he was a man of somewhat
extravagant habits with a partiality for the society of
women. We investigated as ddicately as possible the rumour
of his attachment to the doctor's daughter; but while it
seemed clear that there had been a strong friendship between
them at one time, there had been a most abrupt break two
months previously, and they did not appear to have seen
each other since. The doctor himself, an elderly man of a
straightforward and unsuspicious type, was dumbfounded at
the result of the autopsy. He had been called in about midnight
to find all three people suffering. He had realized immediately
the serious condition of Mrs. Jones, and had sent
back to his dispensary for some opium piJls, to allay the pain.
In spite of all his efforts, however, she succumbed, but not
for a moment did he suspect that anything was amiss. He
Was Convinced that her death was due to a form of botulism.
Supper that night had consisted of tinned lobster and salad,


Io 	MISS MARPLE

trifle and bread and cheese. Unfortunately none of the lobster remained--it had all been eaten and the tin thrown
away. He had interrogated the young maid, Gladys Linch.
She was terribly upset, very tearful and agitated, and he
found it hard to get her to keep to the point, but she declared
again and again that the tin had not been distended in
any way and that the lobster had appeared to her in a perfectly
good condition.
"Such were the facts we had to go upon. If Jones had feloniously administered arsenic to his wife, it seemed clear
that it could not have been done in any of the things eaten
at supper, as all three persons had partaken of the meal.
Also--another point--Jones himself had returned from Birmingham
just as supper was being brought in to table, so
that he would have had no opportunity of doctoring any of
the food beforehand."
"What about the companion," asked Joyce--"the stout
woman with the good-humoured face?"
Sir Henry nodded.
"We did not neglect Miss Clark, I can assure you. But it seemed doubtful what motive she could have had for the
crime. Mrs. Jones left her no legacy of any kind and the net
result of her employer's death was that she had to seek for
another situation."
"That seems to leave her out of it," said Joyce thoughtfully.
"Now one of my inspectors soon discovered a significant fact," went on Sir Henry. "After supper on that evening Mr.
Jones had gone down to the kitchen and had demanded
a bowl of corn-flour for his wife, who had complained of
not feeling well. He had waited in the kitchen until
Gladys Linch prepared it, and then carried it up to his
wife's room himself. That, I admit, seemed to clinch the
case."


	THE TUESDAY NIGHT CLUB 	I I

The lawyer nodded.
"Motive," he said, ticking the point off on his fingers. "Opportunity. As a traveller for a firm of druggists, easy access
to the poison."
"And a man of weak moral fibre," said the clergyman. Raymond West was staring at Sir Henry.
"There is a catch in this somewhere," he said. "Why did you not arrest him?"
Sir Henry smiled rather wryly.
"That is the unfortunate part of the case. So far all had gone swimmingly, but now we come to the snags. Jones was
not arrested because on interrogating Miss Clark she told us
that the whole of the bowl of corn-flour was drunk not by
Mrs. Jones but by her."
"Yes, it seems that she went to Mrs. Jones's room as was her custom. Mrs. Jones was sitting up in bed and the bowl of
corn-flour was beside her.
"'I am not feeling a bit well, Milly,' she said. 'Serves me right, I suppose, for touching lobster at night. I asked Albert
to get me a bowl of corn-flour, but now that I have got it I
don't seem to fancy it.'
"'A pity,' commented Miss Clark--'it is nicely made too, no lumps. Gladys is really quite a nice cook. Very few girls
nowadays seem to be able to make a bowl of corn-flour
nicely. I declare I quite fancy it myself, I am that hungry.'
"'I should think you were with your foolish ways,' said Mrs. Jones.
"I must explain," broke off Sir Henry, "that Miss Clark, alarmed at her increasing stoutness, was doing a course of
what is popularly known as 'banting.'
"'It is not good for you, Milly, it really isn't,' urged Mrs. Jones. 'If the Lord made you stout he meant you to be stout.
You drink up that bowl of corn-flour. It will do you all the
good in the world.'


I2 	MISS M A R PLE

"And straight away Miss Clark set to and did in actual fact finish the bowl. So, you see, that knocked our case against
the husband to pieces. Asked for an explanation of the words
on the blotting book Jones gave one readily enough. The
letter, he explained, was in answer to one written from his
brother in Australia who had applied to him for money. He
had written, pointing out that he was entirely dependent on
his wife. When his wife was dead he would have control of
money and would assist his brother if possible. He regretted
his inability to help but pointed out that there were hundreds
and thousands of people in the world in the same unfortunate
plight."
"And so the case fell to pieces?" said Dr. Pender.
"And so the case fell to pieces," said Sir Henry gravely. "We could not take the risk of arresting Jones with nothing
to go upon."
There was a silence and then Joyce said, "And that is all, is it?"
"That is the case as it has stood for the last year. The true solution is now in the hands of Scotland Yard, and in two or
three days' time you will probably read of it in the newspa-
pers."
"The true solution," said Joyce thoughtfully. "I wonder. Let's all think for five minutes and then speak."
Raymond West nodded and noted the time on his watch. When the five minutes were up he looked over at Dr.
Pender.
"Will you speak first?" he said.
The old man shook his head. "I confess," he said, "that ! am utterly baffled. I can but think that the husband in some
way must be the guilty party, but how he did it I cannot
imagine. I can only suggest that he must have given her thc
poison in some way that has not yet been discovered, although
how in that case it should have come to light after
all this time I cannot imagine."


	THE TUESDAY NIGHT CLUB 	13

	"Joyce?"
"The companion!" said Joyce decidedly. "The companion every time! How do we know what motive she may have
had? Just because she was old and stout and ugly it doesn't
follow that she wasn't in love with Jones herself. She may
have hated the wife for some other reason. Think of being a
companion--always having to be pleasant and agree and stifle
yourself and bottle yourself up. One day she couldn't bear
it any longer and then she killed her. She probably put the
arsenic in the bowl of corn-flour and all that story about eat-
ing it herself is a lie."
"Mr. Petherick?"
The lawyer joined the tips of his fingers together professionally. "I should hardly like to say. On the facts I should
hardly like to say."
"But you have got to, Mr. Petherick," said Joyce. "You can't reserve judgment and say 'without prejudice,' and be
legal. You have got to play the game."
"On the facts," said Mr. Petherick, "there seems nothing to be said. It is my private opinion, having seen, alas, too
many cases of this kind, that the husband was guilty. The
only explanation that will cover the facts seems to be that
Miss Clark for some reason or other deliberately sheltered
him. There may have been some financial arrangement made
between them. He might realize that he would be suspected,
and she, seeing only a future of poverty before her, may have
agreed to tell the story of drinking the corn-flour in return
for a substantial sum to be paid to her privately. If that was
the case it was of course most irregular. Most irregular indeed."
"I disagree with you all," said Raymond. "You have forgotten the one important factor in the case. The doctor's
daughter. I will give you my reading of the case. The tinned
lobster was bad. It accounted for the poisoning symptoms.
The doctor was sent for. He finds Mrs. Jones, who has eaten


	14 	MISS MARPLE

more lobster than the others, in great pain, and he sends, as you told us, for some opium pills. He does not go himself,
he sends. Who will give the messenger the opium pills?
Clearly his daughter. Very likely she dispenses his medicines
for him. She is in love with Jones and at this moment all the
worst instincts in her nature rise and she realizes that the
means to procure his freedom are in her hands. The pills she
sends contain pure white arsenic. That is my solution." "And now Sir Henry, tell us," said Joyce eagerly.
"One moment," said Sir Henry, "Miss Marple has not yet spoken."
"Dear, dear," she said. "I have dropped another stitch. I have been so interested in the story. A sad case, a very sad
case. It reminds me of old Mr. Hargraves who lived up at the
Mount. His wife never had the least suspicion--until he
died, leaving all his money to a woman he had been living
with and by whom he had had five children. She had at one
time been their housemaid. Such a nice girl, Mrs. Hargraves
always said---thoroughly to be relied upon to turn the mattresses
every day---except Fridays, of course. And there was
old Hargraves keeping this woman in a house in the neigh-bouring
town and continuing to be a Churchwarden and to
hand round the plate every Sunday."
"My dear Aunt Jane," said Raymond with some impatience. "What have dead and gone Hargraves got to do with
the case?"
"This story made me think of him at once," said Miss Marple. "The facts are so very alike, aren't they? I suppose
the poor girl has confessed now and that is how you know,
Sir Henry."
"What girl?" said Raymond. "My dear Aunt, what are you talking about?"
"That poor girl, Gladys Linch, of course--the one who was so terribly agitated when the doctor spoke to her--and


THE TUESDAY NIGHT CLUB

well she might be, poor thing. I hope that wicked Jones is hanged, I am sure, making that poor girl a murderess. I suppose
they will hang her too, poor thing."
"I think, Miss Marple, that you are under a slight misapprehension,'' began Mr. Petherick.
But Miss Marple shook her head obstinately and looked across at Sir Henry.
"I am right, am I not? It seems so clear to me. The hundreds and thousands--and the trifle--I mean, one cannot
miss it."
"What about the trifle and the hundreds and thousands?" cried Raymond.
His aunt turned to him.
"Cooks nearly always put hundreds and thousands on trifle, dear," she said. "Those little pink and white sugar things.
Of course when I heard that they had had trifle for supper
and that the husband had been writing to someone about
hundreds and thousands, I naturally connected the two
things together. That is where the arsenic was--in the hundreds
and thousands. He left it with the girl and told her to
put it on the trifle."
"But that is impossible," said Joyce quickly. "They all ate the trifle."
"Oh, no," said Miss Marple. "The companion was bant-ing, you remember. You never eat anything like trifle if you
are banting; and I expect Jones just scraped the hundreds
and thousands off his share and left them at the side of his
plate. It was a clever idea, but a very wicked one."
The eyes of the others were all fixed upon Sir Henry.
"It is a very curious thing," he said slowly, "but Miss Marple happens to have hit upon the truth. Jones had got
Gladys Linch into trouble, as the saying goes. She was nearly
desperate. He wanted his wife out of the way and promised
to marry Gladys when his wife was dead. He doctored the


MISS MARPLE

hundreds and thousands and gave them to her with instructions how to use them. Gladys Linch died a week ago. Her
child died at birth and Jones had deserted her for another
woman. When she was dying she confessed the truth."
There was a few moments' silence and then Raymond said:
"Well, Aunt Jane, this is one up to you. I can't think how on earth you managed to hit upon the truth. I should never
have thought of the little maid in the kitchen being connected
with the case."
"No, dear," said Miss Marple, "but you don't know as much of life as I do. A man of that Jones's type--coarse and
jovial. As soon as I heard there was a pretty young girl in the
house I felt sure that he would not have left her alone. It is
all very distressing and painful, and not a very nice thing to
talk about. I can't tell you the shock it was to Mrs. Hat~
graves, and a nine days' wonder in the village."


The Idol House
of Astarte

A
d now, Dr. Pender, what are you going ro tell us?" The old clergyman smiled gently.
"My life has been passed in quiet places," he said. "Very few eventful happenings have come my way. Yet
once, when I was a young man, I had one very strange and
tragic experience."
"Ah!" said Joyce Lemprire encouragingly.
"I have never forgotten it," continued the clergyman. "It made a profound impression on me at the time, and to this
day by a slight effort of memory I can fed again the aw and
horror of that terrible moment when I saw a man stricken to
death by apparently no mortal agency."
"You make me feel quite creepy, Pender," complained Sir Henry.
"It made me feel creepy, as you call it," replied the other. "Since then I have never laughed at the people who use the
word atmosphere. There is such a thing. There are certain
places imbued and saturated with good or evil influences
which can make their power felt."
"That house, The Larches, is a very unhappy one," remarked Miss Marple. "Old Mr. Smithers lost all his money
and had to leave it, then the Carslakes took it and Johnny

I7


	18 	MISS MARPLE

Carslake fell downstairs and broke his leg and Mrs. Carslake had to go away to the south of France for her health, and
now the Burdens have got it and I hear that poor Mr. Burden
has got to have an operation almost immediately."
"There is, I think, rather too much superstition about such matters," said Mr. Petherick. "A lot of damage is done
to property by foolish reports heedlessly circulated."
"I have known one or two 'ghosts' that have had a very robust personality," remarked Sir Henry with a chuckle.
"I think," said Raymond, "we should allow Dr. Pender to go on with his story."
Joyce got up and switched off the two lamps, leaving the room lit only by the flickering firelight.
"Atmosphere," she said. "Now we can get along."
Dr. Pender smiled at her, and leaning back in his chair and taking off his pince-nez, he began his story in a gentle reminiscent
voice.
"I don't know whether any of you know Dartmoor at all. The place I am telling you about is situated on the borders
of Dartmoor. It was a very charming property, though it had
been on the market without finding a purchaser for several
years. The situation was perhaps a trifle bleak in winter, but
the views were magnificent and there were certain curious
and original features about the property itself. It was bought
by a man called Haydon--Sir Richard Haydon. I had known
him in his college days, and though I had lost sight of him
for some years, the old ties of friendship still held, and I accepted
with pleasure his invitation to go down to Silent
Grove, as his new purchase was called.
"The house party was not a very large one. There was Richard Haydon himself, and his cousin, Elliot Haydon.
There was a Lady Mannering with a pale, rather inconspicuous
daughter called Violet. There was a Captain Rogers and
his wife, hard riding, weather-beaten people, who lived only
for horses and hunting. There was also a young Dr. Symonds


THE IDOL HOUSE OF ASTARTE 9

and there was Miss Diana Ashley. I knew something about the last named. Her picture was very often in the Society
papers and she was one of the notorious beauties of the Season.
Her appearance was indeed very striking. She was dark
and tall, with a beautiful skin of an even tint of pale cream, and her half-closed dark eyes set slantways in her head gave
her a curiously piquant oriental appearance. She had, too, a
wonderful speaking voice, deep-toned and bell-like.
"I saw at once that my friend Richard Haydon was very much attracted by her, and I guessed that the whole party
was merely arranged as a setting for her. Of her own feelings
I was not so sure. She was capricious in her favours. One day
talking to Richard and excluding everyone else from her notice,
and another day she would favour his cousin, Elliot,
and appear hardly to notice that such a person as Richard
existed, and then again she would bestow the most bewitching
smiles upon the quiet and retiring Dr. Symonds.
"On the morning after my arrival our host showed us all over the place. The house itself was unremarkable, a good
solid house built of Devonshire granite. Built to withstand
time and exposure. It was unromantic but very comfortable.
From the windows of it one looked out over the panorama
of the Moor, vast rolling hills crowned with weather-beaten
Tots.
"On the slopes of the Tor nearest to us were various hut circles, relics of the bygone days of the late Stone Age. On
another hill was a barrow which had recently been excavated,
and in which certain bronze implements had been
found. Haydon was by way of being interested in antiquarian
matters and he talked to us with a great deal of energy
and enthusiasm. This particular spot, he explained, was particularly
rich in relics of the past.
"Neolithic hut dwellers, Druids, Romans, and even traces of the early Phoenicians were to be found.
"'But this place is the most interesting of all,' he said.


	20 	MISS MA RPLE

'You know its name--Silent Grove. Tell, it is easy enough to see what it takes its name from.'
"He pointed with his hand. That particular part of the country was bare enough--rocks, heather and bracken, but
about a hundred yards from the house there was a densely
planted grove of trees.
"'That is a relic of very early days,' said Haydon. 'The trees have died and been replanted, but on the whole it has
been kept very much as it used to be--perhaps in the time of
the Phoenician settlers. Come and look at it.'
"We all followed him. As we entered the grove of trees a curious oppression came over me. I think it was the silence.
No birds seemed to nest in these trees. There was a feeling
about it of desolation and horror. I saw Haydon looking at
me with a curious smile.
"'Any feeling about this place, Pender?' he asked me. 'Antagonism now? Or uneasiness?'
"'I don't like it,' I said quietly.
"'You are within your rights. This was a stronghold of one of the ancient enemies of your faith. This is the Grove
of Astarte.'
"'Astarte?'
"'Astarte, or Ishtar, or Ashtoreth, or whatever you choose to call her. I prefer the Phoenician name of Astarte. There is,
I believe, one known Grove of Astarte in this country--in
the North on the Wall. I have no evidence, but I like to believe
that we have a true and authentic Grove of Astarte
here. Here, within the dense circle of trees, sacred rites were
performed.'
"'Sacred rites,' murmured Diana Ashley. Her eyes had a dreamy far-away look. 'What were they, I wonder?'
"'Not very reputable by all accounts,' said Captain Rogers
with a loud unmeaning laugh. 'Rather hot stuff, I imagine.' "Haydon paid no attention to him.
"'In the centre of the Grove there should be a Temple,'


THE IDOL HOUSE OF ASTARTE :2I
he said. 'I can't run to Temples, but I have indulged in a little fancy of my own.'
"We had at that moment stepped out into a little clearing in the centre of the trees. In the middle of it was something
not unlike a summer-house made of stone. Diana Ashley
looked inquiringly at Haydon.
"'I call it The Idol House,' he said. 'It is the Idol House of Astarte.'
"He led the way up to it. Inside, on a rude ebony pillar, there reposed a curious little image representing a woman
with crescent horns, seated on a lion.
"'Astarte of the Phoenicians,' said Haydon, 'the Goddess of the Moon.'
"'The Goddess of the Moon,' cried Diana. 'Oh, do let us have a wild orgy tonight. Fancy dress. And we will come out
here in the moonlight and celebrate the rites of Astarte.'
"I made a sudden movement and Elliot Haydon, Richard's cousin, turned quickly to me.
"'You don't like all this, do you, Padre?' he said. "'No,' I said gravely, 'I don't.'
"He looked at me curiously. 'But it is only tomfoolery. Dick can't know that this really is a sacred grove. It is just a
fancy of his; he likes to play with the idea. And anyway, if it
were--'
"'If it were?'
"'Well--' he laughed uncomfortably. 'You don't believe in that sort of thing, do you? You, a parson.'
"'I am not sure that as a parson I ought not to believe in it.'
"'But that sort of thing is all finished and done with.' "'I am not so sure,' I said musingly. 'I only know this: I am not as a rule a sensitive man to atmosphere, but ever
since I entered this grove of trees I have felt a curious impression
and sense of evil and menace all around me.'
"He glanced uneasily over his shoulder.


	22 	MISS M A R PLE

"'Yes,' he said, 'it isit is queer, somehow. I know what
you mean but I suppose it is only our imagination makes us feel like that. What do you say, Symonds?'
"The doctor was silent a minute or two before he replied. Then he said quietly:
"'I don't like it. I can't tell you why. But somehow or other, I don't like it.'
"At that moment Violet Mannering came across to me.
"'I hate this place,' she cried. 'I hate it. Do let's get out
of it.'
"We moved away and the others followed us. Only Diana Ashley lingered. I turned my head over my shoulder and saw
her standing in front of the Idol House gazing earnestly at
the image within it.
"The day was an unusually hot and beautiful one and Diana Ashley's suggestion of a Fancy Dress party that evening
was received with general favour. The usual laughing
and whispering and frenzied secret sewing took place and
when we all made our appearance for dinner there were the
usual outcries of merriment. Rogers and his wife were Neolithic
hut dwellersexplaining the sudden lack of hearth-rugs.
Richard Haydon called himself a Phoenician sailor, and
his cousin was a Brigand Chief, Dr. Symonds was a chef,
Lady Mannering was a hospital nurse, and her daughter was
a Circassian slave. I myself was arrayed somewhat too warmly
as a monk. Diana Ashley came down last and was somewhat
of a disappointment to all of us, being wrapped in a shapeless
black domino.
"'The Unknown,' she declared airily. 'That is what I am. Now for goodness' sake let's go in to dinner.'
"After dinner we went outside. It was a lovely night. warm and soft, and the moon was rising.
"We wandered about and chatted and the time passed quickly enough. It must have been an hour later when we
realized that Diana Ashley was not with us.


	THE IDOL HOUSE OF ASTARTE 	23

"'Surely she has not gone to bed,' said Richard Haydon. "Violet Mannering shook her head.
"'Oh, no,' she said. 'I saw her going off in that direction about a quarter of an hour ago.' She pointed as she spoke towards
the grove of trees that showed black and shadowy in
the moonlight.
"'I wonder what she is up to,' said Richard Haydon, 'some devilment, I swear. Let's go and sec.'
"Te all trooped off together, somewhat curious as to what Miss Ashley had been up to. Yet I, for one, felt a curious
reluctance to enter that dark foreboding belt of trees.
Something stronger than myself seemed to be holding me
hack and urging me not to enter. I felt more definitely con-vinccd
than ever of the essential evilness of the spot. I think
that some of the others experienced the same sensations that
! did, though they would have been loath to admit it. The
trees were so closely planted that thc moonlight could not
penetrate. There were a dozen soft sounds all round us, whisperings
and sighings. Thc feeling was eerie in the extreme,
and by common consent we all kept close together.
"Suddenly we came out into thc open clearing in the middle of the grove and stood rooted to the spot in amaze-rncnt,
for there, on the threshold of the Idol House, stood a
shimmering figure wrapped tightly round in diaphanous gauze and with two crescent horns rising from the dark
masses of her hair.
"'My God!' said Richard Haydon, and the sweat sprang ut on his brow.
"But Violet Mannering was sharper.
""7hy, it's Diana,' she exclaimed. 'Ydhat has she done to herself? Oh, she looks quite different somehow!'
"The figure in the doorway raised her hands. She took a tcp forward and chanted in a high sweet voice.
"'I am the Priestess of Astarte,' she crooned. 'Beware how ou approach me, for I hold death in my hand.'


	24 	MISS MARPLE

"'Don't do it, dear,' protested Lady Mannering. 'You gix
us the creeps, you really do.'
	"Haydon sprang forward towards her.
"'My God, Diana!' he cried. 'You are wonderful.' "My eyes were accustomed to the moonlight now and
could see more plainly. She did, indeed, as Violet had said,
look quite different. Her face was more definitely oriental, and her eyes more of slits with something cruel in their
gleam, and the strange smile on her lips was one that I had
never seen there before.
"'Beware,' she cried warningly. 'Do not approach the Goddess. If anyone lays a hand on me it is death.'
	"'You are wonderful, Diana,' cried Haydon, 'but do
it. Somehow or other I--I don't like it.'
"He was moving towards her across the grass and flung out a hand towards him.
"'Stop,' she cried. 'One step nearer and I will smite y with thc magic of Astarte.'
	"Richard Haydon laughed and quickened his pace,
all at once a curious thing happened. He hesitated for a ment, then seemed to stumble and fall headlong.
"He did not get up again, but lay where he had fallcl prone on the ground.
	"Suddenly Diana began to laugh hysterically. It was
strange horrible sound breaking the silence of the glade. "With an oath Elliot sprang forward.
"'I can't stand this,' he cried, 'get up, Dick, get up, man.' "But still Richard Haydon lay where he had fallen. Elliot
Haydon reached his side, knelt by him and turned him
gently over. He bent over him, peering in his face.
"Then he rose sharply to his feet and stood swaying a little.
"'Doctor,' he said. 'Doctor, for God's sake come. think he is dead.'


THE IDOL HOUSE OF ASTARTE 	25

"Symonds ran forward and Elliot rejoined us walking very

slowly. He was looking down at his hands in a way I didn't

understand.
"At that moment there was a wild scream from Diana.
"'I have killed him,' she cried. 'Oh, my God! I didn't mean to, but I have killed him.'
"And she fainted dead away, falling in a crumpled heap on the grass.
"There was a cry from Mrs. Rogers.
"'Oh, do let us get away from this dreadful place,' she
wailed, 'anything might happen to us here. Oh, it's awful!' "Elliot got hold of me by the shoulder.
"'It can't be, man,' he murmured. 'I tell you it can't be. A
man cannot be killed like that. It is--it's against Nature.' "I tried to soothe him.
"'There is some explanation,' I said. 'Your cousin must have had some unsuspected weakness of the heart. The shock
and excitement--'
"He interrupted me.
"'You don't understand,' he said. He held up his hands for me to see and I noticed a red stain on them.
"'Dick didn't die of shock, he was stabbed--stabbed to the heart, and there is no weapon.'
"I stared at him incredulously. At that moment Symonds rose from his examination of the body and came towards us.
He was pale and shaking all over. '
"'Are we all mad?' he said. 'What is this place--that
things like this can happen in it?' "'Then it is true,' I said.
"He nodded.
"'The wound is such as would be made by a long thin
dagger, but--there is no dagger there.'
"We all looked at each other.
"'But it must be there,' cried Elliot Haydon. 'It must


	26 	MISS MARPLE

have dropped out. It must be on the ground somewhere. Let us look.'
"We peered about vainly on the ground. Violet Manner-ing said suddenly:
"'Diana had something in her hand. A kind of dagger. I
saw it. I saw it glitter when she threatened him.'
"Elliot Haydon shook his head.
"'He never even got within three yards of her,' he objected.
"Lady Mannering was bending over the prostrate girl on the ground.
"'There is nothing in her hand now,' she announced, 'and I can't see anything on the ground. Are you sure you saw it,
Violet? I didn't.'
"Dr. Symonds came over to the girl.
"'We must get her to the house,' he said. 'Rogers, will you help?'
"Between us we carried the unconscious girl back to the house. Then we returned and fetched the body of Sir Richard.''
Dr. Pender broke off apologetically and looked round. "One would know better nowadays," he said, "owing to the
prevalence of detective fiction. Every street boy knows that a
body must be left where it is found. But in these days we had
not the same knowledge, and accordingly we carried the
body of Richard Haydon back to his bedroom in the square
granite house and the butler was dispatched on a bicycle in
search of the police--a ride of some twelve miles.
"It was then that Elliot Haydon drew me aside.
"'Look here,' he said. 'I am going back to the grove. That weapon has got to be found.'
"'If there was a weapon,' I said doubtfully.
"He seized my arm and shook it fiercely. 'You have got that superstitious stuff into your head. You think his death



THE IDOL HOUSE OF ASTARTE 27
was supernatural; wel, am going back to the grove to find
OUt.'
"I was curiously averse to his doing so. I did my utmost to dissuade him, but without result. The mere idea of that
thick circle of trees was abhorrent to me and I felt a strong
premonition of further disaster. But Elliot was entirely pigheaded.
He was, I think, scared himself, but would not
admit it. He went off fully armed with determination to get
to the bottom of the mystery.
"Ir was a very dreadful night, none of us could sleep, or attempt to do so. The police, when they arrived, were frankly
incredulous of the whole thing. They evinced a strong desire
to cross-examine Miss Ashley, but there they had to reckon
with Dr. Symonds, who opposed the idea vehemently. Miss
Ashley had come out of her faint or trance and he had given
her a strong sleeping draught. She was on no account to be
disturbed until the following day.
"It was not until about seven o'clock in the morning that anyone thought about Elliot Haydon, and then Symonds
suddenly asked where he was. I explained what Elliot had
done and Symonds's grave face grew a shade graver. 'I wish
he hadn't. It iit is foolhardy,' he said.
"'You don't think any harm can have happened to him?' "'I hope not. I think, Padre, that you and I had better go
and see.'
"I knew he was right, but it took all the courage in my command to nerve myself for the task. We set out together
and entered once more that ill-fated grove of trees. We called
him twice and got no reply. In a minute or two we came
into the clearing, which looked pale and ghostly in the early
morning light. Symonds clutched my arm and I uttered a
muttered exclamation. Last night when we had seen it in the
moonlight there had been the body of a man lying face
downwards on the grass. Now in the early morning light the


	28 	MISS MARPLE

same sight met our eyes. Elliot Haydon was lying on the exact spot where his cousin had been.
"'My God,' said Symonds. 'It has got him too?
"We ran together over the grass. Elliot Haydon was unconscious but breathing feebly and this time there was no
doubt of what had caused the tragedy. A long thin bronze
weapon remained in the wound.
"'Got him through .the shoulder, not through the heart. That is lucky,' commented the doctor. 'On my soul, I don't
know what to think. At any rate he is not dead and he will
be able to tell us what happened.'
"But that was just what Elliot Haydon was not able to do. His description was vague in the extreme. He had hunted
about vainly for the dagger and at last giving up the search
had taken up a stand near the Idol House. It was then that
he became increasingly certain that someone was watching
him from the belt of trees. He fought against this impression
but was not able to shake it off. He described a cold strange
wind that began to blow. It seemed to come not from the
trees but from the interior of the Idol House. He turned
round, peering inside it. He saw the small figure of the Goddess
and he felt he was under an optical delusion. The figure
seemed to grow larger and larger. Then he suddenly received
something that felt like a blow between his temples which sent him reeling back, and as he fell he was conscious of a
sharp burning pain in his left shoulder.
"The dagger was identified this time as being the identical one which had been dug up in the barrow on the hill, and
which had been bought by Richard Haydon. Where he had
kept it, in the house or in the Idol House in the grove, none
seemed to know.
"The police were of the opinion, and always will be, that he was deliberately stabbed by Miss Ashley, but in view of
our combined evidence that she was never within three yards


	THE IDOL HOUSE OF ASTARTE 	29

of him, they could not hope to support the charge against
her. So the thing has been and remains a mystery."
There was a silence.
"There doesn't seem anything to say," said Joyce Lem-pti&re at length. "It is all so horrible--and uncanny. Have
you no explanation yourself, Dr. Pender?"
The old man nodded. "Yes," he said. "I have an explana-tion--a kind of explanation, that is. Rather a curious one--but
to my mind it still leaves certain factors unaccounted
for."
"I have been to seances," said Joyce, "and you may say what you like, very queer things can happen. I suppose one
can explain it by some kind of hypnotism. The girl really
turned herself into a Priestess of Astarte, and I suppose
somehow or other she must have stabbed him. Perhaps she
threw the dagger that Miss Mannering saw in her hand."
"Or it might have been a javelin," suggested Raymond West. "After all, moonlight is not very strong. She might
have had a kind of spear in her hand and stabbed him at a
distance, and then I suppose mass hypnotism comes into account.
I mean, you were all prepared to see him stricken
down by supernatural means and so you saw it like that."
"I have seen many wonderful things done with weapons and knives at music halls," said Sir Henry. "I suppose it is
possible that a man could have been concealed in the belt of
trees, and that he might from there have thrown a knife or a
dagger with sufficient accuracy--agreeing, of course, that he
was a professional. I admit that that seems rather far-fetched,
but it seems the only really feasible theory. You remember
that the other man was distinctly under the impression that
there was someone in the grove of trees watching him. As to
Miss Mannering saying that Miss Ashley had a dagger in her
hand and the others saying she hadn't, that doesn't surprise
me. If you had had my experience you would know that five


3° 	MISS MARPLE

persons' account of the same thing will differ so widely as to be almost incredible."
Mr. Petherick coughed.
"But in all these theories we seem to be overlooking one essential fact," he remarked. "What became of the weapon?
Miss Ashley could hardly get rid of a javelin standing as she
was in the middle of an open space; and if a hidden murderer
had thrown a dagger, then the dagger would still have been
in the wound when the man was turned over. We must, I
think, discard all far-fetched theories and confine ourselves to
sober fact."
"And where does sober fact lead us?"
"Well, one thing seems quite clear. No one was near the man when he was stricken down, so the only person who could have stabbed him was he himself. Suicide, in fact."
"But why on earth should he wish to commit suicide?" asked Raymond West incredulously.
The lawyer coughed again. "Ah, that is the question of theory once more," he said. "At the moment I am not concerned
with theories. It seems to me, excluding the supernatural
in which I do not for one moment believe, that that was
the only way things could have happened. He stabbed himself,
and as he fell his arms flew out, wrenching the dagger
from the wound and flinging it far into the zone of the trees.
That is, I think, although somewhat unlikely, a possible
happening."
"I don't like to say, I am sure," said Miss Marple. "It all perplexes me very much, indeed. But curious things do ha?-pen.
At Lady Sharpley's garden party last year the man who
was arranging the clock golf tripped over one of the num-bers---cluite
unconscious he wasand didn't come round for
about five minutes."
"Yes, dear Aunt," said Raymond gently, "but he wasn't stabbed, was he?"


THE IDOL HOUSE OF ASTARTE 3

"of course not, dear," said Miss Marple. "That is what I am telling you. Of course there is only one way that poor Sir
Richard could have been stabbed, but I do wish I knew what
causcd him to stumble in the first place. Of course, it might
have been a tree root. He would be looking at the girl, of
course, and when it is moonlight one does trip over things."
"You say that there is only one way that Sir Richard could have been stabbed, Miss Marple," said the clergyman, looking
at her curiously.
"It is very sad and I don't like to think of it. He was a right-handed man, was he not? I mean to stab himself in the
left shoulder he must have been. I was always so sorry for
poor Jack Baynes in the War. He shot himself in the foot,
you remember, after very severe fighting at Arras. He told
me about it when I went to see him in the hospital, and very
ashamed of it he was. I don't expect this poor man, Elliot
Haydon, profited much by his wicked crime."
"Elliot Haydon," cried Raymond. "You think he did it?" "I don't see how anyone else could have done it," said
Miss Marple, opening her eyes in gentle surprise. "I mean if,
as Mr. Petherick so wisely says, one looks at the facts and disregards
all that atmosphere of heathen goddesses which I
don't think is very nice. He went up to him first and turned
him over, and of course to do that he would have to have
had his back to them all, and being dressed as a brigand chief
he would be sure to have a weapon of some kind in his belt.
I remember dancing with a man dressed as a brigand chief
when I was a young girl. He had five kinds of knives and
daggers, and I can't tell you how awkward and uncomfortable
it was for his partner."
All eyes were turned towards Dr. Pender.
"I knew the truth," said he, "five years after that tragedy Occurred. It came in the shape of a letter written to me by
Elliot Haydon. He said in it that he fancied that I had always


	32 	MISS MAR PLE

suspected him. He said it was a sudden temptation. He too loved Diana Ashley, but he was only a poor struggling barrister.
With Richard out of the way and inheriting his title
and estates, he saw a wonderful prospect opening up before
him. The dagger had jerked out of his belt as he knelt down
by his cousin, and almost before he had time to think, he
drove it in and returned it to his belt again. He stabbed
himself later in order to divert suspicion. He wrote to me on
the eve of starting on an expedition to the South Pole in
case, as he said, he should never come back. I do not think
that he meant to come back, and I know that, as Miss Mar-pie
has said, his crime profited him nothing. 'For five years,'
he wrote, 'I have lived in Hell. I hope, at least that I may
expiate my crime by dying honourably.'"
There was a pause.
"And he did die honourably," said Sir Henry. "You have changed the names in your story, Dr. Pender, but I think I
recognize the man you mean."
"As I said," went on the old clergyman, "I do not think that explanation quite covers the facts. I still think there was
an evil influence in that grove, an influence that directed Elliot
Haydon's action. Even to this day I can never think
without a shudder of The Idol House of Astarte."


Ingots of Gold

I
do not know that the story that I am going to tell you is a fair one," said Raymond West, "because I can't give
you the solution of it. Yet the facts were so interesting
and so curious that I should like to propound it to you as a
problem, and perhaps between us we may arrive at some logical
conclusion.
"The date of these happenings was two years ago, when I went down to spend Whitsuntide with a man called John
Newman, in Cornwall." ' "Cornwall?" said Joyce Lemprire sharply.
"Yes. Why?"
"Nothing. Only it's odd. My story is about a place in Cornwall, tooa little fishing village called Rathole. Don't
tell me yours is the same?"
"No. My village is called Polperran. It is situated on the west coast of Cornwall; a very wild and rocky spot. I had
been introduced a few weeks previously and had found him a
most interesting companion. A man of intelligence and independent
means, he was possessed of a romantic imagination.
As a result of his latest hobby he had taken the lease of
Pol House. He was an authority on Elizabethan times, and
he described to me in vivid and graphic language the rout of

33


	34 	MISS MARPLE

the Spanish Armada. So enthusiastic was he that one could almost imagine that he had been an eyewitness at the scene.
Is there anything in reincarnation? I wonder--I very much
wonder."
"You are so romantic, Raymond dear," said Miss Marple, looking benignantly at him.
"Romantic is the last thing that I am," said Raymond West, slightly annoyed. "But this fellow Newman was
chock-full of it, and he interested me for that reason as a curious
survival of the past. It appears that a certain ship belonging
to the Armada, and known to contain a vast
amount of treasure in the form of gold from the Spanish
Main, was wrecked off the coast of Cornwall on the famous
and treacherous Serpent Rocks. For some years, so Newman
told me, attempts had been made to salve thc ship and recover
the treasure. I believe such stories are not uncommon,
though the number of mythical treasure ships is largely in
excess of the genuine ones. A company had been formed,
but had gone bankrupt, and Newman had been able to buy
the rights of the thing-or whatever you call it--for a mere
song. He waxed very enthusiastic about it all. According to
him it was merely a question of the latest scientific, up-to-date
machinery. The gold was there, and he had no doubt
whatever that it could be recovered.
"It occurred to me as I listened to him how often things happen that way. A rich man such as Newman succeeds almost
without effort, and yet in all probability the actual
value in money of his find would mean little to him. I must
say that his ardour infected me. I saw galleons drifting up
the coast, flying before the storm, beaten and broken on the
black rocks. The mere word galleon has a romantic sound.
The phrase 'Spanish Gold' thrills the schoolboy--and the
grown-up man also. Moreover, I was working at the time
upon a novel, some scenes of which were laid in the six-


	INGOTS OF GOLD 	35

teenth century, and I saw the prospect of getting valuable local colour from my host.
"I set off that Friday morning from Paddington in high spirits, and looking forward to my trip. The carriage was
empty except for one man, who sat facing me in the opposite
corner. He was a tall, soldierly-looking man, and I could
not rid myself of the impression that somewhere or other
I had seen him before. I cudgelled my brains for some time
in vain; but at last I had it. My travelling companion was
Inspector Badgworth, and I had to run across him when I
was doing a series of articles on the Everson disappearance
case.
"I recalled myself to his notice, and we were soon chatting pleasantly enough. When I told him I was going to Polper-ran
he remarked that that was a rum coincidence, because he
himself was also bound for that place. I did not like to seem
inquisitive, so was careful not to ask him what took him
there. Instead, I spoke of my own interest in the place, and
mentioned the wrecked Spanish galleon. To my surprise the
inspector seemed to know all about it. 'That will be the Juan
Fernandez,' he said. 'Your friend won't be the first who has
sunk money trying to get money out of her. It is a romantic
notion.'
"'And probably the whole story is a myth,' I said. 'No ship was ever wrecked there at all.'
"'Oh, the ship was sunk there right enough,' said the inspector--'along with a good company of others. You would
be surprised if you knew how many wrecks there are on that
part of the coast. As a matter of fact, that is what takes me
down there now. That is where the Otranto was wrecked
about six months ago.'
"'I remember reading about it,' I said. 'No lives were lost, I think?'
"'No lives were lost,' said the inspector; 'but something


	36 	MISS MARPLE

else was lost. It is not generally known, but the Otranto was carrying bullion.'
"'Yes?' I said, much interested.
"'Naturally we have had divers at work on salvage operations, but the gold has gone, Mr. West.'
"'Gone!' I said, staring at him. 'How can it have gone?' "'That is the question,' said the inspector. 'The rocks tore
a gaping hole in her strong-room. It was easy enough for the
divers to get in that way, but they found thc strong-room
empty. The question is, was the gold stolen before the wreck
or afterwards? Was it ever in the strong-room at all?' "'It seems a curious case,' I said.
"'It is a very curious case, when you consider what bullion is. Not a diamond necklace that you could put into
your pocket. When you think how cumbersome it is and
how bulky--well, the whole thing seems abolutely impossible.
There may have been some hocus-pocus before the ship
sailed; but if not, it must have been removed within the last
six monthsand I am going down to look into the matter.'
"I found Newman waiting to meet me at the station. He apologized for the absence of his car, which had gone to
Truro for some necessary repairs. Instead, he met me with a
farm lorry belonging to the property.
"I swung myself up beside him, and we wound carefully in and out of the narrow streets of the fishing village. We
went up a steep ascent, with a gradient, I should say of one
in five, ran a little distance along a winding lane, and turned
in at the granite-pillared gates of Pol House.
"The place was a charming one; it was situated high up the cliffs, with a good view out to sea. Part of it was some
three or four hundred years old, and a modern wing had
been added. Behind it farming land of about seven or eight
acres ran inland.
"'Welcome to Pol House,' said Newman. 'And to the


	INGOTS OF GOLD 	37

Sign of the Golden Galleon.' And he pointed to where, over the front door, hung a perfect reproduction of a Spanish galleon
with all sails set.
"My first evening was a most charming and instructive one. My host showed me the old manuscripts relating to the .Juan Fernandez. He unrolled charts for me and indicated positions
on them with dotted lines, and he produced plans of
diving apparatus, which, I may say, mystified me utterly and
completely.
"I told him of my meeting with Inspector Badgworth, in which he was much interested.
"'They are a queer people round this coast,' he said reflectively. 'Smuggling and wrecking is in their blood. When a
ship goes down on their coast they cannot help regarding it
as lawful plunder meant for their pockets. There is a fellow
here I should like you to see. He is an interesting survival.'
"Next day dawned bright and clear. I was taken down into Polperran and there introduced to Newman's diver, a
man called Higgins. He was a wooden-faced individual, extremely
taciturn, and his contributions to the conversation
were mostly monosyllables. After a discussion between them
on highly technical matters, we adjourned to the Three Anchors.
A tankard of beer somewhat loosened the worthy fellow's
tongue.
"'Detective gentleman from London has come down,' he grunted. 'They do say that that ship that went down here
last November was carrying a mortal lot of gold. Well, she
wasn't the first to go down, and she won't be the last.'
"'Hear, hear,' chimed in the landlord of the Three An-
chors. 'That is a true word you say there, Bill Higgins.' "'I reckon it is, Mr. Kelvin,' said Higgins.
"I looked with some curiosity at the landlord. He was a remarkable man, dark and swarthy, with curiously broad
shoulders. His eyes were bloodshot, and he had a curiously


	38 	MISS MARPLE

furtive way of avoiding one's glance. I suspected that this was the man of whom Newman had spoken, saying he was
an interesting survival.
"'We don't want interfering foreigners on this coast,' he said somewhat truculently.
"'Meaning the police?' asked Newman, smiling.
"'Meaning the police--and others,' said Kelvin significantly. 'And don't you forget it, mister.'
"'Do you know, Newman, that sounded to me very like a
threat,' I said as we climbed the hill homewards.
"My friend laughed.
"'Nonsense; I don't do the folk down here any harm.' "I shook my head doubtfully. There was something sinister
and uncivilized about Kelvin. I felt that his mind might
run in strange, unrecognized channels.
"I think I date the beginning of my uneasiness from that moment. I had slept well enough that first night, but the
next night my sleep was troubled and broken. Sunday
dawned, dark and sullen, with an overcast sky and the threat-enings
of thunder in the air. I am always a bad hand at
hiding my feelings, and Newman noticed the change in
me.
"'What is the matter with you, West? You are a bundle of nerves this morning.'
"'I don't know,' I confessed, 'but I have got a horrible
feeling of foreboding.' "'It's the weather.'
"'Yes, perhaps.'
"I said no more. In the afternoon we went out in Newman's motor boat, but the rain came on with such vigour
that we were glad to return to shore and change into dry
clothing.
"And that evening my uneasiness increased. Outside the storm howled and roared. Towards ten o'clock thc tempest
calmed down. Newman looked out the window.


	INGOTS OF GOLD 	39

"'It is clearing,' he said. 'I shouldn't wonder if it was a perfectly fine night in another half-hour. If so, I shall go out
for a stroll.'
"I yawned. 'I am frightfully sleepy,' I said. 'I didn't get much sleep last night. I think that tonight I shall turn in
early.'
"This I did. On the previous night I had slept little. Tonight I slept heavily. Yet my slumbers were not restful. I was
still oppressed with an awful foreboding of evil; I had terrible
dreams. I dreamt of dreadful abysses and vast chasms,
amongst which I was wandering, knowing that a slip of the
foot meant death. I waked to find the hands of my clock
pointing to eight o'clock. My head was aching badly, and
the terror of my night's dreams was still upon me.
"So strongly was this so that when I went to the window and drew it up, I started back with a fresh feeling of terror,
for the first thing I saw, or thought I saw, was a man digging
an open grave.
"It took me a minute or two to pull myself together; then I realized that the grave-digger was Newman's gardener, and
the 'grave' was destined to accommodate three new rose trees
which were lying on the turf waiting for the moment they
should be securely planted in the earth.
"The gardener looked up and saw me and touched his hat. "'Good morning, sir. Nice morning, sir.'
"'I suppose it is,' I said doubtfully, still unable to shake
off completely the depression of my spirits.
"However, as the gardener had said, it was certainly a nice morning. The sun was shining and the sky a clear pale blue
that promised fine weather for the day. I went down to
breal{fast whistling a tune. Newman had no maids living in
the house. Two middle-aged sisters, who lived in a farmhOUse
near by, came daily to attend to his simple wants. One
of them was placing the coffeepot on the table as I entered
the room.


	40 	MISS MARPLE

"'Good morning, Elizabeth,' I said. 'Mr. Newman not
down yet?'
"'He must have been out very early, sir,' she replied. 'He wasn't in the house when we arrived.'
"Instantly my uneasiness returned. On the two previous mornings Newman had come down to breakfast somewhat
late; and I didn't fancy that at any time he was an early riser.
Moved by those forebodings I ran up to his bedroom. It was
empty, and, moreover, his bed had not been slept in. A brief
examination of his room showed me two other things. If
Newman had gone out for a stroll he must have gone out in
his evening clothes, for they were missing.
"I was sure now that my premonition of evil was justified. Newman had gone, as he had said he would do---for an evening
stroll. For some reason or other he had not returned.
Why? Had he met with an accident? Fallen over thc cliffs? A
search must be made at once.
"In a few hours I had collected a large band of helpers, and together we hunted in every direction along the cliffs
and on the rocks below. But there was no sign of Newman.
"In the end, in despair, I sought out Inspector Badg-worth. His face grew very grave.
"'It looks to me as if there had been foul play,' he said. 'There are some not over-scrupulous customers in these
parts. Have you seen Kelvin, the landlord of the Three Anchors?'
"I said that I had seen him.
"'Did you know he did a turn in gaol four years ago? Assault and battery.'
"'It doesn't surprise me,' I said.
"'The general opinion in this place seems to be that your friend is a bit too fond of nosing his way into things that do
not concern him. I hope he has come to no serious harm.'
"The search was continued with redoubled vigour. It was


	INGOTS OF GOLD 	4I

not until late that afternoon that our efforts were rewarded. We discovered Newman in a deep ditch in a corner of his
own property. His hands and feet were securely fastened
with rope, and a handkerchief had been thrust into his
mouth and secured there so as to prevent him crying out.
"He was terribly exhausted and in great pain; but after some frictioning of his wrists and ankles, and a long draught
from a whisky flask, he was able to give his account of what
had occurred.
"The weather having cleared, he had gone out for a stroll about eleven o'clock. His way had taken him some distance
along the cliffs to a spot commonly known as Smugglers'
Cove, owing to the large number of caves to be found there.
Here he had noticed some men unloading something from a
small boat, and had strolled down to see what was going on.
Whatever the stuff was it seemed to be a great weight, and it
was being carried into one of the farthermost caves.
"With no real suspicion of anything being amiss, nevertheless Newman had wondered. He had drawn quite near
them without being observed. Suddenly there was a cry of
alarm, and immediately two powerful seafaring men had set
upon him and rendered him unconscious. When next he
came to himself he found himself lying on a motor ,eehicle
of some kind, which was proceeding, with many bumps and
bangs, as far as he could guess, up the lane which led from
the coast to the village. To his great surprise the lorry turned
in at the gate of his own house There, after a whispered
conversation between the men, they at length drew him
forth and flung him into a ditch at a spot where the depth of
it rendered discovery unlikely for some time. Then the lorry
drove on, and, he thought, passed out through another gate
some quarter of a mile nearer the village. He could give no
description of his assailants except that they were certainly
seafaring men, and, by their speech, Cornishmen.

MS LIBRARY


	42 	MISS MARPLE

	"Inspector Badgworth was very interested.
	"'Depend upon it that is where the stuff has been hidden,'
he cried. 'Somehow or other it has been salvaged from the wreck and has been stored in some lonely cave somewhere. It
is known that we have searched all the caves in Smugglers'
Cove, and that we are now going farther afield, and they
have evidently been moving the stuff at night to a cave that
has been already searched and is not likely to be searched
again. Unfortunately they have had at least eighteen hours
to dispose of the stuff. If they got Mr. Newman last night I
doubt if we will find any of it there by now.'
"The inspector hurried off to make a search. He found definite evidence that the bullion had been stored as supposed,
but the gold had been once more removed, and there was no
clue as to its fresh hiding-place.
"One clue there was, however, and the inspector himself pointed it out to me the following morning.
"'That lane is very little used by motor vehicles,' he said, 'and in one or two places we get the traces of the tyres very
clearly. There is a three-cornered piece out of one tyre, leaving
a mark which is quite unmistakable. It shows going into
the gate; here and there is a faint mark of it going out of the
other gate, so there is not much doubt that it is the right
vehicle we are after. Now, why did they take it out through
the farther gate? It seems quite clear to me that that lorry
came from the village. Now, there aren't many people who
own a lorry in the village--not more than two or three at
most. Kelvin, the landlord of the Three Anchors, has one.'
"'What was Kelvin's original profession?' asked Newman.
"'It is curious that you should ask me that, Mr. Newman. In his younger days Kelvin was a professional diver.'
"Newman and I looked at each other. The puzzle seemed to be fitting itself together piece by piece.


	INGOTS OF GOLD 	43

"'You didn't recognize Kelvin as one of the men on the beach?' asked the inspector.
"Newman shook his head.
"'I am afraid I can't say anything as to that:,' he said regretfully. 'I really hadn't time to see anything.'
"The inspector very kindly allowed me to accompany him ro the Three Anchors. The garage was up a side street. The
big doors were closed, but by going up a little alley at the
side we found a small door that led into it, and t:hat door was
open. A very brief examination of the tyres sut:ficed for the
inspector. 'We have got him, by Jove!' he exclaimed. 'Here is
the mark as large as life on the rear left wheel. Now, Mr.
Kelvin, I don't think you will be clever enough to wriggle
out of this.'"
Raymond West came to a halt.
"Well?" said Joyce. "So far I don't see anything to make a problem about--unless they never found the gold."
"They never found the gold certainly," said Raymond, "and they never got Kelvin either. I expect he was too clever
for them, but I don't quite see how he worked it. He was
duly arrested--on the evidence of the tyre mark. But an extraordinary
hitch arose. Just opposite the big doors of the ga-
rage was a cottage rented for the summer by a. lady artist." "Oh, these lady artists!" said Joyce, laughing.
"As you say, 'Oh these lady artists!' This particular one had been ill for some weeks, and, in consequence, had two
hospital nurses attending her. The nurse who was on night
duty had pulled her arm-chair up to the window, where the
blind was up. She declared that the motor lorry could not
have left the garage opposite without her seeing it, and she
swore that in actual fact it never left the garage that night."
"I don't think that is much of a problem," said Jo„ce. "The nurse went to sleep, of course. They always do."
"That has--er been known to happen," said Mr. Peth-


	44 	MISS MARPLE

crick, judiciously; "but it seems to me that we are accepting facts without sufficient examination. Before accepting the
testimony of the hospital nurse, we should inquire very
closely into her bona fides. The alibi coming with such suspicious
promptness is inclined to raise doubts in one's mind."
"There is also the lady artist's testimony," said Raymond. "She declared that she was in pain, and awake most of the
night, and that she would certainly have heard the lorry, it
being an unusual noise, and the night being very quiet after
the storm."
"H'm," said the clergyman, "that is certainly an additional fact. Had Kelvin himself any alibi?"
"He declared that he was at home and in bed from ten o'clock onwards, but he could produce no witnesses in support
of that statement."
"The nurse went to sleep," said Joyce, "and so did the patient. Ill people always think they have never slept a wink all
night."
Raymond West looked inquiringly at Dr. Pender.
"Do you know, I feel sorry for that man Kelvin. It seems to me very much a case of 'Give a dog a bad name.' Kelvin
had been in prison. Apart from the tyre mark, which certainly
seems too remarkable to be coincidence, there doesn't
seem to be much against him except his unfortunate
record."
"You, Sir Henry?"
Sir Henry shook his head.
"As it happens," he said smiling, "I know something about this case. So, clearly, I mustn't speak."
"Well, go on, Aunt Jane, haven't you got anything to say?"
"In a minute, dear," said Miss Marplc. "I am afraid I have counted wrong. Two purl, three plain, slip one, two purl--yes,
that's right. What did you say, dear?"


	INGOTS OF GOLD 	45

"What is your opinion?"
"You wouldn't like my opinion, dear. Young people
never do, I notice. It is better to say nothing." "Nonsense, Aunt Jane; out with it."
"Well, dear Raymond," said Miss Marpte, laying down her knitting and looking across at her nephew. "I do think
you should be more careful how you choose your friends.
You are so credulous, dear, so easily gulled. I suppose it is
being a writer and having so much imagination. All that
story about a Spanish galleon! If you were older and had
more experience of life you would have been on your guard
at once. A man you had known only a few weeks, too!"
Sir Henry suddenly gave vent to a great roar of laughter and slapped his knee.
"Got you this time, Raymond," he said. "Miss Marple you are wonderful. Your friend Newman, my boy, has another
name--several other names in fact. At the present moment
he is not in Cornwall but in Devonshire--Dartmoor, to be
exact--a convict in Princetown prison. We didn't catch him
over the stolen bullion business, but over the rifling of the
strong-room of one of the London banks. Then we looked
up his past record and we found a good portion of the gold
stolen buried in the garden at Pol House. It was rather a neat
idea. All along that Cornish coast there are stories of
wrecked galleons full of gold. It accounted for the diver, and
it would account later for the gold. But a scapegoat was
needed, and Kelvin was ideal for the purpose. Newman
played his little comedy very well and our friend Raymond,
with his celebrity as a writer, made an unimpeachable wit-
ness."
"But the tyre mark?" objected Joyce.
"Oh, I saw that at once, dear, although I know nothing about motors," said Miss Marple. "People change a wheel,
you know--I have often seen them doing it--and, of course


	46 	MISS MARPLE

they could take a wheel off Kelvin's lorry and take it out through the small door into the alley and put it on to Mr.
Newman's lorry and take the lorry out of one gate down to
thc beach, fill it up with the gold and bring it up through
the other gate, and then they must have taken the wheel
back and put it back on Mr. Kelvin's lorry while, I suppose,
someone else was tying up Mr. Newman in a ditch. Very
uncomfortable for him and probably longer before he was
found than he expected. I suppose the man who called himself
the gardener attended to that side of the business."
"Why do you say, 'called himself the gardener,' Aunt Jane?" asked Raymond curiously.
"Well, he can't have been a real gardener, can he?" said Miss Marple. "Gardeners don't work on Whit Monday.
Everybody knows that."
She smiled and folded up her knitting.
"It was really that little fact that put me on the right scent," she said. She looked across at Raymond.
"When you are a householder, dear, and have a garden of your own, you will know these little things."


The Bloodstained
Pavement

I
t's curious," said Joyce Lemprire, "but I hardly lik telling you my story. It happe, ned a long time agofive
years ago to be exact--but it s sort of haunted me ever
since. The smiling, bright, top part of it--and the hidden
gruesomeness underneath. And the queer thing is that the
sketch I painted at the time has become tinged with the
same atmosphere. When you look at it first it is just a rough
sketch of a little steep Cornish street with the sunlight on it.
But if you look long enough at it, something sinister creeps
in. I have never sold it, but I never look at it. It lives in the
studio in a corner with its face to the wall.
"The name of the place was Rathole. It is a queer little Cornish fishing village, very picturesque--too picturesque
perhaps. There is rather too much of the atmosphere of 'Ye
Olde Cornish Tea House' about it. It has shops with
bobbed-headed girls in smocks doing hand-illuminated mottoes
on parchment. It is pretty and it is quaint, but it is very
self-consciously so."
"Don't I know," said Raymond West, groaning. "The curse of the tourist bus, I suppose. No matter how narrow
the lanes leading down to them, no picturesque village is
safe."

47


48 	MISS M A R PLE

	Joyce nodded.
"There are narrow lanes that lead down to Rathole and very steep, like the side of a house. Well, to get on with my
story. I had come to Cornwall for a fortnight, to sketch.
There is an old inn in Rathole, the Polharwith Arms. It was
supposed to be the only house left standing by the Spaniards
when they shelled the place in fifteen hundred and something."
"Not shelled," said Raymond West, frowning. "Do try be historically accurate, Joyce."
"Well, at all events they landed guns somewhere along the coast and they fired them and the houses fell down. Anyway,
that is not the point. The inn was a wonderful old place
with a kind of porch in front built on four pillars. I was just
settling down to work when a car came creeping and twisting
down the hill. Of course, it would stop before the inn--just
where it was most awkward for me. The people got
out--a man and a woman--I didn't notice them partict-larly.
She had a kind of mauve linen dress on and a mauve
hat.
"Presently the man came out again and, to my great thankfulness, drove the car down to the quay and left it
there. He strolled back past me toward the inn. Just at t}ar
moment another beastly car came twisting down, and a
woman got out of it, dressed in the brightest chintz frock
have ever seen, scarlet poinsettias, I think they were, and
had on one of these big native straw hats--Cuban, aren't
they?--in very bright scarlet.
"This woman didn't stop in front of the inn but drove the car farther down the street toward the other one. Then she
got out and the man, seeing her, gave an astonished shout.
'Carol,' he cried, 'in the name of all that is wonderful. Fancy
meeting you in this out-of-the-way spot. I haven't seen you
for years. Hello, there's Margery--my wife, you know. You
must come and meet her.'


THE BLOODSTAINED PAVEMENT 	49

"They went up the street toward the inn side by side, and

I saw the other woman had just come out of the door and

was moving down toward them. I had had just a glimpse of

the woman called Carol as she passed by me. Just enough to

see a very white powdered chin and a flaming scarlet mouth,

and I wondered--I just wondered--if Margery would be so

very pleased to meet her. I hadn't seen Margery near to, but

in the distance she looked dowdy and extra prim and proper.
"Well, of course, it was not any of my business, but you get very queer little glimpses of life sometimes, and you can't
hdp speculating about them. From where they were standing
I could just catch fragments of their conversation that
floated down to me. They were talking about bathing. The
husband, whose name seem to be Denis, wanted to take a
boat and row around the coast. There was a famous cave well
worth seeing, so he said, about a mile long. Carol wanted to
see the cave, too, but she suggested walking along the cliffs
and seeing it from the land side. She said she hated boats. In
the end, they fixed it that way. Carol was to go along the
cliff path and to meet them at the cave, and Denis and Margery
would take a boat and row round.
"Hearing them talk about bathing made me want to bathe too. It was a very hot morning and I wasn't doing particularly
good work. Also, I fancied that the afternoon sunlight
would be far more attractive in effect. So I packed up
my things and went off to a little beach that I knew qf--it
was quite the opposite direction from the cave and was
rather a discovery of mine. I had a ripping swim there and I
lunched off a tinned tongue and two tomatoes, and I came
back in the afternoon full of confidence and enthusiasm to
get on with my sketch.
"The whole of Rathole seemed to be asleep. I had been right about the afternoon sunlight--the shadows were far
more telling. The Polharwith Arms was the principal note of
my sketch. A ray of sunlight came slanting obliquely down


5° 	MISS MARPLE

and hit the ground in front of it and had rather a curious feet. I gathered that the bathing party had returned safely,
because two bathing dresses, a scarlet one and a dark-blue
one, were hanging from the balcony, drying in the sun.
"Something had gone a bit wrong with one corner of my sketch and I bent over it for some moments, doing something
to put it right. When I looked up again there was a
figure leaning against one of the pillars of the Polharwit¼
Arms, who seemed to have appeared there by magic. He was
dressed in seafaring clothes and was, I suppose, a fisherman.
But he had a long dark beard, and ifI had been looking for a
model for a wicked Spanish captain, I couldn't have imagined
anyone better. I got to work with feverish haste be£orc
he should move away, though from his attitude he looked as
though he was perfectly prepared to prop up the pillars
through all eternity.
"He did move, however, but luckily not until I had got what I wanted. He came over to me and he began to talk.
Oh, how that man talked.
"'Rathole,' he said, 'was a very interesting place.' "I knew that already, but although I said so that
save me. I had the whole history of the shelling--I mean thc
destroying--of the village and how the landlord of the Pol-harwith
Arms was the last man to be killed. Run through on
his own threshold by a Spanish captain's sword, and of how
his blood spurted out on the pavement and no one could
wash out the stain for a hundred years.
"It all fitted in very well with the languorous, drowsy feeling of the afternoon. The man's voice was very suave and
yet at the same time there was an undercurrent in it of something
rather frightening. He was very obsequious in his
manner, yet I felt underneath he was cruel. He made me understand
the Inquisition and the terrors of all the things the
Spaniards did better than I have ever done before.
"All the time he was talking to me I went on paintig,

i


	THE BLOODSTAINED PAVEMENT 	5!

and suddenly I realized that in the excitement of listening to his story I had painted in something that was not there. On
that white square of pavement where the sun fell before the
door of the Polharwith Arms, I had painted in bloodstains.
It seemed extraordinary that the mind could play such tricks
with the hand, but as I looked over toward the inn again I
got a second shock. My hand had only painted in what my
eyes saw--drops of blood on thc white pavement.
"I stared for a minute or two. Then I shut my eyes, said to myself, 'Don't be so stupid, there's nothing there, really,'
then I opened them again, but the bloodstains were still
there.
"I suddenly felt I couldn't stand it. I interrupted the fisherman's flood of language.
"'Tell me,' I said. 'My eyesight is not very good. Are
those bloodstains on that pavement over there?'
"He looked at me indulgently and kindly.
"'No bloodstains in these days, lady. What I am telling you about is nearly five hundred years ago.'
"'Yes,' ! said, 'but now--on the pavement...' The words died away in my throat. I knew--I knew that he wouldn't
see what I was seeing. I got up and with shaking hands
began to put my things together. As I did so the young man
who had come in the car that morning came out of the inn
door. He looked up and down the street perplexedly. On the
balcony above his wife came out and collected the bathing
things. He walked down toward the car but suddenly
swerved and came across the road toward the fisherman.
"'Tell me, my man,' he said, 'you don't know whether that lady who came in that second car there has got back
yet?'
"'Lady in a dress with flowers all over it? No, sir, I haven't seen her. She went along the cliff toward the cave this
morning.'
"'I know, I know. We all bathed there together, and then


	52 	MISS MARPLE

she left us ro walk home and I have not seen her since. can't have taken her all this time. The cliffs round here arc
not dangerous, are they?'
"'It depends, sir, on the way you go. The best way is take a man who knows the place with you.'
"He very clearly meant himself and was beginning to large on the theme, but the young man cut him short
ceremoniously and ran back toward the inn, calling up to his
wife on the balcony.
"'I say, Margery, Carol hasn't come back yet. Odd, isn't it?'
"I didn't hear Margery's reply, but her husband went 'Well, we can't wait any longer. We have got to push on
Penrithar. Are you ready? I will turn the car.'
"He did as he had said, and presently the two of them drove off together. Meanwhile, I had deliberately been nerving
myself to prove how ridiculous my fancies were. When
the car had gone I went over to the inn and examined the
pavement closely. Of course there were no bloodstains there.
No, all along it had been the result of my distorted imagination.
Yet, somehow, it seemed to make the thing mi)re
frightening. It was while I was standing there that I heard
the fisherman's voice.
"He was looking at me curiously. 'You thought you saw
bloodstains here, eh, lady?'
"I nodded.
"'That is very curious, that is very curious. We have got a
superstition here, lady. If anyone sees those bloodstains--' "He paused.
"'Well?' I said.
"He went on in his soft voice, Cornish in intonation, but unconsciously smooth and well-bred in its pronunciation,
and completely free from Cornish turns of speech.
"'They do say, lady, that if anyone sees those bloodsv.ins there will be a death within twenty-four hours.'


	THE BLOODSTAINED PAVEMENT 	53

	"Creepy! It gave me a nasty feeling all down my spine.
"He went on persuasively. 'There is a very interesting tablet in the church, lady, about a death--'
"'No, thanks,' I said decisively, and I turned sharply on my heel and walked up the street toward the cottage where
I was lodging. Just as I got there I saw in the distance
the woman called Carol coming along the cliff path. She
was hurrying. Against the grey of the rocks she looked like
some poisonous scarlet flower. Her hat was the colour of
blood ....
"I shook myself. Really, I had blood on the brain.
"Later ! heard the sound of her car. I wondered whether she, too, was going to Penrithar, but she took the road to
the left in the opposite direction. I watched the car crawl up
the hill and disappear, and I breathed somehow more easily.
Rathole seemed its quiet sleepy self once more."
"If that is all," said Raymond West as Joyce came to a stop, "I will give my verdict at once. Indigestion, spots before
the eyes after meals."
"It isn't all," said Joyce. "You have got to hear the sequel. I read it in the paper two days later, under the heading of
'Sea Bathing Fatality.' It told how Mrs. Dacre, the wife of
Captain Denis Dacre, was unfortunately drowned at Landeer
Cove, just a little farther along the coast. She and her husband
were staying at the time at the hotel there and had declared
their intention of bathing, but a cold wind sprang up.
Captain Dacre had declared it was too cold, so he and some
other people in the hotel had gone off to the golf links nearby.
Mrs. Dacre, however, had said it was not too cold for her
and she went off alone down to the cove. As she didn't return,
her husband became alarmed and in company with his
friends went down to the beach. They found her clothes
lying beside a rock but no trace of the unfortunate lady. Her
body was not found until nearly a week later, when it was
washed ashore at a point some distance down the coast.


	54 	MISS MARPLE

There was a bad blow on her head which had occurred before death, and the theory was that she must have dived ill
the sea and hit her head on a rock. As far as I could make
out, her death would have occurred just twenty-four hours
after the time I saw the bloodstains."
"I protest," said Sir Henry. "This is not a problem--this is
a ghost story. Miss Lemprire is evidently a medium." Mr. Petherick gave his usual cough.
"One point strikes me," he said, "that blow on the head. We must not, I think, exclude the possibility of foul play.
But I do not see that we have any data to go upon. Miss
Lemprire's hallucination, or vision, is interesting, certainly,
but I do not see clearly the point on which she wishes us to
pronounce."
"Indigestion and coincidence," said Raymond, "and anyway, you can't be sure that they were thc same people.
sides, the curse, or whatever it was, would only apply to
actual inhabitants of Rathole."
"I feel," said Sir Henry, "that the sinister seafaring man has something to do with this tale. But I agree with Mr.
Petherick, Miss Lemprire has given us very little data."
Joyce turned to Dr. Pen&r, who smilingly shook his head.
"It is a most interesting story," he said, "but I am afraid I agree with Sir Henry and Mr. Petherick that there is very little
data to go upon."
Joyce then looked curiously at Miss Marple, who smiled back at her.
"I too think you are just a little unfair, Joyce dear," she said. "Of course, it is different for me. I mean, we, being
women, appreciate the point about clothes. I don't think it
is a fair problem to put to a man. It must have meant a lot of
rapid changing. What a wicked woman! And a still more
wicked man."


	THE BLOODSTAINED PAVEMENT 	55

Joyce stared at her.
"Aunt Jane," she said. "Miss Marple, I mean, I believe--I do really believe you know the truth."
"Well, dear," said Miss Marple, "it is much easier for me sitting here quietly than it was for you--and being an artist,
you are so susceptible to atmosphere, aren't you? Sitting here
with one's knitting, one just sees the facts. Bloodstains
dropped on the pavement from the bathing dress hanging
above, and being a red bathing dress, of course, the criminals
themselves did not realize it was bloodstained. Poor thing,
poor young thing!"
"Excuse me, Miss Marple," said Sir Henry, "but do you know that I am entirely in the dark still. You and Miss
LemprZre seem to know what you are talking about, but we
mere men are still in utter darkness."
"I will tell you the end of the story now," said Joyce. "It was a year later. I was at a little east-coast resort, and I was
sketching, when suddenly I had that queer feeling one has of
something having happened before. There were two people,
a man and a woman, on the pavement in front of me, and
they were greeting a third person, a woman dressed in a scarlet
poinsettia chintz dress. 'Carol, by all that is wonderful!
Fancy meeting you after all these years. You don't know my
wife? Joan, this is an old friend of mine, Miss Harding.'
"I recognized the man at once. It was the same Denis I had seen in Rathole. The wife was different--that is, she was
a Joan instead of a Margery; but she was the same type,
young and rather dowdy and very inconspicuous. I thought
for a minute I was going mad. They began to talk of going
bathing. I will tell you what I did. I marched straight then
and there to the police station. I thought they would probably
think I was off my head, but I didn't care. And, as it
happened, everything was quite all right. There was a man
from Scotland Yard there, and he had come down just about


	56 	MISS MARPLE

this very thing. It seems--oh, it's horrible to talk about--that the police had got suspicious of Denis Dacre. That
wasn't his real name--he took different names on different
occasions. He got to know girls, usually quiet, inconspicu.
ous girls without many relatives or friends; he married them
and insured their lives for large sums, and then-oh, it's
horrible! The woman called Carol was his real wife, and they
always carried out the same plan. That is really how they
came to catch him. The insurance companies became suspicious.
He would come to some quiet seaside place with his
new wife. Then the other woman would turn up and they
would all go bathing together. Then the wife would be
murdered and Carol would put on her clothes and go back
in the boat with him. Then they would leave the place,
wherever it was, after inquiring for the supposed Carol, and
when they got outside the village Carol would hastily
change back into her own flamboyant clothes and her vivid
make-up and would go back there and drive off in her own
car. They would find out which way the current was flowing
and the supposed death would take place at the next bathing
place along thc coast that way. Carol would play the part of
the wife and would go down to some lonely beach and
would leave the wife's clothes there by a rock and depart in
her flowery chintz dress to wait quietly until her husband
could rejoin her.
"I suppose when they killed poor Margery some of the blood must have spurted over Carol's bathing suit, and
being a red one, they didn't notice it, as Miss Marple says.
But when they hung it over the balcony it dripped. Ugh!"
She gave a shiver. "I can see it still."
"Of course," said Sir Henry, "I remember very well now. Davis was the man's real name. It had quite slipped my
memory that one of his many aliases was Dacre. They were
an extraordinarily cunning pair. It always seemed so amazing


	THE BLOODSTAINED PAVEMENT 	57
to me that no one spotted the change of identity. I suppose, as Miss Marple says, clothes are more easily identified than
faces; but it was a very clever scheme, for although we suspected
Davis, it was not easy to bring the crime home to
him as he always seemed to have an unimpeachable alibi."
"Aunt Jane," said Raymond, looking at her curiously, "how do you do it? You have lived such a peaceful life and
yet nothing seems to surprise you."
"! always find one thing very like another in this world," said Miss Marple. "There was Mrs. Green, you know. She
buried five children--and every one of them insured. Well,
naturally, one began to get suspicious."
She shook her head.
"There is a great deal of wickedness in village life. I hope you dear young people will never realize how very wicked
the world is."


Motive v. Opportunity

M
r. Petherick, the solicitor, cleared his throat rather more importantly than usual and beamed appreciatively
over his eyeglasses.
"The story I am about to tell is a perfectly simple and straightforward one and can be followed by any layman."
"No legal quibbles, now," said Miss Marple, shaking a knitting needle ar him.
"Certainly not," said Mr. Petherick.
"Ah well, I am not so sure, but let's hear the story." "It concerns a former client of mine. I will call him Mr.
Clode--Simon Clode. He was a man of considerable wealth
and lived in a large house not very far from here. He had had
one son killed in the war and this son had left one child, a
little girl. Her mother had died at her birth, and on her father's
death she had come to live with her grandfather who
at once became passionately attached to her. Little Chris
could do anything she liked with her grandfather. I have
never seen a man more completely wrapped up in a child,
and I cannot describe to you his grief and despair when.
the age of eleven, the child contracted pneumonia and dcd.
"Poor Simon Clode was inconsolable. A brother of his recently died in poor circumstances and Simon Clode

58


MOTIVE V. OPPORTUNITY 	59

generously offered a home to his brother's children--two

girls, Grace and Mary, and a boy, George. But though kind

and generous to his nephew and nieces, the old man never

expended on them any of the love and devotion he had ac
corded
to his little grandchild. Employment was found for

George Clode in a bank nearby, and Grace married a clever

young research chemist of the name of Philip Garrod. Mary,

who was a quiet, self-contained girl, lived at home and

looked after her uncle. She was, I think, fond of him in her

quiet, undemonstrative way. And to all appearances things

went on very peacefully. I may say that after the death of lit
tle
Chrisrobel, Simon Clode came to me and instructed me

to draw up a new will. By this will his fortune, a very consid
erable
one, was divided equally between his nephew and

nieces, a third share to each.
"Time went on. Chancing to meet George Clode one day, I inquired for his uncle, whom I had not seen for some time.
To my surprise George's face clouded over. 'I wish you could
put some sense into Uncle Simon,' he said ruefully. His
honest but not very brilliant countenance looked puzzled
and worried. 'This spirit business is getting worse and
worse.'
"'What spirit business?' I asked, very much surprised. "Then George told me the whole story. How Mr. Clode
had gradually got interested in the subject and how on the
top of this interest he had chanced to meet an American medium,
a Mrs. Eurydice Spragg. This woman, whom George
did not hesitate to characterize as an out-and-out swindler,
had gained an immense ascendency over Simon Clode. She
was practically always in the house, and many s6ances were
held in which the spirit of Christobel manifested itself to the
doting grandfather.
"I may say here and now that I do not belong to the ranks of those who cover spiritualism with ridicule and scorn. I am


	60 	MISS MARPLE

a believer in evidence. And I think that when we have an impartial mind and weigh the evidence in favour of spiritual.
ism there remains much that cannot be put down to fraud or
lightly set aside. Therefore, as I say, I am neither a believer
nor an unbeliever. There is certain testimony with which
one cannot afford to disagree.
"On the other hand, spiritualism lends itself very easily to fraud and imposture, and from all young George Clode told
me about this Mrs. Eurydice Spragg I felt more and more
convinced that Simon Clode was in bad hands and that Mrs.
Spragg was probably an impostor of the worst type. The old
man, shrewd as he was in practical matters, would be easily
imposed on where his love for his dead grandchild was concerned.
"Turning things over in my mind, I felt more and more uneasy. I was fond of the young Clodes, Mary and George,
and I realized that this Mrs. Spragg and her influence over
their uncle might lead to trouble in the future.
"At the earliest opportunity I made a pretext for calling on Simon Clode. I found Mrs. Spragg installed as an hon-oured
and friendly guest. As soon as I saw her my worst apprehensions
were fulfilled. She was a stout woman of middle
age, dressed in a flamboyant style. Very full of cant phrases
about 'our dear ones who have passed over,' and other things
of the kind.
"Her husband was also staying in the house, Mr. Absalom Spragg, a thin, lank man with a melancholy expression and
extremely furtive eyes. As soon as I could, I got Simon Clode
to myself and sounded him tactfully on the subject. He was
full of enthusiasm. Eurydice Spragg was wonderful! She had
been sent to him directly in answer to prayer! She cared
nothing for money; the joy of helping a heart in affliction
was enough for her. She had quite a mother's feeling for little
Chris. He was beginning to regard her almost as a daugh-


MOTIVE V. OPPORTUNITY 6

ter. Then hc went on to give me details--how he had heard his Chris's voice speaking--how she was well and happy
with her father and mother. He went on to tell other sentiments
expressed by the child, which in my remembrance
of little Christobel seemed to me highly unlikely. She laid
stress on the fact that 'Father and Mother loved dear Mrs.
Spragg.'
"'But, of course,' he broke off, 'you are a scoffer, Peth-erick.'
"'No, I am not a scoffer. Very far from it. Some of the men who have written on the subject are men whose testimony
I would accept unhesitatingly, and I should accord
any medium recommended by them respect and credence. I
presume that this Mrs. Spragg is well vouched for?'
"Simon went into ecstasies over Mrs. Spragg. She had been sent to him by Heaven. He had come across her at the
watering place where he had spent two months in the summer.
A chance meeting, with what a wonderful result!
"I went away very dissatisfied. My worst fears were realized, but I did not see what I could do. After a good deal of
thought and deliberation I wrote to Philip Garrod who had,
as I mentioned, just married the eldest Clode girl, Grace. I
set the case before himf course, in the most carefully
guarded language. I pointed out the danger of such a
woman gaining ascendency over the old man's mind. And I
suggested that Mr. Clode should be brought into contact if
possible with some reputable spiritualistic circles. This, I
thought, would not be a difficult matter for Philip Garrod to
arrange.
"Garrod was prompt to act. He realized, which I did not, that Simon Clode's health was in a very precarious condition,
and as a practical man he had no intention of letting
his wife or her sister and brother be despoiled of the inheritance
which was so rightly theirs. He came down the follow-


	62 	MISS MARPLE

ing week, bringing with him as a guest no other than the famous Professor Longman. Longman was a scientist of the
first order, a man whose association with spiritualism compelled
the latter to be treated with respect. Not only a brilliant
scientist, he was a man of the utmost uprightness and
probity.
"The result of the visit was most unfortunate. Longman, it seemed, had said very little while he was there. Two
s6ances were held--under what conditions I do not know.
Longman was noncommittal all the time he was in the
house, but after his departure he wrote a letter to Philip
Garrod. In it he admitted that he had not been able to detect
Mrs. Spragg in fraud; nevertheless, his private opinion was
that the phenomena were not genuine. Mr. Garrod, he said,
was at liberty to show this letter to his uncle if he thought
fit, and he suggested that he himself should put Mr. Clode in
touch with a medium of perfect integrity.
"Philip Garrod had taken this letter straight to his uncle, but the result was not what he had anticipated. The old man
flew into a towering rage. It was all a plot to discredit Mrs.
Spragg who was a maligned and injured saint! She had told
him already what bitter jealousy there was of her in this
country. He pointed out that Longman was forced to say he
had not detected fraud. Eurydice Spragg had come to him in
the darkest hour of his life, had given him help and' comfort,
and he was prepared to espouse her cause even if it meant
quarrelling with every member of the family. She was more
to him than anyone else in the world.
"Philip Garrod was turned out of the house with scant ceremony, but as a result of his rage Clode's own health took
a decided turn for the worst. For the last month he had kept
to his bed pretty continuously, and now there seemed every
possibility of his being a bedridden invalid until such time as
death should release him. Two days after Philip's departure I
received an urgent summons and went hurriedly over. (ilode


	' 	MOTIVE V. OPPORTUNITY
	63

was in bed and looked even to my layman's eye very ill indeed. He was gasping for breath.
"'This is the end of me,' he said. 'I feel it. Don't argue with me, Petherick. But before I die I am going to do my
duty by the one human being who has done more for me
than anyone else in the world. I want to make a fresh will.'
"'Certainly,' I said. 'If you will give me your instructions now, I will draft out a will and send it to you.'
"'That won't do,' he said. 'Why, man, I might not live through the night. I have written out what I want here'--he
fumbled under his pillow--'and you can tell me if it is
right.'
"He produced a sheet of paper with a few words roughly scribbled on it in pencil. It was quite simple and clear. He left
£5000 to each of his nieces and nephew and the residue of'
his vast property outright to Eurydice Spragg 'in gratitude
and admiration.'
"I didn't like it, but there it was. There was no question oE unsound mind; the old man was as sane as anybody.
"He rang the bell for two of the servants. They came promptly. The housemaid, Emma Gaunt, was a tall middle-aged
woman who had been in service there for many years
and who had nursed Clode devotedly. With her came the
cook, a fresh buxom young woman of thirty. Simon Clode
glared at them both from under his bushy eyebrows.
"'I want you to witness my will. Emma, get me my fountain pen.'
"Emma went over obediently to the desk.
"'Not that left-hand drawer, girl,' said old Simon irritably. 'Don't you know it is in the right-hand one?'
"'No, }t is here, sir,' said Emma, producing it.
"'Then you must have put it away wrong last time,' grumbled the old man. 'I can't stand things not being kept
in their proper places.'
"Still grumbling, he took the pen from her and copied his


	64 	MISS MARPLE

own rough draft, ;;amended by me, on to a frhpiece of paper. Then he signoed his name. Emma Gaunt and the cook,
Lucy David, also si,sgned- I folded the will up andput it into
a long blue envelcgpe. It was necessarily, you understand,
written on an orditaary piece of paper.
"just as the serva n ts were turn!ng to leave ther00n Clod¢ lay back on the pillows with a gasp and a distorted face. I
bent over him anx:iously, and Emma Gaunt came quickly
back. However, thoe old man recovered and smiled weakly.
"'It is all right, l'etherick, don't be alarmed.-tany rate, I shall die easy now, having done what I wantedt0.'
"Emma Gaunt llooked inquiringly at me as if t0 know whether she could leave the room. I nodded reassuringly and
she went out--firsr stopping to pick up the blue envelope
which I had let slip · to the ground in my moment0fanxiety.
She handed it to rn and I slipped it into my coatp0cket and
then she went out.
"'You are anno--yed, Petherick,' said Simon Cl0de. 'You are prejudiced, like ' everybody else.'
"'It is not a quocstion of prejudice,' I said. 'Mrs. Spragg may be all she clair's to be. I should see no objection to you
leaving her a small legacy as a memento of gratitude, but !
tell you frankly, Clcde, that to disinherit your o'n flesh and
blood in favor of a stranger is wrong.'
"With that I tuxrned to depart. I had done 'hatI could and made my prot::st.
"Mary Clode car'e out of the drawing room and met mc in the hall.
"'You will hav tea before you go, won't you? Come i here.' And she led me into the drawing room.
"A fire was burr'ing on the hearth and the room looked cosy and cheerful. 3he relieved me of my overcoat just as her
brother, George, came into the room. He took it from her
and laid it across a chair at the far end of the ro0m, then he


	MOTIVE V. OPPORTUNITY 	65

came back to the fireside where we drank tea. During the meal a qucstioO arose about some point concerning the estate.
Simon Clode said he didn't want to be bothered with it
and had left it to George to decide. George was rather nervous
about trusting to his own judgment. At my suggestion,
we adjourned to the study after tea and I looked over
the papers in question. Mary Clode accompanied us.
"A quarter of an hour later I prepared to take my departure. Remembering that I had left my overcoat in the draw-ing-room,
I went there to fetch it. The only occupant of the
room was Mrs. Spragg, who was kneeling by the chair on
which the overcoat lay. She seemed to be doing something
rather unnecessary to the cretonne cover. She rose with a
very red face as we entered.
"'That cover never did sit right,' she complained. 'My! I could make a better fit myself.'
"I took up my overcoat and put it on. As I did so I noticed that the envelope containing the will had fallen out of
the pocket and was lying on the floor. I replaced it in my
pocket, said good-bye, and took my departure.
"On arrival at my office, I will describe my next actions carefully. I removed my overcoat and took the will from the
pocket. I had it in my hand and was standing by the table
when my clerk came in. Somebody wished to speak to me on
the telephone, and the extension to my desk was out of
order. I accordingly accompanied him to the outer office and
remained there for about five minutes engaged in conversation
over the telephone.
"When I evnerged, I found my clerk waiting for me.
"'Mr. Spragg has called to see you, sir. I showed him into your office.'
"I went there to find Mr. Spragg sitting by the table, lie rose and greeted me in a somewhat unctuous manner, then
proceeded to a long discursive speech. In the main it seemed


	66 	MISS MARPLE

to be an uneasy justification of himself and his wife. He was afraid people were saying, et cetera, et cetera. His wife had
been known from her babyhood upward for the pureness of
her heart and her motives.., and so on and so on. I was, I
am afraid, rather curt with him. In the end I think he realized
that his visit was not being a success and he left somewhat
abruptly. I then remembered that I had left the will
lying on the table. I took it, sealed the envelope, and wrote
on it and put it away in the safe.
"Now I come to the crux of my story. Two months later Mr. Simon Clode died. I will not go into long-winded discussions.
I will just state the bare facts. When the sealed envelope
containing the will was opened it was found to
contain a sheet of blank paper."
He paused, looking around the circle of interested faces. He smiled himself with a certain enjoyment.
"You appreciate the point, of course? For two months the sealed envelope had lain in my safe. It could not have been
tampered with then. No, the time limit was a very short one.
Between the moment the will was signed and my locking it
away in the safe. Now who had had the opportunity, and to
whose interests would it be to do so?
"I will recapitulate the vital points in a brief summary: The will was signed by Mr. Clode, placed by me in an enve-lope-so
far so good. It was then put by me in my overcoat
pocket. That overcoat was taken from me by Mary and
handed by her to George, who was in full sight of me while
handling the coat. During the time that I was in the study
Mrs. Eurydice Spragg would have had plenty of time to extract
the envelope from the coat pocket and read its contents
and, as a matter of fact, finding the envelope on the ground
and not in the pocket seemed to point to her having done
so. But here we come to a curious point: she had thc opportunity
of substituting the blank paper, but no motive. The


	MOTIVE V. OPPORTUNITY 	67
will was in her favour, and by substituting a blank piece of paper she despoiled herself of the heritage she had been so
anxious to gain. The same applies to Mr. Spragg. He too had
the opportunity. He was left alone with the document in
question for some two or three minutes in my office. But
again, it was not to his advantage to do so. So we are faced
with this curious problem: the two people who had the opportunity
of substituting a blank piece of paper had no motive
for doing so, and the two people who had a motive had
no opportunity. By the way, I would not exclude the housemaid,
Emma Gaunt, from suspicion. She was devoted to her
young master and mistress and detested the Spraggs. She
would, I feel sure, have been quite equal to attempting the
substitution if she had thought of it. But although she actually
handled the envelope when she picked it up from the
floor and handed it to me, she certainly had no opportunity
of tampering with its contents and she could not have substituted
another envelope by some sleight of hand (of
which, anyway, she would not be capable) because thc envelope
in question was brought into the house by me and no
one there would be likely to have a duplicate."
He looked round, beaming on the assembly.
"Now, there is my little problem. I have, I hope, stated it clearly. I should be interested to hear your views."
To everyone's astonishment Miss Marple gave vent to a long and prolonged chuckle. Something seemed to be amusing
her immensely.
"What is the matter, Aunt Jane? Can't we share the joke?" said Raymond.
"I was thinking of little Tommy Symonds, a naughty little boy, I am afraid, but sometimes very amusing. One of
those children with innocent, childlike faces who are always
up to some mischief or other. I was thinking how last week
in Sunday school he said, 'Teacher, do you say yolk of eggs


i

	68 	MISS MARPLE

is white or yolk of eggs are white?' And Miss Durston explained that anyone would say 'Yolks of eggs are white, or
yolk of egg is white'--and naughty Tommy said: 'Well, I
should say yolk of egg is yellow!' Very naughty of him, of
course, and as old as the hills. I knew that one as a child."
"Very funny, my dear Aunt Jane," Raymond said gently, "but surely that has nothing to do with the very interesting
story that Mr. Petherick has been telling us."
"Oh yes, it has," said Miss Marple. "It is a catch! And so is Mr. Petherick's story a catch. So like a lawyer! Ah, my dear
old friend!" She shook a reproving head at him.
"I wonder if you really know," said the lawyer with a twinkle.
Miss Marple wrote a few words on a piece of paper, folded them up, and passed them across to him.
Mr..Petherick unfolded the paper, read what was written on it, and looked across at her appreciatively.
"My dear friend," he said, "is there anything you do not know?"
"I knew that as a child," said Miss Marple. "Played with it too."
"I feel rather out of this," said Sir Henry. "! feel sure that Mr. Petherick has some clever legal legerdemain up his
sleeve."
"Not at all," said Mr. Petherick. "Not at all. It is a perfectly fair, straightforward proposition. You must not pay
any attention to Miss Marple. She has her own way of looking
at things."
"We should be able to arrive at the truth," said Raymond West a trifle vexedly. "The facts certainly seem plain
enough. Five persons actually touched that envelope. The
Spraggs clearly could have meddled with it, but equally
clearly they did not do so. There remains the other three.
Now, when one sees the marvellous ways that conjurers have


	MOTIVE V. OPPORTUNITY 	69

of doing things before one's eyes, it seems to me that that paper could have been extracted and another substituted by
George Clode during the time he was carrying the overcoat
to the far end of the room."
"Well, I think it was the girl," said Joyce. "I think the housemaid ran down and told her what was happening and
she got hold of another blue envelope and just substituted
the one for the other."
Sir Henry shook his head. "I disagree with you both," he said slowly. "These sorts of things are done by conjurers, and
they are done on the stage and in novels, but I think they
would be impossible to do in real life, especially under the
shrewd eyes of a man like my friend Mr. Petherick here. But
! have an idea--it is only an idea and nothing more. We
know that Professor Longman had just been down for a visit
and that he said very little. It is only reasonable to suppose
that the Spraggs may have been very anxious as to the
result of that visit. If Simon Clode did not take them into
his confidence, which is quite probable, they may have
viewed his sending for Mr. Petherick from quite another
angle. They may have believed that Mr. Clode had already
made a will which benefited Eurydice Spragg and that this
new one might be for the express purpose of cutting her out
as a result of Professor Longman's revelations, or alternatively,
as you lawyers say, Philip Garrod had impressed on his
uncle the claims of his own flesh and blood. In that case,
suppose Mrs. Spragg prepared to effect a substitution. This
she does, but Mr. Petherick coming in at an unfortunate
moment, she has no time to read the real document and
hastily destroys it by fire in case the lawyer should discover
his loss."
Joyce shook her head very decidedly.
"She would never burn it without reading it."
"The solution is rather a weak one," admitted Sir Henry.


	70 	MISS MAR PLE

"I suppose-er--Mr. Petherick did not assist Providence himself."
The suggestion was only a laughing one, but the little lawyer drew himself up in offended dignity.
"A most improper suggestion," he said with some asperity.
"What does Dr. Pender say?" asked Sir Henry.
"I cannot say I have any very clear ideas. I think the substitution must have been effected by either Mrs. Spragg or
her husband, possibly for the motive that Sir Henry suggests.
If she did not read the will until after Mr. Petherick
had departed, she would then be in somewhat of a dilemma,
since she could not own up to her action in the matter. Possibly
she would place it among Mr. Clode's papers where she
thought it would be found after his death. But why it wasn't
found I don't know. It might be a mere speculation this--that
Emma Gaunt came across it--and out of misplaced devotion
to her employers--deliberately destroyed it."
"I think Dr. Pender's solution is the best of all," said
Joyce. "Is it right, Mr. Petherick?"
The lawyer shook his head.
"I will go on where I left off. I was dumbfounded and quite as much at sea as all of you are. I don't think I should
ever have guessed the truth--probably not--but I was enlightened.
It was cleverly done too.
"I went and dined with Philip Garrod about a month later, and in the course of our after-dinner conversation he
mentioned an interesting case that had recently come to his
notice.
"'I should like to tell you about it, Petherick, in confidence, of course.'
"'Quite so,' I replied.
"'A friend of mine who had expectations from one of his relatives was greatly distressed to find that that relativc had


	MOTIVE V. OPPORTUNITY 	7][

thoughts of benefiting a totally unworthy person. My friend, I am afraid, is a trifle unscrupulous in his methods. There
was a maid in the house who was greatly devoted to the interests
of what I may call the legitimate party. My friend
gave her very simple instructions. He gave her a fountain
pen, duly filled. She was to place this in a drawer in the writing
table in her master's room, but not the usual drawer
where the pen was generally kept. If her master asked her to
witness his signature to any document and asked her to
bring him his pen, she was to bring him not the right one,
but this one which was an exact duplicate of it. That was all
she had to do. He gave her no other information. She was a
devoted creature and she carried out his instructions faithfully.'
"He broke off and said:
"'I hope I am not boring you, Petherick.' "'Not at all,' I said. 'I am keenly interested.'
"Our eyes met.
"'My friend is, of course, not known to you,' he said. "'Of course not,' I replied.
"'Then that is all right,' said Philip Garrod.
"He paused, then said smilingly, 'You see the point? The pen was filled with what is commonly known as evanescent
ink--a solution of starch in water to which a few drops of
iodine has been added. This makes a deep blue-black fluid,
but the writing disappears entirely in four or five days.'" Miss Marple chuckled.
"Disappearing ink," she said. "I know it. Many is the time I have played with it as a child."
And she beamed round on them all, pausing to shake a finger once more at Mr. Petherick.
"But all the same it's a catch, Mr. Pethcrick," she said. "Just like a lawyer."


The Thumbmark
of St. Peter

A
d now, Aunt Jane, it is up to you," said Raymond West.
"Yes, Aunt Jane, we are expecting something really spicy," chimed in Joyce Lemprire.
"Now, you are laughing at me, my dears," said Miss Mar-pie placidly. "You think that because I have lived in this
out-of-the-way spot all my life I am not likely to have had
any very interesting experiences."
"God forbid that I should ever regard village life as peaceful and uneventful," said Raymond with fervour. "Not after
the revelations we have heard from you! The cosmopolitan
world seems a mild and peaceful place compared with St.
Mary Mead."
"Well, my dear," said Miss Marple, "human nature is much the same everywhere, and, of course, one has opportunities
of observing it at closer quarters in a village."
"You really are unique, Aunt Jane," cried Joyce. "I hope you don't mind me calling you Aunt Jane?" she added. "I
don't know why I do it."
"Don't you, my dear?" said Miss Marple.
She looked up for a moment or two with something quizzical in her glance, which made the blood flame to the girl's

72


	THg THUM3M^UK OF ST. ?£TER 	73

cheeks. Raymond West fidgeted and cleared his throat in a somewhat embarrassed manner.
Miss Marple looked at them both and smiled again and bent her attention once more to her knitting.
"It is true, of course, that I have lived what is called a very uneventful life, but I have had a lot of experient:es in solving
different little problems that have arisen. Some of them have
been really quite ingenious, but it would be nc good telling
them to you, because they are about such unimportant
things that you would not be interested--just things like:
Who cut the meshes of Mrs. Jones's string bag? And why
Mrs. Sims only wore her new fur coat once. Very interesting
things, really, to any student of human nature. No, the only
experience that I can remember that would be of interest to
you is the one about my poor niece Mabel's husband.
"It is about ten or fifteen years ago now, anal happily it is all over and done with, and everyone has forgotten about it.
People's memories are very short-a lucky thing, I always
think."
Miss Marple paused and murmured to herself:
"I must just count this row. The decreasing is a little awkward. One, two, three, four, five, and then three purl;
that is right. Now, what was I saying? Oh yes, about poor
Mabel.
"Mabel was my niece. A nice girl, really a Very nice girl, but just a trifle what one might call silly. Rather fond of
being melodramatic and of saying a great deal rnore than she
meant whenever she was upset. She married a Mr. Denman
when she was twenty-two, and I am afraid it Was not a very
happy marriage. I had hoped very much that the attachment
would not come to anything, for Mr. Denman was a man of
very violent temper--not the kind of man Who would be
patient with Mabel's foibles--and I also leared that there
was insanity in his family. However, girls were just as obsti-


	74 	MISS MARPLE

hate then as they are now, and as they always will be. And Mabel married him.
"I didn't see very much of her after her marriage. She came to stay with me once or twice, and they asked me there
several times, but, as a matter of fact, I am not very fond of
staying in other people's houses, and I always managed to
make some excuse. They had been married ten years when
Mr. Denman died suddenly. There were no children, and he
left all his money to Mabel. I wrote, of course, and offered to
come to Mabel if she wanted me; but she wrote back a very
sensible letter, and I gathered that she was not altogether
overwhelmed by grief. I thought that was only natural, because
I knew they had not been getting on together for some
time. It was not until about three months afterward that I
got a most hysterical letter from Mabel, begging me to come
to her, and saying that things were going from bad to worse
and she couldn't stand it much longer.
"So, of course," continued Miss Marple, "I put Clara on board wages and sent the plate and the King Charles tankard
to the bank, and I went off at once. I found Mabel in a very
nervous state. The house, Myrtle Dene, was a fairly large
one, very comfortably furnished. There was a cook and a
house-parlourmaid, as well as a nurse-attendant to look after
old Mr. Denman, Mabel's husband's father, who was what is
called 'not quite right in the head.' Quite peaceful and well-behaved,
but distinctly odd at times. As I say, there was insanity
in the family.
"I was really shocked to see the change in Mabel. She was a mass of nerves, twitching all over, yet I had the greatest
difficulty in making her tell me what the trouble was. I got
at it, as one always does get at these things, indirectly. 1
asked her about some friends of hers she was always mentioning
in her letters, the Gallaghers. She said, to my surprise,
that she hardly ever saw them nowadays. Other friends


	THE THUMBMARK OF ST. PETER 	75
whom I mentioned elicited the same remark. I spoke to her then of the folly of shutting herself up and brooding, and
especially of the silliness of cutting herself adrift from her
friends. Then she came bursting out with the truth.
"'It is not my doing, it is theirs. There is not a soul in the place who will speak to.me now. When I go down the High
Street they all get out of the way so that they shan't have to
meet me or speak to me. I am like a kind of leper. It is awful,
and I can't bear it any longer. I shall have to sell the house
and go abroad. Yet why should I be driven away from home
like this? I have done nothing.'
"I was more disturbed than I can tell you. I was knitting a comforter for old Mrs. Hay at the time, and in my perturbation
I dropped two stitches and never discovered it until
long after.
"'My dear Mabel,' I said, 'you amaze me. But what is the cause of all this?'
"Even as a child Mabel was always difficult. I had the greatest difficulty in getting her to give me a straightforward
answer to my question. She would only say vague things
about wicked talk and idle people who had nothing better to
do than gossip, and people who put ideas into the other
people's heads.
"'That is all quite clear to me,' I said. 'There is evidently some story being circulated about you. But what that story
is you must know as well as anyone. And you are going to
tell me.'
"'It is so wicked,' moaned Mabel.
"'Of course it is wicked,' I said briskly. 'There is nothing that you can tell me about people's minds that would astonish
or surprise me. Now, Mabel, will you tell me in plain
English what people are saying about you?'
"Then it all came out.
"It seemed that Geoffrey Denman's death, being quite


	76 	MISS MARPLE

sudden and unexpected, gave rise to various turnouts. In fact--and in plain English as I had put it to her--people
were saying that she had poisoned her husband.
"Now, as I expect you know, there is nothing more cruel than talk, and there is nothing more difficult to combat.
When people say things behind your back there is nothing
you can refute or deny, and the rumours go on growing and
growing, and no one can stop them. I was quite certain of
one thing: Mabel was quite incapable of poisoning anyone.
And I didn't see why life should be ruined for her and her
home made unbearable just because in all probability she had
been doing something silly and foolish.
"'There is no smoke without fire,' I said. 'Now, Mabel, you have got to tell me what started people off on this tack.
There must have been something.'
"Mabel was very incoherent and declared there was noth-ing-nothing at all, except, of course, that Geoffrey's death
had been very sudden. He had seemed quite well at supper
that evening and had taken violently ill in the night. The
doctor had been sent for, but the poor man had died a few
minutes after the doctor's arrival. Death had been thought
to be the result of eating poisoned mushrooms.
"'Well,' I said, 'I suppose a sudden death of that kind might start tongues wagging, but surely not without some
additional facts. Did you have a quarrel with Geoffrey or
anything of that kind?'
"She admitted that she had had a quarrel with him on the preceding morning at breakfast time.
"'And the servants heard it, I suppose?' I asked. "'They weren't in the room.'
"'No, my dear,' I said, 'but they probably were fairly near the door outside.'
"I knew the carrying power of Mabel's high-pitched, hysterical voice only too well. Geoffrey Denman, too, was a
man given to raising his voice loudly when angry.


	THE 	THUMBMARK OF
	ST. PETER
	77

	,, ,What did you 	quarrel about?'
	I asked.

	"'Oh, the usual 	things. It was
	always the same things
over and over again. Some little thing woulcl start us off, and then Geoffrey became impossible and sai4 abominable
things, and I told him what I thought of hirrl.'
"'There had been a lot of quarrelling, then?, I asked. "'It wasn't my fault--'
"'My dear child,' I said, 'it doesn't matter Whose fault it was. That is not what we are discussing. In a ilace like this
everybody's private affairs are more or less public property.
You and your husband were always quarrelling. You had a
particularly bad quarrel one morning, and that night your
husband died suddenly and mysteriously. Is that all, or is
there anything else?'
"'I don't know what you mean by anything else,' said Mabel sullenly.
"'Just what I say, my dear. If you have done anything silly, don't, for heaven's sake, keep it back no,. I only want
to do what I can to help you.'
"'Nothing and nobody can help,' said Mabel wildly, 'except death.'
"'Have a little more faith in Providence, dear,' I said. 'Now then, Mabel, I know perfectly well there is something
else that you are keeping back.'
"I always did know, even when she was a claild, when she was not telling me the whole truth. It took a long time, but
I got it out at last. She had gone down to the chemist's that
morning and had bought some arsenic. She had had, of
COUrse, to sign the book for it. Naturally the chemist had talked.
"'V,/ho is your doctor?' I asked.
"'Dr. Rawlinson.'
"I knew him by sight. Mabel had pointed him out to me the other day. To put it in perfectly plain language, he was
I would describe as an old dodderer. I have had too


	78 	MISS MARPLE

much experience of life to believe in the infallibility of doctors. Some of them are clever men and some of them are not,
and half the time the best of them don't know what is the
matter with you. I have no truck with doctors and their
medicines myself.
"I thought things over, and then I put my bonnet on and went to call on Dr. Rawlinson. He was just what I had
thought him--a nice old man, kindly, vague, and so shortsighted
as to be pitiful, slightly deaf, and, withal, touchy and
sensitive to the last degree. He was on his high horse at once
when I mentioned Geoffrey Denman's death, talked for a
long time about various kinds of fungi, edible and otherwise.
He had questioned the cook, and she had admitted
that one or two of the mushrooms cooked had been 'a
little queer,' but as the shop had sent them she thought they
must be all right. The more she thought about them since,
the more she was convinced that their appearance was unusual.
"'She would be,' I said. 'They would start by being quite like mushrooms in appearance, and they would end by being
orange with ?u[e spots.'
"I gathered that Denman had been past speech when the doctor got to him. He was incapable of swallowing and had
died within a few minutes. The doctor seemed perfectly satisfied
with the certificate he had given. But how much of that
was obstinacy and how much of it was genuine belief I could
not be sure.
"I went straight home and asked Mabel quite frankly why she had bought arsenic.
"'You must have had some idea in your mind,' I pointed
out.
"Mabel burst into tears. 'I wanted to make away with myself,' she moaned. 'I was too unhappy. I thought I would
end it all.'
"'Have you the arsenic still?' I asked.


	TH THUMBM^RK OV ST. rEarER 	79

	"'No, I threw it away.'
	"I sat there turning things over and over in my mind.
"'What happened when he was taken ill? Did he call you?'
"'No.' She shook her head. 'He rang the bell violently, He must have rung several times. At last Dorothy, the
house-parlourmaid, heard it, and she waked the cook up, and
they came down. When Dorothy saw him she was frightened.
He was rambling and delirious. She left the cook with
him and came rushing to me. I got up and went to him. Of
course, I saw at once he was dreadfully ill. Unfortunately
Brewster, who looks after old Mr. Denman, was away for the
night, so there was no one who knew what to do. I sent
Dorothy off for the doctor, and cook and I stayed with him,
but after a few minutes I couldn't bear it any longer; it was
too dreadful. I ran away back to my room and locked the
door.'
"'Very selfish and unkind of you,' I said, 'and no doubt that conduct of yours has done nothing to help you since,
you may be sure of that. Cook will have repeated it everywhere.
Well, well, this is a bad business.'
"Next I spoke to the servants. The cook wanted to tell me about the mushrooms, but I stopped her. I was tired of these
mushrooms. Instead, I questioned both of them very closely
about their master's condition on that night. They both
agreed that he seemed to be in great agony, that he was unable
to swallow, and he could only speak in a strangled
voice, and when he did speak it was only rambling--nothing
sensible.'
"'What did he say when he was rambling?' I asked curiously.
"'Something about some fish, wasn't it?' She turned to the other.
"Dorothy agreed.
"'A heap of fish,' she said. 'Some nonsense like that. I


	80 	MISS MAR PLE

could see at once he wasn't in his right mind, poor gentle-
maFl. '
"There didn't seem to be any sense to be made out of that. As a last resource I went up to see the nurse-attendant,
Brewster, who was a gaunt, middle-aged woman of about
fifty.
"'It is a pity that I wasn't here that night,' she said. 'Nobody seems to have tried to do anything for him until the doctor came.'
"'I suppose he was delirious,' I said doubtfully, 'but that
is not a symptom of ptomaine poisoning, is it?'
"'It depends,' said Brewster.
"I asked her how her patient was getting on.
"She shook her head.
"'He is pretty bad,' she said.
"'Weak?'
"'Oh no, he is strong enough physically--all but his eyesight. That is failing badly. He may outlive all of us, but his
mind is failing very fast now. I had already told both Mr.
and Mrs. Denman that he ought to be in an institution, but
Mrs. Denman wouldn't hear of it at any price.'
"I will say for Mabel that she always had a kindly heart. "Well, there the thing was. I thought it over in every aspect,
and at last I decided that there was only one thing to be
done. In view of rumours that were going about, permission
must be applied for to exhume the body, and a proper postmortem
must be made and lying tongues quieted once and
for all. Mabel, of course, made a fuss, mostly on sentimental
grounds-disturbing the dead man in his peaceful grave, et
cetera, et cetera but I was firm.
"I won't make a long story of this part of it. We got the order and they did the autopsy, or whatever they call it,
but the result was not so satisfactory as it might have
been. There was no trace of arsenic--that was all to the


	THE THUMBMARK OF ST. PETER 	8][

good--but the actual words of the report were that there was rothing to show by what means deceased had come to
his death.
"So, you see, that didn't lead us out of trouble altogether. People went on talking--about rare poisons impossible to
detect and rubbish of that sort. I had seen thc pathologist
who had done the post-mortem, and I had asked him several
questions, though he tried his best to get out of answering
most of them; bu't I got out of him that he considered it
highly unlikely that the poisoned mushrooms were the cause
of death. An idea was simmering in my mind, and I asked
him what poison, if any, could have been employed to obtain
that result. He made a long explanation to me, most of
which, I must admit, I did not follow, but it amounted to
this: That death might have been due to some strong vegetable
alkaloid.
"The idea I had was this: Supposing the taint of insanity was in Geoffrey Denman's blood also, might he not have
made away with himself?. He had, at one period of his life,
studied medicine, and he would have a good knowledge of
poisons and their effects.
"! didn't think it sounded very likely, but it was the only thing I could think of. And I was nearly at my wit's end, I
can tell you. Now, I dare say you modern young people will
laugh, but when I am in really bad trouble I always say a little
prayer to myself--anywhere, when I am walking along
the street, or at a bazaar. And I always get an answer. It may
be some trifling thing, apparently quite unconnected with
the subject, but there it is. I had that text pinned over my
bed when I was a little girl: Ask andyou shall receive. On the
morning that I am telling you about, I was walking along
the High Street, and I was praying hard. I shut my eyes, and
when I opened them, what do you think was the first thing
that I saw?"


	82 	MISS MARPLE

Five faces with varying degrees of interest were turned to Miss Marple. It may be safely assumed, however, that no one
would have guessed the answer to the question right.
"I saw," said Miss Marple impressively, "the window of the fishmonger's shop. There was only one thing in it, a
fresh haddock."
She looked round triumphantly.
"Oh, my God!" said Raymond West. "An answer to prayer--a fresh haddock!"
"Yes, Raymond," said Miss Marple severely, "and there is no need to be profane about it. The hand of God is everywhere.
The first thing I saw were the black spots--the marks
of St. Peter's thumb. That is the legend, you know. St.
Peter's thumb. And that brought things home to me. I
needed faith, the ever-true faith of St. Peter. I connected the
two things together, faith--and fish."
Sir Henry blew his nose rather hurriedly. Joyce bit her lip. "Now what did that bring to my mind? Of course, both
the cook and the house-parlourmaid mentioned fish as being
one of the things spoken of by the dying man. I was convinced,
absolutely convinced, that there was some solution
of the mystery to be found in these words. I went home de-
termined to get to the bottom of the matter."
She paused.
"Has it ever occurred to you," the old lady went on, "how much we go by what is called, I believe, the context? There
is a place on Dartmoor called Grey Wethers. If you were
talking to a farmer there and mentioned Grey Wethers, he
would probably conclude that you were speaking of these
stone circles, yet it is possible that you might be speaking of
the atmosphere; and in the same way, if you were meaning
the stone circles, an outsider, hearing a fragment of the conversation,
might think you meant the weather. So when we
repeat a conversation, we don't, as a rule, repeat the actual


	THE THUNIBMARK OF ST. PETER 	83
words; we put in some other words that seem to us to mean exactly the same thing.
"I saw both the cook and Dorothy separately. I asked the cook if she was quite sure that her master had really mentioned
a heap of fish. She said she vas quite sure.
"'Were these his exact words,' I asked, 'or did he mention some particular kind of fish?'
"'That's it,' said the cook, 'it was some particular kind of fish, but I can't remember what now. A heap of--now what
was it? Not any of the fish you send to table. Would it be a
perch now---or pike? No. It didn't begin with a P.'
"Dorothy also recalled that her master had mentioned some special kind of fish. 'Some outlandish kind of fish it
was,' she said.
"'A pile of--now wht was it?'
"'Did he say heap or pile?' I asked.
"'I think he said pile. Btt there, I really can't be sure--it's so hard to remember the actual woMs, isn't it, miss, especially
when they don't seem to make sense. But now I come
to think of it, I am pretty sure that it was a pile and the fish
began with C; but it wasn't a cod or a crayfish.'

"Thc next part is where I am really proud of myself," said Miss Marple, "because, of course, I don't know anything

about drugs--nasty, dangerous things I call them. I have got an old recipe of my grandmother's for tansy tea that is worth
any amount of your drugS- But I knew that there were several
medical volumes in the house, and in one of them there
was an index of drugs, you see, my idea was that Geoffrey
had taken some particular poison and was trying to say the
name of it.
"Well, I looked down the list of H's, beginning He. Nothing there that sounded likely. Then I began on the P's,
and almost at once I came to---what do you think?"
She looked round, postponing her moment of triumph.


	84 	MISS MARPLE

"Pilocarpine. Can't you understand a man who could
hardly speak trying to drag that word out? What would that sound like to a cook who had never heard the word?
Wouldn't it convey the impression 'pile of carp?'"
	"By Jove!" said Sir Henry.
	"I should never have hit upon that," said Dr. Pender.
"Most interesting," said Mr. Petherick. "Really most interesting.''
"I turned quickly to the page indicated in the index. I read about pilocarpine and its effect on the eyes and other
things that didn't seem to have any bearing on the case, but
at last I came to a most significant phrase: Has been tried
with success as an antidote for atropine poisoning.
"I can't tell you the light that dawned upon me then. I never had thought it likely that Geoffrey Denman would
commit suicide. No, this new solution was not only possible,
but I was absolutely sure it was the correct one, because
all thc pieces fitted in logically."
"I am not going to try to guess," said Raymond. "Go on, Aunt Jane, and tell us what was so startlingly clear to you."
"I don't know anything about medicine, of course," said Miss Marple, "but I did happen to know this, that when my
eyesight was failing, the doctor ordered me drops with atropine
sulphate in them. I went straight upstairs to old Mr.
Denman's room. I didn't beat about the bush.
"'Mr. Denman,' I said, 'I know everything. Why did you poison your son?'
"He looked at me for a minute or two--rather a handsome old man he was, in his way--and then he burst out
laughing. It was one of the most vicious laughs I have ever
heard. I can assure you it made my flesh creep. I had only
heard anything like it once before, when poor Mrs. Jones
went off her head.
	"'Yes,' he said, 'I got even with Geoffrey. I was too clever


	THE THUMBMARK OF ST. PETER 	85

for Geoffrey. He was going to put me away, was he? Have me shut up in an asylum? I heard them talking about it.
Mabel is a good girl--Mabel stuck up for me, but I knew
she wouldn't be able to stand up against Geoffrey. In the
end he would have his own way; he always did. But I settled
him--I settled my kind, loving son! Ha, ha! I crept down
in the night. It was quite easy. Brewster was away. My dear
son was asleep. He had a glass of water by the side of his
bed; he always woke up in the middle of the night and
drank it off. I poured it away--ha, ha!--and I emptied the
bottle of eye drops into the glass. He would wake up and
swill it down before he knew what it was. There was only a
tablespoonful of it--quite enough, quite enough. And so
he did! They came to me in the morning and broke it to
me very gently. They were afraid it would upset me. Ha!
Ha! Ha! Ha! Ha!'
"Well," said Miss Marple, "that is the end of the story. Of course, the poor old man was put in an asylum. He wasn't
really responsible for what he had done, and the truth was
known, and everyone was sorry for Mabel and could not do
enough to make up to her for thc unjust suspicions they had
had. But if it hadn't been for Geoffrey realizing what the
stuff was he had swallowed and trying to get everybody to
get hold of the antidote without delay, it might never have
been found out. I believe there are very definite symptoms
with atropine---dilated pupils of the eyes, and all that; but,
of course, as I have said, Dr. Rawlinson was very shortsighted,
poor old man. And in the same medical book which
I went on reading--and some of it was most interesting--it
gave the symptoms of ptomaine poisoning and atropine, and
they are not unlike. But I can assure you I have never seen a
pile of fresh haddock without thinking of the thumbmark of
St. Peter."
There was a very long pause.


	86 	MISS MARPLE

"My dear friend," said Mr. Petherick, "my very dear
friend, you really are amazing."
"I shall recommend Scotland Yard to come to you for advice," said Sir Henry.
"Well, at all events, Aunt.Jane," said Raymond, "there is one thing that you don't know."
"Oh yes I do, dear," said Miss Marple. "It happened just before dinner, didn't it? When you took,joyce out to admire
the sunset. It is a very favourite place, that. There by the jasmine
hedge. That is where the milkman asked Annie if he
could put up the banns."
"Dash it all, Aunt .jane," said Raymond, "don't spoil all thc romance. ,joyce and I aren't like the milkman and
Annie."
"That is where you make a mistake, dear," said Miss Mar-pie. "Everybody is very much alike, really. But fortunately,
perhaps, they don't realize it."


The Blue

' Geramum

W
hen I was down here last year--" said Sir Henry Clithering, and stopped.
His hostess, Mrs. Bantry, looked at him curiously.
The ex-Commissioner of Scotland Yard was staying with old friends of his, Colonel and Mrs. Bantry, who lived near
St. Mary Mead.
Mrs. Bantry, pen in hand, had just asked his advice as to who should be invited to make a sixth guest at dinner that
evening.
"Yes?" said Mrs. Bantry encouragngly. "UN/hen you were here last year?"
"Tell me," said Sir Henry, "do you know a Miss Marple?"
Mrs. Bantry was surprised. It was the last thing she had expected.
"Know Miss Marple? Who doesn't! The typical old maid of fiction. Quite a dear, but hopelessly behind the times. Do
you mean you would like me to ask her to dinner?" "Yo arc surprised?"
"A little, I must confess. I should hardly have thought you--but perhaps there's an explanation?"
"The explanation is simple enough. When I was down

87


	88 	MISS MAR PLE

here last year we got into the habit of discussing unsolved mysteries--there were five or six of us. We each supplied a
story to which we knew the answer, but nobody rise did. It
was supposed to be an exercise in the deductive faculties--to
see who could get nearest the truth."
"Well?"
"Like in the old story--we hardly realized that Miss Mar-pie was playing; but we were very polite about it--didn't
want to hurt the old dear's feelings. And now comes the
cream of the jest. The old lady outdid us every time!"
"But how extraordinary! Why, dear old Miss Marple has hardly ever been out of St. Mary Mead."
"Ah! But according to her, that has given her unlimited opportunities of observing human nature--under the microscope,
as it were."
"I suppose there's something in that," conceded Mrs. Bantry. "One would at least know the petty side of people.
But I don't think we have any really exciting criminals in
our midst. I think we must try her with Arthur's ghost story
after dinner. I'd be thankful if she'd find a solution to that." "I didn't know that Arthur believed in ghosts?"
"Oh, he doesn't. That's what worries him so. And it happened to a friend of his, George Pritchard--a most prosaic
person. It's really rather tragic for poor George. Either this
extraordinary story is true--or else--"
"Or else what?"
Mrs. Bantry did not answer. After a minute or two she said irrelevantly:
"You know, I like George---everyone does. One can't believe that he but people do such extraordinary things."
Sir Henry nodded. He knew, better than Mrs. Banrry, the extraordinary things that people did.
So it came about that that evening Mrs. Bantry looked around her dinner table (shivering a little as she did so, be-


	THE BLUE GERANIUM 	89

cause the dining-room, like most English dining-rooms, was extremely cold) and fixed her gaze on the very upright old
lady sitting on her husband's right. Miss Marple wore black
lace mittens; an old lace fichu was draped round her shoulders
and another piece of lace surmounted her white hair.
She was talking animatedly to the elderly doctor, Dr. Lloyd,
about the workhouse and the suspected shortcomings of the
district nurse.
Mrs. Bantry marvelled anew. She even wondered whether Sir Henry had been making an elaborate joke--but there
seemed no point in that. Incredible that what he had said
could be really true.
Her glance went on and rested affectionately on her redfaced broad-shouldered husband as he sat talking horses to
Jane Helier, the beautiful and popular actress. Jane, more
beautiful (if that were possible) off the stage than on,
opened enormous blue eyes and murmured at discreet intervals,
"Really? .... Oh, Fancy! .... How extraordinary!" She
knew nothing whatever about horses and cared less.
"Arthur," said Mrs. Bantry, "you're boring poor Jane to distraction. Leave your horses alone and tell her your ghost
story instead. You know ... George PritchaM."
"Eh, Dolly? Oh, but I don't know--"
"Sir Henry wants to hear it too. I was telling him something about it this morning. It would be interesting to hear
what everyone has to say about it."
"Oh, do!" said Jane. "I love ghost stories."
"Well--" Colond Bantry hesitated. "I've never believed much in the supernatural. But this ...
"I don't think any of you know George Pritchard. He's one of the best. His wife--well, she's dead now, poor
WOman. I'll just say this much: she didn't give George any
too easy a time when she was alive. She was one of those
semi-invalids--i believe she really had something wrong


9° 	MISS MARPLE

with her, but whatever it was, she played it for all it Was worth. She was capricious, exacting, unreasonble. She corn-plained
from morning to night. George was expected to
wait on her hand and foot, and everything he did was always
wrong."
"She was a dreadful woman," said Mrs. Bantry with conviction.
"I don't quite know how this business started. George was rather vague about it. I gather Mrs. Pritchard had always had
a weakness for fortunetellers, palmists, clairvoyants--any- thing
of that sort. George didn't mind. If she found amusement
in it, well and good. But he refused to go into
rhapsodies himself, and that was another grievance.
"A succession of hospital nurses was always passing through the house. Mrs. Pritchard usually becoming dissatisfied
with them after a few weeks. One young nurse had
been very keen on this fortunetelling stunt, and for a time
Mrs. Pritchard had been very fond of her. Then she suddenly
fell out with her and insisted on her going. She had back another
nurse who had been with her previously--an older
woman, experienced and tactful in dealing with a neurotic
patient. Nurse Copling, according to George, was a very
good sort--a sensible woman to talk to. She put up with
Mrs. Pritchard's tantrums and nerve storms with complete
indifference.
"Mrs. Pritchard always lunched upstairs, and it was usual at lunch time for George and the nurse to come to some arrangement
for the afternoon. Strictly speaking, the nurse
went off from two to four, but 'to oblige,' as the phrase goes,
she would sometimes take her time off after tea if George
wanted to be free for the afternoon. On this occasion she
mentioned that she was going to see a sister at Golders
Green and might be a little late returning. George's face fell,
for he had arranged to play a round of golf. Nurse Copling,
however, reassured him.


THE BLUE GERANIUM 	9I

,' 'We'll neither of us be missed, Mr. Pritchard.' A twinkle

came into her eye. 'Mrs. lritchard's going to have more ex-
citing company than ours.'
"'Who's that?'
"'Wait a minute.' Nurse Copling's eyes twinkled more than ever. 'Let me get it right, Zarida, Psychic Reader of the
Future.'
"'That's a new one, isn't it?' groaned George.
"'Quite new. I believe my predecessor, Nurse Carstairs, sent her along. Mrs. Pritchard hasn't seen her yet. She made
me write, fixing an appoirtment for this afternoon.'
"'Well, at any rate, I shall get my golf,' said George, and he went off with the kindliest feelings toward Zarida, the
reader of the future.
"On his return to the hr)use, he found Mrs. Pritchard in a state of great agitation. She was, as usual, lying on her invalid
couch, and she had a bottle of smelling salts in her
hand which she sniffed at frequent intervals.
"'George,' she exclaimed, 'what did I tell you about this house? The moment I carrie into it, I felt there was something
wrong! Didn't I tell you so at the time?'
"Repressing his desire to reply, 'You always do,' George said, 'No, can't say I remember it.'
"'You never do remember anything that has to do with me. Men are all extraordirarily callous--but I really believe
that you are even more insensitive than most.'
"'Oh, come now, Mary dear, that's not fair.'
"'Well, as I was tellinR you, this woman knew at once! She--she actually blencheti--if you know what I mean--as
she came in at that door, nd she said, "There is evil here--evil
and danger. I feel it." ,
"Very unwisely, George laughed.
"'Well, you have had yCur money's worth this afternoon.'
"His wife closed her eyes and took a long sniff from her Smelling bottle.


	92 	MISS MARPLE

"'How you hate me! You would jeer and laugh if I Were
dying.'
	"George protested, and after a minute or two she went on.
"'You may laugh, but I shall tell you the whole thing. This house is definitely dangerous to me--the woman said
SO.'
"George's formerly kind feeling toward Zarida underwent a change. He knew his wife was perfectly capable of insisting
on moving to a new house if the caprice got hold of her. "'What else did she say?' he asked.
"'She couldn't tell me very much. She was so upset. One thing she did say. I had some violets in a glass. She pointed
at them and cried out:
..... Take those away. No blue flowers--never have blue flowers. Blue flowers are fatal to you--remember that."
"'And you know,' added Mrs. Pritchard, 'I always have told you that blue as a colour is repellent to me. I feel a natural
instinctive sort of warning against it.'
"George was much too wise to remark that he had never heard her say so before. Instead he asked what the mysterious
Zarida was like. Mrs. Pritchard entered with gusto upon a
description.
"'Black hair in coiled knobs over her ears--her eyes were half closed--great black rims round them--she had a black
veil over her mouth and chin--she spoke in a kind of singing
voice with a marked foreign accent Spanish, I think--'
"'In fact, all the usual stock in trade,' said George cheerfully.
	"His wife immediately closed her eyes.
"'I feel extremely ill,' she said. 'Ring for Nurse. Unkindness upsets me, as you know only too well.'
"It was two days later that Nurse Copling came to George with a grave face.
"'Will you come to Mrs. Pritchard, please. She has had a letter which upsets her greatly.'


	THE BLUE GERANIUM 	93
"He found his wife with the letter in her hand. She held it out to him.
"'Read it,' she said.
"George read it. It was on heavily scented paper, and the writing was big and black.

I have seen the Future. Be warned before it is too late. Beware of the full moon. The Blue Primrose
means Warning; the Blue Hollyhock means Danger;
the Blue Geranium means Death ....

"just about to burst out laughing, George caught Nurse Copling's eye. She made a quick warning gesture. He said
rather awkwardly, 'The woman's probably trying to frighten
you, Mary. Anyway, there aren't such things as blue primroses
and blue geraniums.'
"But Mrs. Pritchard began to cry and say her days were numbered. Nurse Copling came out with George upon thc
landing.
"'Of all the silly tomfoolery,' he burst out.
"'I suppose it is.'
"Something in the nurse's tone struck him, and he stared at her in amazement.
"'Surely, Nurse, you don't believe--'
"'No, no, Mr. Pritchard. I don't believe in reading the fu-ture-that's nonsense. What puzzles me is the meaning of
this. Fortunetellers are usually out for what they can get. But
this woman seems to be frightening Mrs. Pritchard with no
advantage to herself. I can't see the point. There's another
thing--,
"'Yes?'
"'Mrs. Pritchard says that something about Zarida was faintly familiar to her.'
"'Well ?'
"'Well, I don't like it, Mr. Pritchard, that's all.'


	94 	MISS MARPLE

	"'I didn't know you were so superstitious, Nurse.'
	"'I'm not superstitious, but I know when a thing is fis

	"It was about four days after this that the first incident
happened. To explain it to you, I shall have to describe Mrs. Pritchard's room--"
"You'd better let me do that," interrupted Mrs. Bantry. "It was papered with one of these new wallpapers where
you apply clumps of flowers to make a kind of herbaceous
border. The effect is almost like being in a garden--though,
of course, the flowers are all wrong. I mean they simply
couldn't be in bloom all at the same time--"
"Don't let a passion for horticultural accuracy run away with you, Dolly," said her husband. "We all know you're an
enthusiastic gardener."
"Well, it is absurd," protested Mrs. Bantry. "To have bluebells and daffodils and lupins and hollyhocks and Michaelmas
daisies all grouped together."
"Most unscientific," said Sir Henry. "But to proceed with the story ..."
"Well, among these massed flowers were primroses, clumps of yellow and pink primroses, and--oh, go on,
Arthur, this is your story."
	Colonel Bantry took up the tale.
"Mrs. Pritchard rang her bell violently one morning. The household came running--thought she was in extremis; not
at all. She was violently excited and pointing at the wallpaper,
and there, sure enough, was one blue primrose in the
midst of the others..."
	"Oh!" said Miss Helier, "how creepy!"
"The question was: Hadn't the blue primrose always been there? That was George's suggestion and the nurse's. But
Mrs. Pritchard wouldn't have it at any price. She had never
noticed it till that very morning, and the night before had
been full moon. She was very upset about it."


THE BLUE GERANIUM 	95

"I met George Pritchard that same day and he told me

about it," said Mrs. Bantry. "I went to see Mrs. Pritchard

and did my best to ridicule the whole thing, but without

success. I came away really concerned, and I remember I met

Jean Instow and told her about it..Jean is a queer girl. She

said, 'So she's really upset about it?' I told her that I thought

the woman was perfectly capable of dying of fright--she was

really abnormally superstitious.
"I remember Jean rather startled me with what she said next. She said, 'Well, that might be all for the best, mightn't
it?' And she said it so coolly, in so matter-of-fact a tone, that
I was really--well, shocked. Of course I know it's done
nowadays--to be brutal and outspoken, but I never get used
to it. Jean smiled at me rather oddly and said, 'You don't
like my saying that but it's true. What use is Mrs. Prit-chard's
life to her? None at all, and it's hell for George Prit-chard.
To have his wife frightened out of existence would be
the best thing that could happen to him.' I said, 'George is
most awfully good to her always.' And she said, 'Yes, he deserves
a reward, poor dear. He's a very attractive person,
George Pritchard. The last nurse thought sothe pretty
one--what yeas her name? Carstairs. That was the cause of
the row betv¢een her and Mrs. P.'
"Now I didn't like hearing Jean say that. Of course, one had wondcr¢Cl--"
Mrs. Bantry paused significantly.
"Yes, dear," said Miss Marple placidly. "One always does.
Is 	Miss Inst0W a pretty girl? I suppose she plays golf?." "Yes. She's good at all games. And she's nice-looking, at-
tractive-lookiog, very fair with a healthy skin and nice steady blue eyes. Ofc°urse, we always have felt that she and George
Pritchard--I mean, if things had been different--they are so
well suited t0 one another."
"And they were friends?" asked Miss Marple.


	96 	MISS MARPLE

	"Oh yes. Great friends."
	"Do you think, Dolly," said Colonel Bantry plaintively,
"that I might be allowed to go on with my story?"
"Arthur," said Mrs. Bantry resignedly, "wants to get back to his ghosts."
"I had the rest of the story from George himself," went on the colonel. "There's no doubt that Mrs. Pritchard got the
wind up badly toward the end of the next month. She
marked off on a calendar the day when thc moon would be
full, and on that night she had both the nurse and then
George into her room and made them study the wallpaper
carefully. There were pink hollyhocks and red ones, but
there were no blue among them. Then when George left thc
room she locked the door--"
"And in the morning there was a large blue hollyhock," said Miss Helier joyfully.
"Quite right," said Colonel Bantry. "Or at any rate, nearly right. One flower of a hollyhock just above her head had
turned blue. It staggered George, and of course, the more it
staggered him the more he refused to take the thing
seriously. He insisted that the whole thing was some kind of
a practical joke. He ignored the evidence of the locked door
and the fact that Mrs. Pritchard discovered the change before
anyone--even Nurse Copling--was admitted.
"It staggered George, and it made him unreasonable. His wife wanted to leave the house, and he wouldn't let her. He
was inclined to believe in the supernatural for the first time,
but he wasn't going to admit it. He usually gave in to his
wife, but this time he wouldn't. Mary was not to make a fool
of herself, he said. The whole thing was the most infernal nonsense.
"And so the next month sped away. Mrs. Pritchard made less protest than one would have imagined. I think she was
superstitious enough to believe that she couldn't escape her


	THE BLUE GEIL' NIUM 	97
fate. She repeated again and agti n: 'The blue primrose--warning. The blue hollyhock-clanger. The blue gera-nium---c{eath.'
And she would lie looking at the clunP of
pinky-red geraniums nearest her D:d.
"The whole business was pre£'y nervy. Even the aurse caught the infection. She came cc George two days before
full moon and begged him to tke Mrs. Pritchard way.
George was angry.
"'If all the flowers on that walI turned into blue de,ils, it couldn't kill anyone!' he shouteCl.
"'It might. Shock has killed leople before now.' "'Nonsense,' said George.
"George has always been a sla-de pigheaded. You can't drive him. I believe he had a secoet idea that his wife worked
the changes herself and that it wra all some morbid, hysterical
plan of hers.
"Well, the fatal night came. X4rs. Pritchard locked her door as usual. She was very calroin almost an exalted state
of mind. The nurse was worried by her state--and wanted to
give her a stimulant, an injecti°h of strychnine, but Mrs.
Pritchard refused. In a way, I believe, she was enjoying herself.
George said she was."
"I think that's quite possible," said Mrs. Bantry. "There must have been a strange sort of glamour about the /hole
thing."
"There was no violent ringin,f a bell the next morning. Mrs. Pritchard usually woke aOtt eight. When, at eight-thirty,
there was no sign from lqer, Nurse rapped loudly on
the door. Getting no reply, she fetched George and insisted
on the door being broken open. They did so with the help of
a chisel.
"One look at the still figure % the bed was enough for Nurse Copling. She sent George to telephone for the doctor,
but it was too late. Mrs. PritcDatcl, he said, must have been


	98 	MISS MA R PLE

dead at least eight hours. Her smelling salts lay by her hand on the bed, and on the wall beside her one of the pinky-red
geraniums was a bright deep blue."
"Horrible," said Miss Helier with a shiver. Sir Henry was frowning.
"No additional details?"
Colonel Bantry shook his head, but Mrs. Bantry spoke quickly.
"The gas."
"What about the gas?" asked Sir Henry.
"When the doctor arrived there was a slight smell of gas, and sure enough, he found the gas ring in the fireplace very
slightly turned on, but so little that it couldn't have mattered.''
"Did Mr. Pritchard and the nurse not notice it when they first went in?"
"The nurse said she did notice a slight smell. George said he didn't notice gas, but something made him feel very
queer and overcome; but he put that down to shock and
probably it was. At any rate, there was no question of gas
poisoning. The smell was scarcely noticeable."
"And that's the end of the story?"
"No, it isn't. One way and another, there was a lot of talk. The servants, you see, had overheard things--had heard, for
instance, Mrs. Pritchard telling her husband that he hated
her and would jeer if she were dying..And also more recent
remarks. She said one day, apropos of his refusing to leave
the house, 'Very well. When I am dead, I hope everyone will
realize that you have killed me.' And as ill luck would have
it, he had been mixing some weed killer for the garden paths
the very day before. One of the younger servants had seen
him and had afterward seen him taking up a glass of hot
milk to his wife.
"The talk spread and grew. The doctor had given a certifi'


	THE BLUE GERANIUM
		99
cate--I don't know exactly in what terms-shock, syncope,
heart failure, probably some medical term mteanlng, nothing'

much. However, the poor lady had not been a month in her

grave before an exhumation order was a4.pplied for and

granted."

	"And the result of the autopsy was nil, I a

		"a for once, of smo<member''' said
Sir Henry gravely, case, 	without fire."
	"The whole thing is really very curious," s:,aid Mrs. Bantry.
	"That fortuneteller, for instance--Zarida. At the address

	where she was supposed to be, no one had e-ver heard of any

	such person!"
	"She appeared once-out of the blue," s,-d 	her husband,
"and
then utterly vanished. Out of the bltl,ae--that,s
rather
good!"
	"And what is more," continued Mrs. Bant ry' "little Nurse
Carstairs, who was supposed to
have recomr,nended
her, had never even heard
of her."
	They looked at each other.
	"It's a mysterious story," said Dr. Lloyd.
	"One can make
	guesses,
but to guess--"
	He shook his head.
"Has
Mr. Pritchard married Miss Insto',w?,,
asked Miss Marple in her gentle voice.
	"Now why
do you ask that?" inquired Siir
Henry.
	Miss Marple opened gentle blue eyes.
"It seems to me
so
important," she said. %'Have they
married?''
	Colonel Bantry shook his head.
"We--well,
we expected something of tle kind--but it's eighteen months now.
I don't
believe they %,,x, en see much of each
othcr."
	"That is important," said Miss Marple. ",rery important."
"Then you think
the
same
as
I
do,"
s i
d
Mrs.
Bantry.
"You
think--"


IO0 	MISS MAR PLE

"Now, Dolly," said her husband. "It's unjustifiable- what you're going to say. You can't go about accusing people
without a shadow of proof."
"Don't be so--so manly, Arthur. Men are always afraid to say anything. Anyway, this is all between ourselves. It's just
a wild, fantastic idea of mine that possibly--only possibly--Jean
Instow disguised herself as a fortuneteller. Mind you,
she may have done it for a joke. I don't for a minute think
that she meant any harm; but if she did do it, and if Mrs.
Pritchard was foolish enough to die of fright--well, that's
what Miss Marple meant, wasn't it?"
"No, dear, not quite," said Miss Marple. "You see, if I were going to kill anyone--which, of course, I wouldn't
dream of doing for a minute, because it would be very
wicked, and besides, I don't like killing--not even wasps,
though I know it has to be, and I'm sure the gardener does it
as humanely as possible. Let me see, what was I saying?" "If you wished to kill anyone," prompted Sir Henry.
"Oh yes. Well, if I did, I shouldn't be at all satisfied to
trust to fright. I know one reads of people dying of it, but it
seems a very uncertain sort of thing, and the most nervous
people are far more brave than one really thinks they are. I
should like something definite and certain and make a
thoroughly good plan about it."
"Miss Marple," said Sir Henry, "you frighten me. I hope you will never wish to remove me. Your plans would be too
good."
Miss Marple looked at him reproachfully.
"I thought I had made it clear that I would never contemplate such wickedness," she said. "No, I was trying to
put myself in the place of--er--a certain person."
"Do you mean George Pritchard?" asked Colonel Bantry. "I'll never believe it of George--though, mind you. cvcn the
nurse believes it. I went and saw her about a morh after-


THE BLUE GERA q2qlUM I0I
ward, at the time of the cxhumaric:on. She didn't know h0' it was done--in fact, she wouldn't ay anything at all--butit
was clear enough that she believed George to be in some ay
responsible for his wife's death. he was convinced of it."
"Well," said Dr. Lloyd, "perhal'S she wasn't so far wr0ng And mind you, a nurse often know.s. She can't say--she's got
no proof--but she knows."
Sir Henry leaned forward.
"Come now, Miss Marple," he said persuasively. "Y0u'It
lost in a daydream. Won't you rll us all about it?" Miss Marple started and turnec pink.
"I beg your pardon," she said. "I was just thinking about our district nurse. A most dittqcu -It problem."
"More difficult than the prob-' ]em of a blue geranium?" "It really depends on the prirnroses," said Miss Marple."I
mean, Mrs. Bantry said they were yellow and pink. If it a
pink primrose that turned blue, of course, that fits in et.
fectly. But if it happened to be yellow one--"
"It was a pink one," said Mrs-- Bantry.
She stared. They all stared at ]VIiss Marpl¢.
"Then that seems ro settle iit," said Miss Marple. She shook her head regretfully. "Anc the wasp season and e'eff-thing.
And of course the gas."
"It reminds you, I suppose, of - countless willage tragedies?" said Sir Henry.
"Not tragedies," said Miss 1vllarple. "And certainly nothing criminal. But it does remind 1- me a little of the trouble'e
are having with the district qurse. After all, nurs are
human beings, and what with having robc so correct in
their behaviour and wearing thcse uncon-fortable collaand
being so thrown with the farnil)--well, can you wonderthat
things sometimes happen?"
A glimmer of light broke uF?on Sir Henry.
"You mean Narse Carstairs?°''


	I02 	MISS MARPLE

"Oh no. Not Nurse Carstairs. Nurse Copling. You see, she had been there before and very much thrown with Nit.
Pritchard, who you say is an attractive man. I daresay she
thought, poor thing--well, we needn't go into that. I don't
suppose she knew about Miss Instow, and of course afterward,
when she found out, it turned her against him and she
tried to do all the harm she could. Of course, the letter really
gave her away, didn't it?"
"What letter?"
"Well, she wrote to the fortuneteller at Mrs. Pritchard's request, and the fortuneteller came, apparently in answer to
the letter. But later it was discovered that there never had
been such a person at that address. So that shows that NUrse
Copling was in it. She only pretended to write--so What
could be more likely than that she was the fortuneteller her.
self?"
"I never saw the point about the letter," said Sir Henry. "That's a most important point, of course."
"Rather a bold step to take," said Miss Marple, "because Mrs. Pritchard might have recognized her in spite of the dis.
guise--though of course if she had, the nurse could haYe
pretended it was a joke."
"What did you mean," said Sir Henry, "when you said that if you were a certain person, you would not have trusted
to fright?"
"One couldn't be sure that way," said Miss Marple. "N, I think that the warnings and the blue flowers were, if I na
use a military term"--she laughed self-consciously--Just
camouflage."
"And the real thing?"
"I know," said Miss Marple apologetically, "that I've got wasps on the brain. Poor things, destroyed in their th%.
sands--and usually on such a beautiful summer's day. But I
remember thinking, when I saw the gardener shaking up the


THE BLUE GERANIUM 	O3

cyanide of potassium in a bottle with water, how like smell
ing
salts it looked. And if it were put in a smelling-salt bottle

and substituted for the real one--well, the poor lady was in

the habit of using her smelling salts. Indeed, you said they

were found by her hand. Then, of course, while Mr. Prit
chard
went to telephone to the doctor, the nurse would

change it for the real bottle, and she'd just turn on the gas a

little bit to mask any smell of almonds and in case anyone

felt queer, and I always have heard the cyanide leaves no

trace if you wait long enough. But, of course, I may be

wrong, and it may have been something entirely different in
the bottle, but that doesn't really matter, does it?"
Miss Marple paused, a little out of breath.
Jane Helier leaned forward and said, "But the blue geranium and the other flowers?"
"Nurses always have litmus paper, don't they?" said Miss Marple, "for--well, for testing. Not a very pleasant subject.
We won't dwell on it. I have done a little nursing myself."
She grew delicately pink. "Blue turns red with acids, and red
turns blue with alkalies. So easy to paste some red litmus
over a red flower--near the bed, of course. And then, when
the poor lady used her smelling salts, the strong ammonia
fumes would turn it blue. Really most ingenious. Of course,
the geranium wasn't blue when they first broke into the
room--nobody noticed it till afterward. When nurse
changed the bottles, she held the sal ammoniac against the
wallpaper for a minute, I expect."
"You might have been there, Miss Marple," said Sir Henry.
"What worries me," said Miss Marple, "is poor Mr. Prit-chard and that nice girl, Miss Instow. Probably both suspecting
each other and keeping apart--and life so very
short."
She shook her head.


	IO4 	MISS MARPLE

"You needn't worry," said Sir Henry. "As a matter of fact, I have something up my sleeve. A nurse has been arrested on
a charge of murdering an elderly patient who had left her a
legacy. It was done with cyanide of potassium substituted
for smelling salts. Nurse Copling trying the same trick
again. Miss Instow and Mr. Pritchard need have no doubts as
to the truth."
"Now isn't that nice?" cried Miss Marple. "I don't mean about the new murder, of course. That's very sad and shows
how much wickedness there is in the world and that if once
you give away--which reminds me, I must finish my little
conversation with Dr. Lloyd about the village nurse."


The Companion

N
ow, Dr. Lloyd," said Miss Helier, "don't you know any creepy stories?"
She smiled at him--the smile that nightly
bewitched the theater-going public. Jane Helier was sometimes
called the most beautiful woman in England, and jealous
members of her own profession were in the habit of
saying to each other: "Of course .Jane's not an artist. She
can't act--if you know what I mean. It's those eyes!"
And those "eyes" were at this minute fixed appealingly on the grizzled elderly bachelor doctor who, for the ,last five
years, had ministered to the ailments of the village of St.
Mary Mead.
With an unconscious gesture, the doctor pulled down his waistcoat (inclined of late to be uncomfortably tight) and
racked his brains hastily, so as not to disappoint the lovely
creature who addressed him so confidently.
"I feel," said Jane dreamily, "that I would like to wallow in crime this evening."
"Splendid," said Colonel Bantry, her host. "Sl>lendid, Splendid.', And he laughed a loud, hearty military laugh.
"Eh, Dolly?"
His wife, hastily recalled to the exigencies of social life

o5


io6 	MISS M A RPLE

(she had been planning her spring border), agreed enthusias. tically.
"Of course it's splendid," she said heartily but vaguely. "I always thought so."
"Did you, my dear?" said old Miss Marple, and her eyes twinkled a little.
"We don't get much in the creepy line--and still less in the criminal line--in St. Mary Mead, you know, Miss He-lier,"
said Dr. Lloyd.
"You surprise me," said Sir Henry Clithering. The ex-Commissioner of Scotland Yard turned to Miss Marple. "I
always understood from our friend here that St. Mary Mead
is a positive hotbed of crime and vice."
"Oh, Sir Henry!" protested Miss Marple, a spot of colour coming into her cheeks. "I'm sure I never said anything of
the kind. The only thing I ever said was that human nature
is much the same in a village as anywhere else, only one has
opportunities and leisure for seeing it at closer quarters."
"But you haven't always lived here," said Jane Helier, still addressing the doctor. "You've been in all sorts of queer
places all over the world--places where things happen!"
"That is so, of course," said Dr. Lloyd, still thinking des-
perately. "Yes, of course ... Yes ... Ah! I have it!"
He sank back with a sigh of relief.
"It is some years ago now--I had almost forgotten. But the facts were really very strange--very strange indeed. And
the final coincidence which put the clue into my hand was
strange also."
Miss Helier drew her chair a little nearer to him, applied some lipstick, and waited expectantly. The others also
turned interested faces toward him.
"I don't know whether any of you know the Canary Islands," began the doctor.
"They must be wonderful," said Jane Helier. "They're in


	i 	THE COMPANION
	tO7

the South Seas, aren't they? Or is it the Mediterranean?"
"I've called in there on my way to South Africa," said the colonel. "The Peak of Teneriffe is a fine sight with the setting
sun on it."
"The incident I am describing happened in the island of Grand Canary, not Teneriffe. It is a good many years ago
now. I had had a breakdown in health and was forced to give
up my practice in England to go abroad. I practised in Las
Palmas, which is the principal town of Grand Canary. In
many ways I enjoyed the life out there very much. The climate
was mild and sunny, there was excellent surf bathing
(and I am an enthusiastic bather), and the sea life of the
port attracted me. Ships from all over the world put in at Las
Palmas. I used to walk along the mole every morning, far
more interested than any member of the fair sex could be in
a street of hat shops.
"As I say, ships from all over the world put in at Las Palmas. Sometimes they stay a few hours, sometimes a day or
two. In the principal hotel there, the Metropole, you will see
people of all races and nationalities--birds of passage. Even
the people going to Teneriffe usually come here and stay a
few days before crossing to the other island.
"My story begins there, in the Metropole Hotel, one Thursday evening in .January. There was a dance going on
and I and a friend had been sitting at a small table watching
the scene. There was a fair sprinkling of English and other
nationalities, but the majority of the dancers were Spanish;
and when the orchestra struck up a tango, only half a dozen
couples of the latter nationality took the floor. They all
danced well and we looked on and admired. One woman in
particular excited our lively admiration. Tall, beautiful, and
sinuous, she moved with the grace of a half-tamed leopardess.
There was something dangerous about her. I said as
much to my friend and he agreed.


	1208 	MISS MARPLE

"'Women like that,' he said, 'are bound to have a history. Life will not pass them by.'
"'Beauty is perhaps a dangerous possession,' I said. "'It's not only beauty,' he insisted. 'There is something
else. Look at her again. Things are bound to happen to that
woman, or because of her. As I said, life will not pass her by.
Strange and exciting events will surround her. You've only
got to look at her to know it.'
"He paused and then added with a smile:
"'Just as you've only got to look at those two women over there and know that nothing out of the way could ever
happen to either of them! They are made for a safe and uneventful
existence.'
"I followed his eyes. The two women he referred to were travellers who had just arrived--a Holland Lloyd boat had
put into port that evening, and the passengers were just beginning
to arrive.
"As I looked at them I saw at once what my friend meant. They were two English ladies--the thoroughly nice travelling
English that you do find abroad. Their ages, I should
say, were round about forty. One was fair and a little--just a
little--too plump; the other was dark and a little--again just
a little--inclined to scragginess. They were what is called
well-preserved, quietly and inconspicuously dressed in well-cut
tweeds, and innocent of any kind of make-up. They had
that air of quiet assurance which is the birthright of well-bred
Englishwomen. There was nothing remarkable about
either of them. They were like thousands of their sisters.
They would doubtless see what they wished to see, assisted
by Baedeker, and be blind to everything else. They would
use the English library and attend the English church in any
place they happened to be, and it was quite likely that one or
both of them sketched a little. And as my friend said, nothing
exciting or remarkable would ever happen to either of


	THE COMPANION 	tO9
them, though they might quite likely travel half over the world. I looked from them back to our sinuous Spanish
woman with her half-closed smouldering eyes and I smiled."
"Poor things," said Jane Helier with a sigh. "But I do think it's so silly of people not to make the most of themselves.
That woman in Bond Street--Valentine--is really
wonderful. Audrey Denman goes to her; and have you seen
her in The Daurnward Step? As the schoolgirl in the first act
she's really marvellous. And yet Audrey is fifty if she's a day.
As a matter of fact, I happen to know she's really nearer
sixty."
"Go on," said Mrs. Bantry to Dr. Lloyd. "I love stories about sinuous Spanish dancers. It makes mc forget how old
and fat I am."
"I'm sorry," said Dr. Lloyd apologetically. "But you see, as
a matter of fact, this story isn't about the Spanish woman." "It isn't?"
"No. As it happens, my friend and I were wrong. Nothing in the least exciting happened to the Spanish beauty. She
married a clerk in a shipping office, and by the time I left the
island she had had five children and was getting very fat."
"Just like that girl of Israel Peters," commented Miss Marple. "The one who went on the stage and had such good
legs that they made her principal boy in the pantomime. Everyone
said she'd come to no good, but she married a commercial
traveller and settled down splendidly."
"The village parallel," murmured Sir Henry softly.
"No," went on the doctor, "my story is about the two English ladies."
"Something happened to them?" breathed Miss Helier. "Something happened to them--and the very next day
tOO."
"Yes?" said Mrs. Bantry encouragingly.
"Just for curiosity, as I went out that evening, I glanced at


	MISS 	MARPLE

the hotel register. I found the names easily enough. Miss Marry Barton and Miss Amy Durrant of Little Paddocks,
Caughton Weir, Bucks. I little thought then how soon I
was to encounter the owners of those names again--and
under what tragic circumstances.
"The following day I had arranged to go for a picnic with some friends. We were to motor across the island, taking our
lunch, to a place called (as far as I remember--it is so long
ago) Las Nieves, a well-sheltered bay where we could bathe
if we felt inclined. This programme we duly carried out, except
that we were somewhat late in starting, so that we
stopped on the way and picnicked, going on to Las Nieves
afterward for a swim before tea.
"As we approached the beach, we were at once aware of a tremendous commotion. The whole population of the small
village seemed to be gathered on the shore. As soon as they
saw us they rushed toward the car and began explaining excitedly.
My Spanish not being very good, it took me a few
minutes to understand, but at last I got it.
"Two of the mad English ladies had gone in to bathe, and one had swum out too far and got into difficulties. The
other had gone after her and had tried to bring her in, but
her strength in turn had failed and she, too, would have
drowned had not a man rowed out in a boat and brought in
rescuer and rescued--the latter beyond help.
"As soon as I got the hang of things I pushed the crowd aside and hurried down the beach. I did not at first recognize
the two women. The plump figure in the tight green rubber
bathing cap awoke no chord of recognition as she looked up
anxiously. She was kneeling beside the body of her friend,
making somewhat amateurish attempts at artificial respiration.
When I told her that I was a doctor she gave a sigh of
relief, and I ordered her off at once to one of the cottages for
a rubdown and dry clothing. One of the ladies in my party


	THE COMPANION 	I I I

went with her. I myself worked unavailingly on the body of the drowned woman. Life was only too clearly extinct, and
in the end I had reluctantly to give in.
"I rejoined thc others in the small fisherman's cottage and there I had to break the sad news. The survivor was attired
now in her own clothes, and I immediately recognized her as
one of the two arrivals of the night before. She received the
sad news fairly calmly, and it was evidently the horror of the
whole thing that struck her more than any great personal
feeling.
"'Poor Amy,' she said. 'Poor, poor Amy. She had been looking forward to the bathing here so much. And she was a
good swimmer too. I can't understand it. What do you
think it can have been, Doctor?'
"'Possibly cramp. Will you tell me exactly what happened?'
"'We had both been swimming about for some time--twenty minutes, I should say. Then I thought I would go in,
but Amy said she was going to swim out once more. She did
so, and suddenly I heard her call and realized she was calling
for help. I swam out as fast as I could. She was still afloat
when I got to her, but she clutched at me wildly and we
both went under. If it hadn't been for that man coming out
with his boat, I should have been drowned too.'
"'That has happened fairly often,' I said. 'To save anyone from drowning is not an easy affair.'
"'It seems so awful,' continued Miss Barton. 'We only arrived yesterday and were so delighting in the sunshine and
our little holiday. And now this--this terrible tragedy
occurs.'
"I asked her then for particulars about the dead woman, explaining that I would do everything I could for her, but
that the Spanish authorities would require full information.
This she gave me readily enough.


MISS MA R VLE

"The dead woman, Miss Amy Durrant, was her compan. ion and had come to her about five months previously. They
had got on very well together, but Miss Durrant had spoken
very little about her people. She had been left an orphan at
an early age and had been brought up by an uncle and had
earned her own living since she was twenty-one.
"And so that was that," went on the doctor. He paused and said again, but this time with a certain finality in his
voice, "And so that was that."
"I don't understand," said Jane Helier. "Is that all? I mean, it's very tragic, I suppose, but isn't--well, it isn't what
I call creepy."
"I think there's more to follow," said Sir Henry.
"Yes," said Dr. Lloyd, "there's more to follow. You see, right at the time there was one queer thing. Of course, I
asked questions of the fishermen, et cetera, as to what they'd
seen. They were eyewitnesses. And one woman had rather a
funny story. I didn't pay any attention to it at the time, but
it came back to me afterward. She insisted, you see, that Miss
Durrant wasn't in difficulties when she called out. The other
swam out to her and, according to this woman, deliberately
held Miss Durrant's head under water. I didn't, as I say, pay
much attention. It was such a fantastic story, and these
things look so differently from the shore. Miss Barton might
have tried to make her friend lose consciousness, realizing
that the latter's paniostricken clutching would drown them
both. You see, according to the Spanish woman's story, it
looked as though--well, as though Miss Barton was deliberately
trying to drown her companion.
"As I say, I paid very little attention to this story at the time. It came back to me later. Our great difficulty was to
find out anything about this woman, Amy Durrant. She
didn't seem to have any relations. Miss Barton and I went
through her things together. We found one address and


	THE COMPANION 	3[ 3[ 3

wrote there, but it proved to be simply a room she had taken in which to keep some of her things. The landlady knew
nothing, had only seen her when she took the room. Miss
Durrant had remarked at the time that she always liked to
have one place she could call her own to which she could return
at any moment. There were one or two nice pieces of
old furniture and some bound numbers of Academy pictures,
and a trunk full of pieces of material bought at sales,
but no personal belongings. She had mentioned to the landlady
that her father and mother had died in India when she
was a child and that she had been brought up by an uncle
who was a clergyman, but she did not say if he was her father's
or her mother's brother, so the name was no guide.
"It wasn't exactly mysterious, it was just unsatisfactory. There must be many lonely women, proud and reticent, in
just that position. There were a couple of photographs
among her belongings in Las Palmas--rather old and faded,
and they had been cut to fit the frames they were in, so that
there was no photographer's name upon them, and there was
an old daguerreotype which might have been her mother or
more probably her grandmother.
"Miss Barton had had two references with her. One she had forgotten; the other name she recollected after an effo}t.
It proved to be that of a lady who was now abroad, having
gone to Australia. She was written to. Her answer, of course,
was a long time in coming, and I may say that when it did
arrive there was no particular help to be gained from it. She
said Miss Durrant had been with her as companion and had
been most efficient and that she was a very charming
woman, but that she knew nothing of her private affairs or
relations.
"So there it was--as I say, nothing unusual, really. It was just the two things together that aroused my uneasiness.
This Amy Durrant of whom no one knew anything, and the


Ir4 	MISS MARPLE

Spanish woman's queer story. Yes, and I'll add a third thing: When I was first bending over the body and Miss Barton
was walking away toward the huts, she looked back. Looked
back with an expression on her face that I can only describe
as one of poignant anxiety--a kind of anguished uncertainty
that imprinted itself on my brain.
"It didn't strike me as anything unusual at the time. I put it down to her terrible distress over her friend. But, you see,
later I realized that they weren't on those terms. There was
no devoted attachment between them, no terrible grief. Miss
Barton was fond of Amy Durrant and shocked by her
deathmthat was all.
"But, then, why that terrible poignant anxiety? That was the question that kept coming back to me. I had not been
mistaken in that look. And almost against my will an answer
began to shape itself in my mind. Supposing the Spanish
woman's story were true; supposing that Mary Barton wil-fully
and in cold blood tried to drown Amy Durrant. She
succeeds in holding her under water while pretending to be
saving her. She is rescued by a boat. They are on a lonely
beach far from anywhere. And then I appear--the last thing
she expects. A doctor! And an English doctor! She knows
well enough that people who have been under water far
longer than Amy Durrant had been revived by artificial respiration.
But she has to play her part--to go off, leaving me
alone with her victim. And as she turns for one last look, a
terrible poignant anxiety shows in her face. Will Amy Dur-
rant come back to life and tell what she knows?"
"Oh!" said Jane Helier. "I'm thrilled now."
"Viewed in that aspect, the whole business seemed more sinister, and the personality of Amy Durrant became more
mysterious. Who was Amy Durrant? Why should she, an
significant paid companion, be murdered by her employer?
What story lay behind that fatal bathing expedition? She


	THE COMPANION 	I 15

had entered Mary Barton's employment only a few months before. Mary Barton had brought her abroad, and the very
day after they landed the tragedy had occurred. And they
were both nice, commonplace, refined Englishwomen! The
whole thing was fantastic, and I told myself so. I had been
letting my imagination run away with me."
"You didn't do anything, then?" asked Miss Helier.
"My dear young lady, what could I do? There was no evidence. The majority of the eyewitnesses told the same story
as Miss Barton. I had built up my own suspicions out of a
fleeting expression which I might quite possibly have imagined.
The only thing I could and did do was to see that the
widest inquiries were made for the relations of Amy Dur-rant.
The next time I was in England I even went and saw
the landlady of her room, with the results I have told you."
"But you felt there was something wrong," said Miss Marple.
Dr. Lloyd nodded.
"Half the time I was ashamed of myself for thinking so. Who was I to go suspecting this nice, pleasant-mannered
English lady of a foul and cold-blooded crime? I did my best to be as cordial as possible to her during thc short time she
stayed on the island. I helped her with the Spanish authorities.
I did everything I could do as an Englishman to help a
compatriot in a foreign country, and yet I am convinced that
she knew I suspected and disliked her."
"How long did she stay out here?" asked Miss Marple. "I think it was about a fortnight. Miss Durrant was buried
there, and it must have been about ten days later when she
took a boat back to England. The shock had upset her so
much that she felt she couldn't spend the winter there as she
had planned. That's what she said."
"Did it seem to have upset her?" asked Miss Marple. The doctor hesitated.


	116 	MISS MARPLE

"Well, I don't know that it affected her appearance at all," he said cautiously.
"She didn't, for instance, grow fatter?" asked Miss Marple. "Do you know--it's a curious thing your saying that.
Now I come to think back, I believe you're right. She--yes,
she did seem, if anything, to be putting on weight."
"How horrible," said Jane Helier with a shudder. "It's like--it's like fattening on your victim's blood."
"And yet, in another way, I may be doing her an injustice,'' went on Dr. Lloyd. "She certainly said something before
she left which pointed in an entirely different direction.
There may be, I think there are, consciences which work
very slowly--which take some time to awaken to the enormity
of the deed committed.
"It was the evening before her departure from the Canaries. She had asked me to go and see her and had thanked
me very warmly for all I had done to help her. I, of course,
made light of the matter, said I had only done what was natural
under the circumstances, and so on. There was a pause
after that, and then she suddenly asked me a question.
"'Do you think,' she asked, 'that one is ever justified in taking the law into one's own hands?'
"I replied that that was rather a difficult question but that, on the whole, I thought not. The law was the law, and we
had to abide by it.
"'Even when it is powerless?'
"'I don't quite understand.'
"'It's difficult to explain, but one might do something that is considered definitely wrong--that is considered a
crime, even, for a very good and sufficient reason.'
"I replied dryly that possibly several criminals had thought that in their time, and she shrank back.
"'But that's horrible,' she murmured. 'Horrible.'
"And then with a change of tone she asked me to give her


	THE COMPANION 	I 17

something to make her sleep. She had not been able to sleep properly since--she hesitated--since that terrible shock.
,, ,You're sure it is that? There is nothing worrying you? Nothing on your mind?'
	"'On my mind? What should be on my mind?'
	"She spoke fiercely and suspiciously.
		· S
,' 'Worry is a cause of sleeplessness sometime, I said lightly.
	"She seemed to brood for a moment.
	"'Do you mean worrying over the future, or worrying
over the past, which can't be altered?'
"'Either.'
"'Only it wouldn't be any good worrying over the past. You couldn't bring back-- Oh, what's the use? One mustn't
think. One must not think.'
"I prescribed a mild sleeping draught and made my adieu. As I went away I wondered not a little over the words she
had spoken. 'You couldn't bring back---' What? Or who?
"I think that last interview prepared me in a way for what was to come. I didn't expect it, of course, but when
it happened, I wasn't surprised. Because, you see, Mary
Barton struck me all along as a conscientious woman--not
a weak sinner, but a woman with convictions, who would
act up to them, and who would not relent as long as she
still believed in them. I fancied that in that last conversation
we had she was beginning to doubt her own convictions.
I know her words suggested to me that she was feeling
the first faint beginnings of that terrible soul-searcher--remorse.
"The thing happened in Cornwall, in a small watering place, rather deserted at that season of the year. It must have
been--let me sec--late March. I read about it in the papers.
A lady had been staying at a small hotel there--a Miss Barton.
She had been very odd and peculiar in her manner. That


	118 	MISS MA R PLE

had been noticed by all. At night she would walk up and down her room,, muttering to herself, and not allowing the
people on either' side of her to sleep. She had called on the
vicar one day arid had told him that she had a communica.
tion of the gray,St importance to make to him. She had, she
said, committed a crime. Then, instead of proceeding, she
had stood up aD, ruptly and said she would call another day.
The vicar put he-r down as being slightly unbalanced and did
not take her s¢l'-accusation seriously.
"The very next morning she was found to be missing from her room. A note was left addressed to the coroner. It
ran as follows:

I tried to Sleak to the vicar yesterday, to confess all, but was not allowed. She would not let me. I can make
amends only one way--a life for a life; and my life must
go the same vay as hers did. I, too, must drown in the
deep sea. I believed I was justified. I see now that that
was not so. If I desire Amy's forgiveness, I must go to
her. Let no one be blamed for my death--Mary Barton.

"Her clothes vere found lying on the beach in a secluded cove near by, arid it seemed clear that she had undressed
there and swum resolutely out to sea where the current was
known to be daogerous, sweeping one down the coast.
"The body was not discovered, but after a time leave was given to presume death. She was a rich woman, her estate
being proved at t hundred thousand pounds. Since she died
intestate, it all went to her next of kin--a family of cousins
in Australia. The papers made discreet references to the tragedy
in the Canary Islands, putting forward the theory that
the death of Miss Durrant had unhinged her friend's brain.
At the inquest tBe usual verdict of 'Suicide while temporarily
insane' was returned.
"And so the cortain falls on the tragedy of Amy Durrant and Mary Barton."


THE COMPANION 119

There was a long pause and then Jane Helier gave a great gasp.
"Oh, but you mustn't stop there--just in the most interesting part. Go on."
"But you see, Miss Helier, this isn't a serial story. This is real life, and real life stops just where it chooses."
"But I don't want it to," said Jane. "I want to know."
"This is where we use our brains, Miss Helier," explained
Sir Henry. "Why did Mary Barton kill her companion?
That's the problem Dr. Lloyd has set us."
"Oh well," said Miss Helier, "she might have killed her for lots of reasons. I mean---oh, I don't know. She might
have got on her nerves, or else she got jealous, although Dr.
Lloyd doesn't mention any men, but still on the boat out--well,
you know what everyone says about boats and sea voyages.''
Miss Helier paused, slightly out of breath, and it was borne in upon her audience that the outside of Jane's
charming head was distinctly superior to the inside.
"I would like to have a lot of guesses," said Mrs. Bantry. "But I suppose I must confine myself to one. Well, I think
that Miss Barton's father made all his money out of ruining
Amy Durrant's father, so Amy determined to have her revenge.
Oh no, that's the wrong way around. How tiresome!
Why does the rich employer kill the humble companion?
I've got it. Miss Barton had a young brother who shot himself
for love of Amy Durrant. Miss Barton waits her time.
Amy comes down in the world. Miss B. engages her as companion
and takes her to the Canaries and accomplishes her
revenge. How's that?"
"Excellent," said Sir Henry. "Only we don't know that Miss Barton ever had a young brother."
"We deduce that," said Mrs. Bantry. "Unless she had a young brother there's no motive. So she must have had a
young brother. Do you see, Watson?"


	I20 	MISS MARPLE

"That's all very fine, Dolly," said her husband. "But it's only a guess."
"Of course it is," said Mrs. Bantry. "That's all we can do--guess. We haven't got any clues. Go on, dear, have a
guess yourself."
"Upon my word, I don't know what to say. But I think there's something in Miss Helier's suggestion that they fell
out about a man. Look here, Dolly, it was probably some
high church parson. They both embroidered him a cope or
something, and he wore the Durrant woman's first. Depend
upon it, it was something like that. Look how she went off
to a parson at the end. These women all lose their heads over
a good-looking clergyman. You hear of it over and over
again."
"I think I must try and make my explanation a little more subtle," said Sir Henry, "though I admit it's only a guess. I
suggest that Miss Barton was always mentally unhinged.
There are more cases like that than you would imagine. Her
mania grew stronger and she began to believe it her duty to
rid the world of certain persons--possibly what is termed unfortunate
females. Nothing much is known about Miss
Durrant's past. So very possibly she had a past--an 'unfortunate'
one. Miss Barton learns of this and decides on extermination.
Later the righteousness of her act begins to trouble
her and she is overcome by remorse. Her end shows her to be
completely unhinged. Now, do say you agree with me, Miss
Marple."
"I'm afraid I don't, Sir Henry," said Miss Marple, smiling apologetically. "I think her end shows her to have been a
very clever and resourceful woman."
Jane Holier interrupted with a little scream.
"Oh! I've been so stupid. May I guess again? Of course it must have been that. Blackmail! The companion woman was
blackmailing her. Only I don't see why Miss Marple says it
was clever of her to kill herself. I can't see that at all."


THE COMPANION

"Ah!" said Sir Henry. "You see, Miss Marple knew a case just like it in St. Mary Mead."
"You always laugh at me, Sir Henry," said Miss Marple reproachfully. "I must confess it does remind me, just a little,
of old Mrs. Trout. She drew the old-age pension, you
know, for three old women who were dead, in different
parishes."
"It sounds like a most complicated and resourceful crime," said Sir Henry. "But it doesn't seem to me to throw
any light upon our present problem."
"Of course not," said Miss Marple. "It wouldn't--to you. But some of the families were very poor, and the old-age
pension was a great boon to the children. I know it's difficult
for anyone outside to understand. But what I really
meant was that the whole thing hinged upon one old
woman being so like any other old woman."
"Eh?" said Sir Henry, mystified.
"I always explain things so badly. rhat I mean is that when Dr. Lloyd described the two ladies first, he didn't
know which was which, and I don't suppose anyone else
in the hotel did. They would have, of course, after a day
or so, but the very next day one of the two was drowned,
and if the one who was left said she was Miss Barton, I don't
suppose it would ever occur to anyone that she mighm't
be."
"You think- Oh! I see," said Sir Henry slowly.
"It's the only natural way of thinking of it. Dear Mrs. Bantry began that way just now. Why should the rich employer
kill the humble companion? It's so much more likely
to be the other way about. I mean--that's the way things
happen."
"Is it?" said Sir Henry. "You shock me."
"But of course," went on Miss Marple, "she would have to wear Miss Barton's clothes, and they would probably be a
little tight on her, so that her general appearance would look


	I22 	MISS MA R P LE

as though she had got a little fatter. That's why I asked that question. A gentleman would be sure to think it was the
lady who had got fatter and not the clothes that had got
smaller--though that isn't quite the right way of putting
it."
"But if Amy Durrant killed Miss Barton, what did she gain by it?" asked Mrs. Bantry. "She couldn't keep up the
deception for ever."
"She only kept it up for another month or so," pointed out Miss Marple. "And during that time I expect she travelled,
keeping away from anyone who might know her.
That's what I meant by saying that one lady of a certain age
looks so like another. I don't suppose the different photograph
on her passport was ever noticed--you know what
passports are. And then in March she went down to this
Cornish place and began to act queerly and draw attention to
herself so that when people found her clothes on the beach
and read her last letter they shouldn't think of the commonsense
conclusion."
"Which was?" asked Sir Henry.
"No body," said Miss Marple firmly. "That's the thing that would stare you in the face, if there weren't such a lot of
red herrings to draw you off the trail--including the suggestion
of foul play and remorse. No body. That was the real
significant fact."
"Do you mean--" said Mrs. Bantry, "do you mean that there wasn't any remorse? That there wasn't--that she didn't
drown herself?."
"Not she!" said Miss Marple. "It's just Mrs. Trout over again. Mrs. Trout was very good at red herrings, but she met
her match in me. And I can see through your remorse-driven
Miss Barton. Drown herself?. Went off to Australia, if I'm
any good at guessing."
"You are, Miss Marple," said Dr. Lloyd. "Undoubtedly


THE COMPANION I23

you are. Now it again took me quite by surprise. Why, you could have knocked me down with a feather that day in
Melbourne."
"Was that what you spoke of as a final coincidence?" Dr. Lloyd nodded.
"Yes, it was rather rough luck on Miss Bartonr Miss Amy Durrant--whatever you like to call her. I became a
ship's doctor for a while, and landing in Melbourne, the first
person I saw as I walked down the street was the lady I
thought had been drowned in Cornwall. She saw the game
was up as far as I was concerned, and she did the bold
thing--took me into her confidence. A curious woman,
completely lacking, I suppose, in some moral sense. She was
the eldest of a family of nine, all wretchedly poor. They had
applied once for help to their rich cousin in England and
been repulsed, Miss Barton having quarrelled with their father.
Money was wanted desperately, for the three youngest
children were delicate and wanted expensive medical treatment.
Amy Barton then and there seems to have decided on
her plan of cold-blooded murder. She set out for England,
working her passage over as a children's nurse. She obtained
the situation of companion to Miss Barton, calling herself
Amy Durrant. She engaged a room and put some furniture
into it so as to create more of a personality for herself. The
drowning plan was a sudden inspiration. She had been waiting
for some opportunity to present itself. Then she staged
the final scene of the drama and returned to Australia, and in
due time she and her brothers and sisters inherited Miss Barton's
money as next of kin."
"A very bold and perfect crime," said Sir Henry. "Almost the perfect crime. If it had been Miss Barton who had died
in the Canaries, suspicion might attach to Amy Durrant and
her connection with the Barton family might have been discovered;
but the change of identity and the double crime, as


MISS MA RPLE

you may call it, effectually did away with that. Yes, almost the perfect crime."
"What happened to her?" asked Mrs. Bantry. "What did you do in the matter, Dr. Lloyd?"
"I was in a very curious position, Mrs. Bantry. Of evidence, as the law understands it, I still had very little. Also,
there were certain signs, plain to me as a medical man, that
though strong and vigorous in appearance, the lady was not
10ng for this world. I went home with her and saw the rest
0f the family--a charming family, devoted to their eldest sister
and without an idea in their heads that she might prove
to have committed a crime. Why bring sorrow on them
when I could prove nothing? The lady's admission to me
was unheard by anyone else. I let nature take its course. Miss
Amy Barton died six months after my meeting with her. I
have often wondered if she was cheerful and unrepentant up
to the last."
"Surely not," said Mrs. Bantry.
"I expect so," said Miss Marple. "Mrs. Trout was."
Jane Helier gave herself a little shake.
"Well," she said, "it's very, very thrilling. I don't quite understand now who drowned which. And how does this
Mrs. Trout come into it?"
"She doesn't, my dear," said Miss Maple. "She was only a person--not a very nice person--in the village."
"Oh!" said Jane. "In the village. But nothing ever happens in a village, does it?" She sighed. "I'm sure I shouldn't
have any brains at all if I lived in a village."


The Four Suspects

T
he conversation hovered round undiscovered and unpunished crimes. Everyone in turn vouchsafed an
opinion: Colonel Bantry, his plump amiable wife,
Jane Helier, Dr. Lloyd, and even old Miss Marple. The one
person who did not speak was the one best fitted in most
people's opinion to do so. Sir Henry Clithering, ex-Commis-sioner
of Scotland Yard, sat silent, twisting his moustache--or
rather stroking it--and half smiling, as though at some
inward thought that amused him.
"Sir Henry," said Mrs. Bantry at last, "if you don't say something, I shall scream. Are there a lot of crimes that go
unpunished, or are there not?"
"You're thinking of newspaper headlines, Mrs. Bantry.
SCOTLAND YARD AT FAULT AGAIN. And a list of unsolved
mysteries to follow."
"Which really, I suppose, form a very small percentage of the whole?" said Dr. Lloyd.
"Yes, that is so. The hundreds of crimes that are solved and the perpetrators punished are seldom heralded and sung.
But that isn't quite the point at issue, is it? When you talk
of undiscovered crimes and unsolved crimes, you are talking
of two different things. In the first category come all the

25


	I26 	MISS M^RPLE

crimes that Scotland Yard never hears about, the crimes that no one even knows have been committed."
"But I suppose there aren't very many of those?" said Mrs. Bantry.
"Aren't there?"
"Sir Henry! You don't mean there are?"
"I should think," said Miss Marple thoughtfully, "that there must be a very large number."
The charming old lady, with her old-world, unruffled air,
made her statement in a tone of the utmost placidity. "My dear Miss Mat-pie," said Colonel Bantry.
"Of course," said Miss Marple, "a lot of people are stupid. And stupid people get found out, whatever they do. But
there are quite a number of people who aren't stupid, and
one shudders to think of what they might accomplish unless
they had very strongly rooted principles."
"Yes," said Sir Henry, "there are a lot of people who aren't stupid. How often does some crime come to light simply
by reason of a bit of unmitigated bungling, and each
time one asks oneself the question: If this hadn't been bungled,
would anyone ever have known?"
"But that's very serious, Clithering," said Colonel Bantry.
"Very serious, indeed."
"Is it?"
"What do you mean, is it? Of course it's serious." "You say crime goes unpunished, but does it? Unpunished
by the law perhaps, but cause and effect works outside
the law. To say that every crime brings its own punishment
is by way of being a platitude, and yet in my opinion nothing
can be truer."
"Perhaps, perhaps," said Colonel Bantry. "But that doesn't alter the seriousness--the-er--seriousness--" He
paused, rather at a loss.
Sir Henry Clithering smiled.
"Ninety-nine people out of a hundred are doubtless of


	THE FOUR SUPEC. TS 	:t27

your way of thinking," he said. "lut you know, it isn't really guilt that s amportant--tt nnO%ence' That's the thing that
nobody will realize."
"I don't understand," said Jan% Helier.
"I do," said Miss Marple. "When Mrs. Trent found half a crown missing from her bag, the erson it affected most was
the daily woman, Mrs. Arthur. OF' course the Trents thought
it was her, but being kindly peolle and knowing she had a
large family and a husband who .ti. rinks, well--they naturally
didn't want to go to extremes,lut they felt differently toward
her, and they didn't leave l..xer in charge of the house
when they went away, which maqe a great difference to her;
and other people began to get a 'eeling about her too. And
then it suddenly came out that it was the governess. Mrs.
Trent saw her through a door ecflected in a mirror. The
purest chance--though I prefer :o call it Providence- And
that, I think, is what Sir Henry t'neans. Most people would
be only interested in who took thee money, and it turned out
to be the most unlikely person--j ast like in detective stories!
But the real person it was life ahd death to was poor Mrs.
Arthur, who had done nothing. hat's what you mean, isn't
it, Sir Henry?"
"Yes, Miss Marple, you've hi: off my meaning exactly. Your charwoman person was lUtky in the instance you relate.
Her innocence was shown. But some people may go
through a lifetime crushed by th weight of a suspicion that
is really unjustified."
"Are you thinking of sorn particular instance, Sir Henry?" asked Mrs. Bantry shre%dly'
"As a matter of fact, Mrs. Bah. try, I am. A very curious
case. A case where we believe m¼rder to have been committed, but with no possible chance of ever proving it."
"Poison, I suppose," breathed .Jane. "Something untraceable.''
Dr. Lloyd moved restlessly anct Sir Henry shook his head.


MSS M^eI.

"No, dear lady. Not the secret arrow poison of the South American Indians! I wish it were something of that kind.
We have to deal with something much more prosaic--so
prosaic, in fact, that there is no hope of bringing the deed
home to its perpetrator. An old gentleman who fell downstairs
and broke his neck; one of those regrettable accidents
which happen every day."
"But what happened really?"
"Who can say?" Sir Henry shrugged his shoulders. "A push from behind? A piece of cotton or string tied across the
top of the stairs and carefully removed afterward? That we
shall never know."
"But you do think that it--well, wasn't an accident? Now why?" asked the doctor.
"That's rather a long story, but--well, yes, we're pretty sure. As I said, there's no chance of being able to bring the
deed home to anyone--the evidence would be too flimsy.
But there's the other aspect of the case--the one I was
speaking about. You see, there were four people who might
have done the trick. One's guilty, but the other three are innocent.
And unless the truth is found out, those three are
going to remain under the terrible shadow of doubt."
"I think," said Mrs. Bantry, "that you'd better tell us your long story."
"I needn't make it so very long after all," said Sir Henry. "I can at any rate condense the beginning. That deals with a
German secret society--the Schwartze Hand--something after the lines of the Camorra or what is most people's idea
of the Camorra. A scheme of blackmail and terrorization.
The thing started quite suddenly after the war and spread to
an amazing extent. Numberless people were victimized by it.
The authorities were not successful in coping with it, for its
secrets were jealously guarded, and it was almost impossible
to find anyone who could be induced to betray them.


	'TTHE FOUR SUSPEcTS 	i29

,'Nothing much w:as ever knowrt about it in England, but
in Germany it was h„ing a most paralyzing effect. I t was finally broken up anc dispersed through the effort of one
man, a Dr. Rosen, wkzao had at One time been very pr%minent
in Secret Service wor"k. He became a member, penetrated its
inmost circle, and ,,as, as I say, instrumental in bringing
about its downfall.
"But he was, in c:onsequence, a marked man, arxtt it was deemed wise that he should leave (ermany--at any rate for a
time. He came to EEngland, and we had letters aNt)ut him
from thc police in 13erlin. He came and had a persoral interview
with me. His loint of view was both dispassiotxate and
resigned. He had no doubts ofvhat the future held for him.
"'They will get vine, Sir Henry,, he said. 'Not a Ctoubt of it.' He was a big ma-n with a fine head and a very deep voice,
with only a slight g"uttural intonation to tell of his tational-ity.
'That is a foregcane conclusion. It does not matter, I am
prepared. I faced th..¢ risk when I undertook this btsiness. I
have done what I see:t out to do. The organization Can never
be gotten together again. But there are many mernlers of it
at liberty, and they will take the 0nly revenge they tan--my
life. It is simply a -question of time, but I am anxious that
that time should I¢ as long as possible. You see, I am collecting
and cditingg some very interesting material,---ehe result
of my life's WCrk. I should like, if possible, to he able to
complete my task.'
"He spoke very simply, with a certain grandeur which I could not but adrrire. I told hir we would take all precautions,
but he waved my words aside.
"'Some day, soosner or later, they will get me,' he repeated. 'When that day CCmes, do not distress yourself. „Cu will, I
have no doubt, hve done all that is possible.'
"He then proceeded to outline his plans, which Were simple enough. He pr oposed to takea small cottage in the coun-


ss MARPLE
try where he could live quietly and go on with his work. In the end he selected a village in Somerset--King's Gnaton,
which was seven miles from a railway station and singularly
untouched by civilization. He bought a very charming cottage,
had various improvements and alterations made, and
settled down there most contentedly. His household consisted
of his niece, Greta; a secretary; an old German servant
who had served him faithfully for nearly forty years; and an
outside handy man and gardener who was a native of King's
Gnaton."
"The four suspects," said Dr. Lloyd softly.
"Exactly. The four suspects. There is not much more to tell. Life went on peacefully at King's Gnaton for five
months and then the blow fell. Dr. Rosen fell down the
stairs one morning and was found dead about half an hour
later. At the time the accident must have taken place, Ger-trud
was in her kitchen with the door closed and heard
nothing--so she says. Fr/ulein Greta was in the garden,
planting some bulbs--again, so she says. The gardener,
Dobbs, was in the small potting shed having his elevenses--so
he says; and the secretary was out for a walk, and once
more there is only his own word for it. lqo one had an
alibi--no one can corroborate anyone else's story. But one
thing is certain. No one from outside could have done it, for
a stranger in the little village of King's Gnaton would be
noticed without fail. Both the back and the front doors were
locked, each member of the household having his own key.
So you see it narrows down to those four. And yet each one
seems to be above suspicion. Greta, his own brother's child.
Gertrud, with forty years of faithful service. Dobbs, who has
never been out of King's Gnaton. And Charles Templeton,
the secretary--"
"Yes," said Colonel Bantry, "what about him? He seems the suspicious person to my mind. What do you know
about him?"


	THE FOUR SUSPECTS 	I3I

"It is what I knew about him that put him completely out of court--at any rate, at the time," said Sir Henry gravely.
"You see, Charles Templeton was one of my own men." "Oh!" said Colonel Bantry, considerably taken aback.
"Yes. I wanted to have someone on the spot, and ar the
same time I didn't want to cause talk in the village.. Rosen
really needed a secretary. I put Templeton on the job. He's a
gentleman, he speaks German fluently, and he's altogether a
very able fellow."
"But, then, which do you suspect?" asked Mrs. Bantry in a bewildered tone. "They all seem so--well, impossible."
"Yes, so it appears. But you can look at the thing from another angle. Friiulein Greta was his niece and a very lovely
girl, but the war has shown us time and again that brother
can turn against sister, or father against son, and so on, and
the loveliest and gentlest of young girls did some of the
most amazing things. The same thing applies to Gertrud,
and who knows what other forces might be at work in her
case? A quarrel, perhaps, with her master, a growing resentment
all the more lasting because of the long faithful years
behind her. Elderly women of that class can be amazingly
bitter sometimes. And Dobbs? Was he right outside it because
he had no connection with the family? Money will do
much. In some way Dobbs might have been approached and
bought.
"For one thing seems certain: Some message or some order must have come from outside. Otherwise, why five months'
immunity? No, the agents of the society must have been at
work. Not yet sure of Rosen's perfidy, they delayed till the
betrayal had been traced to him beyond any possible doubt.
And then, all doubts set aside, they must have sent their
message to the spy within the gates--the message that said,
'Kill.'"
"How nasty!" said Jane Helier, and shuddered.
"But how did the message come? That was the point I


	I32 	MISS MARPLE

tried to elucidate--the one hope of solving my problem. One of those four people must have been approached or
communicated with in some way. There would be no
delay--I knew that; as soon as the command came, it would
be carried out. That was a peculiarity of the $chwartze Hand.
"I went into the question, went into it in a way that will probably strike you as being ridiculously meticulous. Who
had come to the cottage that morning? I eliminated nobody.
Here is the list."
He took an envelope from his pocket and selected a paper from its contents.
"The butcher, bringing some neck of mutton. Investigated and found correct.
"The grocer's assistant, bringing a packet of corn flour, two pounds of sugar, a pound of butter, and a pound of coffee.
Also investigated and found correct.
"The postman, bringing two circulars for Friiulein Rosen, a local letter for Gertrud, three letters for Dr. Rosen, one
with a foreign stamp, and two letters for Mr. Templeton,
one also with a foreign stamp."
Sir Henry paused and then took a sheaf of documents from the envelope.
"It may interest you to see these for yourself. They were handed me by the various people concerned or collected
from the wastepaper basket. I need hardly say they've been
tested by experts for invisible ink, et cetera. No excitement
of that kind is possible."
Everyone crowded round to look. The catalogues were respectively from a nurseryman and from a prominent London
fur establishment. The two bills addressed to Dr. Rosen were
a local one for seeds for the garden and one from a London
stationery firm. The letter addressed to him ran as follows:

My Dear Rosen--Just back from Dr. Helmuth Spath's. I saw Edgar Jackson the other day. He and


	THE FOUR SUSPECTS 	I33

Amos Perry have just come back from Tsingtau. In all Honesty I can't say I envy them the trip. Let me have
news of you soon. As I said before: Beware of a certain
person. You know who I mean, though you don't
agree.--Yours,
Georgina.

"Mr. Templeton's mail consisted of this bill which, as you see, is an account rendered from his tailor, and a letter from a
friend in Germany," went on Sir Henry. "The latter, unfortunately,
he tore up while out on his walk. Finally we have
the letter received by Gertrud."

Dear Mrs. Swartz--We're hoping as how you be able to come to the social on friday evening, the vicar says
has he hopes you will--one and all being welcome. The
resipy for the ham was very good, and I thanks you for
it. Hoping as this finds you well and that we shall see
you friday I remain
Yours faithfully,
Emma Greene.

Dr. Lloyd smiled a little over this and so did Mrs. Bantry.
"I think the last letter can be put out of court," said Dr. Lloyd.
"I thought the same," said Sir Henry, "but I took the precaution of verifying that there was a Mrs. Greene and a
church social. One can't be too careful, you know."
"That's what our friend Miss Marple always says," said Dr. Lloyd, smiling. "You're lost in a daydream, Miss Marple.
What are you thinking out?"
Miss Marple gave a start.
"So stupid of me," she said. "I was just wondering why the word Honesty in Dr. Rosen's letter was spelled with a
capital H."


	34 	MISS MARPLE

Mrs. Bantry picked it up.
"So it is," she said. "Oh!"
"Yes, dear," said Miss Marple. "I thought you'd notice!" "There's a definite warning in that letter," said Colonel
Bantry. "That's the first thing caught my attention. I notice
more than you'd think. Yes, a definite warning--against
whom?"
"There's rather a curious point about that letter," said Sir Henry. "According to Templeton, Dr. Rosen opened the
letter at breakfast and tossed it across to him, saying he
didn't know who the fellow was from Adam."
"But it wasn't a fellow," said Jane Helier. "It was signed 'Georgina.'"
"It's difficult to say which it is," said Dr. Lloyd. "It might be Georgey, but it certainly looks more like Georgina. Only
it strikes me that the writing is a man's."
"You know, that's interesting," said Colonel Bantry. "His tossing it across the table like that and pretending he knew
nothing about it. Wanted to watch somebody's face. Whose
face--the girl's? Or the man's?"
"Or even the cook's?" suggested Mrs. Bantry. "She might have been in the room bringing in the breakfast. But what I
don't see is ... it's most peculiar--"
She frowned over the letter. Miss Marple drew closer to her. Miss Marple's finger went out and touched the sheet of
paper. They murmured together.
"But why did the secretary tear up the other letter?" asked Jane Helier suddenly. "It seems--oh, I don't know--it seems
queer. Why should he have letters from Germany? Although,
of course, if he's above suspicion, as you say--"
"But Sir Henry didn't say that," said Miss Marple quickly, looking up from her murmured conference with Mrs.
Bantry. "He said four suspects. So that shows that he includes
Mr. Templeton. I'm right, am I not, Sir Henry?"


	THE FOUR SUSPECTS 	I35

"Yes, Miss Marple. I have learned one thing through bitter experience. Never say to yourself that anyone is above
suspicion. I gave you reasons just now why three of these
people might after all be guilty, unlikely as it seemed. I did
not at that time apply the same process to Charles Temple-ton.
But I came to it at last through pursuing the rule I have
just mentioned. And I was forced to recognize this: That
every army and every navy and every police force has a certain
number of traitors within its ranks, much as we hate to
admit the idea. And I examined dispassionately the case
against Charles Templeton.
"I asked myself very much the same questions as Miss He-lier has just asked. Why should he, alone of all the house,
not be able to produce the letter he had received a letter,
moreover, with a German stamp on it. Why should he have
letters from Germany?
"The last question was an innocent one, and I actually put it to him. His reply came simply enough. His mother's sister
was married to a German. The letter had been from a German
girl cousin. So I learned something I did not know be-fore--that
Charles Templeton had relations with people in
Germany. And that put him definitely on the list of sus-pects-very
much so. He is my own man--a lad I have always
liked and trusted; but in common justice and fairness I
must admit that he heads that list.
"But there it is--I do not know! I do not know ... And in all probability I never shall know. It is not a question of
punishing a murderer. It is a question that to me seems a
hundred times more important. It is the blighting, perhaps,
of an honourable man's whole career ... because of suspi-
cion--a suspicion that I dare not disregard."
Miss Marple coughed and said gently:
"Then, Sir Henry, if I understand you rightly, it is this young Mr. Templeton only who is so much on your mind?"


	z36 	MISS MARPLE

"Yes, in a sense. It should, in theory, be the same for all four, but that is not actually the case. Dobbs, for instance--suspicion
may attach to him in my mind, but it will not actually
affect his career. Nobody in the village has ever had
any idea that old Dr. Rosen's death was anything but an accident.
Gertrud is slightly more affected. It must make, for
instance, a difference in Friulein Rosen's attitude toward
her. But that, possibly, is not of great importance to her.
"As for Greta Rosen--well, here we come to the crux of the matter. Greta is a very pretty girl and Charles Templeton
is a good-looking young man, and for five months they were
thrown together with no outer distractions. The inevitable
happened. They fell in love with each otherven if they
did not come to the point of admitting the fact in words.
"And then the catastrophe happens. It is three months ago now, and a day or two after I returned, Greta Rosen
came to see me. She had sold the cottage and was returning
to Germany, having finally settled up her uncle's affairs. She
came to me personally, although she knew I had retired, because
it was really about a personal matter she wanted to see
me. She beat about the bush a little, but at last it all came
out. What did I think? That letter with the German
stampshe had worried about it and worried about it--the
one Charles had torn up. Was it all right? Surely it must be
all right. Of course she believed his story, but---oh, if she
only knew! If she knew--for certain.
"You see? The same feeling: the wish to trust--but the horrible lurking suspicion, thrust resolutely to the back of
the mind, but persisting nevertheless. I spoke to her with absolute
frankness and asked her to do the same. I asked her
whether she had been on the point of caring for Charles and
he for her.
"'I think so,' she said. 'Oh yes, I know it was so. We were so happy. Every day passed so contentedly. We knew--we


	THE FOUR SUSPECTS 	37

both knew. There was no hurry--there was all the time in the world. Some day he would tell me he loved me, and I
should tell him that I, too Ah! But you can guess! And
now it is all changed. A black cloud has come between us--we
are constrained, when we meet we do not know what to
say. It is, perhaps, the same with him as with me... We are
each saying to ourselves, "If I were sure!" That is why, Sir
Henry, I beg of you to say to me, "You may be sure, whoever
killed your uncle, it was not Charles Templeton!" Say it
to me! Oh, say it to me! I beg--I beg!'
"I couldn't say it to her. They'll drift farther and farther apart, those two-with suspicion like a ghost between
them--a ghost that can't be laid."
He leaned back in his chair; his face looked tired and grey. He shook his head once or twice despondently.
"And there's nothing more can be done, unless--" He sat up straight again and a tiny whimsical smile crossed his face.
"--unless Miss Marple can help us. Can't you, Miss Marple?
I've a feeling that letter might be in your line, you know.
The one about the church social. Doesn't it remind you of
something or someone that makes everything perfectly
plain? Can't you do something to help two helpless young
people who want to be happy?"
Behind the whimsicality there was something earnest in his appeal. He had come to think very highly of the mental
powers of this frail, old-fashioned maiden lady. He ,looked
across at her with something very like hope in his eyes. Miss Marple coughed and smoothed her lace.
"It does remind me a little of Annie Poulmy," she admitted. "Of course the letter is perfectly plain-both to Mrs.
Bantry and myself. I don't mean the church-social letter,
but the other one. You living so much in London and not
being a gardener, Sir Henry, would not have been likely to
notice."


	138 	MISS MARPLE

"Eh?" said Sir Henry. "Notice what?"
Mrs. Bantry reached out a hand and selected a catalogue. She opened it and read aloud with gusto:
"'Dr. Helmuth Spath. Pure lilac, a wonderfully fine flower, carried on exceptionally long and stiff stem. Splendid
for cutting and garden decoration. A novelty of striking
beauty.
"'Edgar Jackson. Beautifully shaped chrysanthemum-like flower of a distinct brick-red colour.
"'Amos Perry. Brilliant red, highly decorative.
"'Tsingtau. Brilliant orange-red, showy garden plant and
lasting cut flower.
"'Honesty--'"
"With a capital H, you remember," murmured Miss Mar-ple.
"'Honesty. Rose and white shades, enormous perfect-shaped flower.'"
Mrs. Bantry flung down the catalogue and said with im-
mense explosive force:
"Dahlias!"
"And their initial letters spell 'Death,'" explained Miss Marple.
"But the letter came to Dr. Rosen himself," objected Sir Henry.
"That was the clever part of it," said Miss Marple. "That and the warning in it. What would he do, getting a letter
from someone he didn't know, full of names he didn't
know. Why, of course, toss it over to his secretary." "Then, after all--"
"Oh no!" said Miss Marple. "Not the secretary. Why, that's what makes it so perfectly clear that it wasn't him.
He'd never have let that letter be found if so. And equally
he'd never have destroyed a letter to himself with a German
stamp on it. Really, his innocence is--if you'll allow me to
use the world--just shining."


	THE FOUR SUSPECTS 	39

"Then who"
"Well, it seems almost certain--as certain as anything can be in this world. There was another person at the breakfast
table, and she would--quite naturally under the circum-stances-put
out her hand for the letter and read it. And
that would be that. You remember that she got a gardening
catalogue by the same post--"
"Greta Rosen," said Sir Henry slowly. "Then her visit to me--"
"Gentlemen never see through these things," said Miss Marple. "And I'm afraid they often think we old women
are--well, cats, to see things the way we do. But there it is.
One does know a great deal about one's own sex, unfortunately.
I've no doubt there was a barrier between them. The
young man felt a sudden inexplicable repulsion. He suspected,
purely through instinct, and couldn't hide the suspicion.
And I really think that the girl's visit to you was just
pure spite. She was safe enough really, but she just went out
of her way to fix your suspicions definitely on poor Mr.
Templeton. You weren't nearly so sure about him until after
her visit."
"I'm sure it was nothing that she said--" began Sir Henry.
"Gentlemen," said Miss Marple calmly, "never see through these things."
"And that girl--" He stopped. "She commits a coldblooded murder and gets otT scot-free!"
"Oh no, Sir Henry," said Miss Marple. "Not scot-free. Neither you nor I believe that. Remember what you said not
long ago. No. Greta Rosen will not escape punishment. To
begin with, she must be in with a very queer set of people--blackmailers
and terrorists--associates who will do her no
good and will probably bring her to a miserable end. As you
say, one mustn't waste thoughts on the guilty--it's the innocent
who matter. Mr. Templeton, who I daresay will
marry that German cousin, his tearing up her letter looks--


i4o 	MISS MARPLE

well, it looks suspicious--using the word in quite a different sense from the one we've been using all the evening. A little
as though he were afraid of the other girl noticing or asking
to see it? Yes, I think there must have been some little romance
there. And then there's Dobbs--though, as you say, I
daresay it won't much matter to him. His elevenses are probably
all he thinks about. And then there's that poor old Ger-trud---the
one who reminded me of Annie Poulmy. Poor
Annie Poulmy. Fifty years' faithful service and suspected of
making away with Miss Lamb's will, though nothing could
be proved. Almost broke the poor creature's faithful heart.
And then after she was dead it came to light in the secret
drawer of the tea caddy where old Miss Lamb had put it herself
for safety. But too late then for poor Annie.
"That's what worries me so about that poor old German woman. When one is old, one becomes embittered very easily.
I felt much more sorry for her than for Mr. Templeton,
who is young and good-looking and evidently a favourite
with the ladies. You will write to her, won't you, Sir Henry,
and just tell her that her innocence is established beyond
doubt? Her dear old master dead, and she no doubt brooding
and feeling herself suspected of... Oh! It won't bear thinking
about!"
"I will write, Miss Marple," said Sir Henry. He looked at her curiously. "You know, I shall never quite understand
you. Your outlook is always a different one from what I expect.''
"My outlook, I'm afraid, is a very petty one," said Miss Marple humbly. "I hardly ever go out of St. Mary Mead."
"And yet you have solved what may be called an international mystery," said Sir Henry. "For you have solved it. I
am convinced of that."
Miss Marple blushed, then bridled a little.
"I was, I think, well educated for the standard of my day.


	THE FOUR SUSPECTS 	4x

My sister and I had a German governessJa Friiulein. A very sentimental creature. She taught us the language of flow-ers--a
forgotten study nowadays, but most charming. A yellow
tulip, for instance, means 'Hopeless Love,' while a China
aster means 'I Die of Jealousy at Your Feet.' That letter was
signed Georgina, which I seem to remember as dahlia in
German, and that of course made the whole thing perfectly
clear. I wish I could remember the meaning of dahlia, but
alas, that eludes me. My memory is not what it was."
"At any rate, it didn't mean 'Death.'"
"No, indeed. Horrible, is it not? There are very sad things in the world."
"There are," said Mrs. Bantry with a sigh. "It's lucky one has flowers and one's friends."
"She puts us last, you observe," said Dr. Lloyd.
"A man used to send me purple orchids every night to the theater," said Jane dreamily.
"'I Await Your Favours'--that's what that means," said Miss Marple brightly.
Sir Henry gave a peculiar sort of cough and turned his head away.
Miss Marple gave a sudden exclamation.
"I've remembered. Dahlias mean 'Treachery and Misrepresentation.'"
"Wonderful," said Sir Henry. "Absolutely wonderful." And he sighed.


A Christmas Tragedy

	· 	ma " ....
" have a complaint to ke, said Sir Henry Chthenng.
[ His eyes twinkled gently as he looked round at the as
1
sembled company. Colonel Bantry, his legs stretched

out, was frowning at the mantelpiece as though it were a

delinquent soldier on parade, his wife was surreptitiously

glancing at a catalogue of bulbs which had come by the

late post, Dr. Lloyd was gazing with frank admiration at

Jane Helier, and that beautiful young actress herself was

thoughtfully regarding her pink polished nails. Only that

elderly, spinster lady, Miss Marple, was sitting bolt upright,

and her faded blue eyes met Sir Henry's with an answering

twinkle·

"A complaint?" she murmured.

"A very serious complaint· We are a company of six, three

representatives of each sex, and I protest on behalf of the

down-trodden males. We have had three stories told to
night--and
told by the three men! I protest that the ladies

have not done their fare share·"

"Oh!" said Mrs. Bantry with indignation. "I'm sure we

have· We've listened with the most intelligent appreciation·

We've displayed the true womanly attitude--not wishing to

thrust ourselves into the limelight!"


	A CHRISTMAS TRAGEDY 	43

"It's an excellent excuse," said Sir Henry; "but it won't do. And there's a very good precedent in the Arabian
Nights! So, forward, Scheherazade!"
"Meaning me?" said Mrs. Bantry. "But I don't know anything to tell. I've never been surrounded by blood or mystery.''
"I don't absolutely insist upon blood," said Sir Henry. "But I'm sure one of you three ladies has got a pet mystery.
Come now, Miss Marple--the 'Curious Coincidence of the
Charwoman' or the 'Mystery of the Mothers' Meeting.'
Don't disappoint me in St. Mary Mead."
Miss Marple shook her head.
"Nothing that would interest you, Sir Henry. We have our little mysteries, of course--there was that gill of picked
shrimps that disappeared so incomprehensibly; but that
wouldn't interest you because it all turned out to be so
trivial, though throwing a considerable light on human
nature."
"You have taught me to dote on human nature," said Sir Henry solemnly.
"What about you, Miss Helier?" asked Colonel Bantry.
"You must have had some interesting experiences."
"Yes, indeed," said Dr. Lloyd.
"Me?" said Jane. "You mean--you want me to tell you something that happened to me?"
"Or to one of your friends," amended Sir Henry.
"Oh!" said Jane vaguely. "I don't think anything has ever happened to me--I mean not that kind of thing. Flowers, of
course, and queer messages--but that's just men, isn't it? I
don't think"--she paused and appeared lost in thought.
"I see we shall have to have that epic of the shrimps," said Sir Henry. "Now then, Miss Marple."
"You're so fond of your joke, Sir Henry. The shrimps are only nonsense; but now I come to think of it, I do remember


	x44 	MISS MARPLE

one incident--at least not exactly an incident, something very much more serious--a tragedy. And I was, in a way,
mixed up in it; and for what I did, I have never had any re-grets-no,
no regrets at all. But it didn't happen in St. Mary
Mead."
"That disappoints me," said Sir Henry. "But I will endea-your to bear up. I knew we should not rely upon you in
vain."
He settled himself in the attitude of a listener. Miss Mar-pie grew slightly pink.
"I hope I shall be able to tell it properly," she said anxiously. "I fear I am very inclined to become rambling. One
wanders from the point--altogether without knowing that
one is doing so. And it is so hard to remember each fact in
its proper order. You must all bear with me if I tell my story
badly. It happened a very long time ago now.
"As I say it was not connected with St. Mary Mead. As a matter of fact, it had to do with a Hydro--"
"Do you mean a seaplane?" asked Jane with wide eyes.
"You wouldn't know, dear,'' said Mrs. Bantry, and explained.
Her husband added his quota:
"Beastly places--absolutely beastly! Got to get up early and drink filthy-tasting water. Lot of old women sitting
about. Ill-natured tittle tattle. God, when I think--"
"Now, Arthur," said Mrs. Bantry placidly. "You know it did you all the good in the world."
"Lot of old women sitting round talking scandal," grunted Colonel Bantry.
"That, I am afraid, is true," said Miss Marple. "I myself--"
"My dear Miss Marple," cried the colonel, horrified. "I
didn't mean for one moment--"
With pink cheeks and a little gesture of the hand, Miss Marple stopped him.
"But it is true, Colonel Bantry. Only I should just like to


A CHRISTMAS TRAGEDY
say this. Let mc recollect my thoughts. Yes. Talking scandal, as you say--well, it is done a good deal. And people are very
down on it--especially young people. My nephew, who
writes books--and very clever ones, I believe--has said some
most scathing things about taking people's characters away
without any kind of proof--and how wicked it is, and all
that. But what I say is that none of these young people ever
stop to think. They really don't examine the facts. Surely the
whole crux of the matter is this: How often is tittle tattle, as
you call it, true! And I think if, as I say, they really examined
the facts they would find that it was true nine times out of
ten. That's really just what makes people so annoyed about
it."
"The inspired guess," said Sir Henry.
"No, not that, not that at all! It's really a matter of practice and experience. An Egyptologist, so I've heard, if you
show him one of those curious little beetles, can tell you by
the look and the feel of the thing what date B.C. it is, or if
it's a Birmingham imitation. And he can't always give a definite
rule for doing so. He just knows. His life has been spent
handling such things.
"And that's what I'm trying to say (very badly, I know). What my nephew calls 'superfluous women' have a lot of
time on their hands, and their chief interest is usually people. And so, you see, they get to be what one might call e3cperts. Now young people nowadays--they talk very freely about
things that weren't mentioned in my young days, but on the
other hand their minds are terribly innocent. They believe in
everyone and everything. And if one tries to warn them, ever
so gently, they tell one that one has a Victorian mind--and
that, they say, is like a sink."
"After all," said Sir Henry, "what is wrong with a sink ?"
"Exactly," said Miss Marple eagerly. "It's the most necessary thing in any house; but, of course, not romantic. Now


	46 	MISS M^RPLE

I must confess that I have my.ldings, like everyone ¢lse and I have sometimes been cruelly hurt by unthinking remarks, l
know gentlemen are not interested in domestic matters but
I must just mention my maid Eth¢l--a very good-looking
girl and obliging in every way. Now I realized as soon as I
saw her that she was the same type as Annie Webb and poor
Mrs. Bruitt's girl. If the opportunity arose mine and tlie would mean nothing to her. So I let her go at the month
and I gave her a written reference saying she was honest and
sober, but privately I warned old Mrs. Edwards against taking
her; and my nephew, Raymond, was exceedingly angry
and said he had never heard of anything so wicked--yes,
zkked. Well, she went to Lady Ashton, whom I felt no obligation
to warn--and what happened? All the lace cut off her
underclothes and two diamond brooches taken--and the girl
departed in the middle of the night and never heard of
since!"
Miss Marple paused, drew a long breath, and then went
on.
"You'll be saying this has nothing to do with what went on at Keston Spa Hydro--but it has in a way. It explains
why I felt no doubt in my mind the first moment I saw the
Sanders together that he meant to do away with her." "Eh?" said Sir Henry, leaning forward.
Miss Marple turned a placid face to him.
"As I say, Sir Henry, I felt no doubt in my own mind. Mr. Sanders was a big, good-looking, florid-faced man, very
hearty in his manner and popular with all. And nobody
could have been pleasanter to his wife than he was. But I
knew! He meant to make away with het.''
"My dear Miss Marple--"
"Yes, I know. That's what my nephew Raymond kTest, would say. He'd tell me I hadn't a shadow of proof. But I
remember Walter Hones, who kept the Green Man. XYalk-


	A CHRISTMAS TRAGEDY 	47

lng home with his wife one night she fell into the river--and he collected the insurance money! And one or two other
people that are walking about scot-free to this day---one indeed
in our own class of life. Went to Switzerland for a
summer holiday climbing with his wife. I warned her not to
go---the poor dear didn't get angry with me as she might
have done--she only laughed. It seemed to her funny that a
queer old thing like me should say such things about her
Harry. Well, well, there was an accident--and Harry is married
to another woman now. But what could I do? I knew, but there was no proof."
"Oh! Miss Marple," cried Mrs. Bantry. "You don't really mean--"
"My dear, these things are very common--very common indeed. And gentlemen are especially tempted, being so
much the stronger. So easy if a thing looks like an accident.
As I say, I knew at once with the Sanders. It was on a tram.
It was full inside and I had had to go on top. We all three
got up to get off and Mr. Sanders lost his balance and fell
right against his wife, sending her head first down the stairs.
Fortunately the conductor was a very strong young man and
caught her."
"But surely that must have been an accident."
"Of course it was an accident--nothing could have looked more accidental. But Mr. Sanders had been in the Merchant-Service,
so he told me, and a man who can keep his balance-on
a nasty tilting boat doesn't lose it on top of a tram if an,-old
woman like me doesn't. Don't tell me!"
"At any rate we can take it that you made up your mind,.
Miss Marple," said Sir Henry. "Made it up then and there.'" The old lady nodded.
"I was sure enough, and another incident in crossing the street not long afterwards made me surer still. Nov, r
I ask you, what could I do, Sir Henry? Here was a nice con


MISS MA R PLE

tented happy little married woman shortly going to be murdered.''
"My dear lady, you take my breath away."
"That's because, like most people nowadays, you won't face facts. You prefer to think such a thing couldn't be. But
it was so, and I knew it. But one is so sadly handicapped! I
couldn't, for instance, go to the police. And to warn the
young woman would, I could see, be useless. She was devoted
to the man. I just made it my business to find out as
much as I could about them. One has a lot of opportunities,
doing one's needlework round the fire. Mrs. Sanders
(Gladys, her name was) was only too willing to talk. It
seems they had not been married very long. Her husband
had some property that was coming to him, but for the moment
they were very badly off. In fact, they were living on
her little income. One has heard that tale before. She bemoaned
the fact that she could not touch the capital. It
seems that somebody had had some sense somewhere! But
the money was hers to will away--I found that out. And she
and her husband had made wills in favour of each other
directly after their marriage. Very touching. Of course, when
Jack's affairs came right--that was the burden all day long,
and in the meantime they were very hard up indeed--ac-tually
had a room on the top floor, all among the servants--and
so dangerous in case of fire, though, as it happened,
there was a fire escape just outside their window. I inquired
carefully if there was a balcony--dangerous things, balconies.
One push--you know!
"I made her promise not to go out on the balcony; I said I'd had a dream. That impressed her--one can do a lot with
superstition sometimes. She was a fair girl, rather washed-out
complexion, and an untidy roll of hair on her neck. Very
credulous. She repeated what I had said to her husband, and
I noticed him looking at me in a curious way once or twice.


	A CHRISTMAS TRAGEDY 	I49

He wasn't credulous; and he knew I'd been on that tram.
"But I was very worried--terribly worried--because I couldn't see how to circumvent him. I could prevent anything
happening at thc Hydro, just by saying a few words to
show him I suspected. But that only meant his putting off
his plan till later. No. I began to believe that the only policy
was a bold one--somehow or other to lay a trap for him. If I
could induce him to attempt her life in a way of my own
choosing--well, then he would be unmasked, and she would
be forced to face the truth however much of a shock it was
tO her."
"You take my breath away," said Dr. Lloyd. "What conceivable plan could you adopt?"
"I'd have found one--never fear," said Miss Marple. "But the man was too clever for me. He didn't wait. He thought I
might suspect, and so he struck before I could be sure. He
knew I would suspect an accident. So he made it murder."
A little gasp went round the circle. Miss Marple nodded and set her lips grimly together.
"I'm afraid I've put that rather abruptly. I must try and tell you exactly what occurred. I've always felt very bitterly
about it--it seems to me that I ought, somehow, to have
prevented it. But doubtless Providence knew best. I did
what I could at all events.
"There was what I can only describe as a curiously eerie feeling in the air. There seemed to be something weighing
on us all. A feeling of misfortune. To begin with, there was
George, the hall porter. Had been there for years and knew
everybody. Bronchitis and pneumonia, and passed away on
the fourth day. Terribly sad. A real blow to everybody. And
four days before Christmas too. And then one of the house-maids--such
a nice girl--a septic finger, actually died in
twenty-four hours.
"I was in the drawing-room with Miss Trollope and old


][50 	MISS MARPLE

Mrs. Carpenter, and Mrs. Carpenter was being po.itively ghoulish--relishing it all, you know.
"'Mark my words,' she said. 'This isn't the end. You know the saying? Never two without three. I've proved it true time
and again. There'll be another death. Not a doubt of it. And
we shan't have long to wait. Never two without three.'
"As she said the last words, nodding her head and clicking her knitting needles, I just chanced to look up and there was
Mr. Sanders standing in the doorway. Just for a minute he
was off guard, and I saw the look in his face as plain as plain.
I shall believe till my dying day that it was that ghoulish
Mrs. Carpenter's words that put the whole thing into his
head. I saw his mind working.
"He came forward into the room smiling in his genial way.
"'Any Christmas shopping I can do for you ladies?' he asked. 'I'm going down to Keston presently.'
"He stayed a minute or two, laughing and talking, and then went out. As I tell you I was troubled, and I said
straight away:
"'Where's Mrs. Sanders? Does anyone know?'
"Miss Trollope said she'd gone out to some friends of hers, the Mortimers, to play bridge, and that eased my mind
for the moment. But I was still very worried and most uncertain
as to what to do. About half an hour later I went up
to my room. I met Dr. Coles, my doctor, there, coming
down the stairs as I was going up, and as I happened to want
to consult him about my rheumatism, I took him into my
room with me then and there. He mentioned to me then (in
confidence, he said) about the death of the poor girl Mary.
The manager didn't want the news to get about, he said,
so would I keep it to myself. Of course, I didn't tell him
that we'd all been discussing nothing else for the last hour--ever
since the poor girl breathed her last. These things are al-


A CHRISTMAS TRAGEDY I51
ways known at once, and a man of his experio eoce should know that well enough; but Dr. Coles always wvaS a sirple
unsuspicious fellow who believed what he waunted to be,
lieve and that's just what alarmed me a minute laater. He said
as he was leaving that Sanders had asked hinTn to have a
look at his wife. It seemed she'd been seedy of latein,
digestion, etc.
"Now that very selfiame day Gladys Sanders ha.d said to me that she'd got a wonderful digestion and was thank. al for it.
"You see? All my suspicions of that man came back a hun, dredfold. He was preparing the way--for what,t? Dr. Coles
left before I could make up my mind whether to speak tq
him or not--though really if I had spoken I shcooldn't hav
known what to say. As I came out of my root.n% the rnaq
himself--Sanders--came down the stairs frorr-n the floor
above. He was dressed to go out and he asked m0xe again if h
could do anything for me in town. It was all I co otdd do to bt
civil to the man! I went straight into the lounge - and ordere4
tea. It was just on half-past five, I remember.
"Now I'm very anxious to put clearly whaat happene4 next. I was still in the lounge at a quarter to sevo when Mr. Sanders came in. There were two gentlemen wi-ith him an4
all three of them were inclined to be a little oor the lively
side. Mr. Sanders left his two friends and came r-right over to
where I was sitting with Miss Trollope. He explained that he
wanted our advice about a Christmas present hoc was giving
his wife. It was an evening bag.
"'And you see, ladies,' he said. 'I'm only a, rough sail, orman. What do I know about such things? I'v¢ had thr¢
sent to me on approval and I want an expert opinion 0
them.'
"We said, of course, that we would be deliglihted to help him, and he asked if we'd mind coming upstairs.s, as his will
might come in any minute if he brought the ti[ hings down.


MESS M^.v

So we went up with him. I shall never forget what happened next--I can feel my little fingers tingling now."
"Mr. Sanders opened the door of the bedroom and switched on the light. I don't know which of us saw it
first . . .
"Mrs. Sanders was lying on the floor, face downwards--dead. "I got to her first. I knelt down and took her hand and felt
for the pulse, but it was useless, the arm itself was cold and
stiff. Just by her head was a stocking filled with sand--the
weapon she had been struck down with. Miss Trollope, silly
creature, was moaning and moaning by the door and holding
her head. Sanders gave a great cry of 'My wife, my wife,'
and rushed to her. I stopped him touching her. You see, I was sure at the moment that he had done it, and there
might have been something that he wanted to take away
or hide.
"'Nothing must be touched,' I said. 'Pull yourself together, Mr. Sanders. Miss Trollope, please go down and fetch
the manager.'
"I stayed there, kneeling by the body. I wasn't going to leave Sanders alone with it. And yet I was forced to admit
that if the man was acting, he was acting marvellously. He
looked dazed and bewildered and scared out of his wits.
"The manager was with us in no time. He made a quick inspection of the room then turned us all out and locked the
door, the key of which he took. Then he went off and telephoned
to the police. It seemed a positive age before they
came (we learned afterwards that the line was out of order).
The manager had to send a messenger to the police station,
and the Hydro is right out of the town, up on the edge of
the moor; and Mrs. Carpenter tried us all very severely. She
was so pleased at her prophecy of 'Never two without three'
coming true so quickly. Sanders, I hear, wandered out into
the grounds, clutching his head and groaning and displaying
every sign of grief.


	A CHRISTMAS TRAGEI'y 	i53

,,However, the police came at last. They went upstairs with the manager and Mr. Sanders. Lat r they sent down for
me. I went up. The inspector was the :e, sitting at a table
writing. He was an intelligent-looking t"an and I liked him. "'Miss Jane Marple?' he said.
"'Yes.'
"'I understand, Madam, tha. t you wre present when the body of the deceased was founl?'
"I said I was and I described exactly -hat had occurred. I think it was a relief to the poor man t- find someone who
could answer his questions coherently, having previously
had to deal with Sanders and Emily Trollope, who, I gather,
was completely demoralized--she wou-ld be, the silly creature!
I remember my dear mother teaclxing me that a gentlewoman
should always be able to cont eol herself in public,
however much she may give xway in private."
"An admirable maxim," said Sir Het-"sry gravely.
"When I had finished the inspector aid:
"'Thank you, Madam. Now I'm afraid I must ask you just to look at the body once more. Is that eactly the position in
which it was lying when you entered the room? It hasn't
been moved in any way?'
"I explained that I had prevented Mw. Sanders from doing so, and the inspector nodded approval.
"'The gentleman seems terribly upset,' he remarked. "'He seems so-yes,' I replied.
"I don't think I put any special emFhasis on the 'seems,' but the inspector look at me rather keenly.
"'So we can take it that the body is exactly as it was when found?' he said.
"'Except for the hat, yes,' 1 replied. "The inspector looked up sharply.
"'What do you mean--the hat?'
"I explained that the hat hal been o poor Gladys's head, whereas now it was lying beside her. thought, of course,


	x54 	MISS MARPLE

that the police had done this. The inspector, however, denied it emphatically. Nothing had, as yet, been moved or
touched. He stood looking down at that poor prone figure
with a puzzled frown. Gladys was dressed in her outdoor
clothes---a big dark-red tweed coat with a grey fur collar.
The hat, a cheap affair of red felt, lay just by her head.
"The inspector stood for some minutes in silence, frowning to himself. Then an idea struck him.
"'Can you, by any chance, remember, Madam, whether there were ear-rings in the ears, or whether the deceased habitually
wore ear-rings?'
"Now fortunately I am in the habit of observing closely. I remembered that there had been a glint of pearls just below
the hat brim, though I had paid no particular notice to it at
the time. I was able to answer his first question in the affirmative.
"'Then that settles it. The lady's jewel case was rifled--not that she had anything much of value, I understand--and
the rings were taken from her fingers. The murderer must
have forgotten the ear-rings, and come back for them after
the murder was discovered. A cool customer! Or perhaps'-He
stared around the room and said slowly, 'He may have
been concealed here in this room--all the time.'
"But I negatived that idea. I myself, I explained, had looked under the bed. And the manager had opened the
doors of the wardrobe. There was nowhere else where a man
could hide. It is true the hat cupboard was locked in the
middle of the wardrobe, but as that was only a shallow affair
with shelves, no one could have been concealed there.
"The inspector nodded his head slowly whilst I explained all this.
"'I'11 take your word for it, Madam,' he said. 'In that case, as I said before, he must have come back. A very cool customer.'


A CHRISTMAS TRAGEDY 155
"'But the -- manager locked the door and took the key!' "'That's nonothing. Thc balcony and the fire escape--that's
the way the thief came. Why, as likely as not, you actually
disturbed hitq rn at work. He slips out of the window, and
when you've - all gone, back he comes and goes on with his
business.'
	"'You arc sure,' I said, 'that there was a thief?.'
"He said Cryly:
"'Well, itt looks like it, doesn't it?'
"But som'nething in his tone satisfied me. I felt that he wouldn't tal4ke Mr. Sanders in the role of the bereaved widower
too sertriously.
"You see,., I admit it frankly. I was absolutely under the opinion of hat I believe our neighbours, the French, call
the ide2fixe. I knew that that man, Sanders, intended his wife
to die. Wha 4. t I didn't allow for was that strange and fantastic
thing, coinc idence. My views about Mr. Sanders were--I was
sure of it-- absolutely right and true. The man was a scoundrel.
But although his hypocritical assumptions of grief
didn't decei- ye me for a minute, I do remember feeling at the
time that his surprise and bewilderment were marvellously well
done. They seemed absolutely natural--if you know what I
mean. I mtst admit that after my conversation with the in-
spector, a c,·
Unous feeling of doubt crept over mc. Because if Sanders hack{ done this dreadful thing, I couldn't imagine any
conceivabl% reason why he should creep back by means of the fire esc:a.re
	wouldn't 1and take the ear-rings from his wife's ears. It
	such a verave been a sensible thing to do, and Sanders was

	sensible man--that's just why I always felt he
was so dar 	,,
	Miss Ma ,ge, to,us.,
	,,, 	rple looked round at her audience.

		IOu
the unexp-'e, perhaps, what I am coming to? It is, so often, that, I th'icted that happens in this world. I was so sure, and
rk, was what blinded me. The result came as a


	z56 	MISS MARPLE

shock to me. For it was proved, beyond any possible doubt, that Mr. Sanders could not possibly have committed the crime..."
A surprised gasp came from Mrs. Bantry. Miss Marple turned to her.
"I know, my dear, that isn't what you expected when I began this story. It wasn't what I expected. But facts are
facts, and if one is proved to be wrong, one must just be
humble about it and start again. That Mr. Sanders was a
murderer at heart I knew--and nothing ever occurred to
upset that firm conviction of mine.
"And now, I expect you would like to hear the actual facts themselves. Mrs. Sanders, as you know, spent the afternoon
playing bridge with some friends, the Mortimers. She left
them at about a quarter past six. From her friends' house
to the Hydro was about a quarter of an hour's walk--less if
one hurried. She must have come in then, about six-thirty.
No one saw her come in, so she must have entered by
the side door and hurried straight up to her room. There she
changed (the fawn coat and skirt she wore to the bridge
party were hanging up in the cupboard) and was evidently
preparing to go out again, when the blow fell. Quite possibly,
they say, she never even knew who struck her. The
sandbag, I understand, is a very efficient weapon. That
looks as though the attackers were concealed in the room,
possibly in one of the big wardrobe cupboards--the one
she didn't open.
"Now as to the movements of Mr. Sanders. He went out, as I have said, at about five-thirty-or a little after. He did
some shopping at a couple of shops and at about six o'clock
he entered the Grand Spa Hotel where he encountered two
friends--the same with whom he returned to the Hydro
later. They played billiards and, I gather, had a good many
whiskies and sodas together. These two men (Hitchcock and
Spender, their names were) were actually with him thc


	A CIRISTMAS TRAGEDY 	I57

whole time from six o'°'cl°ck onwards. They walked back to the Hydro with him arOd he only left them to come across to
me and Miss Trollope. That, as I told you, was about a quarter
to seven--at which time his wife must have been already
dead.
"I must tell you tha*t I talked myself to these two friends of his. I did not like t5hem. They were neither pleasant nor
gentlemanly men, but I was quite certain of one thing, that
they were speaking th,¢ absolute truth when they said that
Sanders had been the vhole time in their company.
"There was just onoe other little point that came up. It seems that while briclflge was going on Mrs. Sanders was
called to the telephon. A Mr. Littleworth wanted to speak
to her. She seemed booth excited and pleased about some-thing--and
incidentall ;y made one or two bad mistakes. She
left rather earlier than they had expected her to do.
"Mr. Sanders was as. sked whether he knew the name of Littleworth as being or'nc of his wife's friends, but he declared
he had never heard of: anyone of that name. And to me that
seems borne out by l-his wife's attitude--she too, did not
seem to know the nastme of Littleworth. Nevertheless she
came back from the te¢lephone smiling and blushing, so it
looks as though whoe--xer it was did not give his real name,
and that in itself has at suspicious aspect, does it not?
"Anyway, that is thee problem that was left. The burglar story, which seems urmlikely---or the alternative theory that
Mrs. Sanders was prel:aring to go out and meet somebody.
Did that somebody ccxme to her room by means of the fire
escape? Was there a qnaarrel? Or did he treacherously attack
her?"
Miss Marple stoppec;zl.
::.Well?" said Sir Hnry. "What is the answer?"
wondered f any of you could guess.
"I'm never good at &guessing," said Mrs. Bantry. "It seems


MESS M^R'LE

a pity that Sanders had such a wonderful alibi; but if it satisfied you it must have been all right."
Jane Helier moved her beautiful head and asked a question.
"Why," she said, "was the hat cupboard locked?" "How very clever of you, my dear," said Miss Marple,
beaming. "That's just what I wondered myself, though the explanation was quite simple. In it were a pair of embroidered
slippers and some pocket handkerchiefs that the poor
girl was embroidering for her husband for Christmas. That's
why she locked the cupboard. The key was found in her
handbag."
"Oh!" said Jane. "Then it isn't very interesting after all." "Oh, but it is," said Miss Marple. "It's just the one really
interesting thing--the thing that made all the murderer's
plans go wrong."
Everyone stared at the old lady.
"I didn't see it myself for two days," said Miss Marple. "I puzzled and puzzled--and then suddenly there it was, all
clear. I went to the inspector and asked him to try something
and he did."
"What did you ask him to try?"
"I asked him to fit that hat on the poor girl's head--and of course he couldn't. It wouldn't go on. It wasn't her hat, you
see. ' '
Mrs. Bantry stared.
"But it was on her head to begin with?"
"Not on her head---"
Miss Marple stopped a moment to let her words sink in, and then went on.
"We took it for granted that it was poor Gladys's body there; but we never looked at the face. She was face downwards,
remember, and the hat hid everything."
"But she was killed?"


		A THRISTMAS TRAGEDY
	x59

	"Yes, lat At the moment that we were telephoning to
	the police, Gladys Saders was alive and well."

	"Y0u rr ir wa someone pretending to be her? But

	surely whelou touCsled her--"

	"It was idead bodY, right enough," said Miss Marple
gravely.
"Butdaiit all," ssaid Colonel Bantry, "you can't get hold of dead bc, right aad left. What did they do with the--
the first c 	afterW'src/s
	"He
pu
	back," said Miss Marple. "It was a wicked
idea--but .„ery cleverr one. It was our talk in the drawing-room that t it into his head. The body of poor Mary, the
housemai :why not use it? Remember, the Sanders' room
was up am6ngst the scrvants' quarters. Mary's room was two
doors off. The undert:akers wouldn't come till after dark--he
counted on that. He carried the body along the balcony (it
was dark at five), dressed it in one of his wife's dresses and
her big red coat. -A0d then he found the hat cupboaM
locked! There was orfiY one thing to be done, he fetched one
of thc poor girl's owO hats. No one would notice. He put
the sandbag down beside her. Then he went off to establish
his alibi.
"He telephoned to his wife--calling himself Mr. Little-worth. I don't know what he said to her--she was a credulous
girl, as I said jtsst now. But he got her to leave the
bridge party early and not to go back to the Hydro, and arranged
with her to meet him in the grounds of the Hydro
near thc fire escape at seven o'clock. He probably told her he
had some surprise for her.
"Hc returns to the Hydro with his friends and arranges that Miss Trollope arid I shall discover the crime with him.
He even pretends to turn the body over--and I stop him!
Then thc police are sent for, and he staggers out into the
grounds.


i6o 	MISS MARPLE

"Nobody asked him for an alibi after the crime. He meets his wife, takes her up the fire escape, they enter their room.
Perhaps he has already told her some story about the body.
She stoops over it, and he picks up his sandbag and
strikes .... Oh, dear! it makes me sick to think of, even now!
Then quickly he strips off her coat and skirt, hangs them up,
and dresses her in the clothes from the other body.
"But the hat won't go on. Mary's head is shingled. Gladys Sanders, as I say, had a great bun of hair. He is forced to
leave it beside the body and hope no one will notice. Then
he carries poor Mary's body back to her own room and arranges
it decorously once more."
"It seems incredible," said Dr. Lloyd. "The risks he took. The police might have arrived too soon."
"You remember the line was out of order," said Miss Marple. "That was a piece of his work. He couldn't afford to
have the police on the spot too soon. When they did come,
they spent some time in the manager's office before going up
to the bedroom. That was the weakest point--the chance
that someone might notice the difference between a body
that had been dead two hours and one that had been dead
just over half an hour; but he counted on the fact that the
people who first discovered the crime would have no expert
knowledge."
Dr. Lloyd nodded.
"The crime would be supposed to have been committed about a quarter to seven or thereabouts, I suppose," he said.
"It was actually committed at seven or a few minutes after.
When the police surgeon examined the body it would be
about half-past seven at earliest. He couldn't possibly tell."
"I am the person who should have known," said Miss Marple. "I felt the poor girl's hand and it was icy cold. Yet a
short time later the inspector spoke as though the murder
must have been committed just before we arrived--and 1
saw nothing!"


A CHRISTMAS TRAGEDY 6X
"I think you saw a good deal, Miss Marple," said Sir Henry. "The case was before my time. I don't even remem-bcr
hearing of it. What happened?"
"Sanders was hanged," said Miss Marple crisply. "And a good job too. I have never regretted my part in bringing that
man to justice. I've no patience with modern humanitarian
scruples about capital punishments."
Her stern face softened.
"But I have often reproached myself bitterly with failing to save the life of that poor girl. But who would have listened
to an old woman jumping to conclusions? Well,
well--who knows? Perhaps it was better for her to die while
life was still happy than it would have been for her to live
on, unhappy and disillusioned, in a world that would have
seemed suddenly horrible. She loved that scoundrel and
trusted him. She never found him out."
"Well, then," said Jane Helier, "she was all right. Quite all right. I wish--" she stopped.
Miss Marple looked at the famous, the beautiful, the successful Jane Helier and nodded her head gently.
"I see, my dear," she said very gently. "I see."


The Herb o£ Death

N
ow then, Mrs. B," said Sir Henry Clithering en-couragingly.
Mrs. Bantry, his hostess, looked at him in cold reproof.
"I've told you before that I will not be called Mrs. B. It's not dignified."
"Scheherazade, then."
"And even less am I Sche-- What's her name? I never can tell a story properly; ask Arthur if you don't believe me."
"You're quite good at the facts, Dolly," said Colonel Bantry, "but poor at the embroidery."
"That's just it," said Mrs. Bantry. She flapped the bulb catalogue she was holding on the table in front of her. "I've
been listening to you all and I don't know how you do it.
'He said, she said, you wondered, they thought, everyone
implied'--well, I just couldn't, and here it is! And besides, I
don't know anything to tell a story about."
"We can't believe that, Mrs. Bantry," said Dr. Lloyd. He shook his grey head in mocking disbelief.
Old Miss Marple said in her gentle voice, "Surely, dear--" Mrs. Bantry continued obstinately to shake her head.
"You don't know how banal my life is. What with the

x62


	THE HERB OF DEATH 	i63

servants and the difficulties of getting scullery maids, and just going to town for clothes, and dentists, and Ascot,
which Arthur hates, and then the garden--"
"Ah!" said Dr. Lloyd. "The garden. We all know where your heart lies, Mrs. Bantry."
"It must be nice to have a garden," said Jane Helier, the beautiful young actress. "That is, if you hadn't got to dig or
to get your hands messed up. I'm ever so fond of flowers."
"The garden," said Sir Henry. "Can't we take that as a starting point? Come, Mrs. B. The poisoned bulb, the deadly
daffodils, the herb of death!"
"Now it's odd your saying that," said Mrs. Bantry. "You've just reminded me. Arthur, do you remember that
business at Clodderham Court? You know, old Sir Ambrose
Bercy. Do you remember what a courtly charming old man
we thought h/m?"
"Why, of course. Yes, that was a strange business. Go ahead, Dolly."
"You'd better tell it, dear."
"Nonsense. Go ahead. Must paddle your own canoe. I did my bit just now."
Mrs. Bantry drew a deep breath. She clasped her hands and her face registered complete mental anguish. She spoke rapidly
and fluently.
"Well, there's really not much to tell. The Herb of Death--that's what put it into my head, though in my own
mind I call it sage and onions."
"Sage and onions?" asked Dr. Lloyd.
Mrs. Bantry nodded.
"That was how it happened, you see," she explained. "We Were staying, Arthur and I, with Sir Ambrose Bercy at Clod-derham
Court, and one day, by mistake (though very stupidly,
I've always thought), a lot of foxglove leaves were
picked with the sage. The ducks for dinner that night were


	64 	MISS MARPLE

stuffed with it and everyone was very ill, and one lOor
girl--Sir Ambrose's ward--died of it."
She stopped.
"Dear, dear," said Miss Marple, "how very tragic." "Wasn't it?"
"Well," said Sir Henry, "what next?"
"There isn't any next," said Mrs. Bantry. "That's all."
Everyone gasped. Though warned beforehand, they had not expected quite such brevity as this.
"But, my dear lady," remonstrated Sir Henry, "it can't be all. What you have related is a tragic occurrence but not in
any sense of the word a problem."
"Well, of course there's some more," said Mrs. Bantry. "But if I were to tell you, you'd know what it was."
She looked defiantly round the assembly and said plaintively:
"I told you I couldn't dress things up and make it sound properly like a story ought to do."
"Ah ha!" said Sir Henry. He sat up in his chair and adjusted an eyeglass. "Really, you know, Scheherazade, this is
most refreshing. Our ingenuity is challenged. I'm not so
sure you haven't done it on purpose--to stimulate our curiosity.
A few brisk rounds of'Twenty Questions' is indicated,
I think. Miss Marple, will you begin?"
"I'd like to know something about the cook," said Miss Marple. "She must have been a very stupid woman, or else
very inexperienced."
"She was just very stupid," said Mrs. Bantry. "She cried a great deal afterward and said the leaves had been picked and
brought into her as sage, and how was she to know?"
"Not one who thought for herself," said Miss Marple. "Probably an elderly woman and, I daresay, a very good
cook ?"
"Oh, excellent," said Mrs. Bantry.


THE HERB OF DEATH

165

"Your turn, Miss Helier," said Sir I-lenry.
"Oh! You mean--to ask a question.>'' There was s pause while Jane pondered. Finally she said helplessly, "RdlIy-I don't know what to ask."
Her beautiful eyes looked appealingly at Sir Henry, .
"Why not dramatis personae, Miss I-Ielier?" he sugested' smiling.
Jane still looked puzzled.
"Characters in order of their appearance," said Sir Ienry gently.
"Oh, "
yes, said Jane. "That's a good idea."
Mrs. Bantry began briskly to tick people off on her fi0gers. "Sir Ambrose--Sylvia Keene (that's the girl who diccl)-a
friend of hers who was staying there, Maud Wye, 0ne of
those dark ugly girls who manage to make an effect some-how--I
never know how they do it. Then there was a Mr.
Curie who had come down to discuss books with Si; Am-brose-you
know, rare books---queer old things in L3tinall
musty parchment. There was Jerry Lorimer--he vqas a
kind of next-door neighbour. His place, Fairlies, joined Sir
Ambrose's estate. And there was Mrs. Carpenter, oOe of
those middle-aged pussies who always seem to manage co dig
themselves in comfortably somewhere. She was by ay of
being dame de compagnie to Sylvia, I suppose."
"If it is my turn," said Sir Henry, "and I suppose it is, as I'm sitting next to Miss Helier, I want a good deal. I ant a
short verbal portrait, please, Mrs. Bantry, of all the f7reg°- ing."
"Oh!" Mrs. Bantry hesitated.
"Sir Ambrose now," continued Sir Henry. "Start with him. rha: was he like?"
"Oh, he was a very distinguished-looking old manand not so very old really--not more than sixty, I suppose' But
he was very delicate--he had a weak heart, could neyer go


][66 	MISS MARPLE

upstairs--had had to have a lift put in, and so that made him seem older than he was. Very charming manners--courtly--that's
the word that describes him best. You never saw him
ruff:led or upset. He had beautiful white hair and a particularly
charming voice."
"Good," said Sir Henry. "I see Sir Ambrose. Now the girl Sylvia--what did you say her name was?"
"Sylvia Keene. She was pretty--really very pretty. Fair-haired, you know, and a lovely skin. Not, perhaps, very
clever. In fact, rather stupid."
"Oh, come, Dolly," protested her husband.
"Arthur, of course, wouldn't think so," said Mrs. Bantry dryly. "But she was stupid--she really never said anything
worth listening to."
"One of the most graceful creatures I ever saw," said Colonel Bantry warmly. "See her playing tennis--charming, simply
charming. And she was full of fun--most amusing little
thing. And such a pretty way with her. I bet the young fellows
all thought so."
"That's just where you're wrong," said Mrs. Bantry. "Youth, as such, has no charms for young men nowadays.
It's only old duffers like you, Arthur, who sit maundering on
about young girls."
"Being young's no good," said Jane. "You've got to have S.A."
"What," said Miss Marple, "is S.A.?"
"Sex appeal," said Jane.
"Ah yes," said Miss Marple. "What in my day they used to call 'having the come hither in your eye.'"
"Not a bad description," said Sir Henry. "The dame de compagnie you described, I think, as a pussy, Mrs. Bantry?"
"I didn't mean a cat, you know," said Mrs. Bantry. "It's quite different. Just a big soft white purry person. Always
very sweet. That's what Adelaide Carpenter was like."


	THE HERB OF DEATH 	I67
	"What sort of aged woman?"
"Oh! I should say fortyish. She'd been there some time--ever since Sylvia was eleven, I believe. A very tactful person.
One of those widows left in unfortunate circumstances, with
plenty of aristocratic relations, but no ready cash. I didn't
like her myself but then I never do like people with very
white long hands. And I don't like pussies."
	"Mr. Curie?"
"Oh, one of those elderly stooping men. There are so many of them about, you'd hardly know one from the other.
He showed enthusiasm when talking about his musty books,
but not at any other time. I don't think Sir Ambrose knew
him very well."
"And Jerry next door?"
"A really charming boy. He was engaged to Sylvia. That's what made it so sad."
"Now I wonder--" began Miss Marple, and then stopped. "What?"
"Nothing, dear."
Sir Henry looked at the old lady curiously. Then he said thoughtfully:
"So this young couple were engaged. Had they been engaged long?"
"About a year. Sir Ambrose had opposed the engagement on the plea that Sylvia was too young. But after a year's engagement
he had given in and the marriage was to have
taken place quite soon."
"Ah! Had the young lady any property?"
"Next to nothing--a bare hundred or two a year."
"No rat in that hole, Clithering," said Colonel Bantry, and laughed.
"It's the doctor's turn to ask a question," said Sir Henry. "I stand down."
"My curiosity is mainly professional," said Dr. Lloyd. "I


	t68 	MISS MARPLE

should like to know what medical evidence was given at the inquest--that is, if our hostess remembers, or, indeed, if she
knows."
"I know roughly," said Mrs. Bantry. "It was poisoning by
dig/talin--is that right?"
Dr. Lloyd nodded.
"The active principle of the foxglove----digitalis--acts on the heart. Indeed, it is a very valuable drug in some forms of
heart trouble. A very curious case altogether. I would never
have believed that eating a preparation of foxglove leaves
could possibly result fatally. These ideas of eating poisonous
leaves and berries are very much exaggerated. Very few people
realize that the vital principle, or alkaloid, has to be extracted
with much care and preparation."
"Mrs. MacArthur sent some special bulbs round to Mrs. Toomie the other day," said Miss Marple. "And Mrs. Too-mie's
cook mistook them for onions, and all the Toomies
were very ill indeed."
"But they didn't die of it," said Dr. Lloyd.
"No, they didn't die of it," admitted Miss Marple.
"A girl I knew died of ptomaine poisoning," said Jane Helier.
"We must get on with investigating the crime," said Sir Henry.
"Crime?" said Jane, startled. "I thought it was an accident.''
"If it were an accident," said Sir Henry gently, "I do not think Mrs. Bantry would have told us this story. No, as I
read it, this was an accident only in appearance--behind it is
something more sinister. I remember a case--various guests
in a house party were chatting after dinner. The walls were
adorned with all kinds of old-fashioned weapons. Entirely as
a joke, one of the party seized an ancient horse pistol and
pointed it at another man, pretending to fire it. The pistol


	THE HERB OF DEATH 	69

was loaded and went off, killing the man. We had to ascertain in that case, first who had secretly prepared and loaded that pistol, and secondly, who had so led and directed the
conversation that that final bit of horseplay resulted--for the
man who had fired the pistol was entirely innocent!
"It seems to me we have much the same problem here. Those digitalin leaves were deliberately mixed with the sage,
knowing what the result would be. Since we exonerate the
cook--we do exonerate the cook, don't we?---the question
arises: Who picked the leaves and delivered them to the
kitchen?"
"That's easily answered," said Mrs. Bantry. "At least the last part of it is. It was Sylvia herself who took the leaves to
the kitchen. It was part of her daily job to gather things like
salad or herbs, bunches of young carrotsmall the sort of
things that gardeners never pick right. They hate giving you
anything young and tender--they wait for them to be fine
specimens. Sylvia and Mrs. Carpenter used to see a lot of
these things themselves. And there was foxglove actually
growing all among the sage in one corner, so the mistake
was quite natural."
"But did Sylvia actually pick them herself?." "That nobody ever knew. It was assumed so."
"Assumptions," said Sir Henry, "are dangerous things."
"But I do know that Mrs. Carpenter didn't pick them,"
said Mrs. Bantry. "Because, as it happened, she was walking
with me on the terrace that morning. We went out there
after breakfast. It was unusually nice and warm for early
spring. Sylvia went alone down into the garden, but later I
saw her walking arm in arm with Maud Wye."
"So they were great friends, were they?" asked Miss Mar-pie.
Yes, said Mrs. Bantry. She seemed as though about to say SOmething but did not do so.


M1SS MARPLE

"Had she been staying there long?" asked Miss Marple. "About a fortnight," said Mrs. Bantry.
There was a note of trouble in her voice.
"You didn't like Miss Wye?" suggested Sir Henry.
"I did. That's iust it. I did."
The trouble in her voice had grown to distress.
"You're keeping something back, Mrs. Bantry," said Sir Henry accusingly.
"I wondered iust now," said Miss Marple, "but I didn't like to go on."
"When did you wonder?"
"When you said that the young people were engaged. You said that that was what made it so sad. But, if you
know what I mean, your voice didn't sound right when you
said it--not convincing, you know."
"What a dreadful person you are," said Mrs. Bantry. "You always seem to know. Yes, I was thinking of something. But
I don't really know whether I ought to say it or not."
"You must say it," said Sir Henry. "Whatever your scruples, it mustn't be kept back."
"Well, it was iust this," said Mrs. Bantry. "One eve-ning--in fact the very evening before the tragedy--I happened
to go out on the terrace before dinner. The window in
the drawing-room was open. And as it chanced I saw Jerry
Lorimer and Maud Wye. He wasmwell--kissing her. Of
course I didn't know whether it was just a sort of chance affair,
or whether--well, I mean, one can't tell. I knew Sir
Ambrose never had really liked Jerry Lorimer--so perhaps he
knew he was that kind of young man. But one thing I am
sure of. that girl, Maud Wye, was really fond of him. You'd
only to see her looking at him when she was off guard. And
I think, too, they were really better suited than he and Sylvia
were."
"I am going to ask a question quickly, before Miss Male


THE HERB OOF DEATH 	i7I

can," said Sir Henry. "I want to know whether, after the

tragedy, Jerry Lorimer married Maud Wye?"
"Yes," said Mrs. Bantry. "He: did. Six months afterward." "Oh! Scheherazade, Scheheratzade," said Sir Henry. "To
think of the way you told us t:his story at first! Bare bones
indeed--and to think of the arr-oount of flesh we're finding
on them now."
"Don't speak so ghoulishly-," said Mrs. Bantry. "And don't use the word flesh. Vegetarians always do. They say, 'I
never eat flesh,' in a way that l]puts you right off your nice
little beefsteak. Mr. Curle was a vegetarian. He used to eat
some peculiar stuff that looked llike bran for breakfast. Those
elderly stooping men with beard::ls are often faddy. They have
patent kinds of underwear too.'"
"What on earth, Dolly," said her husband, "do you know about Mr. Curie's underwear?"
"Nothing," said Mrs. Bantr}w with dignity. "I was just making a guess."
"I'11 amend my former statem, ¢nt," said Sir Henry. "I'll say instead that the dramatis personae in your problem are very
interesting. I'm beginning to s¢e them all---eh, Miss Mar-ple?"
"Human nature is always interesting, Sir Henry. And it's curious to see how certain types always tend to act in exactly
the same way."
"Two women and a man," sa. rid Sir Henry. "The old eternal human triangle. Is that the base of our problem here? I
rather fancy it is."
Dr. Lloyd cleared his throat.
"I've been thinking," he said rather diffidently. "Do you say, Mrs. Bantry, that you yourself were ill?"
"Was I not! So was Arthur! o was everyone!"
,Ti., ,
-at s just it---everyone,', sai..A the doctor. "You see what I mean? I'm saying that whoewcr planned this thing went


	i72 	MISS MARPLE

about it very curiously, either with a blind belief in chance, or else with an absolutely reckless disregard for human life. I
can hardly believe there is a man capable of deliberately poisoning
eight people with the object of removing one among
them."
"I see your point," said Sir Henry thoughtfully. "I confess I ought to have thought of that."
"And mighm't he have poisoned himself too?" asked Jane.
"Was anyone absent from dinner that night?" asked Miss Marple.
Mrs. Bantry shook her head.
"Everyone was there."
"Except Mr. Lorimer, I suppose, my dear. He wasn't staying in the house, was he?"
"No, but he was dining there that evening," said Mrs. Bantry.
"Oh!" said Miss Marple in a changed voice. "That makes all the difference in the world."
She frowned vcxedly to herself.
"I've been very stupid," she murmured. "Very stupid indeed."
"I confess your point worries me, Lloyd," said Sir Henry. "How ensure that the girl, and the girl only, should get a
fatal dose?"
"You can't," said the doctor. "That brings me to the point I'm going to make. Supposing the girl was not the in-
tended victim, after all?"
"What?"
"In all cases of food poisoning the result is very uncertain. Several people share a dish. What happens? One or two are
slightly ill; two more, say, are seriously indisposed; one dies.
That's the way of it--there's no certainty anywhere. But
there are cases where another factor might enter in. Digitalin


	THE HERB OF DEATH 	I-7 3
is a drug that acts directly on the heart--as I've told you, i, t's prescribed in certain cases. Now, there was one person in tl-:n- is
house who suffered from a heart complaint. Suppose he w'vas
the victim selected? What would not be fatal to the rst
would be fatal to him--or so the murderer might reasonal:Iy
suppose. That the thing turned out differently is only pro
of what I was saying just now--the uncertainty and unreli it-bility
of the effect of drugs on human beings."
"Sir Ambrose," said Sir Henry, "you think he was the poet-
son aimed at? Yes, yes--and the girl's death was a mistake." "Who got his money after he was dead?" asked Jane.
"A very sound question, Miss Helier. One of the first always ask in my late profession," said Sir Henry.
"Sir Ambrose had a son," said Mrs. Bantry slowly. "-I-5-le had quarrelled with him many years previously. The boy vevas
wild, I believe. Still, it was not in Sir Ambrose's power to
disinherit himClodderham Court was entailed. Martin
Bercy succeeded to the title and estate. There was, howcwer,
a good deal of other property that Sir Ambrose could leave as
he chose, and that he left to his ward Sylvia. I know this
cause Sir Ambrose died less than a year after thc events I arn
telling you of, and he had not troubled to make a new will
after Sylvia's death. I think the money went to the Crown---or
perhaps it was to his son as next of kin--I don't really ,remember."
"So it was only to the interest of a son who wasn't there and the girl who died herself to make away with him," sid
Sir Henry thoughtfully. "That doesn't seem very promis-ing."
"Didn't the other woman get anything?" asked Jare. "The one Mrs. Bantry calls the Pussy woman."
"She wasn't mentioned in the will," said Mrs. Bantry.
"Miss Marple, you're not listening," said Sir Hen=ry. "You're somewhere far away."


MISS MARPLE

"I was thinking of old Mr. Badger, the chemist," said Miss Marple. "He had a very young housekeepermyoung enough
to be not only his daughter but his granddaughter. Not a
word to anyone, and his family, a lot of nephews and nieces,
full of expectations. And when he died, would you believe
it, he'd been secretly married to her for two years? Of course,
Mr. Badger was a chemist, and a very rude, common old
man as well, and Sir Ambrose Bercy was a very courtly gentleman,
so Mrs. Bantry says, but for all that human nature is
much the same everywhere."
There was a pause, Sir Henry looked very hard at Miss Marple who looked back at him with gently quizzical blue
eyes. Jane Helier broke the silence.
"Was this Mrs. Carpenter good-looking?" she asked. "Yes, in a very quiet way. Nothing startling."
"She had a very sympathetic voice," said Colonel Bantry.
"Purringwthat's what I call it," said Mrs. Bantry. "Purring!''
"You'll be called a cat yourself one of these days, Dolly." "I like being a cat in my home circle," said Mrs. Bantry. "I
don't much like women anyway, and you know it. I like
men and flowers."
"Excellent taste," said Sir Henry. "Especially in putting men first."
"That was tact," said Mrs. Bantry. "Well, now, what about my little problem? I've been quite fair, I think.
Arthur, don't you' think I've been fair?"
"Yes, my dear. I don't think there'll be any inquiry into the running by the stewards of the Jockey Club."
"First boy," said Mrs. Bantry, pointing a finger at Sir Henry.
"I'm going to be long-winded. Because, you see, I haven't really got any feeling of certainty about the matter. First, Sir
Ambrose. Well, he wouldn't take such an original method


	THE HERB OF DEATH 	I75

of committing suicide--and on the other hand, he certainly had nothing to gain by the death of his ward. Exit Sir Ambrose.
Mr. Curie. No motive for death of girl. If Sir Ambrose
was intended victim, he might possibly have purloined a rare
manuscript or two that no one else would miss. Very thin,
and most unlikely. So I think that, in spite of Mrs. Bantry's
suspicions, Mr. Curie is cleared. Miss Wye. Motive for death
of Sir Ambrose--none. Motive for death of Sylvia pretty
strong. She wanted Sylvia's young man, and wanted him
rather badly--from Mrs. Bantry's account. She was with Sylvia
that morning in the gaMen so had opportunity to pick
leaves. No, we can't dismiss Miss Wye so easily. Young

Lorimer. He's got a motive in either sweetheart, he can marry the other
drastic to kill her--what's a broken
If Sir Ambrose dies, he will marry

case. If he gets rid of his girl. Still it seems a bit
engagement these days?
a rich girl instead of a

poor one. That might be important or not--depends on his financial position. If I find that his estate was heavily mortgaged
and that Mrs. Bantry has deliberately withheld that
fact from us, I shall claim a foul. Now Mrs. Carpenter. You
know, I have suspicions of Mrs. Carpenter. Those white
hands, for one thing, and her excellent alibi at the time the
herbs were picked--I always distrust alibis. And I've got another
reason for suspecting her which I shall keep to myself.
Still, on the whole, if I've got to plump, I shall plump for
Miss Maud Wye, because there's more evidence against her
than anyone else."
"Next boy," said Mrs. Bantry, and pointed at Dr. Lloyd. "I think you're wrong, Clithering, in sticking to the theory
that the girl's death was meant. I am convinced that the
murderer intended to do away with Sir Ambrose. I don't
think that young Lorimcr had the necessary knowledge. I
am inclined to believe that Mrs. Carpenter was the guilty
party. She had been a long time with the family, knew all


	i76 	MISS MARPLE

about the state of Sir Ambrose's health, and could easily arrange for this girl Sylvia (who, you said yourself, was rather
stupid) to pick thc right leaves. Motive, I confess, I don't
see; but I hazard the guess that Sir Ambrose had at one time
made a will in which she was mentioned. That's the best I
can do."
Mrs. Bantry's pointing finger went on to Jane Helier.
"I don't know what to say," said Jane, "except this: Why shouldn't the girl herself have done it? She took the leaves
into the kitchen after all. And you say Sir Ambrose had been
sticking out against her marriage. If he died, she'd get the
money and be able to marry at once. She'd know just as
much about Sir Ambrose's health as Mrs. Carpenter would." Mrs. Bantry's finger came slowly round to Miss Marple.
"Now then, school marm," she said.
"Sir Henry has put it all very clearly--very clearly indeed," said Miss Marple. "And Dr. Lloyd was so right in what he
said. Between them they seem to have made things so very
clear. Only I don't think Dr. Lloyd quite realized one aspect
of what he said. You see, not being Sir Ambrose's medical
adviser, he couldn't know just what kind of heart trouble Sir
Ambrose had, could he?"
"I don't quite see what you mean, Miss Marple," said Dr. Lloyd.
"You're assuming--aren't you?--that Sir Ambrose had the kind of heart that digitalin would affect adversely? But
there's nothing to prove that that's so. It might bc just the
other way about."
"The other way about?"
"Yes, you did say that it was often prescribed for heart trouble?"
"Even then, Miss Marple, I don't see what that leads to?"
"Well, it would mean that he would have digitalin in his possession quite naturally--without having to account for


	THE HERB OF DEATH 	I77

it. What I am trying to say (I always express my'self so badly) is this: Supposing you wanted to poison anyorae with
a fatal dose of digitalin. Wouldn't the simplest and the easiest
way be to arrange for everyone to be poisoned--actually
by digitalin leaves? It wouldn't be fatal in anyone elsa's case,
of course, but no one would be surprised at one victim because,
as Dr. Lloyd said, these things are so uncertain. No
one would be likely to ask whether the girl had actually had
a fatal dose of infusion of digitalis or something of that
kind. He might have put it in a cocktail or in her coffee or
even made her drink it quite simply as a tonic."
"You mean Sir Ambrose poisoned his ward, the charming girl whom he loved?"
"That's just it," said Miss Marple. "Like Mr. Badger and his young housekeeper. Don't tell me it's absurd for a man
of sixty to fall in love with a girl of twenty. It happens every
day--and I daresay with an old autocrat like Sir Ambrose, it
might take him queerly. These things become a madness
sometimes. He couldn't bear the thought of her getting
marrieddid his best to oppose it--and failed. His mad jealousy
became so great that he preferred killing her to letting
her go to young Lorimer. He must have thought of it some
time beforehand, because that foxglove seed would have to
be sown among the sage. He'd pick it himself when the time
came and send her into the kitchen with it. It's horrible 'to
think of, but I suppose we must take as merciful a view of it
as we can. Gentlemen of that age are sometimes very peculiar
indeed where young girls are concerned. Our last organ-ist---but
there, I mustn't talk scandal."
"Mrs. Bantry," said Sir Henry, "is this so?"
Mrs. Bantry nodded.
"Yes. I'd no idea of it--never dreamed of the thing being anything but an accident. Then, after Sir Ambrose's death, I
got a letter. He had left directions to send it to me. lie told


me the truth in it. I don't know why--but he and I always got on very well together."
In the momentary silence she seemed to feel an unspoken criticism and went on hastily:
"You think I'm betraying a confidence--but that isn't so. I've changed all the names. He wasn't really called Sir Ambrose
Bercy. Didn't you see how Arthur stared stupidly
when I said that name to him? He didn't understand at first.
I've changed everything. It's like they say in magazines and
in the beginning of books: 'All the characters in this story
are purely fictitious.' You'll never know who they really


TIoe Affair at thc Bungalow

·'ve thought of something, sad Ja e }-Ieher.
/ Her beautifu 1 face was lit up with the confident smile I of a child expezting approbation. It ws a smile such as
moved audiences nAghtly in London, and which had made
the fortunes of photographers.
"It happened," he went on carefully, "to a friend of mine."
Everyone made encouraging but slightly hypocritical noises. Colonel Baqtry, Mrs. Bantry, Sir Ienry Clithering,
Dr. Lloyd and old Miss Marple were one md all convinced
that Jane's "friend' ' was Jane herself. She would have been
quite incapable of rcmembering or taking m interest in anything
affecting anyrrm else.
"My friend," wernt on Jane, "(I won't mention her name) was an actress--a wcry well-known actress."
No one expresse,d surprise. Sir Henry £1ithering thought to himself: "Now --1 wonder how many seatences it will be
before she forgets t o keep up the fiction, d says 'I' instead
of 'She'?"
"My friend was c>r tour in the provinc(--this was a year or two ago. I suplose I'd better not give the name of the
place. It was a rive-side town not very farfrom London. I'll
call it--"

179


	I80 	MISS MARPLE

She paused, her brows perplexed in thought. The inven. tion of even a simple name appeared to be too much for her.
Sir Henry came to the rescue.
"Shall we call it Riverbury?" he suggested gravely.
"Oh, yes, that would do splendidly. Riverbury, I'll remember that. Well, as I say, this--my friend was at Riverbury
with her company, and a very curious thing happened." She puckered her brows again.
"It's very difficult," she said plaintively, "to say just what you want. One gets things mixed up and tells the wrong
thing first."
"You're doing it beautifully," said Dr. Lloyd encourag-ingly. "Go on."
"Well, this curious thing happened. My friend was sent for to the police station. And she went. It seemed there had
been a burglary at a riverside bungalow and they'd arrested a
young man, and he told a very odd story. And so they sent
for her.
"She'd never been to a police station before, but they were very nice to her--very nice indeed."
"They would be, I'm sure," said Sir Henry.
"The sergeant--I think it was a sergeant--or it may have been an inspector--gave her a chair and explained things,
and of course I saw at once that it was some mistake--"
"Aha," thought Sir Henry. "I! Here we are. I thought as much."
"My friend said so," continued Jane, serenely unconscious of her self-betrayal. "She explained she had been rehearsing
with her understudy at the hotel and that she'd ncvcr even
heard of this Mr. Faulkener. And the sergeant said, 'Miss
Hel--'"
She stopped and flushed.
"Miss Helman," suggested Sir Henry with a twitklc. "Yes--yes, that would do. Thank you. He sai,]. 'well,


	THE AFFAIR A'I?
	THE BUNGALOW 	I8
	'ss Helman, I felt it must k 	·
	Mi 	BriqZve some mistake kn0wirng that
	were
stopping at mc	t
	'
	you 	elkt
,e Hotel' and F said w
,ould I
	ave any objection
to
conrt e,
	,
	. .
h
	-	,	- ,,	-ontine---or ,
rc It
DcIn. ff
con-
fronted? I can
t
rememr)cr.	, .....
	"It
doesnt really matter,

said Sir
Henr reassurin
gly.
	"Anyway, wtn tne young	-
	-' .
	L. ,-:nd
t
nan. So I said, ,ur
t.oure
not.
	Drou
lit
lillii
A -.n,d,,t.ney . ;g-a'

	aid, 'This is MissHCher,''
and--
Oh' jane DrOcC
()11 UFCli-ili t ,,'
· ,, z:uthed
	Never mind,
my dear,	-
	.......
said Miss MarulC conscz:)lingly.
"We were
bound
t, 	,
.	,

	·	of c nl you know. An
you rnavcn't
given us the name	r '
cc or anything
Oat reall]y mat-
tcrs.'
	"Well," said Jane, "I did
pcned to someone else. Buth-'can
to tell it as h0ugh it
hap-forgets so." is difficult, isn'tit?I m
an one
	Everyone assured her tl
soothed and reassured, she
t it was very difficult, and,
volved narrative.	vent on
with ier sligltly in-
	"He was a nice-looking n .
.
v ....... ;, .
;.
.
:. .anuuite
a nic¢'l°°
kin&g
man.
saw
me. And the sergeant --is mouth just o{encd
w-hen he said, 'No, indeed it in,t. xx aid, 'Is
this the'lady
?' /nd he smiled
at him and said it
dix-hat an ass I have been.' And
I
	"I can picture thc scene,'' {n't matter."
	Janc Hclier frowned,	said
Sir Henry.
	"Let me sec--how had I }
	"Supposing you tell
us wi:etter go
on?"
	.
	,,
.
	Miss Marple,
so
mildly
tha) %at
it
was
all
abo
ut,
dean:?
sam

	irony.
"I
mean
what
the no
one
could uspect
her
of
about the
burglary."
	\
oung
man's
mis
take
w::as,
and
	"Oh, yes," said
Jane.
"xy '
Leslie Faulkener,
his
name ll,
you
see,
this
young
man
	1 	'
written several
plays,
as
a
v?was--had
writtefi P
a ¢
.
He
d
them had
ever
been
taken
· atter
of
fact,
tb
°
Ug
h
rhone
of -nd
he
had
sent
this
pa
rticular


	I82 	MISS MARPLE

play to me to read. I didn't know about it, because of course I have hundreds of plays sent to me and I read very few of
them myself---only thc ones I know something about. Anyway,
there it was, and it seems that Mr. Faulkener got a letter
from me--only it turned out not to be really from mc--you
understand "
She paused anxiously, and they assured her that they understood.
"Saying that I'd read the play, and liked it very much and would he come down and talk it over with mc. And it gave
the address--The Bungalow, Riverbury. So Mr. Faulkener
was frightfully pleased and he came down and arrived at
this place The Bungalow. A parlourmaid opened the door,
and he asked for Miss Holier, and she said Miss Helier was
in and expected him and showed him into the drawing-room,
and there a woman came to him. And he accepted her
as me as a matter of course--which seems queer because after
all he had seen me act and my photographs are very well
known, aren't they?"
"Over the length and breadth of England," said Mrs. Bantry promptly. "But there's often a lot of difference between
a photograph and its original, my dear Jane. And
there's a great deal of difference between behind the footlights
and off the stage. It's not every actress who stands the
test as well as you do, remember."
"Well," said Jane, slightly mollified, "that may be so. Anyway, he described this woman as tall and fair with big
blue eyes and very good-looking, so I suppose it must have
been near enough. He certainly had no suspicions. She sat down and began talking about his play and said she was
anxious to do it. Whilst they were talking, cocktails were
brought in and Mr. Faulkener had one as a matter of course.
Well--that's all he remembers having this cocktail. When
he woke up, or came to himself, or whatever you call it--he


THE AFFAIR AT THE BUNGALOW i53
was lying out in the road, by the hedge, of course, so that there would be no danger of his being run over. He felt very
queer and shaky--so much so that he just got up and staggered
along the road not quite knowing where he was going.
He said if he'd had his senses about him he'd have gone back to the Bungalow and tried to find out what had happened.
But he felt just stupid and mazed and walked
along without quite knowing what he was doing. He was
just more or less coming to himself when the police arrested
him."
"Why did the police arrest him?" asked Dr. Lloyd.
"Oh! didn't I tell you?" said Jane opening her eyes very wide. "How very stupid I am. The burglary."
"You mentioned a burglary--but you didn't say where or what or why," said Mrs. Bantry.
"Well, this bungalow--the one he went to, of course--it
wasn't mine at all. It belonged to a man whose name was--" Again Jane furrowed her brows.
"Do you want me to be godfather again?" asked Sir Henry. "Pseudonyms supplied free of charge. Describe the
tenant and I'll do the naming."
"It was taken by a rich city man--a knight."
"Sir Herman Cohen," suggested Sir Henry.
"That will do beautifully. He took it for a lady--she was the wife of an actor, and she was also an actress herself."
"We'll call the actor Claud Leason," said Sir Henry, "and the lady would be known by her stage name, I suppose, so
we'll call her Miss Mary Kerr."
"I think you're awfully clever," said Jane. "I don't know how you think of these things so easily. Well, you see this
was sort of a weekend cottage for Sir Herman--did you say
Herman?--and the lady. And, of course, his wife knew
nothing about it."
"Which is so often the case," said Sir Henry.


	84 	ass t^RPLE

"And he'd given this actress woman a good deal of jewel-lery including some very fine emeralds."
"Ah!" said Dr. Lloyd. "Now we're getting at it."
"This jewellery was at the bungalow, just locked up in a jewel case. The police said it was very careless--anyone
might have taken it."
"You see, Dolly," said Colonel Bantry. "What do I always tell you?"
"Well, in my experience," said Mrs. Bantry, "it's always the people who arc so dreadfully careful who lose things. I
don't lock mine up in a jewel case--I keep it in a drawer
loose, under my stockings. I dare say if--what's her
name?--Mary Kerr had done the same, it would never have

been stolen."
"It would," open, and the
"Then they Bantry. "They

said Jane, "because all the drawers were burst contents strewn about."
weren't really looking for }ewels," said Mrs. were looking for secret papers. That's what always
happens in books."
"I don't know about secret papers," said Jane doubtfully. "I never heard of any."
"Don't be distracted, Miss Helier," said Colonel Bantry. "Dolly's wild red-herrings are not to be taken seriously."
"About the burglary," said Sir Henry.
"Yes. Well the police were rung up by someone who said she was Miss Mary Kerr. She said the bungalow had been
burgled and described a young man with red hair who had
called there that morning. Her maid had thought there was
something odd about him and had refused him admittance,
but later they had seen him getting out through a window.
She described the man so accurately that the police arrested
him only an hour later and then he told his story and
showed them the letter from me. And as I told you, they
fetched me and when he saw me he said what I told you--that
it hadn't been me at all!"


THE AFFAIR AT THE BUNGALOW 	2[85

"A very curious story," said Dr. Lloyd. "Did Mr. Faulk
ener
know this Miss Kerr?"
"No, he didn'tr he said he didn't. But I haven't told you the most curious part yet. The police went to the bungalow
of course, and they found everything as described--drawers
pulled out and jewels gone, but the whole place was
empty. It wasn't till some hours later that Mary Kerr came
back, and when she did she said she'd never rung them up at
all and this was the first she'd heard of it. It seemed that she
had had a wire that morning from a manager offering her a
most important part and making an appointment, so she had
naturally rushed up to town to keep it. When she got there,
she found that the whole thing was a hoax. No telegram had
ever been sent."
"A common enough ruse to get her out of the way,"
commented Sir Henry. "What about the servants?"
"The same sort of thing happened there. There was only one, and she was rung up on the telephone--apparently by
Mary Kerr, who said she had left a most important thing
behind. She directed the maid to bring up a certain handbag
which was in the drawer of her bedroom. She was to catch
the first train. The maid did so, of course locking up the
house; but when she arrived at Miss KerFs club, where
she had been told to meet her mistress, she waited there in
vain."
"H'm," said Sir Henry. "I begin to see. The house was left empty, and to make an entry by one of the windows would
present few difficulties, I should imagine. But I don't quite
see where Mr. Faulkener comes in. Who did ring up the police,
if it wasn't Miss Kerr?"
"That's what nobody knew or ever found out."
"Curious," said Sir Henry. "Did the young man turn out to be genuinely the person he said he was?"
"Oh, yes, that part of it was all right. He'd even got the letter which was supposed to be written by me. It wasn't


s4ss M^RVLE
the least bit like my handwriting--but then, of course, he couldn't be supposed to know that."
"Well, let's state the position clearly," said Sir Henry. "Correct me if I go wrong. The lady and the maid arc decoyed
from the house. This young man is decoyed down
there by means of a bogus letter--colour being lent to this
last by the fact that you actually are performing at Riverbury
that week. The young man is doped, and the police are rung
up and have their suspicions directed against him. A burglary
actually has taken place. I presume the jewels were
taken?"
"Oh, yes."
"Were they ever recovered?"
"No, never. I think, as a matter of fact, Sir Herman tried to hush things up all he knew how. But he couldn't manage
it, and I rather fancy his wife started divorce proceedings in
consequence. Still, I don't really know about that."
"What happened to Mr. Leslie Faulkener?"
"He was released in the end. The police said they hadn't really got enough against him. Don't you think the whole
thing was rather odd?"
"Distinctly odd. The first question is whose story to believe? In telling it, Miss Helier, I noticed that you incline towards
believing Mr. Faulkener. Have you any reason for
doing so beyond your own instinct in the matter?"
"N-no," said Jane unwillingly. "I suppose I haven't. But he was so very nice, and so apologetic for having mistaken
anyone else for mc, that I feel sure he must have been telling
the truth."
"I see," said Sir Henry smiling. "But you must admit that he could have invented the story quite easily. He could write
the letter purporting to be from you himself. He could also
dope himself after successfully committing the burglary. But
I confess I don't see where thepoint of all that would be. Eas-


	THE AFFAIR AT THE BUNGALOW 	I87

ier to enter the house, help himself, and disappear quietly--unless just possibly he was observed by someone in the
ncighbourhood and knew himself to have been observed.
Then he might hastily concoct this plan for diverting suspicion
from himself and accounting for his presence in the
ncighbourhood."
"Was he well off?." asked Miss Marple.
"I don't think so," said Jane. "No, I believe he was rather hard up."
"The whole thing seems curious," said Dr. Lloyd. "I must confess that if we accept the young man's story as true, it
seems to make the case much more difficult. Why should
the unknown woman who pretended to be Miss Helier drag
this unknown man into the affair? Why should she stage
such an elaborate comedy?"
"Tell me, Jane," said Mrs. Bantry. "Did young Faulkener ever come face to face with Mary Kerr at any stage of the
proceedings?"
"I don't quite know," said Jane slowly, as she puzzled her brows in remembrance.
"Because if he didn't the case is solved!" said Mrs. Bantry. "I'm sure I'm right. What is easier than to pretend you're
called up to town? You telephone to your maid from Paddington
or whatever station you arrive at, and as she comes
up to town, you go down again. The young man calls by appointment,
he's doped, you set the stage for the burglary,
overdoing it as much as possible. You telephone the police,
give a description of your scapegoat, and off you go to town
again. Then you arrive home by a later train and do the surprised
innocent."
"But why should she steal her own jewels, Dolly?"
"They always do," said Mrs. Bantry. "And anyway, I can think of hundreds of reasons. She may have wanted money
once-old Sir Herman wouldn't give her cash, perhaps, so


	188 	MISS MA R PLE

she pretends the jewels are stolen and then sells them secretly. Or she may have been being blackmailed by someone
who threatened to tell her husband or Sir Herman's wife. Or
she may have already sold the jewels and Sir Herman was
getting ratty and asking to see them, so she had to do something
about it. That's done a good deal in books. Or perhaps
he was going to have them reset and she'd got paste replicas.
Or--here's a very good idea--and not so much done in
books--she pretends they are stolen, gets in an awful state
and he gives her a flesh lot. So she gets two lots instead of
one· That kind of woman, I am sure, is most frightfully artful.''
"You arc clever, Dolly," said Jane admiringly. "I never thought of that."
"You may be clever, but she doesn't say you're right," said Colonel Bantry. "I incline to suspicion of the city gentleman.
He'd know the sort of telegram to get the lady out of
the way, and he could manage the rest easily enough with
the help of a new ladyfriend. Nobody seems to have thought
of asking him for an alibi."
"What do you think, Miss Mar'pie?" asked Jane, turning towards the old lady who had sat silent, a puzzled frown on
her face.
"My dear, I really don't know what to say. Sir Henry will laugh, but I recall no village parallel to help me this time. Of
course there are several questions that suggest themselves.
For instance, the servant question. In--ahem--an irregular
mSnage of the kind you describe, the servant employed
would doubtless be perfectly aware of the state of things, and
a really nice girl would not take such a place--her mother
wouldn't let her for a minute. So I think we can assume that
the maid was not a really trustworthy character. She may

THE AFFAIR AT THE BUNGALOw
cion from herself. I must confess that that seems . 289 probable solution· Only if or&nary' thieves were coLneucenev%st. seems very odd. It seems to argue more knowledv ,L ti ir
maidservant was likely to have." , m% a
Miss Marple paused and then went on dreamily:
can t help feehng that there was somewell, wh must describe as personal feeling about the wh.
	· 	.
	le
	Supposing somebody had a spte, for instance> 13on, .
	think that that would explain thines better> a ,,- t 3%.

	t. em?r to get him into t'rouble. Tat's wiai*iTt)e, ratet
	And yetthat's not entirely satisfactory 	,, ,oics
	"Why,
Doctor, you haven't said anything," said jane
	forgotten
you."	·
"l,
i
	"I'm always getting forgotten," said the grizzled
	sadly· "I must have a very inconspicuous
personality ,,
	"Oh, no!" said Jane. "Do tell us what
you think?,,
	"I'm rather in the position of agreeing
with everone,s
	lutionand yet with
none of them I myself h
	fetched and probably
totally erroneous theory that the '
may have had something to do with
it. Sir H .... , wife mean: I've no grounds
for thinking so--onl
a s wife,
Y Y WOuld
surprised if you
knew the extraordinary thins -
, 6 t
at wronged wife will take it into her
head to do '
	"Oh! Dr. Lloyd,"
cried Miss Marple excitedly, %I^
	cleverjaneOfstaredYOU,atAndher.I
never thought of poor Mrs. Pcb'mars
	"Mrs.
Pebmarsh? Who is Mrs. Pebmarsh?"
	"Well" Miss Marple hesitated. "I don't k


1
YwC2 m,nSenfi nhtT's
a la
u n dress' And she st01
°ahpll sle
·	p	o a
blouse and put it in another ....
house·" -
arl,
	Jane looked more fogged than ever.

	have been in
league with the thieves. She would leave
the		"And that makes it all perfectly clear to you,
liss
blat
	house open for them and actually go to
London
as
though
		pie?"
said
Sir
Henry,
with
his
twinkle.

	sure
of
the
pretence
telephone
message
so
as
to
dtvert'
suspt-'
	i
	But
to
his
surprise
Miss
Maple-
shook
her
head.


9o MISS MARPLE
"No, I'm afraid it doesn't. I must confess myself completely at a loss. What I do realize is that women must stick
together--one should, in an emergency, stand by one's own
sex. I think that's the moral of the story Miss Helier has told US."
"I must confess that that particular ethical significance of the mystery has escaped me," said Sir Henry gravely. "Perhaps
I shall see the significance of your point more clearly
when Miss Helier has revealed the solution."
"Eh?" said Jane looking rather bewildered.
"I was observing that, in childish language, we 'give it up.' You and you alone, Miss Helier, have had the high
honour of presenting such an absolutely baffling mystery
that even Miss Marple has to confess herself defeated." "You all give it up?" asked Jane.
"Yes." After a minute's silence during which he waited for the others to speak, Sir Henry constituted himself spokesman
once more. "That is to say we stand or fall by the
sketchy solutions we have tentatively advanced. One each for
the mere men, two for Miss Marple, and a round dozen by
Mrs. B."
"It was not a dozen," said Mrs. Bantry. "They were variations on a main theme. And how often am I to tell you that
I will not be called Mrs. BP"
"So you all give it up," said Jane thoughtfully. "That's very interesting."
She leant back in her chair and began to polish her nails rather absent-mindedly.
"Well," said Mrs. Bantry. "Come on, Jane. What is the solution?"
"The solution?"
"Yes. What really happened?"
Jane stared at her.
"I haven't the least idea."


in?"

	THE AFl:3IR AT 7 THE BUNGALOW
		I9

"IVhat?"
"I've always wonde/d. I t thought you were all so clever one of you would be )le to 0 tell me."
Everybody harboure(feelinngs of annoyance. It was all very well for Jane to be so eautififul--but at this moment every.
one felt that stupiditscouldkt be carried too far. Even the
most transcendent 10v'iliness, could not excuse it.
"You mean the trtrh waxas never discovered?" said Sir Henry.
"No. That's why, asl say, i I did think you would be able to tell me."
Jane sounded injureO It w==as plain that she felt shehad a grievance.
"Well--I'm--I,m-,'said Colonel Bantry, words failing> him.
"You are the most gravaating girl, Jane," said his wife. "Anyway, I'm sure anialwaE-Ys shall be that I was right. If
you just tell us the pro5r nammes of all the people, I shall be quite sure."
"I don't think I cou/t do th that," said Jane slowly.
"No, dear," said Mi!i Marlyple- "Miss Helier couldn't do that."
"Of course she c0ul,/," saiiid Mrs. Bantry. "Don't be so highminded, Jane. We tier f¢7olks must have a bit of scandal.
At any rate tell us whethe cili:ity magnate was."
But Jane shook her li3d, amid Miss Marple, in her 01d-fash-ioned way, continued t,sup?ort the girl.
"It must have been/ery c distressing business," Shesaid.
"No," said Jane trut(lly· "I think---I think I rather enjoyed it."
"Well, perhaps you fi'" sa::aid Miss Marple. "I suppose it was a break in the mopt°ny'¢·What play were you'acting

"Smith."


	I92 	MISS MARPLE

"Oh, yes. That's one of Mr. Somerset Maugham's, isn't it? All his are very clever, I think. I've seen them nearly all."
"You're reviving it to go on tour next Autumn, aren't you?" asked Mrs. Bantry.
Jane nodded.
"Well," said Miss Marple rising, "I must go home. Such late hours! But we've had a very entertaining evening. Most
unusually so. I think Miss Helier's story wins the prize.
Don't you agree?"
"I'm sorry you're angry with me," said Jane. "About not knowing the end, I mean. I suppose I should have said so
sooner."
Her tone sounded wistful. Dr. Lloyd rose gallantly to the occasion.
"My dear young lady, why should you? You gave us a very pretty problem to sharpen our wits upon. I am only sorry we
could none of us solve it convincingly."
"Speak for yourself," said Mrs. Bantry. "I did solve it. I'm convinced I am right."
"Do you know, I really believe you are," said Jane. "What you said sounded so probable."
"Which of her seven solutions do you refer to?" asked Sir Henry teasingly.
Dr. Lloyd gallantly assisted Miss Marple to put on her go-loshes. "Just in case," as the old lady explained. The doctor
was to be her escort to her old-world cottage. Wrapped in
several woollen shawls, Miss Marple wished everyone good
night once more. She came to Jane Helier last and leaning
forward, she murmured something in the actress's ear. A
startled "Oh!" burst from Jane--so loud as to cause the
others to turn their heads.
Smiling and nodding, Miss Marple made her exit, Jane Helier staring after her.
"Are you coming to bed, Jane?" asked Mrs. Bantry.


THE AFFAIR AT THE BUNGALOW 93

"What's the matter with you? You're staring as though you'd seen a ghost."
With a deep sigh Jane came to herself, shed a beautiful and bewildering smile on the two men and followed her
hostess up the staircase. Mrs. Bantry came into the girl's
room with her.
"Your fire's nearly out," said Mrs. Bantry, giving it a vicious and ineffectual poke. "They can't have made it up
properly. How stupid housemaids are. Still, I suppose we are
rather late tonight. Why, it's actually past one o'clock!"
"Do you think there are many people like her?" asked Jane Helier.
She was sitting on the side of the bed apparently wrapped in thought.
"Like the housemaid?"
"No. Like that funny old woman--what's her name--Marple?"
"Oh! I don't know. I suppose she's a fairly common type in a small village."
"Oh, dear," said Jane. "I don't know what to do." She sighed deeply.
"I'm worried."
"What about?"
"Dolly," Jane Helier was portentously solemn. "Do you know what that queer old lady whispered to me before She
went out of the door tonight?"
"No. What?"
"She said: 'I shouldn't do it if I were you, my dear. Never put yourself too much in another woman's power, even if you think she's
your friend at the moment.' You know, Dolly, that's awfully
true."
"The maxim? Yes, perhaps it is. But ! don't see the application.''
"I suppose you can't ever really trust a woman. And I


	x94 	MISS MARPLE

should be in her power. I never thought of that." "What woman are you talking about?"
"Netta Greene, my understudy."
"What on earth does Miss Marple know about your derstudy?"
"I suppose she guessed--but I can't see how."
"Jane, will you kindly tell me at once what you are talking about?"
"Thc story. The one I told. Oh, Dolly, that woman, know--the one that took Claud from me?"
Mrs. Bantry nodded, casting her mind back rapidly to the first of Jane's unfortunate marriages--to Claud Averbury,
the actor.
"He married her; and I could have told him how it would be. Claud doesn't know, but she's carrying on with Sir Joseph
Salmon--weekends with him at the bungalow I told
you about. I wanted her shown up--I would like everyone
to know the sort of woman she was. And you see, with a
burglary everything would be bound to come out."
"Jane!" gasped Mrs. Bantry. "Did you engineer this story
you've been telling us?"
Jane nodded.
"That's why I chose Smith. I wear parlourmaid's kit in it, you know. So I should have it handy. And when they sent
for me to the police station it's the easiest thing in the world
to say I was rehearsing my part with my understudy at the
hotel. Really, of course, we would be at the bungalow. I just
to open the door and bring in the cocktails, and Netta to
pretend to be me. He'd never see her again, of course, so
there would be no fear of his recognizing her. And I can
make myself look quite different as a parlourmaid; and besides,
one doesn't look at parlourmaids as though they were
people. We planned to drag him out into the road afterwards,
bag the jewel case, telephone thc police and get back


THE AFFAIR AT THE BUNGALOd t95

to the hotel. I shouldn't like the poor young man to suffer, but Sir Henry didn't seem to think he would, did he? And
she'd be in the papers and everything--and Claud would see
what she was really like."
Mrs. Bantry sat down and groaned.
"Oh! my poor head. And all the time--Jane Helier, you deceitful girl! Telling us that story the way you did!"
"I am a good actress," said Jane complacently. "I always have been, whatever people choose to say. I didn't give myself
away once, did I?"
"Miss Marple was right," murmured Mrs. Bantry. "The personal element. Oh, yes, the personal element. Jane, my
good child, do you realize that theft is theft, and you might
have been sent to prison?"
"Well, none of you guessed," said Jane. "Except Miss Marple." The worried expression returned to her face.
"Dolly, do you really think there are many like her?"
"Frankly, I don't," said Mrs. Bantry.
Jane sighed again.
"Still, one had better not risk it. And of course I should be in Netta's power--that's true enough. She might turn
against me or blackmail me or anything. She helped me
think out the details and she professed to be devoted to me,
but one never does know with women. No, I think Miss
Marple was right. I had better not risk it."
"But, my dear, you have risked it."
"Oh, no." Jane opened her blue eyes very wide. "Don't you understand? None of this has happened yet.t I was--well,
trying it on the dog, so to speak."
"I don't profess to understand your theatrical slang," said Mrs. Bantry with dignity. "Do you mean this is a future
project--not a past deed?"
"I was going to do it this Autumn--in September. I don't know what to do now."


	z96 	MiSS MARPLE

"And Jane Marple guessed--actually guessed the truth and never told us," said Mrs. Bantry wrathfully.
"I think that was why she said that--about women sticking together. She wouldn't give me away before the men.
That was nice of her. I don't mind your knowing, Dolly." "Well, give the idea up, Jane. I beg of you."
"I think I shall," murmured Miss Helier. "There might be other Miss Marples .... "


Death by Drowning

S
ir Henry Clithering, ex-Commissioner of Scotland Yard, was staying with his friends the Bantrys at their
place near the little village of St. Mary Mead.
On Saturday morning, coming down to breakfast at the pleasant guestly hour of ten-fifteen, he almost collided with
his hostess, Mrs. Bantry, in the doorway of the breakfast
room. She was rushing from the room, evidently in a condition
of some excitement and distress.
Colonel Bantry was sitting at the table, his face rather redder than usual.
"'Morning, Clithering," he said. "Nice day. Help yourself."
Sir Henry obeyed. As he took his seat, a plate of kidneys
and bacon in front of him, his host went on:
"Dolly's a bit uspet this morning."
"Yes-er--I rather thought so," said Sir Henry, mildly. He wondered a little. His hostess was of a placid disposition,
little given to moods or excitements. As far as Sir
Henry knew, she felt keenly on one subject only--garden-ing.
"Yes," said Colonel Bantry. "Bit of news we got this morning upset her. Girl in the village--Emmott's daugh-ter--Emmott
who keeps the Blue Boar."

97


x98 MISS MARPLE
"Oh, yes, of course."
"Ye-es," said Colonel Bantry ruminatively. "Pretty girl. Got herself into trouble. Usual story. I've been arguing with
Dolly about that. Foolish of me. Women never see sense.
Dolly was all up in arms for the girl--you know what
women are--men are brutes--all the rest of it, et cetera. But
it's not so simple as all that--not in these days. Girls know
what they're about. Fellow who seduces a girl's not necessarily
a villain. Fifty-fifty as often as not. I rather liked young
Sandford myself. A young ass rather than a Don Juan, I
should have said."
"It is this man Sandford who got the girl into trouble?" "So it seems. Of course I don't know anything personally,"
said the colonel cautiously. "It's all gossip and chat.
You know what this place is! As I say, I know nothing. And
I'm not like Dollywleaping to conclusions, flinging accusations
all over the place. Damn it all, one ought to be careful
in what one says. You know--inquest and all that." "Inquest?"
Colonel Bantry stared.
"Yes. Didn't I tell you? Girl drowned herself. That's what all the pother's about."
"That's a nasty business," said Sir Henry.
"Of course it is. Don't like to think of it myself. Poor pretty little devil. Her father's a hard man by all accounts. I
suppose she just felt she couldn't face the music."
He paused.
"That's what's upset Dolly so."
"Where did she drown herself?."
"In the river. Just below the mill t runs pretty fast. There's a footpath and a bridge across. They think she threw
herself off that. Well, well, it doesn't bear thinking about."
And with a portentous rustle, Colonel Bantry opened his newspaper and proceeded to distract his mind from painful


	DEATH BY DROWNING 	99
matters by an absorption in the newest iniquities of the government.
Sir Henry was only mildly interested by the village tragedy. After breakfast, he established himself on a comfortable
chair on the lawn, tilted his hat over his eyes and contemplated
life from a peaceful angle.
It was about half-past eleven when a neat parlourmaid tripped across the lawn.
"If you please, sir, Miss Marple has called, and would like to see you."
"Miss Marple?"
Sir Henry sat up and straightened his hat. The name surprised him. He remembered Miss Marple very well--her gentle,
quiet, old-maidish ways, her amusing penetration. He
remembered a dozen unsolved and hypothetical cases--and
how in each case this typical 'old maid of the village' had
leaped unerringly to the right solution of the mystery. Sir
Henry had a very deep respect for Miss Marple. He wondered
what had brought her to see him.
Miss Marple was sitting in the drawing-room--very upright as always, a gaily coloured marketing basket of foreign
extraction beside her. Her cheeks were rather pink, and she
seemed flustered.
"Sir Henry--I am so glad. So fortunate to find you. I just happened to hear that you were staying down here .... I do
hope you will forgive me .... "
"This is a great pleasure," said Sir Henry, taking her hand. "I'm afraid Mrs. Bantry's out."
"Yes," said Miss Marple. "I saw her talking to Footit, the butcher, as I passed. Henry Footit was run over yesterday--that
was his dog. One of those smooth-haired fox terriers,
rather stout and quarrelsome, that butchers always seem to
have."
"Yes," said Sir Henry helpfully.


	200 	MSS M^WVLE

"I was glad to get here when she wasn't at home," con; tinued Miss Marple. "Because it was you I wanted to see.
About this sad affair."
"Henry Footit?" asked Sir Henry, slightly bewildered. Miss Marple threw him a reproachful glance.
"No, no. Rose Emmott, of course. You've heard?"
Sir Henry nodded.
"Bantry was telling me. Very sad."
He was a little puzzled. He could not conceive why Miss Marble should want to see him about Rose Emmott.
Miss Marple sat down again, Sir Henry also sat. When the old lady spoke her manner had changed. It was grave, and
had a certain dignity.
"You may remember, Sir Henry, that on one or two occasions we played what was really a pleasant kind of game.
Propounding mysteries and giving solutions. You were kind
enough to say that I--that I did not do too badly."
"You beat us all," said Sir Henry warmly. "You displayed an absolute genius for getting to the truth. And you always
instanced, I remember, some village parallel which had supplied
you with the clue."
He smiled as he spoke, but Miss Marple did not smile. She remained very grave.
"What you said has emboldened me to come to you now. I feel that if I say something to you--at least you will not
laugh at me."
He realized suddenly that she was in deadly earnest. "Certainly, I will not laugh," he said gently.
"Sir Henry--this girl--Rose Emmott. She did not drown
herself--she was murdered 	And I know who murdered
her."
Sir Henry was silent with sheer astonishment for quite three
seconds. Miss Marple's voice had been perfectly quiet and
unexcited. She might have been making the most ordinary
statement in the world for all the emotion she showed.


DEATH BY DROWNING 20I

"That is a very serious statement to make, Miss Marple,"
said Sir Henry when he had recovered his breath.
She nodded her head gently several times.
"I know--I know--that is why I have come to you." "But, my dear lady, I am not the person to come to. ! am
merely a private individual nowadays. If you have knowledge
of the kind you claim, you must go to the police." "I don't think I can do that," said Miss Marple.
"But why not?"
"Because, you see, I haven't got any--what you call knowledge.''
"You mean it's only a guess on your part?"
"You can call it that, if you like, but it's not really that at all. I know. I'm in a position to know; but if [ gave my reasons
for knowing to Inspector Drewitt--well, he'd simply
laugh. And really, I don't know that I'd blame him. It's very
difficult to understand what you might call specialized
knowledge."
"Such as?" suggested Sir Henry.
Miss Marple smiled a little.
"If I were to tell you that I know because of a man called Peasegood leaving turnips instead of carrots when he came
round with a cart and sold vegetables to my niece several
years ago--"
She stopped eloquently.
"A very appropriate name for the trade," murmured Sir Henry. "You mean that you are simply judging from the
facts in a parallel case."
"I know human nature," said Miss Marple. "It's impossible not to know human nature living in a village all these
years. The question is, do you believe me, or don't you?"
She looked at him very straight. The pink flush had heightened on her cheeks. Her eyes met his steadily without
wavering.
Sir Henry was a man with a very vast experience of life. He


	202 	Miss

made his decisions quickly without beating about the bush. Unlikely and fantastic as Miss Marple's statement might
seem, he was instantly aware that he accepted it.
"I believe you, Miss Marple. But I do not see what you want me to do in the matter, or why you have come to me."
"I have thought and thought about it," said Miss Marple. "As I said, it would be useless going to the police without
any facts. I have no facts. What I would ask you to do is to
interest yourself in the matter--Inspector Drewitt would be
most flattered, I am sure. And, of course, if the matter went
further, Colonel Melchett, the Chief Constable, I am sure,
would be wax in your hands."
She looked at him appealingly.
"And what data are you going to give me to work upon?" "I thought," said Miss Marple, "of writing a name--the name-on a piece of paper and giving it to you. Then if, on
investigation, you decide that the--the person--is not involved
in any way--well, I shall have been quite wrong."
She paused and then added with a slight shiver. "It would be so dreadful--so very dreadfulif an innocent person were
to be hanged."
"What on earth--" cried Sir Henry, startled.
She turned a distressed face upon him.
"I may be wrong about that--though I don't think so. Inspector Drewitt, you see, is really an intelligent man. But a
mediocre amount of intelligence is sometimes most danger-
ous. It does not take one far enough."
Sir Henry looked at her curiously.
Fumbling a little, Miss Marple opened a small reticule, took out a little notebook, tore out a leaf, carefully wrote a
name on it and folding it in two, handed it to Sir Henry.
He opened it and read the name. It conveyed nothing to him, but his eyebrows lifted a little. He looked across at Miss
Marple and tucked the piece of paper in his pocket.
"Well, well," he said. "Rather an extraordinary business,


	DEATH BY DROWNING 	203

this. I've never done anything like it before. But I'm going to back my judgment-ofyou, Miss Marple."

Sir Henry was sitting in a room with Colonel Melchett, the Chief Constable of the county, and Inspector Drewitt.
The Chief Constable was a little man of aggressively military demeanour. The Inspector was big and broad and eminently
sensible.
"I really do feel I'm butting in," said Sir Henry, with a pleasant smile. "I can't really tell you why I'm doing it."
(Strict truth, this!)
"My dear fellow, we're charmed. It's a great compliment." "Honoured, Sir Henry," said the inspector.
The Chief Constable was thinking: "Bored to death, poor fellow, at the Bantrys. The old man abusing the government
and the old woman babbling on about bulbs."
The Inspector was thinking: "Pity we're not up against a real teaser. One of the best brains in England, I've heard it
said. Pity it's all such plain sailing."
Aloud, the Chief Constable said:
"I'm afraid it's all very sordid and straightforward. First idea was that the girl had pitched herself in. She was in the
family way, you understand. However, our doctor, Haydock,
is a careful fellow. He noticed the bruises on each arm--upper
arm. Caused before death. Just where a fellow would
have taken her by the arms and flung her in."
"Would that require much strength?"
"I think not. There would be no struggle--the girl would be taken unawares. It's a footbridge of slippery wood. Easiest
thing in the world to pitch her over--there's no handrail
that side."
"You know for a fact that the tragedy occurred there?" "Yes. We've got a boy--Jimmy Brown--aged twelve. He
was in the woods on the other side. He heard a kind of
scream from the bridge and a splash. It was dusk, you


	204 	MISS MARPLE

know--difficult to see anything. Presently he saw something white floating down in the water and he ran and got help.
They got her out, but it was too late to revive her."
Sir Henry nodded.
"The boy saw no one on the bridge?"
"No. But, as I tell you, it was dusk, and there's mist always hanging about there. I'm going to question him as to
whether he saw anyone about just afterwards or just before.
You see he naturally assumed that the girl had thrown herself
over. Everybody did to start with."
"Still, we've got the note," said Inspector Drewitt. He turned to Sir Henry.
"Note in the dead girl's pocket, sir. Written with a kind of artist's pencil it was, and all of a sop though the paper was
we managed to read it."
"And what did it say?"
"It was from young Sandford, 'All right,' that's how it ran. 'I'll meet you at the bridge at eight-thirty--R.S.' Well,
it was as near as might be to eight-thirty--a few minutes
after--when Jimmy Brown heard the cry and the splash."
"I don't know whether you've met Sandford at all?" went on Colonel Melchett. "He's been down here about a month.
One of those modern-day young architects who build peculiar
houses. He's doing a house for Allington. God knows
what it's going to be like--full of new-fangled stuff, I suppose.
Glass dinner table and surgical chairs made of steel and
webbing. Well, that's neither here nor there, but it shows
the kind of chap Sandford is. Bolshie, you know--no
morals."
"Seduction," said Sir Henry mildly, "is quite an old-estab-lished crime though it does not, of course, date back so far as
murder."
Colonel Melchett stared.
"Oh! yes," he said. "Quite. Quite."
"Well, Sir Henry," said Drewitt, "there it is--an ugly


IDEATH BY DROWNING 	205

business, but plain. This young Sandford gets the girl into

trouble. Then he's tll for clearing off back to London. He's

got a girl there--nice young lady--he's engaged to be mar
ried
to her. Well, naturally this business, if she gets to hear

of it, may cook his goose good and proper. He meets Rose at

the bridge--it's a misty evening, no one about--he catches

her by the shoulders and pitches her in. A proper young

swine--and deserves what's coming to him. That's my opin
ion.''

Sir Henry was silent for a minute or two. He perceived a strong undercurrent of local prejudice. A new-fangled architect
was not likely to be popular in the conservative village
of St. Mary Mead.
"There is no doubt, I suppose, that this man, Sandford, was actually the father of the coming child?" he asked.
"He's the father all right," said Drewitt. "Rose Emmott let out as much to her father. She thought he'd marry her.
Marry her! Not he!"
"Dear me," thought Sir Henry, "I seem to be back in mid-Victorian melodrama. Unsuspecting girl, thc villain
from London, the stern father, the betrayal--we only need
the faithful village lover. Yes, I think it's time I asked about
him."
And aloud he said:
"Hadn't the girl a young man of her own down here?"
"You mean Joe Ellis?" said the inspector. "Good fellow,
Joe. Carpentering's his trade. Ah! If she'd stuck to Joe--" Colonel Melchett nodded approval.
"Stick to your own class," he snapped.
"How did Joe Ellis take this affair?" asked Sir Henry. "Nobody knew how he was taking it," said the inspector.
"He's a quiet fellow, is Joe. Close. Anything Rose did was
right in his eyes. She had him on a string all right. Just
hoped she'd come back to him some day--that was his attitude,
I reckon."


	206 	MISS MARPLE

"I'd like to see him," said Sir Henry.
"Oh! We're going to look him up," said Colonel Mel-chert. "We're not neglecting any line. I thought myself we'd
see Emmott first, then Sandford, and then we can go on and
see Ellis. That suit you, Clithering?'
Sir Henry said it would suit him admirably.
They found Tom Emmott at the Blue Boar. He was a big burly man of middle age with a shifty eye and a truculent
jaw.
"Glad to see you, gentlemen--good morning, Colonel. Come in here and we can be private. Can I offer you anything,
gentlemen? No? It's as you please. You've come
about this business of my poor girl. Ah! She was a good girl,
Rose was. Always was a good girl--till this bloody swine--beg
pardon, but that's what he is--till he came along. Promised
her marriage, he did. But I'll have the law of him.
Drove her to it, he did. Murdering swine. Bringing disgrace
on all of us. My poor girl."
"Your daughter distinctly told you that Mr. Sandford was
responsible for her condition?" asked Melchett crisply. "She did. In this very room she did."
"And what did you say to her?" asked Sir Henry.
"Say to her?" The man seemed momentarily taken aback.
"Yes. You didn't, for example, threaten to turn her out of the house."
"I was a bit upset--that's only natural. I'm sure you'll agree that's only natural. But, of course, I didn't turn her
out of the house. I wouldn't do such a thing." He assumed
virtuous indignation. "No. What's the law for--that's what
I say. What's the law for? He'd got to do the right thing by
her. And if he didn't, by God, he'd got to pay."
He brought down his fist on the table.
"What time did you last see your daughter?" asked Mel-chett.
"Yesterday--tea time."


	DEATH BY DROWNING 	207

	"What was her manner then?"
"Well--much as usual. I didn't notice anything. If I'd known--"
	"But you didn't know," said the inspector dryly.
	They took their leave.
"Emmott hardly creates a favourable impression," said Sir Henry thoughtfully.
"Bit of a blackguard," said Melchett. "He'd have bled Sandford all right if he'd had the chance."
Their next call was on the architect. Rex Sandford was very unlike the picture Sir Henry had unconsciously formed
of him. He was a tall young man, very fair and very thin. His
eyes were blue and dreamy, his hair was untidy and rather
too long. His speech was a little too ladylike.
Colonel Melchett introduced himself and his companions. Then passing straight to the object of his visit, he invited
the architect to make a statement as to his movements on
the previous evening.
"You understand," he said warningly. "I have no power to compel a statement from you and any statement you
make may be used in evidence against you. I want the position
to be quite clear to you."
	"I--I don't understand," said Sandford.
"You understand that the girl Rose Emmott was drowned last night?"
"I know. Oh! it's too, too distressing. Really, I haven't slept a wink. I've been incapable of any work today. I feel re-sponsible-terribly
responsible."
He ran his hands through his hair, making it untidier still. "I never meant any harm," he said piteously. "I never
thought. I never dreamt--she'd take it that way."
He sat down at a table and buried his face in his hands. "Do I understand you to say, Mr. Sandford, that you refuse
to make a statement as to where you were last night at
eight-thirty?"


208 MISS MARPLE

"No, no--certainly not. I was out. I went for a walk." "You went to meet Miss Emmott?"
"No. I went by myself. Through the woods. A long way."
"Then how do you account for this note, sir, which was found in the dead girl's pocket?"
And Inspector Drewitt read it unemotionally aloud.
"Now, sir," he finished. "Do you deny that you wrote that?"
"No-no. You're right. I did write it. Rose asked me to meet her. She insisted. I didn't know what to do. So I wrote
that note."
"Ah, that's better," said the inspector.
"But I didn't go!" Sandford's voice rose high and excited. "I didn't go! I felt it would be much better not. I was returning to town tomorrow. I felt it would be better not--not
to meet. I intended to write from London and--and
make--some arrangement."
"You are aware, sir, that this girl was going to have a
child, and that she had named you as its father?" Sandford groaned, but did not answer.
"Was that statement true, sir?"
Sandford buried his face deeper.
"I suppose so," he said in a muffled voice.
"Ah!" Inspector Drewitt could not disguise his satisfaction. "Now about this 'walk' of yours. Is there anyone who
saw you last night?"
"I don't know. I don't think so. As far as I can remember,
I didn't meet anybody."
"That's a pity."
"What do you mean?" Sandford stared wildly at him. "What does it matter whether I was out for a walk or not?
What difference does that make to Rose drowning herself?."
"Ah!" said the inspector. "But you see, she didn't. She was thrown in deliberately, Mr. Sandford."


	DEATH BY DROWNING 	2O9

"She was--" It took him a minute or two to take in all
the horror of it. "My God! Then--"
He dropped into a chair.
Colonel Melchett made a move to depart.
"You understand, Sandford," he said, "You are on no account to leave this house."
The three men left together. The inspector and the Chief Constable exchanged glances.
"That's enough, I think, sir," said the inspector.
"Yes. Get a warrant made out and arrest him."
"Excuse me," said Sir Henry, "I've forgotten my gloves."
He re-entered the house rapidly. Sandford was sitting just as they had left him, staring dazedly in front of him.
"I have come back," said Sir Henry, "to tell you that I, personally, am anxious to do all I can to assist you. The motive
of my interest in you I am not at liberty to reveal. But I
am going to ask you, if you will, to tell me as briefly as possible
exactly what passed between you and this girl Rose."
"She was very pretty," said Sandford. "Very pretty and very alluring. And and she made a dead set for me. Before
God, that's true. She wouldn't let me alone. And it was
lonely down here, and nobody liked me much, and--and, as
I say she was amazingly pretty and she seemed to know her
way about and all that--" His voice died away. He looked
up. "And then this happened. She wanted me to marry her. I
didn't know what to do. I'm engaged to a girl in London. If
she ever gets to hear of this--and she will, of course--well,
it's all up. She won't understand. How could she? And I'm a
rotter, of course. As I say, I didn't know what to do. I
avoided seeing Rose again. I thought I'd get back to
town--see my lawyer--make arrangements about money
and so forth, for her. God, what a fool I've been! And it's all
so clear--the case against me. But they've made a mistake.
She must have done it herself."


	210 	MISS MA RPLE

"Did she ever threaten to take her life?"
Sandford shook his head.
"Never. I shouldn't have said she was that sort." "What about a man called Joe Ellis?"
"The carpenter fellow? Good old village stock. Dull fel-low--but crazy about Rose."
"He might have been jealous?" suggested Sir Henry.
"I suppose he was a bit--but he's the bovine kind. He'd suffer in silence."
"Well," said Sir Henry. "I must be going."
He rejoined the others.
"You know, Melchett," he said. "I feel we ought to have a look at this other fellow--Ellisbefore we do anything
drastic. Pity if you made an arrest that turned out to be a
mistake. After all, jealousy is a pretty good motive for rnur-der--and
a pretty common one, too."
"That's true enough," said the inspector. "But Joe Ellis isn't that kind. He wouldn't hurt a fly. Why, nobody's ever
seen him out of temper. Still, I agree we'd better just ask
him where he was last night. He'll be at home now. He
lodges with Mrs. Bartlett--very decent soul--a widow, she
takes in a bit of washing."
The little cottage to which they bent their footsteps was spotlessly clean and neat. A big stout woman of middle age
opened the door to them. She had a pleasant face and blue
eyes.
"Good morning, Mrs. Bartlett," said the inspector. "Is Joe Ellis here?"
"Came back not ten minutes ago," said Mrs. Bartlett. "Step inside, will you, please, sirs."
Wiping her hands on her apron she led them into a tiny front parlour with stuffed birds, china dogs, a sofa and several
useless pieces of furniture.
She hurriedly arranged seats for them, picked up a what-


	DEATH BY DROWNING 	2I I

not bodily to make further room and went our calling:
"Joe, there's three gentlemen want to see you."

A voice from the back kitchen replied:

"I'11 be there when I've cleaned myself."

Mrs. Bartlett smiled.

"Come in, Mrs. Bartlett," said Colonel Melchett. "Sit

dOWFI."

"Oh no, sir, I couldn't think of it."

Mrs. Bartlett was shocked at thc idca.

"You find Joc Ellis a good lodger?" inquircd Mclchctt in a

seemingly careless tone.

"Couldn't have a better, sir. A ready steady young fellow.

Never touched a drop of drink. Takes a pride in his work.

And always kind and helpful about the house. He put up

those shelves for me, and he's fixed a new dresser in the

kitchen. And any little thing that wants doing in the

house--why, Joe does it as a matter of course, and won't

hardly take thanks for it. Ah! there aren't many young fel
lows
like Joe, sir."

"Some girl will be lucky some day," said Melchett care
lessly.
"He was rather sweet on that poor girl, Rose Emmott,

wasn't he?"

Mrs. Bartlett sighed.

"It made me tired, it did. Him worshipping the ground

she trod on and her not caring a snap of the fingers for him."

"Where does Joe spend his evenings, Mrs. Bartlett?"

"Here, sir, usually. He does some odd piece work in the

evenings, sometimes, and he's trying to learn bookkeeping
by c 		-
	,,

	orresponcence.
"Ah! really. Was he in yesterday evening?"
"Yes, sir."
"You're sure, Mrs. Bartlett?" said Sir Henry sharply. She turned to him.
"Quite sure, sir."


	212 	MISS MARPLE

"He didn't go out, for instance, somewhere about eight to eight-thirty?"
"Oh no." Mrs. Bartlett laughed. "He was fixing the kitchen dresser for me nearly all the evening, and I was helping
him."
Sir Henry looked at her smiling assured face and felt his first pang of doubt.
A moment later Ellis himself entered the room.
He was a tall broad-shouldered young man, very good-looking in a rustic way. He had shy blue eyes and a good-tempered
smile. Altogether an amiable young giant.
Melchett opened the conversation. Mrs. Bartlett withdrew to the kitchen.
"We are investigating the death of Rose Emmott. You knew her, Ellis."
"Yes." He hesitated, then muttered, "Hoped to marry her one day. Poor lass."
"You have heard what her condition was?"
"Yes." A spark of anger showed in his eye. "Let her down, he did. But 'twere for the best. She wouldn't have been
happy married to him. I reckoned she'd come to me when
this happened. I'd have looked after her."
"In spite of"
"'Tweren't her fault. He led her astray with fine promises and all. Oh! she told mc about it. She'd no call to drown
herself. He weren't worth it."
"Where were you, Ellis, last night at eight-thirty?"
Was it Sir Henry's fancy, or was there really a shade of constraint in the ready--almost too ready--reply.
"I was here. Fixing up a contraption in the kitchen for Mrs. B. You ask her. She'll tell you."
"He was too quick with that," thought Sir Henry. "He's a slow-thinking man. That popped out so pat that I suspect
he'd got it ready beforehand."


DEATH BY DROWNING 	2I3

Then he told himself that it was imagination. He was

imagining things--yes, even imagining an apprehensive

glint in those blue eyes.
A few more questions and answers and they left. Sir Henry made an excuse to go to the kitchen. Mrs. Bartlett was busy
at the stove. She looked up with a pleasant smile. A new
dresser was fixed against the wall. It was not quite finished.
Some tools lay about and some pieces of wood.
"That's what Ellis was at work on last night?" said Sir Henry.
"Yes, sir, it's a nice bit of work, isn't it? He's a very clever carpenter, Joe is."
No apprehensive gleam in her eye--no embarrassment.
But Ellis--had he imagined it? No, there had been something.
"I must tackle him," thought Sir Henry.
Turning to leave the kitchen, he collided with a perambulator.
"Not woken the baby up, I hope," he said.
Mrs. Bartlett's laugh rang out.
"Oh, no, sir. I've no children--more's the pity. That's
what I take the laundry on, sir."
"Oh! I see--"
He paused, then said on an impulse:
"Mrs. Bartlett. You knew Rose Emmott. Tell me what you really thought of her."
She looked at him curiously.
"Well, sir, I thought she was flighty. But she's dead--and I don't like to speak ill of the dead."
"But I have a reason--a very good reason for asking." He spoke persuasively.
She seemed to consider, studying him attentively. Finally she made up her mind.
"She was a bad lot, sir," she said quietly. "I wouldn't say


	24 	MISS MARPLE

so before Joe. She took him in good and proper. That kind can--more's the pity. You know how it is, sir."
Yes, Sir Henry knew. The Joe Ellises of the world were peculiarly vulnerable. They trusted blindly. But for that very
cause the shock of discovery might be greater.
He left the cottage baffled and perplexed. He was up against a blank wall. Joe Ellis had been working indoors all
yesterday evening. Mrs. Bartlett had actually been there
watching him. Could one possibly get round that? There
was nothing to set against it--except possibly that suspicious
readiness in replying on Joe Ellis's part--that suggestion
of having a story pat.
"Well," said Melchett. "That seems to make the matter quite clear, eh?"
"It does, sir," agreed the inspector. "Sandford's our man. Not a leg to stand up on. The thing's as plain as daylight.
It's my opinion as the girl and her father were out to--well-practically
blackmail him. He's no money to speak
of he didn't want the matter to get to his young lady's ears.
He was desperate and he acted accordingly. What do you
say, sir?" he added, addressing Sir Henry deferentially.
"It seems so," admitted Sir Henry. "And yet--I can hardly picture Sandford committing any violent action."
But he knew as he spoke that that objection was hardly valid. The meekest animal, when cornered, is capable of
amazing actions.
"I should like to see the boy, though," he said suddenly. "The one who heard the cry."
Jimmy Brown proved to be an intelligent lad, rather small for his age, with a sharp, rather cunning face. He was eager
to be questioned and was rather disappointed when checked
in his dramatic tale of what he had heard on the fatal
night.
"You were on the other side of the bridge, I understand,"


DEATH BY DROWNING 2i5
said Sir Henry. "Across the river from the village. Did you see anyone on that side as you came over the bridge?"
"There was someone walking up in the woods. Mr. Sand-ford, I think it was, the architect gentleman who's building
the queer house."
The three men exchanged glances.
"That was about ten minutes or so before you heard the cry?"
The boy nodded.
"Did you see anyone elsen the village side of the river?"
"A man came along the path that side. Going slow and whistling he was. Might have been Joe Ellis."
"You couldn't possibly have seen who it was," said the inspector sharply. "What with the mist and its being dusk."
"It's on account of the whistle," said the boy. "Joe Ellis always whistles the same tune--'I wanner be happy'--it's the
only tune he knows."
He spoke with the scorn of the modernist for the old-fashioned.
"Anyone might whistle a tune," said Melchett. "Was he going towards the bridge?"
"No. Other way--to village."
"I don't think we need concern ourselves with this unknown man," said Melchett. "You heard the cry and the
splash and a few minutes later you saw the body floating
downstream and you ran for help, going back to the bridge,
crossing it, and making straight for the village. You didn't
see anyone near the bridge as you ran for help?"
"I think as there were two men with a wheelbarrow on the river path; but they were some way away and I couldn't
tell if they were going or coming and Mr. Gilei's place was
nearest--so I ran there."
"You did well, my boy," said Melchett. "You acted very


MISS MARPLE

creditably and with presence of mind. You're a scout, aren't you?"
"Yes, sir."
"Very good. Very good indeed."
Sir Henry was silent--thinking. He took a slip of paper from his pocket, looked at it, shook his head. It didn't seem
possible--and yet--
He decided to pay a call on Miss Marple.
She received him in her pretty, slightly over-crowded old-style drawing-room.
"I've come to report progress," said Sir Henry. "I'm afraid that from our point of view things aren't going well. They
are going to arrest Sandford. And I must say I think they are
justified."
"You have found nothing in--what shall I say--support of my theory, then?" She looked perplexed--anxious. "Perhaps
I have been wrong--quite wrong. You have such wide
experience--you would surely detect it if it were so."
"For one thing," said Sir Henry, "I can hardly believe it. And for another we are up against an unbreakable alibi. Joe
Ellis was fixing shelves in the kitchen all the evening and
Mrs. Bartlett was watching him do it."
Miss Marple leaned forward, taking in a quick breath. "But that can't be so," she said. "It was Friday night."
"Friday night?"
"Yes--Friday night. On Friday evenings Mrs. Bartlett takes the laundry she has done round to the different peo-

Sir Henry leaned back in his chair. He remembered the boy Jimmy's story of the whistling man and--yes--it would

He rose, taking Miss Marple warmly by the hand.
"I think I see my way," he said. "At least I can try ....
Five minutes later he was back at Mrs. Bartlett's cottage


	DEATH BY DROWNING 	217

and facing Joe Ellis in the little parlour among the china dogs.
"You lied to us, Ellis, about last night," he said crisply. "You were not in the kitchen here fixing the dresser between
eight and eight-thirty. You were seen walking along
the path by the river towards the bridge a few minutes be-
fore Rose Emmott was murdered."
The man gasped.
"She weren't murdered---she weren't. I had naught to do with it. She threw herself in, she did. She was desperate like.
I wouldn't have harmed a hair on her head, I wouldn't."
"Then why did you lie as to where you were?" asked Sir Henry keenly.
The man's eyes shifted and lowered uncomfortably.
"I was scared. Mrs. B. saw me around there and when we heard just afterwards what had happened well, she thought
it might look bad for me. I fixed I'd say I was working here,
and she agreed to back me up. She's a rare one, she is. She's
always been good to me."
Without a word Sir Henry left the room and walked into the kitchen. Mrs. Bartlett was washing up at the sink.
"Mrs. Bartlett," he said, "I know everything. I think you'd better confess--that is, unless you want Joe Ellis
hanged for something he didn't do ... No. I see you don't
want that. I'll tell you what happened. You were out 'taking
the laundry home. You came across Rose Emmott. You
thought she'd given Joe the chuck and was taking up with
this stranger. Now she was in trouble--Joe was prepared to
come to the rescue--marry her if need be, and if she'd have
him. He's lived in your house for four years. You've fallen in
love with him. You want him for yourself. You hated this
girl--you couldn't bear that this worthless little slut should
take your man from you. You're a strong woman, Mrs.
Bartlett. You caught the girl by the shoulders and shoved


	218 	MISS MA R PLE

her over into the stream. A few minutes later you met Joe Ellis. The boy Jimmy saw you together in the distance--but
in the darkness and the mist he assumed the perambulator
was a wheelbarrow and two men wheeling it. You persuaded
Joe that he might be suspected and you concocted what was supposed to be an alibi for him, but which was really an alibi
for you. Now then, I'm right, am I not?"
He held his breath. He had staked all on this throw.
She stood before him rubbing her hands on her apron, slowly making up her mind.
"It's just as you say, sir," she said at last, in her quiet sub-duea voice (a dangerous voice, Sir Henry suddenly felt it to
be). "I don't know what came over me. Shameless--that's
what she was. It just came over me--she shan't take Joe
from me. I haven't had a happy life, sir. My husband, he was
a poor lot--an invalid and cross-grained. I nursed and looked
after him true. And then Joe came here to lodge. I'm not
such an old woman, sir, in spite of my grey hair. I'm just
forty, sir. Joe's one in a thousand. I'd have done anything for
him--anything at all. He was like a little child, sir, so gentle
and so believing. He was mine, sir, to look after and see to.
And this--this--" She swallowed---checked her emotion.
Even at this moment she was a strong woman. She stood up
straight and looked at Sir Henry curiously. "I'm ready to
come, sir. I never thought anyone would find out. I don't
know how you knew, sir--I don't, I'm sure."
Sir Henry shook his head gently.
"It was not I who knew," he said--and he thought of the piece of paper still reposing in his pocket with the words on
it written in neat old-fashioned handwriting.

Mrs. Bartlett, with whom Joe Ellis lodges at 2 Mill Cottages.

Miss Marple had been right again.


THE

REGATTA

MYSTERY


Miss Marple Tells a Story

I
don't think I've ever told you, my dears--you, Raymond, and you, Joyce, about a rather curious little business
that happened some years ago now. I don't want to
seem vain in any way--of course I know that in comparison
with you young people I'm not clever at all--Raymond
writes those -very modern books all about rather unpleasant
young men and women--and Joyce paints those very remarkable
pictures of square people with curious bulges on
them--very clever of you, my dear, but as Raymond always
says (only quite kindly, because he is the kindest of nephews)
I am hopelessly Victorian. I admire Mr. Alma-Tadema
and Mr. Frederic Leighton and I suppose to you they seem
hopelessly vieuxjeu. Now let me see, what was I saying? Oh,
yes--that I didn't want to appear vain---but I couldn't help
being just a teeny weeny bit pleased with myself, because,
just by applying a little common sense, I believe I really did
solve a problem that had baffled cleverer heads than mine.
Though really I should have thought the whole thing was obvious from the beginning ....
Well, I'll tell you my little story, and if you think I'm inclined to be conceited about it, you must remember that I
at least help a fellow creature who was in very grave dis-


	222 	MISS MAR PLE

The first I knew of this business was one evening about nine o'clock when Gwen--(you remember Gwen? My little
maid with red hair) well-Gwen came in and told me that
Mr. Petherick and a gentleman had called to see me. Gwen
had showed them into the drawing-room---quite rightly. I
was sitting in the dining-room because in early spring I
think it is so wasteful to have two rites going.
I directed Gwen to bring in the cherry brandy and some glasses and I hurried into the drawing-room. I don't know
whether you remember Mr. Petherick? He died two years
ago, but he had been a friend of mine for many years as well
as attending to all my legal business. A very shrewd man and
a really clever solicitor. His son does my business for me
now---a very nice lad and very up to date--but somehow I
don't feel quite the confidence I had in Mr. Petherick.
I explained to Mr. Petherick about the fires and he said at once that he and his friend would come into the dining-room--and
then he introduced his friend a Mr. Rhodes.
He was a youngish man--not much over forty--and I saw at
once that there was something very wrong. His manner, was
most peculiar. One might have called it rude if one hadn't
realized that the poor fellow was suffering from strain.
When we were settled in the dining-room and Gwen had brought the cherry brandy, Mr. Petherick explained the rca-son
for his visit.
"Miss Marple," he said, "you must forgive an old friend for taking a liberty. What I have come here for is a consultation.''
I couldn't understand at all what he meant, and he went on:
"In a case of illness one likes two points of view--that of the specialist and that of the family physician. It is the fasbion
to regard the former as of more value, but I am not sure
that I agree. The specialist has experience only in his own


MISS MARPLE TELLS A STORY 	223

subject--the family doctor has, perhaps, less knowledge--

but a wider experience."
I knew just what he meant, because a young niece of mine not long before had hurried her child off to a very well-known
specialist in skin diseases without consulting her
own doctor whom she considered an old dodderer, and the
specialist had ordered some very expensive treatment, and
later they found that all the child was suffering from was
rather an unusual form of measles.
I just mention this--though I have a horror of di-gressing-to show that I appreciated Mr. Petherick's point--but
I still hadn't any idea of what he was driving at.
"If Mr. Rhodes is ill "I said, and stopped--because the poor man gave the most dreadful laugh.
He said: "I expect to die of a broken neck in a few months' time."
And then it all came out. There had been a case of murder lately in Bamchester--a town about twenty miles away. I'm
afraid I hadn't paid much attention to it at the time, because
we had been having a lot of excitement in the village about
our district nurse, and outside occurrences like an earthquake
in India and a murder in Barnchester, although of
course far more important really--had given way to our own
little local excitements. I'm afraid villages are like that. Still, I did remember having read about a woman having been
stabbed in a hotel, though I hadn't remembered her name.
But now it seemed that this woman had been Mr. Rhodes's
wife--and as if that wasn't bad enough--he was actually
under suspicion of having murdered her himself.
All this Mr. Petherick explained to me very clearly, saying that, although the Coroner's jury had brought in a verdict of
murder by a person or persons unknown, Mr. Rhodes had
reason to believe that he would probably be arrested within a
day or two, and that he had come to Mr. Petherick and


	224 	MISS MA RPLE

placed himself in his hands. Mr. Petherick went on to say that they had that afternoon consulted Sir Malcolm Olde,
K.C., and that in the event of the case coming to trial Sir
Malcolm had been briefed to defend Mr. Rhodes.
Sir Malcolm was a young man, Mr. Petherick said, very up to date in his methods, and he had indicated a certain line of
defense. But with that line of defense Mr. Petherick was not
entirely satisfied.
"You see, my dear lady," he said, "it is tainted with what I call the specialist's point of view. Give Sir Malcolm a case
and he sees only one point--the most likely line of defense.
But even the best line of defense may ignore completely
what is, to my mind, the vital point. It takes no account of
what actually happened."
Then he went on to say some very kind and flattering things about my acumen and judgment and my knowledge
of human nature, and asked permission to tell me the story
of the case in the hopes that I might be able to suggest some
explanation.
I could see that Mr. Rhodes was highly skeptical of my being of any use and that he was annoyed at being brought
here. But Mr. Petherick took no notice and proceeded to
give me the facts of what occurred on the night of March
8th.
Mr. and Mrs. Rhodes had been staying at the Crown Hotel in Barnchester. Mrs. Rhodes who (so I gathered from
Mr. Petherick's careful language) was perhaps just a shade of
a hypochondriac, had retired to bed immediately after dinner.
She and her husband occupied adjoining rooms with a
connecting door. Mr. Rhodes, who is writing a book on prehistoric
flints, settled down to work in the adjoining room.
At eleven o'clock he tidied up his papers and prepared to go
to bed. Before doing do, he just glanced into his wife's room
to make sure that there was nothing she wanted. He discov-


MISS MARPLE TELLS ^ STORY 225

ered the electric light on and his wife lying in bed stabbed through the heart. She had been dead at least an hour--prob-ably
longer. The following were the points made. There was
another door in Mrs. Rhodes's room leading to the corridor.
This door was locked and bolted on the inside. The only
window in the room was closed and latched. According to
Mr. Rhodes nobody had passed through the room in which
he was sitting except a chambermaid bringing hot water
bottles. The weapon found in the wound was a stiletto dagger
which had been lying on Mrs. Rhodes's dressing-table.
She was in the habit of using it as a paper knife. There were
no fingerprints on it.
The situation boiled down to this--no one but Mr. Rhodes and the chambermaid had entered the victim's
room.
I inquired about the chambermaid.
"That was our first line of inquiry," said Mr. Petherick. "Mary Hill is a local woman. She has been chambermaid at
the Crown for ten years. There seems absolutely no reason
why she should commit a sudden assault on a guest. She is,
in any case, extraordinarily stupid, almost half-witted. Her
story has never varied. She brought Mrs. Rhodes her hot
water bottle and says the lady was drowsy--just dropping off
to sleep. Frankly, I cannot believe, and I am sure no jury
would believe, that she committed the crime."
Mr. Petherick went on to mention a few additional details. At the head of the staircase in the Crown Hotel is a
kind of miniature lounge where people sometimes sit and
have coffee. A passage goes off to the right and the last door
in it is the door into the room occupied by Mr. Rhodes. The
passage then turns sharply to the right again and the first
door around the corner is the door into Mrs. Rhodes's room.
As it happened, both these doors could be seen by witnesses.
The first door--that into Mr. Rhodes's room, which I will


	226 	MISS MARPLE

call A, could be seen by four people, two commercial travelers and an elderly married couple who were having coffee.
According to them nobody went in or out of door A
except Mr. Rhodes and the chambermaid. As to the other
door in passage B, there was an electrician at work there and
he also swears that nobody entered or left door B except the
chambermaid.
It was certainly a very curious and interesting case. On the face of it, it looked as though Mr. Rhodes must have murdered
his wife. But I could see that Mr. Petherick was quite
convinced of his client's innocence and Mr. Petherick was a
very shrewd man.
At the inquest Mr. Rhodes had told a hesitating and rambling story about some woman who had written threatening letters to his wife. His story, I gathered, had been unconvincing
in the extreme. Appealed to by Mr. Petherick, he
explained himself.
"Frankly," he said, "I never believed it. I thought Amy had made most of it up."
Mrs. Rhodes, I gathered, was one of those romantic liars who go through life embroidering everything that happens
to them. The amount of adventures that, according to her
own account, happened to her in a year was simply incredible.
If she slipped on a bit of banana peel it was a case of near
escape from death. If a lamp-shade caught fire, she was rescued
from a burning building at the hazard of her life. Her
husband got into the habit of discounting her statements.
Her tale as to some woman whose child she had injured in a
motor accident and who had vowed vengeance on her--well
Mr. Rhodes had simply not taken any notice of it. The
incident had happened before he married his wife and although
she had read him letters couched in crazy language,
he had suspected her of composing them herself. She had actually
done such a thing once or twice before. She was a


MISS MARPLE TELLS A STORY 227

woman of hysterical tendencies who craved ceaselessly for excitement.
Now, all that seemed to me very natural--indeed, we have a young woman in the village who does much the same
thing. The danger with such people is that when anything at
all extraordinary really does happen to them, nobody believes
they are speaking the truth. It seemed to me that that
was what had happened in this case. The police, I gathered,
merely believed that Mr.,Rhodes was making up this unconvincing
tale in order to avert suspicion from himself.
I asked if there had been any women staying by themselves in the Hotel. It seems there were two--a Mrs. Granby,
an Anglo-Indian widow, and a Miss Carruthers, rather a
horsey spinster who dropped her g's. Mr. Petherick added
that the most minute inquiries had failed to elicit anyone
who had seen either of them near the scene of the crime and
there was nothing to connect either of them with it in any
way. I asked him to describe their personal appearance. He
said that Mrs. Granby had reddish hair rather untidily done,
was sallow-faced and about fifty years of age. Her clothes
were rather picturesque, being made mostly of native silks,
etc. Miss Carruthers was about forty, wore pince-nez, had
close-cropped hair like a man and wore mannish coats and
skirts.
"Dear me," I said, "that makes it very difficult."
Mr. Petherick looked inquiringly at me, but I didn't want to say any more just then, so I asked what Sir Malcolm Olde
had said.
Sir Malcolm Olde, it seemed, was going all out for suicide. Mr. Petherick said the medical evidence was dead against
this, and there was the absence of fingerprints, but Sir Malcolm
was confident of being able to call conflicting medical
testimony and to suggest some way of getting over the fingerprint
difficulty. I asked Mr. Rhodes what he thought and


	228 	MISS MARPLE

he said all doctors were fools but he himself couldn't really believe his wife had killed herself. "She wasn't that kind of
woman," he said simply--and I believed him. Hysterical
people don't usually commit suicide.
I thought a minute and then I asked if the door from Mrs. Rhodes's room led straight to the corridor. Mr. Rhodes said
no--there was a little hallway with bathroom and lavatory.
It was the door from the bedroom to the hallway that was
locked and bolted on the inside.
"In that case," I said, "the whole thing seems to me remarkably simple."
And really, you know, it did .... The simplest thing in the world. And yet no one seemed to have seen it that way.
Both Mr. Petherick and Mr. Rhodes were staring at me so that I felt quite embarrassed.
"Perhaps," said Mr. Rhodes, "Miss Marple hasn't quite appreciated the difficulties."
"Yes," I said, "I think I have. There are four possibilities. Either Mrs. Rhodes was killed by her husband, or by the
chambermaid, or she committed suicide, or she was killed by
an outsider whom nobody saw enter or leave."
"And that's impossible," Mr. Rhodes broke in. "Nobody could come in or go out through my room without my seeing
them, and even if anyone did manage to come in
through my wife's room without the electrician seeing
them, how the devil could they get out again leaving the
door locked and bolted on the inside?"
Mr. Petherick looked at me and said: "Well, Miss Mar-pie?" in an encouraging manner.
"I should like," I said, "to ask a question. Mr. Rhodes, what did the chambermaid look like?"
He said he wasn't sure--she was tallish, he thought--he didn't remember if she was fair or dark. I turned to Mr.
Petherick and asked him the same question.


MISS MARPLE TELLS A STORY 	229

He said she was of medium height, had fairish hair and

blue eyes and rather a high color.
Mr. Rhodes said: "You are a better observer than I am, Petherick."
I ventured to disagree. I then asked Mr. Rhodes if he could describe the maid in my house. Neither he nor Mr.
Petherick could do so.
"Don't you see what that means?" I said. "You both came here full of your own affairs and the person who let you in
was only a parlourmaid. The same applies to Mr. Rhodes at
the Hotel. He saw only a chambermaid. He saw her uniform
and her apron. He was engrossed by his work. But Mr. Peth-erick
has interviewed the same woman in a different capacity.
He has looked at her as a person.
"That's what thc woman who did the murder counted upon."
As they still didn't see, I had to explain.
"I think," I said, "that this is how it went. The chambermaid came in by door A, passed through Mr. Rhodes' room
into Mrs. Rhodes' room with the hot water bottle and went
out through the hallway into passage B. X--as I will call our
murderesscame in by door B into the little hallway, concealed
herself in--well, in a certain apartment, ahem--and
waited until the chambermaid had passed out. Then she entered
Mrs. Rhodes' room, took the stiletto from the dress-lng-table--(she
had doubtless explored the room earlier in
the day) went up to the bed, stabbed the dozing woman,
wiped the handle of the stiletto, locked and bolted the door
by which she had entered, and then passed out through the
room where Mr. Rhodes was working."
Mr. Rhodes cried out: "But I should have seen her. The electrician would have seen her go in."
"No," I said. "That's where you're wrong. You wouldn't see her--not if she were dressed as a chambermaid." I let it sink


	230 	MISS MARPLE

in, then I went on, "You were engrossed in your work---out of the tail of your eye you saw a chambermaid come in, go
into your wife's room, come back and go out. It was the
same dress--but not the same woman. That's what the people
having coffee saw--a chambermaid go in and a chambermaid
come out. The electrician did the same. I daresay if a
chambermaid were very pretty a gentleman might notice her
face--human nature being what it is--but if she were just an
ordinary middle-aged woman--well--it would be the cham-
bermaid's dress you would see--not the woman herself." Mr. Rhodes cried: "Who was she?"
"Well," I said, "that is going to be a little difficult. It must be either Mrs. Granby or Miss Carruthers. Mrs. Granb„
sounds as though she might wear a wig normally--so she
could wear her own hair as a chambermaid. On the other
hand, Miss Carruthers with her close-cropped mannish head
might easily put on a wig to play her part. I daresay you will
find out easily enough which of them it is. Personally, I incline
myself to think it will be Miss Carruthers."
And really, my dears, that is the end of the story. Car-ruthers was a false name, but she was the woman all right.
There was insanity in her family. Mrs. Rhodes, who was a
most reckless and dangerous driver, had run over her little
girl, and it had driven the poor woman off her head. She
concealed her madness very cunningly except for writing
distinctly insane letters to her intended victim. She had been
following her about for some time, and she laid her plans
very cleverly. The false hair and maid's dress she posted in a
parcel first thing the next morning. When taxed with the
truth she broke down and confessed at once. The poor thing
is in Broadmoor now. Completely unbalanced, of course, but
a very cleverly planned crime.
Mr. Petherick came to me afterwards and brought me a very nice letter from Mr. Rhodes--really, it made me blush.


MISS MARPLE TELLS A STORY 	23i

Then my old friend said to me: "Just one thing--why did

you think it was more likely to be Carruthers than Granby?

You'd never seen either of them."
"Well," I said. "It was the g's. You said she dropped her g's. Now, that's done a lot by hunting people in books, but
I don't know many people who do it in reality--and certainly
no one under sixty. You said this woman was forty.
Those dropped g's sounded to me like a woman who was
playing a part and overdoing it."
I shan't tell you what Mr. Petherick said to that but he was very complimentary--and I really couldn't help feeling
just a teeny weeny bit pleased with myself.
And it's extraordinary how things turn out for the best in this world. Mr. Rhodes has married again--such a nice, sensible
girl--and they've got a dear little baby and--what do
you think?--they asked me to be godmother. Wasn't it nice
of them?
Now I do hope you don't think I've been running on too long ....


THREE

BLIND

MICE


Strange Jes, t

A
d this," said Jane Helier, completing her introductions, "is Miss Marple!"
Being an actress, she was able to make her point.
It was clearly the climax, the triumphant finale! Her tone
was equally compounded of reverent awe and triumph.
The odd part of it was that the object thus proudly proclaimed was merely a gentle elderly spinster. In the eyes of
the two young people who had just, by Jane's good offices,
made her acquaintance, there showed incredulity and a tinge
of dismay. They were nice-looking people--the girl, Char-mian
Stroud, slim and dark; the man, Edward Rossiter, a
fair-haired, amiable young giant.
Charmian said, a little breathlessly, "Oh, we're awfully pleased to meet you." But there was doubt in her eyes. She
flung a quick, questioning glance at Jane Helier.
"Darling," said Jane, answering the glance, "she's absolutely marvellous. Leave it to her. I told you I'd get her here
and I have." She added to Miss Marple: "You'll fix it for
them, I know. It will be easy for you."
Miss Marple turned her placid, china-blue eyes toward Mr. Rossiter. "Won't you tell me," she said, "what all this is
about?"

=35


	236 	MISS MARPLE

"Jane's a friend of ours," Charmian broke in impatiently. "Edward and I are in rather a fix. Jane said if we would COme
to her party, she'd introduce us to someone who was--who
would--who could "
Edward came to the rescue. "Jane tells us you're the last word in sleuths, Miss Marple!"
The old lady's eyes twinkled, but she protested modestly: "Oh no, no! Nothing of the kind. It's just that living in a
village as I do, one gets to know so much about human nature.
But really you have made me quite curious. Do tell me
your problem."
"I'm afraid it's terribly hackneyed---just buried treasure," said Edward.
"Indeed? But that sounds most exciting!"
"I know. Like Treasure Island. But our problem lacks the usual romantic touches. No point on a chart indicated by a
skull and crossbones, no directions like 'four paces to the
left, west by north.' It's horribly prosaic--just where we
ought to dig."
"Have you tried at all?"
"I should say we'd dug about two solid acres! The whole place is ready to be turned into a market garden. We're just
discussing whether to grow vegetable marrows or potatoes."
Charmian said, rather abruptly, "May we really tell .you all about it?"
"But, of course, my dear."
"Then let's find a peaceful spot. Come on, Edward." She led the way out of the overcrowded and smoke-laden room,
and they went up the stairs, to a small sitting-room on the
second floor.
When they were seated, Charmian began abruptly: "Well, here goes! The story starts with Uncle Mathew, uncle--or
rather, great-great-uncle--to both of us. He was incredibly
ancient. Edward and I were his only relations. He was fond



	STRANGE JEST
	237

of us and always declared that when he died he would leave his money between us. Well, he died last March and left
everything he had to be divided equally between Edward and
myself. What I've just said sounds rather callous--I don't
mean that it was right that he died--actually we were very
fond of him. But he'd been ill for some time.
"The point is that the 'everything' he left turned out to be practically nothing at all. And that, frankly, was a bit of a
blow to us both, wasn't it, Edward?"
The amiable Edward agreed. "You see," he said, "we'd counted on it a bit. I mean, when you know a good bit of
money is coming to you, you don't--well-buckle down
and try to make it yourself. I'm in the Army--not got anything
to speak of outside my pay--and Charmian herself
hasn't got a bean. She works as a stage manager in a repertory
theaterquite interesting and she enjoys it--but no
money in it. We'd counted on getting married but weren't
worried about the money side of it because we both knew
we'd be jolly well off some day."
"And now, you see, we're not!" said Charmian. "What's more, Ansteys--that's the family place, and Edward and I
both love it--will probably have to be sold. And Edward and
I feel we just can't bear that! But if we don't find Uncle
Mathew's money, we shall have to sell."
Edward said, "You know, Charmian, we still haven't come to the vital point."
"Well, you talk then."
Edward turned to Miss Marple. "It's like this, you see. As Uncle Mathew grew older, he got more and more suspicious.
He didn't trust anybody."
"Very wise of him," said Miss Marple. "The depravity of human nature is unbelievable."
"Well, you may be right. Anyway, Uncle Mathew thought so. He had a friend who lost his money in a bank


	238 	MISS MA R PLE

and another friend who was ruined by an absconding solicitor, and he lost some money himself in a fraudulent company.
He got so that he used to hold forth at great length
that the only safe and sane thing to do was to convert your
money into solid bullion and bury it."
"Ah," said Miss Marple. "I begin to see."
"Yes. Friends argued with him, pointed out that he'd get no interest that way, but he held that that didn't really matter.
The bulk of your money, he said, should be 'kept in a
box under the bed or buried in the garden.' Those were his
words."
Charmian went on: "And when he died, he left hardly anything at all in securities, though he was very rich. So we
think that that's what he must have done."
Edward explained: "We found that he had sold securities and drawn out large sums of money from time to time, and
nobody knows what he did with them. But it seems probable
that he lived up to his principles and that he did buy
gold and bury it."
"He didn't say anything before he died? Leave any paper? No letter?"
"That's the maddening part of it. He didn't. He'd been unconscious for some days, but he rallied before he died. He
looked at us both and chuckled--a faint, weak little chuckle.
He said, 'You'll be all right, my pretty pair of doves.' And
then he tapped his eye--his right eye--and winked at us.
And then--he died .... Poor old Uncle Mathew."
"He tapped his eye," said Miss Marple thoughtfully. Edward said eagerly, "Does that convey anything to you?
It made me think of an Ars?:ne Lupin story where there was
something hidden in a man's glass eye. But Uncle Mathew
didn't have a glass eye."
Miss Marple shook her head. "NoI can't think of anything at the moment."


STRANGE JEST 239

Charmian said, disappointedly, "Jane told us you'd say at once where to dig!"
Miss Marple smiled. "I'm not quite a conjurer, you know. I didn't know your uncle, or what sort of man he was, and I
don't know the house or the grounds."
Charmian said, "If you did know them?"
"Well, it must be quite simple really, mustn't it?" said Miss Marple.
"Simple!" said Charmian. "You come down to Ansteys and see if it's simple!"
It is possible that she did not mean the invitation to be taken seriously, but Miss Marple said briskly, "Well, really,
my dear, that's very kind of you. I've always wanted to have
the chance of looking for buried treasure. And," she added,
looking at them with a beaming, late-Victorian smile, "with
a love interest too!"

"You see!" said Charmian, gesturing dramatically.
They had just completed a grand tour of Ansteys. They had been round the kitchen garden--heavily trenched.
They had been through the little woods, where every important
tree had been dug round, and had gazed sadly on
the pitted surface of the once smooth lawn. They had been
up to the attic, where old trunks and chests had been rifled
of their contents. They had been down t6 the cellars,
where flagstones had been heaved unwillingly from their
sockets. They had measured and tapped walls, and Miss
Marple had been shown every antique piece of furniture
that contained or could be suspected of containing a secret
drawer.
On a table in the morning room there was a heap of papers--all the papers that the late Mathew Stroud had left.
Not one had been destroyed, and Charmian and Edward
were wont to return to them again and again, earnestly


24o 	MISS M^RPLE

perusing bills, invitations, and business correspondence in the hope of spotting a hitherto unnoticed clue.
"Can you think of anywhere we haven't looked?" demanded Charmian hopefully.
Miss Marple shook her head. "You seem to have been very thorough, my dear. Perhaps, if I may say so, just a little too
thorough. I always think, you know, that one should have a
plan. It's like my friend, Mrs. Eldritch; she had such a nice
little maid, polished linoleum beautifully, but she was so
thorough that she polished the bathroom floors too much,
and as Mrs. Eldritch was stepping out of the bath the cork
mat slipped from under her and she had a very nasty fall and
actually broke her leg! Most awkward, because the bathroom
door was locked, of course, and the gardener had to get a
ladder and come in through the window--terribly distressing
to Mrs. Eldritch, who had always been a very modest
woman."
Edward moved restlessly.
Miss Marple said quickly, "Please forgive me. So apt, I know, to fly off at a tangent. But one thing does remind one
of another. And sometimes that is helpful. All I was trying
to say was that perhaps if we tried to sharpen our wits and
think of a likely place--"
Edward said crossly, "You think of one, Miss Marple. Charmian's brains and mine are now only beautiful blanks!"
"Dear, dear. Of course--most tiring for you. If you don't mind I'll just look through all this." She indicated the
papers on the table. "That is, if there's nothing private--I
don't want to appear to pry."
"Oh, that's all right. But I'm afraid you won't find anything."
She sat down by the table and methodically worked through the sheaf of documents. As she replaced each one,
she sorted them automatically into tidy little heaps. When


STRANGE JEST 24
she had finished she sat staring in front of her for some min-
utcs.
Edward asked, not without a touch of malice, "Well, Miss Marple?"
She came to herself with a little start. "I beg your pardon. Most helpful."
"You've found something relevant?"
"Oh no, nothing like that, but I do believe I know what sort of man your Uncle Mathew was. Rather like my own
Uncle Henry, I think. Fond of rather obvious jokes. A bachelor,
evidently--I wonder why--perhaps an early disappointment?
Methodical up to a point, but not very fond of being
tied up--so few bachelors are!"
Behind Miss Marple's back Charmian made a sign to Edward. It said, "She's ga-ga."
Miss Marple was continuing happily to talk of her deceased Uncle Henry. "Very fond of puns, he was. And to
some people puns are most annoying. A mere play upon
words may be very irritating. He was a suspicious man
too. Always was convinced the servants were robbing him.
And sometimes, of course, they were, but not always. It
grew upon him, poor man. Toward the end he suspected
them of tampering with his food and finally refused to eat
anything but boiled eggs! Dear Uncle Henry, he used to
be such a merry soul at one time--very fond of his coffee
after dinner. He always used to say, 'This coffee is very
Moorish,' meaning, you know, that he'd like a little
more."
Edward felt that if he heard any more about Uncle Henry he'd go mad.
"Fond of young people, too," went on Miss Marple, "but inclined to tease them a little, if you know what I mean.
Used to put bags of sweets where a child just couldn't reach
them."


	242 	MISS MA R PL E

Casting politeness aside, Charmian said, "I think he sounds horrible!"
"Oh no, dear, just an old bachelor, you know, and not used to children. And he wasn't at all stupid, really. He used
to keep a good deal of money in the house, and he had a safe
put in. Made a great fuss about it--and how very secure it
was. As a result of his talking so much, burglars broke in one
night and actually cut a hole in the safe with a chemical device."
"Served him right," said Edward.
"Oh, but there was nothing in the safe," said Miss Marple. "You see, he really kept the money somewhere else--behind
some volumes of sermons in the library, as a matter of fact.
He said people never took a book of that kind out of the
shelfi"
Edward interrupted excitedly, "I say, that's an idea. What about the library?"
But Charmian shook a scornful head. "Do you think I hadn't thought of that? I went through all the books Tuesday
of last weekl when you went off to Portsmouth. Took
them all out, shook them. Nothing there."
Edward sighed. Then, rousing himself, he endeavoured to rid himself tactfully of their disappointing guest. "It's been
awfully good of you to come down as you have and try to
help us. Sorry it's been all a washout. Feel we trespassed a lot
on your time. However, I'll get the car out and you'll be able
to catch the three-thirty--"
"Oh," said Miss Marple, "but we've got to find the money, haven't we? You mustn't give up, Mr. Rossiter. 'If at
first you don't succeed, try, try, try again.'"
"You mean you're going to go--on trying?"
"Strictly speaking," said Miss Marple, "I haven't begun yet. 'First catch your hare,' as Mrs. Beeton says in her cookery
book--a wonderful book but terribly expensive; most of


STRANGE JEST 243
the recipes begin, 'Take a quart of cream and a dozen eggs.' Let me see, where was I? Oh yes. Well, we have, so to speak,
caught our hare--the hare being, of course, your Uncle
Mathew, and we've only got to decide now where he would
have hidden the money. It ought to be quite simple." "Simple?" demanded Charmian.
"Oh yes, dear. I'm sure he would have done the obvious thing. A secret drawer--that's my solution."
Edward said dryly, "You couldn't put bars of gold in a secret drawer."
"No, no, of course not. But there's no reason to believe the money is in gold."
"He always used to say--"
"So did my Uncle Henry about his safe! So I should strongly suspect that that was just a simple blind. Diamonds,
now they could be in a secret drawer quite easily."
"But we've looked in all the secret drawers. We had a cabinetmaker over to examine the furniture."
"Did you, dear? That was clever of you. I should suggest your uncle's own desk would be the most likely. Was it the
tall escritoire against the wall there?"
"Yes. And I'll show you." Charmian went over to it. She took down the flap. Inside were pigeonholes and little drawers.
She opened a small door in the center and touched a
spring inside the left-hand drawer. The bottom of the center
recess clicked and slid forward. Charmian drew it out, revealing
a shallow well beneath. It was empty.
"Now isn't that a coincidence," exclaimed Miss Marple. "Uncle Henry had a desk just like this one, only his was burr
walnut and this is mahogany."
"At any rate," said Charmian, "there's nothing there, as
yOU can see."
"I expect," said Miss Marple, "your cabinetmaker was a young man. He didn't know everything. People were very


	244 	MISS MARPLE

artful when they made hiding places in those days. There's such a thing as a secret inside a secret."
She extracted a hairpin from her neat bun of grey hair. Straightening it out, she stuck the point into what appeared
to be a tiny wormhole in one side of the secret recess. With a
little difficulty she pulled out a small drawer. In it was a
bundle of faded letters and a folded paper.
Edward and Charmian pounced on the find together. With trembling fingers Edward unfolded the paper. He
dropped it with an exclamation of disgust.
"A cookery recipe. Baked ham!"
Charmian was untying a ribbon that held the letters together. She drew one out and glanced at it. "Love letters!"
Miss Marple reacted with Victorian gusto. "How interesting! Perhaps the reason your uncle never married."
Charmian read aloud:

"My ever dear Mathew, I must confess that the time seems long indeed since I received your last letter. I try to
occupy myself with the various tasks allotted to me, and
often say to myself that I am indeed fortunate to see ao
much of the globe, though little did I think when I went
to America that I should voyage off to these far islands!"

Charmian broke off. "Where is it from? Oh, Hawaii!" She went on:

"Alas, these natives are still far from seeing the light. They are in an unclothed and savage state and spend most
of their time swimming and dancing, adorning themselves
with garlands of flowers. Mr. Gray has made some co-verts
but it is up-hill work and he and Mrs. Gray get sadly
discouraged. I try to do all I can to cheer and encourage
him, but I, too, am often sad for a reason you can guess,


	STRANGE JEST 	245

dear Mathew. Alas, absence is a severe trial to a loving heart. Your renewed vows and protestations of affection
cheered me greatly. Now and always you have my faithful
and devoted heart, dear Mathew, and I remain--
Your true love,
Betty Martin "P.S.--I address my letter under cover to our mutual
friend, Matilda Graves, as usual. I hope Heaven will pardon
this little subterfuge."

Edward whistled. "A female missionary! So that was Uncle Mathew's romance. I wonder why they never married?"
"She seems to have gone all over the world," said Char-mian, looking through the letters. "Mauritius--all sorts of
places. Probably died of yellow fever or something."
A gentle chuckle made them start. Miss Marple was apparently much amused. "Well, well," she said. "Fancy that,
now!"
She was reading the recipe for baked ham. Seeing their inquiring glances, she read out: "'Baked Ham with Spinach.
Take a nice piece of gammon, stuff with cloves and cover
with brown sugar. Bake in a slow oven. Serve with a border
of pur&d spinach.'
"What do you think of that now?"
"I think it sounds filthy," said Edward.
"No, no, actually it would be very good--but what do you think of the whole thing?"
A sudden ray of light illuminated Edward's face. "Do you think it's a code-cryptogram of some kind?" He seized it.
"Look here, Charmian, it might be, you know! No reason to put a cooking recipe in a secret drawer otherwise."
"Exactly," said Miss Marple. "Very, very significant."
Charmian said, "I know what it might be--invisible ink! Let's heat it. Turn on the electric fire."


	246 	MISS MARPLE

Edward did so. But no signs of writing appeared under the treatment.
Miss Marple coughed. "I really think, you know, that you're making it rather too difficult. The recipe is only an
indication, so to speak. It is, I think, the letters that are significant.''
"The letters?"
"Especially," said Miss Maple, "the signature."
But Edward hardly heard her. He called excitedly, "Char-mian! Come here! She's right. See--the envelopes are old
right enough, but the letters themselves were written much
later."
"Exactly," said Miss Marple.
"They're only fake old. I bet anything old Uncle Mat faked them himself"
"Precisely," said Miss Marple.
"The whole thing's a sell. There never was a female missionary. It must be a code."
"My dear, dear children--there's really no need to make it all so difficult. Your uncle was really a very simple man. He had to have his little joke, that was all."
For the first time they gave her their full attention. ".Just exactly what do you mean, Miss Marple?" asked Charmian.
"I mean, dear, that you're actually holding the money in your hand this minute."
Charmian stared down.
"The signature, dear. That gives the whole thing away. The recipe is just an indication. Shorn of all the cloves and
brown sugar and the rest of it, what is it actually? Why,
gammon and spinach to be sure! Gammon and spinach!
Meaning--nonsense! So it's clear that it's the letters that are
important. And then, if you take into consideration what
your uncle did just before he died. He tapped his eye, you
said. Well, there you are--that gives you the clue, you see/'


	STRANGE JEST 	247

	Charmian said, "Are we mad, or are you?"
"Surely, my dear, you must have heard the expression meaning that something is not a true picture, or has it quite
died out nowadays: 'All my eye and Betty Martin.'"
Edward gasped, his eyes falling to the letter in his hand. "Betty Martin--"
"Of course, Mr. Rossiter. As you have just said, there isn't--there wasn't any such person. The letters were written
by your uncle, and I dare say he got a lot of fun out of writing
them! As you say, the writing on the envelopes is much
older--in fact, the envelopes couldn't belong to the letters
anyway, because the postmark of the one you are holding is
eighteen fifty-one."
She paused. She made it very emphatic: "Eighteen fifty-
one. And that explains everything, doesn't it?"
"Not to me," said Edward.
"Well, of course," said Miss Marple. "I dare say it wouldn't to me if it weren't for my great-nephew Lionel.
Such a dear little boy and a passionate stamp collector.
Knows all about stamps. It was he who told me about rare
and expensive stamps and that a wonderful new find had
come up (or auction. And I actually remember his mentioning
one stamp --an 1851 blue 2 cent. It realized something
like $25,000, I believe. Fancy! I should imagine that the
other stamps are something also rare and expensive. No
doubt your uncle bought through dealers and was careful to
'cover his tracks,' as they say in detective stories."
Edward groaned. He sat down and buried his face in his hands.
"What's the matter?" demanded Charmian.
"Nothing. It's only the awful thought that, but for Miss Marple, we might have burned these letters in a decent, gentlemanly
way!"
"Ah," said Miss Marple, "that's just what these old gentle-


	248 	MISS MARPLE

men who are fond of their joke never realize. My Uncle Henry, I remember, sent a favourite niece a five-pound note
for a Christmas present. He put it inside a Christmas card,
gummed the card together, and wrote on it: 'Love and best
wishes. Afraid this is all I can manage this year.'
"She, poor girl, was annoyed at what she thought was his meanness and threw it all straight into the fire. So then, of
course, he had to give her another."
Edward's feelings toward Uncle Henry had suffered an abrupt and complete change.
"Miss Marplc," he said, "I'm going to get a bottle of champagne. We'll all drink the health of your Uncle
Henry."


The Case of
the Perfect Maid

O
, if you please, madam, could I speak to you a moment?''
It might be thought that ths request was in the nature of an absurdity, since Edna, Miss Marple's little maid,
was actually speaking to her mistress at the moment.
Recognizing the idiom, however, Miss Marple said promptly, "Certainly, Edna. Come in and shut the door.
What is it?"
Obediently shutting the door, Edna advanced into the room, pleated the corner of her apron between her fingers,
and swallowed once or twice.
"Yes, Edna?" said Miss Marple encouragingly.
"Oh, please, ma'am, it's my cousin Gladdie. You see, she's lost her place."
"Dear me, I am sorry to hear that. She was at Old Hall, wasn't she, with the Miss--Misses--Skinner?"
"Yes, ma'am, that's right, ma'am. And Gladdie's very upset about it--very upset indeed."
"Gladys has changed places rather often before, though, hasn't she?"

Note: This story has also been published under the title "The Perfect Maid."

249


	250 	MISS M A R PLE

"Oh yes, ma'am. She's always one for a change, Gladdie is. She never seems to get really settled, if you know what I
mean. But she's always been the one to give the notice, you
see!"
"And this time it's the other way round?" asked Miss Marple dryly.
"Yes, ma'am, and it's upset Gladdie something awful." Miss Marple looked slightly surprised. Her recollection of
Gladys, who had occasionally come to drink tea in the
kitchen on her "days out," was a stout, giggling girl of unshakably
equable temperament.
Edna went on: "You see, ma'am, it's the way it hap-pened--the way Miss Skinner looked."
"How," inquired Miss Marple patiently, "did Miss Skinner look?"
This time Edna got well away with her news bulletin. "Oh, ma'am, it was ever such a shock to Gladdie. You see,
one of Miss Emily's brooches was missing, and such a hue
and cry for it as never was, and of course, nobody likes a
thing like that to happen; it's upsetting, ma'am. If you know
what I mean. And Gladdie's helped search everywhere, and
there was Miss Lavinia saying she was going to the police
about it, and then it turned up again, pushed right to thc
back of a drawer in the dressing-table, and very thankful
Gladdie was.
"And the very next day as ever was a plate got broken, and Miss Lavinia, she bounced out right away and told Gladdie
to take a month's notice. And what Gladdie feels is it
couldn't have been the plate and that Miss Lavinia was just
making an excuse of that, and that it must be because of thc
brooch and they think as she took it and put it back when
the police was mentioned, and Gladdie wouldn't do such a
thing, not never she wouldn't, and what she feels is as it will
get round and tell against her, and it's a very serious thing
for a girl as you know, ma'am."


	THE CASE OF THE PERFECT MAID 	25I
	Miss Marple nodded. Though having no particular liking
	for the bouncing, self-opinioned Gladys, she was quite sure

	of the girl's intrinsic honesty and could well imagine that

	the affair must have upset her.

	Edna said wistfully, "I suppose, ma'am, there isn't any
	thing
you could do about it?"

	"Tell her not to be silly," said Miss Marple crisply. "If she

	didn't take the brooch--which I'm sure she didn't--then she

	has no cause to be upset."

	"It'll get about," said Edna dismally.

	Miss Marple said, "I--er--am going up that way this af
	ternoon.
I'll have word with the Misses Skinner."

	"Oh, thank you, madam," said Edna.

Old Hall was a big Victorian house surrounded by woods and park land. Since it had been proved unlettable and unsalable
as it was, an enterprising speculator had divided it
into four flats with a central hot-water system, and the use of
"the grounds" to be held in common by the tenants. The
experiment had been satisfactory. A rich and eccentric old
lady and her maid occupied one flat. The old lady had a passion
for birds and entertained a feathered gathering to meals
every day. A retired Indian judge and his wife rented a second.
A very young couple, recently married, occupied the
third, and the fourth had been taken only two months ago
by two maiden ladies of the name of Skinner. The four sets
of tenants were only on the most distant terms with each
other, since none of them had anything in common. The
landlord had been heard to say that this was an excellent
thing. What he dreaded were friendships followed by estrangements
and subsequent complaints to him.
Miss Marple was acquainted with all the tenants, though she knew none of them well. The elder Miss Skinner, Miss
was what might be termed the working member of !the firm. Miss Emily, the younger, spent most of her time in


	252 	MISS MA RPLE

bed, suffering from various complaints which, in the opinion of St. Mary Mead, were largely imaginary. Only Miss Lavinia
believed devoutly in her sister's martyrdom and patience
under affliction and willingly ran errands and trotted up and
down to the village for things that "my sister had suddenly
fancied."
It was the view of St. Mary Mead that if Miss Emily suffered half as much as she said she did, she would have sent
for Dr. Haydock long ago. But Miss Emily, when this was
hinted to her, shut her eyes in a superior way and murmured
that her case was not a simple one--the best specialists in
London had been baffled by it--and that a wonderful new
man had put her on a most revolutionary course of treatment
and that she really hoped her health would improve
under it. No humdrum G.P. could possibly understand her
case.
"And it's my opinion," said the outspoken Miss Hartnell, "that she's very wise not to send for him. Dear Dr. Haydock,
in that breezy manner of his, would tell her that there was
nothing the matter with her and to get up and not make a
fuss! Do her a lot of good!"
Failing such arbitrary treatment, however, Miss Emily continued to lie on sofas, to surround herself with s, trange
little pillboxes, and to reject nearly everything that had been
cooked for her and ask for something else--usually something
difficult and inconvenient to get.

The door was opened to Miss Marple by "Gladdie," looking more depressed than Miss Marple had ever thought
possible. In the sitting-room (a quarter of the late drawing-room,
which had been partitioned into a dining-room,
drawing-room, bathroom, and housemaid's cupboard), Miss
Lavinia rose to greet Miss Marple.
Lavinia Skinner was a tall, gaunt, bony female of fifty. She had a gruff voice and an abrupt manner.


THE CASE OF THE PERFECT MAID 253

"Nice to see you," she said. "Emily's lying down--feeling low today, poor dear. Hope she'll see you--it would cheer
her up--but there are times when she doesn't feel up to seeing
anybody. Poor dear, she's wonderfully patient."
Miss Marple responded politely. Servants were the main topic of conversation in St. Mary Mead, so it was not difficult
to lead the conversation in that direction. Miss Marple
said she had heard that that nice girl, Gladys Holmes, was
leaving.
Miss Lavinia nodded.
"Wednesday week. Broke things, you know. Can't have that."
Miss Marple sighed and said we all had to put up with things nowadays. It was so difficult to get girls to come to
the country. Did Miss Skinner really think it was wise to
part with Gladys?
"Know it's difficult to get servants," admitted Miss La-vinia. "The Devereuxs haven't got anybody--but then I
don't wonder--always quarrelling, jazz on all night--meals
any time--that girl knows nothing of housekeeping. I pity
her husband! Then the Larkins have just lost their maid. Of
course, what with the judge's temper and his wanting Chota
Hazri, as he calls it, at six in the morning, and Mrs. Larkin
always fussing, I don't wonder at that, either. Mrs. Carmi-chael's
Janet is a fixture, of course--though in my opinion
S '
he s the most disagreeable woman and absolutely bullies the
old lady."
"Then don't you think you might reconsider your decision about Gladys. She really is a nice girl. I know all her
family; very honest and superior."
Miss Lavinia shook her head.
"I've got my reasons," she said importantly.
Miss Marple murmured: "You missed a brooch, I under-

"Now who has been talking? I suppose the girl has. Quite


	254 	MISS MARPLE

frankly, I'm almost certain she took it. And then got frightened and put it back but of course one can't say anything
unless one is sure." She changed the subject. "Do come and
see Miss Emily, Miss Marple. I'm sure it would do her
good."
Miss Marple followed meekly to where Miss Lavinia knocked on a door, was bidden enter, and ushered her guest
into the best room in the flat, most of the light of which was
excluded by half-drawn blinds. Miss Emily was lying in bed,
apparently enjoying the half gloom and her own indefinite
sufferings.
The dim light showed her to be a thin, indecisive-looking creature, with a good deal of greyish yellow hair untidily
wound around her head and erupting into curls, the whole
thing looking like a bird's nest of which no self-respecting
bird could be proud. There was a smell in the room of eau de
cologne, stale biscuits, and camphor.
With half-closed eyes and in a thin, weak voice, Emily Skinner explained that this was "one of her bad days."
"The worst of ill-health is," said Miss Emily in a melancholy tone, "that one knows what a burden one is to everyone
around one.
"Lavinia is very good to me. Lavvie dear, I do so hate giving trouble, but if my hot water bottle could only be filled in
the way I like it--too full it weighs on me so; on the other
hand, if it is not sufficiently filled, it gets cold immediately!"
"I'm sorry, dear. Give it to me. I will empty a little out."
"Perhaps, if you're doing that, it might be refilled. There
are no rusks in the house, I suppose--no, no, it doesn't matter.
I can do without. Some weak tea and a slice of lemon--no
lemons? No, really, I couldn't drink tea without lemon. I
think the milk was slightly turned this morning. It has put
me right against milk in my tea. It doesn't matter. I can do
without my tea. Only I do feel so weak. Oysters, they say, are


	THE CASE OF THE PERFECT MAID 	255

nourishing. I wonder if I could fancy a few. No, no, too much bother to get hold of them so late in the day. I can fast
until tomorrow."
Lavinia left the room murmuring something incoherent about bicycling down to the village.
Miss Emily smiled feebly at her guest and remarked that she did hate giving anyone any trouble.

Miss Marple told Edna that evening that she was afraid her mission had met with no success.
She was rather troubled to find that rumours as to Gladys's dishonesty were already going around the village.
In the post office Miss Wcthcrby tackled her: "My dear Jane, they gave her a written reference saying she was willing
and sober and respectable, but saying nothing about honesty.
That seems to me most significant! I hear there was
some trouble about a brooch. I think there must be something
in it, you know, because one doesn't let a servant go
nowadays unless it's something rather grave. They'll find it
most difficult to get anyone else. Girls simply will not go to
Old Hall. They're nervous coming home on their days out.
You'll see, the Skinners won't find anyone else, and then
perhaps that dreadful hypochondriac sister will have to get
up and do something!"
Great was the chagrin of the village when it was made known that the Misses Skinner had engaged, from an
agency, a new maid who, by all accounts, was a perfect paragon.
"A three years' reference recommending her most warmly, she prefers the country and actually asks less wages than
Gladys. I really feel we have been most fortunate."
"Well, really," said Miss Marple, to whom these details were imparted by Miss Lavinia in the fishmonger's shop. "It
does seem too good to be true."


	256 	MISS MARPLE

It then became the opinion of St. Mary Mead that the paragon would cry off at the last minute and fail to arrive.
None of the prognostications came true, however, and the village was able to observe the domestic treasure, by name,
Mary Higgins, driving through the village in Reed's taxi to
Old Hall. It had to be admitted that her appearance was
good. A most respectable-looking woman, very neatly
dressed.
When Miss Marple next visited Old Hall, on the occasion of recruiting stall holders for the Vicarage Fete, Mary Hig-gins
opened the door. She was certainly a most superior-looking
maid, at a guess forty years of age, with neat black
hair, rosy cheeks, a plump figure discreetly arrayed in black
with a white apron and cap--"quite the good, old-fashioned
type of servant," as Miss Marple explained afterward, and
with the proper, inaudible, respectful voice, so different from
the loud but adenoidal accents of Gladys.
Miss Lavinia was looking far less harassed than usual and, although she regretted that she could not take a stall, owing
to her preoccupation with her sister, she nevertheless tendered
a handsome monetary contribution and promised to
produce a consignment of penwipcrs and babies' socks. Miss Marple commented on her air of well-being.
"I really feel I owe a great deal to Mary. I am so thankful I had the resolution to get rid of that other girl. Mary is really'
invaluable. Cooks nicely and waits beautifully and keeps our
little flat scrupulously clean--mattresses turned over every
day. And she is really wonderful with Emily!"
Miss Marple hastily inquired after Emily.
"Oh, poor dear, she has been very much under thc weather lately. She can't help it, of course, but it really
makes things a little difficult sometimes. Wanting certain
things cooked and then, when they come, saying she can't
eat now--and then wanting them again half an hour later


THE CASE OF THE PERFECT MAID 	257

and everything spoiled and having to be done again. It

makes, of course, a lot of work--but fortunately Mary does

not seem to mind at all. She's used to waiting on invalids,
she says, and understands them. It is such a comfort." "Dear me," said Miss Marplc. "You are fortunate."
"Yes, indeed. I really feel Mary has been sent to us as an answer to prayer."
"She sounds to me," said Miss Marple, "almost too good to be true. I should--well, I should be a little careful if I
were you."
Lavinia Skinner failed to perceive the point of this remark. She said, "Oh, I assure you I do all I can to make her comfortable.
I don't know what I should do if she left."
"I don't expect she'll leave until she's ready to leave," said Miss Marple and stared very hard at her hostess.
Miss Lavinia said, "If one has no domestic worries, it takes such a load off one's mind, doesn't it? How is your little
Edna shaping?"
"She's doing quite nicely. Not like your Mary. Still I do know all about Edna, because she's a village girl."
As she went out into the hall she heard the invalid's voice fretfully raised: "This compress has been allowed to get quite
dry--Dr. Allerton particularly said moisture continually renewed.
There, there, leave it. I want a cup of tea and a boiled
egg--boiled only three minutes and a half, remember, and
send Miss Lavinia to me."
The efficient Mary emerged from the bedroom and, saying to Lavinia, "Miss Emily is asking for you, madam," proceeded
to open the door for Miss Marple, helping her into
her coat and handing her her umbrella in the most irreproachable
fashion.
Miss Marple took the umbrella, dropped it, tried to pick it up, and dropped her bag which flew open. Mary politely retrieved
various odds and ends--a handkerchief, an engage-


	258 	MISS MA RPLE

ment book, an old-fashioned leather purse, two shillings, three pennies, and a striped piece of peppermint rock.
Miss Marple received the last with some signs of confusion.
"Oh dear, that must have been Mrs. Clement's little boy. He was sucking it, I remember, and he took my bag to play
with. He must have put it inside. It's terribly sticky, isn't
it?"
"Shall I take it, madam?"
"Oh, would you? Thank you so much."
Mary stooped to retrieve the last item, a small mirror, upon recovering which Miss Marple exclaimed fervently,
"How lucky now that that isn't broken."
She thereupon departed, Mary standing politely by the door holding a piece of striped rock with a completely expressionless
rice.

For ten days longer St. Mary Mead had to endure hearing of the excellencies of Miss Lavinia's and Miss Emily's treasure.
On the eleventh day the village awoke to its big thrill. Mary, the paragon, was missing! Her bed had not been
slept in and the front door was found ajar. She had slipped
out quietly during the night.
And not Mary alone was missing! Two brooches and five rings of Miss Lavinia's, three rings, a pendant, a bracelet, and
four brooches of Miss Emily's were missing also!
It was the beginning of a chapter of catastrophe.
Young Mrs. Devereux had lost her diamonds which she kept in an unlocked drawer and also some valuable furs
given to her as a wedding present. The judge and his wi¢
also had had jewelry taken and a certain amount of money.
Mrs. Carmichael was the greatest sufferer. Not only had she some very valuable jewels, but she also kept a large sum of


THE CASE OF THE PERFECT MAID 	259

money in the flat which had gone. It had been Janet's eve-
ning out and her mistress was in the habit of walking round

the gardens at dusk, calling to the birds and scattering

crumbs. It seemed clear that Mary, the perfect maid, had had

keys to fit all the flats!
There was, it must be confessed, a certain amount of ill-natured pleasure in St. Mary Mead. Miss Lavinia had boasted
so much of her marvellous Mary.
"And all the time, my dear, just a common thiefl" Interesting revelation followed. Not only had Mary disappeared
into the blue, but the agency which had provided her
and vouched for her credentials was alarmed to find that the
Mary Higgins who had applied to them and whose references
they had taken up had, to all intents and purposes,
never existed. It was the name of a bona fide servant who
had lived with the bona fide sister of a dean, but the real
Mary Higgins was existing peacefully in a place in Cornwall.
"Clever, the whole thing," Inspector Slack was forced to admit. "And, if you ask me, that woman works in with a
gang. There was a case of much the same kind in Northumberland
a year ago. Stuff was never traced and they never
caught her. However, we'll do better than that in Much
Benham!"
Inspector Slack was always a confident man. Nevertheless, weeks passed and Mary Higgins remained
triumphantly at large. In vain Inspector Slack redoubled that
energy that so belied his name.
Miss Lavinia remained tearful. Miss Emily was so upset and felt so alarmed by her condition that she actually sent
for Dr. Haydock.
The whole of the village was terribly anxious to know what he thought of Miss Emily's claims to ill-health but naturally
could not ask him. Satisfactory data came to hand on
the subject, however, through Mr. Meek, the chemist's assis-


	260 	MISS MARPLE

tant, who was walking out with Clara, Mrs. Price-Ridley's maid. It was then known that Dr. Haydock had prescribed a
mixture of asafoetida and valerian which, according to Mr.
Meek, was the stock remedy for malingerers in the army!
Soon afterward it was learned that Miss Emily, not relishing the medical attention she had had, was declaring that
in the state of her health she felt it her duty to be near the
specialist in London who understood her case. It was, she
said, only fair to Lavinia.
The flat was put up for subletting.

It was a few days after that that Miss Marple, rather pink and flustered, called at the police station in Much Benham
and asked for Inspector Slack.
Inspector Slack did not like Miss Marple. But he was aware that the chief constable, Colonel Melchett, did not
share that opinion. Rather grudgingly, therefore, he received
her.
"Good afternoon, Miss Marple. What can I do for you?"
"Oh, dear," said Miss Marplc, "I'm afraid you're in a hurry."
"Lot of work on," said Inspector Slack, "but I can spare a few moments."
"Oh, dear," said Miss Marple. "I hope I shall be al?le to put what I say properly. So difficult, you know, to explain
oneself, don't you think? No, perhaps you don't. But you
see, not having been educated in the modern style--just a
governess, you know, who taught one the dates of the Kings
of England and General Knowledge--and how needles are
made and all that. Discursive, you know, but not teaching
one to keep to the point. Which is what I want to do. It's
about Miss Skinner's maid, Gladys, you know."
"Mary Higgins," said Inspector Slack.
"Oh yes, the second maid. But it's Gladys Holmes I


	THE CASE OF THE PERFECT MAID 	26I
mean--rather an impertinent girl and far too pleased with herself, but really strictly honest, and it's so important that
that should be recognized."
"No charge against her so far as I know," said the inspector.
"No, I know there isn't a charge--but that makes it worse. Because, you see, people go on thinking things. Oh,
dear--I knew I should explain badly. What I really mean is that the important thing is to find Mary Higgins."
"Certainly," said Inspector Slack. "Have you any ideas on the subject?"
"Well, as a matter of fact, I have," said Miss Marple. "May I ask you a question? Are fingerprints of no use to you?"
"Ah," said Inspector Slack, "that's where she was a bit too artful for us. Did most of her work in rubber gloves or
housemaid's gloves, it seems. And she'd been careful--wiped
off everything in her bedroom and on the sink. Couldn't
find a single fingerprint in the place!"
"If you did have her fingerprints, would it help?"
"It might, madam. They may be known at the Yard. This isn't her first job, I'd say!"
Miss Marple nodded brightly. She opened her bag and extracted a small cardboard box. Inside it, wedged in cotton
wool, was a small mirror.
"From my handbag," said Miss Marple. "The maid's prints are on it. I think they should be satisfactory--she touched an
extremely sticky substance a moment previously." Inspector Slack stared.
"Did you get her fingerprints on purpose?"
"Of course."
"You suspected her then?"
"Well, you know it did strike me that she was a little too good to be true. I practically told Miss Lavinia so. But she
simply wouldn't take the hint! I'm afraid, you know, Inspeo


	262 	MISS MARPLE

tot, that I don't believe in paragons. Most of us have our faults--and domestic service shows them up very quickly!"
"Well," said Inspector Slack, recovering his balance, "I'm obliged to you, I'm sure. We'll send these up to the Yard
and see what they have to say."
He stopped. Miss Marple had put her head a little on one side and was regarding him with a good deal of meaning.
"You wouldn't consider, I suppose, Inspector, looking a little nearer home?"
"What do you mean, Miss Marple?"
"It's very difficult to explain, but when you come across a peculiar thing you notice it. Although, often, peculiar
things may be the merest trifles. I've felt that all a]ong, you
know; I mean about Gladys and the brooch. She's an honest
girl; she didn't take that brooch. Then why did Miss Skinner
think she did? Miss Skinner's not a fool, far from it! Why
was she so anxious to let a girl go who was a good servant
when servants are hard to get? It was peculiar, you know. So
I wondered. I wondered a good deal. And I noticed another
peculiar thing! Miss Emily's a hypochondriac, but she's the
first hypochondriac who hasn't sent for some doctor or other
at once. Hypochondriacs love doctors. Miss Emily didn't!" "What are you suggesting, Miss Marple?"
"Well, I'm suggesting, you know, that Miss Lavinia and Miss Emily are peculiar people. Miss Emily spends nearly all
her time in a dark room. And if that hair of hers isn't a wig,
I--I'11 eat my own back switch! And what I say is this--it's
perfectly possible for a thin, pale, grey-haired, whining
woman to be the same as a black-haired, rosy-cheeked, plump
woman. And nobody that I can find ever saw Miss Emily and
Mary Higgins at one and the same time.
"Plenty of time to get impressions of all the keys, plenty of time to find out all about the other tenants, and then--get
rid of the local girl. Miss Emily takes a brisk walk across


TIIE CASE OF THE PERFECT MAID 263

country one night and arrives at the station as Mary Higgins next day. And then, at the right moment, Mary Higgins disappears,
and off goes the hue and cry after her. I'll tell you
where you'll find her, Inspector. On Miss Emily Skinner's
sofa! Get her fingerprints if you don't believe me, but you'll
find I'm right! A couple of clever thieves, that's what the
Skinners are--and no doubt in league with a clever post and
rails or fence or whatever you call it. But they won't get
away with it this time! I'm not going to have one of our village
girl's character for honesty taken away like that! Gladys
Holmes is as honest as the da), and everybody's going to
know it! Good afternoon?
Miss Marple had stalked out before Inspector Slack had recovered.
"Whew!" he muttered. "I wonder if she's right."
He soon found out that Miss Marple was right again. Colonel Melchett congratulated Slack on his eciency,
and Miss Marple had Gladys come to tea with Edna and
spoke to her seriously on settling down in a good situation
when she got one.


The Case of the Caretaker

W
ell," demanded Dr. Haydock of his patient, "and hOhsgsOl it today?"
	· 	arple smiled at him wanly from pil-
lows. "I suppose, really, that I'm better," she admitted, "but !
feel so terribly depressed. I can't help feeling how much better
it would have been if I had died. After all, I'm an old
woman. Nobody wants me or cares about me."
Dr. Haydock interrupted with his usual brusqueness: "Yes, yes, typical after-reaction to this type of 'flu.' What
you need is something to take you out of yourself. A mental

Miss Marple sighed and shook her head.
"And what's more," continued Dr. Haydock, "I've brought my medicine with me!"
He tossed a long envelope onto the bed.
"Just the thing for you. The kind of puzzle that is right up your street."
"A puzzle?" Miss Marple looked interested.
"Literary effort of mine," said the doctor, blushing a little. "Tried to make a regular story of it. 'He said, she said, the
girl thought, et cetera.' Facts of the story are true."

264


	THE CASE OF THE CARETAKER 	265

	"But why a puzzle?" asked Miss Marplc.
Dr. Haydock grinned. "Because the interpretation is up to you. I want to see if you're as clever as you always make
OUt."
With that Parthian shot he departed.
Miss Marple picked up the manuscript and began to read.

"And where is the bride?" asked Miss Harmon genially. The village was all agog to see the rich and beautiful
young wife that Harry Laxton had brought back from
abroad. There was a general indulgent feeling that Harry--wicked
young scapegrace--had had all the luck. Everyone
had always felt indulgent toward Harry. Even the owners of
windows that had suffered from his indiscriminate use of a
catapult had found their indignation dissipated by young
Harry's abject expression of regret. He had broken windows,
robbed orchards, poached rabbits, and later had run into
debt been disentangled and sent off to Africa--and the village,
as represented by various aging spinsters, had murmured
indulgently, "Ah well! Wild oats! He'll settle down!"
And now, sure enough, the prodigal had returned--not in aiction, but in triumph. Harry Laxton had "made good,"
as the saying goes. He had pulled himself together, worked
haM, and had finally met and successfully wooed a young
Anglo-French girl who was the possessor of a considerable
fortune.
Harry might have lived in London, or purchased an estate in some fashionable hunting county, but he preferred to
come back to the part of the world that was home to him.
And there, in the most romantic way, he purchased the
derelict estate in the Dower House of which he had passed
his childhood.
Kingsdean House had been unoccupied for nearly seventy years. It had gradually fallen into decay and abandon. An el-


	266 	MISS MARPLE

derly caretaker and his wife lived in the one habitable corner of it. It was a vast, unprepossessing, grandiose mansion, the
gardens overgrown with rank vegetation and the trees hemming
it in like some gloomy enchanter's den.
The Dower House was a pleasant, unpretentious house and had been let for a long term of years to Major Laxton,
Harry's tither. As a boy, Harry had roamed over the Kings-dean
estate and knew every inch of the tangled woods, and
the old house itself had always fascinated him.
Major Laxton had died some years ago, so it might have been thought that Harry would have had no ties to bring
him back; nevertheless, it was to the home of his boyhood
that Harry brought his bride. The ruined old Kingsdean
House was pulled down. An army of builders and contractors
swooped down upon the place and in almost a miraculously
short space of time--so marvellously does wealth
tell--the new house rose, white and gleaming among the
trees.
Next came the posse of gardeners and after them a procession of furniture vans.
The house was ready. Servants arrived. Lastly a costly limousine deposited Harry and Mrs. Harry at the front door.
The village rushed to call, and Mrs. Price, who owned the largest house, and who considered herself to lead society in
the place, sent out cards of invitation for a party "to meet
the bride."
It was a great event. Several ladies had new frocks for the occasion. Everyone was excited, curious, anxious to see this
fabulous creature. They said it was all so like a fairy story!
Miss Harmon, weather-beaten, hearty spinster, threw out her question as she squeezed her way through the crowded
drawing-room door. Little Miss Brent, a thin, acidulated
spinster, fluttered out information.
"Oh, my dear, quite charming. Such pretty manners. And


THE CASE OF THE CARETAKER 	267

quite young. Really, you know, it makes one feel quite envi-
ous to see someone who has everything like that. Good

looks and money and breeding--most distinguished, noth
ing
in the least common about her--and dear Harry so de
voted!"

"Ah," said Miss Harmon, "it's early days yet!" Miss Brent's thin nose quivered appreciatively.
"Oh, my dear, do you really think---"
"We all know what Harry is," said Miss Harmon. "We know what he was! But I expect now--"
"Ah," said Miss Harmon, "men are always the same. I know them."
"Dear, dear. Poor young thing." Miss Brent looked much happier. "Yes, I expect she'll have trouble with him. Someone
ought really to warn her."

"Beasts!" said Clarice Vane indignantly to her uncle, Dr.
Haydock. "Absolute beasts some people are."
He looked at her curiously.
She was a tall, dark girl, handsome, warmhearted and impulsive. Her big brown eyes were alight now with indignation
as she said, "All these cats--saying things--hinting
things."
"About Harry Laxton?"
"Yes. It's like ghouls feasting on dead bodies."
"I daresay, my dear, it does seem like that to you. But you see, they have very little to talk about down here, and so I'm
afraid they do tend to dwell upon past scandals. But I'm curious
to know why it upsets you so much."
Clarice Vane bit her lip and flushed. She said, in a curiously muffled voice, "They--they look so happy. The
Laxtons, I mean. They're young and in love and it's all so
lovely for them. I hate to think of it being spoiled by whispers
and hints and innuendoes and general beastliness."


268 	MISS MARPLE

	"t-I'm. I see."
Clarice went on: "He was talking to me just now. He's so happy and eager and excited and--yes, thrilled--at having
got his heart's desire and rebuilt Kingsdean. He's like a child
about it all. And she--well, I don't suppose anything has
ever gone wrong in her whole life. She's always had everything.
You've seen her. What did you think of her?"
The doctor did not answer at once. For other people, Louise Laxton might be an object of envy. A spoiled darling
of fortune. To him she had brought only the refrain of a
popular song heard so many years ago: "Poor Little Rich
Girl ·· ."
A small, delicate figure, with flaxen hair curled rather stiffly round her face and big, wistful blue eyes.
Louise was drooping a little. The long stream of congratulations had tired her. She was hoping it might soon be time
to go. Perhaps, even now, Harry might say so. She looked at
him sideways. So tall and broad-shouldered with his eager
pleasure in this horrible dull party.
	"poor little rich girl ..."

"Ooph!" It was a sigh of relief.
Harry turned to look at his wife amusedly. They were driving away from the party. She said, "Darling, what a
frightful party!"
Harry laughed.
"Yes, pretty terrible. Never mind, my sweet. It had to be done, you know. All those old pussies knew me when I lived
here as a boy. They'd have been terribly disappointed not to
have got a good look at you close up."
Louise made a grimace. She said, "Shall we have to see a lot of them?"
"What? On no. They'll come and make ceremonious calls with card cases, and you'll return the calls and then you


THE CASE OF THE CARETAKER 	269

needn't bother any more. You can have your own friends

down or whatever you like."
Louise said, after a minute or two, "Isn't there anyone amusing living down here?"
"Oh yes. There's the County, you know. Though you may find them a bit dull too. Mostly interested in bulbs and dogs
and horses. You'll ride, of course. You'll enjoy that. There's
a horse over at Eglinton I'd like you to see. A beautiful
animal, perfectly trained, no vice in him, but plenty of
spirit."
The car slowed down to take the turn into the gates of Kingsdean. Harry wrenched the wheel and swore as a grotesque
figure sprang up in the middle of the road and he
only just managed to avoid it. It stood there, shaking a fist
and shouting after them.
Louise clutched his arm. "Who's that--that horrible old woman ?"
Harry's brow was black.
"That's old Murgatroyd. She and her husband were caretakers in the old house. They were there for nearly thirty
years."
"Why does she shake her fist at you?"
Harry's face got red.
"She--well, she resented the house being pulled down. And she got the sack, of course. Her husband's been dead
two years. They say she got a bit queer after he died."
"Is she--she isn't--starving?"
Louise's ideas were vague and somewhat melodramatic.
Riches prevented you from coming into contact with reality. Harry was outraged.
"Good Lord, Louise, what an idea. I pensioned her off, of course--and handsomely too! Found her a new cottage and
everything."
Louise asked, bewildered, "Then why does she mind?"


	27o 	MISS MARPLE

Harry was frowning, his brows drawn together. "Oh, how
should I know? Craziness! She loved the house."
"But it was a ruin, wasn't it?"
"Of course it was--crumbling to piecesmroof leaking--more or less unsafe. All the same, I suppose it meant something
to her. She'd been there a long time. Oh, I don't
know! The old devil's cracked, I think."
Louise said uneasily, "She--I think she cursed us. Oh, Harry, I wish she hadn't."

It seemed to Louise that her new home was tainted and poisoned by the malevolent figure of one crazy old woman.
When she went out in the car, when she rode, when she
walked out with the dogs, there was always the same figure
waiting. Crouched down on herself, a battered hat over
wisps of iron-grey hair, and the slow muttering of imprecations.
Louise came to believe that Harry was right--the old woman was mad. Nevertheless, that did not make things easier.
Mrs. Murgatroyd never actually came to the house, nor
did she use definite threats, nor offer violence. Her squatting
figure remained always just outside the gates. To appeal to
the police would have been useless and, in any case, Harry
Laxton was averse to that course of action. It would, he said,
arouse local sympathy for the old brute. He took the matter
more easily than Louise did.
"Don't worry about it, darling. She'll get tired of this silly cursing business. Probably she's only trying it on."
"She isn't, Harry. She--she hates us! I can feel it. She--she's ill-wishing us!"
"She's not a witch, darling, although she may look like one! Don't be morbid about it all."
Louise was silent. Now that the first excitement of settling in was over, she felt curiously lonely and at a loose end.


THE CASE OF THE CARETAKER 27I

She had been used to life in London and the Riviera. She had no knowledge of or taste for English country life. She was
ignorant of gardening, except for the final act of "doing the
flowers." She did not really care for dogs. She was bored by
such neighbours as she met. She enjoyed riding best, sometimes
with Harry, sometimes, when he was busy about the
estate, by herself. She hacked through the woods and lanes,
enjoying the easy paces of the beautiful horse that Harry had
bought for her. Yet even Prince Hal, most sensitive of
chestnut steeds, was wont to shy and snort as he carried his
mistress past that huddled figure of a malevolent old
woman.
One day Louise took her courage in both hands. She was out walking. She had passed Mrs. Murgatroyd, pretending
not to notice her, but suddenly she swerved back and went
right up to her. She said, a little breathlessly, "What is it?
What's the matter? What do you want?"
The old woman blinked at her. She had a cunning, dark gypsy face, with wisps of iron-grey hair, and bleared, suspicious
eyes. Louise wondered if she drank.
She spoke in a whining and yet threatening voice: "What do I want, you ask? What, indeed! That which has been took
away from me. Who turned me out of Kingsdean House?
I'd lived there, girl and woman, for near on forty years. It
was a black deed to turn me out, and it's black bad luck it'll
bring to you and him!"
Louise said, "You've got a very nice cottage and--"
She broke off. The old woman's arms flew up. She screamed. "What's the good of that to me? It's my own
place I want and my own fire as I sat beside all them years.
And as for you and him, I'm telling you there will be no
happiness for you in your new fine house. It's the black sorrow
will be upon you! Sorrow and death and my curse. May
iyour fair face rot."


Louise turned away and broke into a little stumbling run. She thought, "I must get away from here! We must sell the
house! We must go away."
At the moment such a solution seemed easy to her. But Harry's utter incomprehension took her aback. He exclaimed,
"Leave here? Sell the house? Because of a crazy old
woman's threats? You must be mad."
"No, I'm not. But she---she frightens me. I know something will happen."
Harry Laxton said grimly, "Leave Mrs. Murgatroyd to me. I'll settle her!"

A friendship had sprung up between Clarice Vane and young Mrs. Laxton. Thc two girls were much of an age,
though dissimilar both in character and in tastes. In Clarice's
company Louise found reassurance. Clarice was so self-reliant,
so sure of herself. Louise mentioned the matter of Mrs.
Murgatroyd and her threats, but Clarice seemed to regard the
matter as more annoying than frightening.
"It's so stupid, that sort of thing," she said. "And really very annoying for you."
"You know, Clarice, I--I feel quite frightened sometimes. My heart gives the most awful jumps."
"Nonsense, you mustn't let a silly thing like that get you down. She'll soon tire of it."
Louise was silent for a minute or two. Claricc said, "What's the matter?"
Louise paused for a minute, then her answer came with a rush: "I hate this place! I hate being here. The woods and
this house, and the awful silence at night, and the queer
noise owls make. Oh, and the people and everything." "The people. What people?"
"The people in the village. Those prying, gossiping old maids."


	THE CASE OF THE CARETAKER 	273

	Clarice said sharply, "What have they been saying?"
"I don't know. Nothing particular. But they've got nasty minds. When you've talked to them you feel you wouldn't
trust anybody--not anybody at all."
Clarice said harshly, "Forget them. They've nothing to do but gossip. And most of the muck they talk they just invent."
Louise said, "I wish we'd never come here. But Harry adores it so." Her voice softened. Clarice thought, "How she
adores him."
i She said abruptly, "I must go now."
"I'11 send you back in the car. Come again soon." Clarice nodded. Louise felt comforted by her new friend's
visit. Harry was pleased to find her more cheerful and from
then on urged her to have Clarice often to the house.
	Then one day he said, "Good news for you, darling."
	"Oh, what?"
"I've fixed the Murgatroyd. She's got a son in America, you know. Well, I've arranged for her to go out and join
him. I'll pay her passage."
"Oh, Harry, how wonderful. I believe I might get to like Kingsdean after all."
"Get to like it? Why, it's the most wonderful place in the world!"
Louise gave a little shiver. She could not rid herself of her superstitious fear so easily.

If the ladies of St. Mary Mead had hoped for the pleasure of imparting information about her husband's past to the
bride, this pleasure was denied them by Harry Laxton's own
prompt action.
Miss Harmon and Clarice Vane were both in Mr. Edge's
the one buying moth balls and the other a packet of
when Harry Laxton and his wife came in.


	274 	MISS MARPLE

After greeting the two ladies, Harry turned to the counter and was just demanding a toothbrush when he stopped in
mid-speech and exclaimed heartily, "Well, well, just see
who's here! Bella, I do declare."
Mrs. Edge, who had hurried out from the back parlour to attend to the congestion of business, beamed back cheerfully
at him, showing her big white teeth. She had been a dark,
handsome girl and was still a reasonably handsome woman,
though she had put on weight and the lines of her face had
coarsened, but her large brown eyes were full of warmth as
she answered, "Bella it is, Mr. Harry, and pleased to see you
after all these years."
Harry turned to his wife.
"Bella's an old flame of mine, Louise," he said. "Head-
over-ears in love with her, wasn't I, Bella?"
"That's what you say," said Mrs. Edge.
Louise laughed. She said, "My husband's very happy seeing all his old friends again."
"Ah," said Mrs. Edge, "we haven't forgotten you, Mr. Harry. Seems like a fairy tale to think of you married and
building up a new house instead of that ruined old Kings-dean
House."
"You look very well and blooming," said Harry, and Mrs. Edge laughed and said there was nothing wrong with her
and what about that toothbrush?
Clarice, watching the baffled look on Miss Harmon's face, said to herself exultantly, "Oh, well done, Harry. You've
spiked their guns."

Dr. Haydock said abruptly to his niece Clarice, "What's all this nonsense about old Mrs. Murgatroyd hanging about
Kingsdean and shaking her fist and cursing the new regime?''
"It isn't nonsense. It's quite true. It's upset Louise a good deal."


THE CASE OF THE CARETAKER 275
"Tell her she needn't worry--when the Murgatroyds were caretakers they never stopped grumbling about the place--they
only stayed because Murgatroyd drank and couldn't get
another job."
"I'll tell her," said Clarice doubtfully, "but I don't think she'll believe you. The old woman fairly screams with rage."
"Always used to be fond of Harry as a boy. I can't understand it."
Clarice said, "Oh well--they'll be rid of her soon. Harry's paying her passage to America."
Three days later Louise was thrown from her horse and killed.
Two men in a baker's van were witnesses of the accident. They saw Louise ride out of the gates, saw the old woman
spring up and stand in the road, waving her arms and shouting,
saw the horse start, swerve, and then bolt madly down
the road, flinging Louise Laxton over his head.
One of them stood over the unconscious figure, not knowing what to do, while the other rushed to the house to
get help.
Harry Laxton came running out, his face ghastly. They took offa door of the van and carried her on it to the house.
She died without regaining consciousness and before thc
doctor arrived.
(End of Dr. Haydock's manuscript.)

When Dr. Haydock arrived the following day, he was pleased to note that there was a pink flush in Miss Marple's
cheek and decidedly more animation in her manner.
"Well," he said, "what's the verdict?"
i 	"What's the problem?" countered Miss Marple.
	"Oh, my dear lady, do I have to tell you that?"
	"I suppose," said Miss Marple, "that it's the curious con
	duct
of the caretaker. Why did she behave in that very odd
--way? People do mind being turned out of their old homes.


a76

But it wasn't her home. In fact, she used to complain and grumble while she was there. Yes, it certainly looks very
fishy. What became of her, by the way?"
"Took flight to Liverpool. The accident scared her. Thought she'd wait there for her boat."
"All very convenient for somebody," said Miss Marple. "Yes, I think the 'Problem of the Caretaker's Conduct' can
be solved easily enough. Bribery, was it not?"
"That's your solution?"
"Well, if it wasn't natural for her to behave in that way, she must have been 'putting on an act,' as people say, and
that means that somebody paid her to do what she did." "And you know who that somebody was?"
"Oh, I think so. Money again, I'm afraid. And I've always noticed that gentlemen always tend to admire the same
type."
"Now I'm out of my depth."
"No, no, it all hangs together. Harry Laxton admired Bella Edge, a dark, vivacious type. Your niece Clarice was
the same. But the poor little wife was quite a different
type--fair-haired and clingingmnot his type at all. ,So he
must have married her for her money. And murdered her for
her money too!"
"You use the word murder?"
"Well, he sounds the right type. Attractive to women and quite unscrupulous. I suppose he wanted to keep his wifc's
money and marry your niece. He may have been seen talking
to Mrs. Edge. But I don't fancy he was attached to her any
more. Though I daresay he made the poor woman think he
was, for ends of his own. He soon had her well under his
thumb, I fancy."
"How exactly did he murder her, do you think?"
Miss Marple stared ahead of her for some minutes with dreamy blue eyes.

MISS MARPLE


THE C^SE OF THE C^V, ET^KER 	277

"It was well timed--with the baker's van as witness. They

could see the old woman and, of course, they'd put down the

horse's fright to that. But I should imagine, myself, that an

air gun, or perhaps a catapult--he used to be good with a

catapult. Yes, just as the horse came through the gate. The
horse bolted, of course, and Mrs. Laxton was thrown." She paused, frowning.
"The fall might have killed her. But he couldn't be sure of that. And he seems the sort of man who would lay his plans
carefully and leave nothing to chance. After all, Mrs. Edge
could get him something suitable without her husband
knowing. Otherwise why would Harry bother with her?
Yes, I think he had some powerful drug handy, that could
be administered before you arrived. After all, if a woman is
thrown from her horse and has serious injuries and dies
without recovering consciousness, well--a doctor wouldn't
normally be suspicious, would he? He'd put it down to
shock or something."
Dr. Haydock nodded.
"Why did you suspect?" asked Miss Marple.
"It wasn't any particular cleverness on my part," said Dr. Haydock. "It was just the trite, well-known fact that a murderer
is so pleased with his cleverness that he doesn't take
proper precautions. I was just saying a few consolatory words
to the bereaved husband--and feeling sorry for the fellow,
toowhen he flung himself down on the settee to do a bit
of play-acting and a hypodermic syringe fell out of his
pocket.
"He snatched it up and looked so scared that I began to think. Harry Laxton didn't drug; he was in perfect health.
What was he doing with a hypodermic syringe? I did the
autopsy with a view to certain possibilities. I found stro-phanthin.
The rest was easy. There was strophanthin in Lax-ton's
possession, and Bella Edge, questioned by the police,


	2'78 	MISS MA R PLE

broke down and admitted to having got it for him. And finally old Mrs. Murgatroyd confessed that it was Harry Lax-
ton who had put her up to the cursing stunt."
"And your niece got over it?"
"Yes, she was attracted by the fellow, but it hadn't gone far."
The doctor picked up his manuscript.
"Full marks to you, Miss Marple--and full marks to me for my prescription. You're looking almost yourself again."


Tape-Measure
Murder

M
ss Politt took hold of the knocker and rapped politely on the cottage door. After a discreet interval
she knocked again. The parcel under her left arm
shifted a little as she did so, and she readjusted it. Inside the
parcel was Mrs. Spenlow's new green winter dress, ready for
fitting. From Miss Politt's left hand dangled a bag of black
silk, containing a tape measure, a pincushion, and a large,
practical pair of scissors.
Miss Politt was tall and gaunt, with a sharp nose, pursed lips, and meager iron-grey hair. She hesitated before using
the knocker for the third time. Glancing down the street,
she saw a figure rapidly approaching. Miss Harmell, jolly,
weather-beaten, fifty-five, shouted out in her usual loud bass
voice, "Good afternoon, Miss Politt!"
The dressmaker answered, "Good afternoon, Miss Hart-nell." Her voice was excessively thin and genteel in its accents.
She had started life as a lady's maid. "Excuse me," she
went on, "but do you happen to know if by any chance Mrs.
$penlow isn't at home?"
"Not the least idea," said Miss Hartnell.

Note: This story has also been published under the title "The Case of the Retired Jeweler."

279


	280 	MISS MA R PLE

"It's rather awkward, you see. I was to fit on Mrs. Spen-low's new dress this afternoon. Three-thirty, she said."
Miss Hartnell consulted her wrist Watch. "It's a little past the half-hour now."
"Yes. I have knocked three times, but there doesn't seem to be any answer, so I was wondering if perhaps Mrs. Spen-low
might have gone out and forgotten. She doesn't forget
appointments as a rule, and she wants the dress to wear the
day after tomorrow."
Miss Harmell entered the gate and walked up the path to join Miss Politt outside the door of Laburnam Cottage.
"Why doesn't Gladys answer the door?" she demanded. "Oh, no, of course, it's Thursday--Gladys's day out. I expect
Mrs. Spenlow has fallen asleep. I don't expect you've made
enough noise with this thing."
Seizing the knocker, she executed a deafening rat-a-tat-tat and, in addition, thumped upon the panels of the door. She
also called out in a stentorian voice: "What ho, within
there!"
There was no response.
Miss Politt murmured, "Oh, I think Mrs. Spenlow must have forgotten and gone out. rll call around some other
time." She began edging away and down the path.
"Nonsense," said Miss Hartnell firmly. "She can't have gone out. I'd have met her. I'll just take a look through the
window and see if I can find any signs of life."
She laughed in her usual hearty manner, to indicate that it was a joke, and applied a perfunctory glance to the nearest
windowpane--perfunctory because she knew quite well that
the front room was seldom used. Mr. and Mrs. Spenlow preferred
the small back sitting-room.
Perfunctory as it was, though, it succeeded in its object. Miss Hartnell, it is true, saw no signs of life. On thc contrary,
she saw, through the window, Mrs. Spenlow lying o
the hearthrug--dead.


'r^vr,aE^suaE MURr)ER 28

"Of course," said Miss Harmell, telling the story afterward, "I managed to keep my head. That Politt creature
wouldn't have had the least ideaofwhat to do. 'Got to keep
our heads,' I said to her. 'Youay here and I'll go for Constable
Palk.' She said something about not wanting to be
left, but I paid no attention at all. One has to be firm with
that sort of person. I've always found they enjoy making a
fuss. So I was just going off when, at that very moment, Mr.
Spenlow came round the corner of the house."
Here Miss Hartnell made a significant pause. It enabled her audience to ask breathlessly, "Tell me, how did he
look?" Miss Hartnell would then go on: "Frankly, I suspected
something at once! He was far too calm. He didn't
seem surprised in the least. And you may say what you like,
it isn't natural for a man to hear that his wife is dead and
display no emotion whatever."
Everybody agreed with this statement.
The police agreed with it too. So suspicious did they consider Mr. Spenlow's detachment that they lost no time in
ascertaining how that gentleman was situated as a result of
his wife's death. When they discovered that Mrs. Spenlow
had been the moneyed partner, and that her money went to
her husband under a will made soon after their marriage,
they were more suspicious than ever.
Miss Marple, that sweet-faced (and some said vinegar-tongued) elderly spinster who lived in the house next to
the rectory, was interviewed very early--within half an
hour of the discovery of the crime. She was approached
by Police Constable Palk, importantly thumbing a notebook.
"If you don't mind, ma'am, I've a few questions to
ask you."
Miss Marple said, "In connection with the murder of Mrs. Spenlow?"
Palk was startled. "May I ask, madam, how you got to know of it?"


	282 	MISS MARPLE

"The fish," said Miss Marple.
The reply was perfectly intelligible to Constable Palk. He assumed correctly that the fishmonger's boy had brought it,
together with Miss Marple's evening meal.
Miss Marple continued gently, "Lying on the floor in the sitting room, strangled--possibly by a very narrow belt. But
whatever it was, it was taken away."
Palk's face was wrathful. "How that young Fred gets to know everything--"
Miss Marple cut him short adroitly. She said, "There's a pin in your tunic."
Constable Palk looked down, startled. He said, "They do say: 'See a pin and pick it up, all the day you'll have good
luck.'"
"I hope that will come true. Now what is it you want me to tell you?"
Constable Palk cleared his throat, looked important, and consulted his notebook. "Statement was made to me by Mr.
Arthur Spenlow, husband of the deceased. Mr. Spenlow says
that at two-thirty, as far as 'he can say, he was rung up by
Miss Marple and asked if he would come over at a quarter
past three, as she was anxious to consult him about something.
Now, ma'am, is that true?"
"Certainly not," said Miss Marple.
"You did not ring up Mr. Spenlow at two-thirty?" "Neither at two-thirty nor any other time."
"Ah," said Constable Palk, and sucked his moustache with a good deal of satisfaction.
"What else did Mr. Spenlow say?"
"Mr. Spenlow's statement was that he came over here as requested, leaving his own house at ten minutes past three;
that on arrival here he was informed by the maidservant that
Miss Marple was 'not at 'ome.'"
"That part of it is true," said Miss Marple. "He did come


	TAPE. MEASURE MURDER 	283

here, but I was at a meeting at the Women's Institute." "Ah," said Constable Palk again.
Miss Marple exclaimed, "Do tell me, Constable, do you suspect Mr. Spenlow?"
"It's not for me to say at this stage, but it looks to me as though somebody, naming no names, had been trying to be
artful."
Miss Marple said thoughtfully, "Mr. Spenlow?"
She liked Mr. Spenlow. He was a small, spare man, stiff and conventional in speech, the acme of respectability. It
seemed odd that he should have come ,Olive in the country;
he had so clearly lived in towns all his life. To Miss Marple
he confided the reason. He said, "I have always intended,
ever since I was a small boy, to live in the country someday
and have a garden of my own. I have always been very much
attached to flowers. My wife, you know, kept a flower shop.
That's where I saw her first."
A dry statement, but it opened up a vista of romance. A young, prettier Mrs. Spenlow, seen against a background of
flowers.
Mr. Spenlow, however, really knew nothing about flowers. He had no idea of seeds, o£ cuttings, of bedding out, of
annuals or perennials. He had only a vision--a vision of a
small cottage garden thickly planted with sweet-smelling,
brightly coloured blossoms. He had asked, almost pathetically,
for instruction and had noted down Miss Marple's replies
to questions in a little book.
He was a man of quiet method. It was, perhaps, because of this trait that the police were interested in him when his
wife was found murdered. With patience and perseverance
they learned a good deal about the late Mrs. Spenlow--and
soon all St. Mary Mead knew it too.
The late Mrs. Spenlow had begun life as a betweenmaid in a large house. She had left that position to marry the second


	284 	MISS MARPLE

gardener and with him had started a flower shop in London. The shop had prospered. Not so the gardener, who before
long had sickened and died.
His widow had carried on the shop and enlarged it in an ambitious way. She had continued to prosper. Then she had
sold the business at a handsome price and embarked upon
matrimony for the second time--with Mr. Spenlow, a middle-aged
jeweler who had inherited a small and struggling
business. Not long afterward they had sold the business and
come down to St. Mary Mead.
Mrs. Spenlow was a well-to-do woman. The profits from her florist's establishment she had invested--"under spirit
guidance," as she explained to all and sundry. The spirits had
advised her with unexpected acumen.
All her investments had prospered, some in quite a sensational fashion. Instead, however, of this increasing her belief
in spiritualism, Mrs. Spenlow basely deserted mediums and
sittings and made a brief but wholehearted plunge into an
obscure religion with Indian affinities which was based on
various forms of deep breathing. When, however, she arrived
at St. Mary Mead, she had relapsed into a period of orthodox
Church-of-England beliefs. She was a good deal at the
Vicarage and attended church services with assiduity. She
patronized the village shops, took an interest in the lox:al
happenings, and played village bridge.
A humdrum, everyday life. And--suddenly--murder.

Colonel Melchett, the chief constable, had summoned Inspector Slack.
Slack was a positive type of man. When he made up his mind, he was sure. He was quite sure now. "Husband did it,
sir," he said.
"You think so?"
"Quite sure of it. You've only got to look at him. Never


TAPE-MEASURE MURDER 	285

showed a sign of grief or emotion. He came back to the

house knowing she was dead."
"Wouldn't he at least have tried to act the part of the distracted husband?"
"Not him, sir. Too pleased with himself. Some gentlemen can't act. Too stiff. As I see it, he was just fed up with his
wife. She'd got the money and, I should say, was a trying
woman to live with--always taking up some 'ism' or other.
He cold-bloodedly decided to do away with her and live
comfortably on his own."
"Yes, that could be the case, I suppose."
"Depend upon it, that was it. Made his plans careful. Pre-
tended to get a phone call--" 	/
	Melchett interrupted him: "No callbeer/ traced?"
	"No, sir. That means either that he lied or that the call

	was put through from a public telephone booth. The only

	two public phones in the village are at the station and the

	post office. Post office it certainly wasn't. Mrs. Blade sees ev
	eryone
who comes in. Station it might be. Train arrives at

	two twenty-seven and there's a bit of bustle then. But the

	main thing is he says it was Miss Marple who called him up,

	and that certainly isn't true. The call didn't come from her

	house, and she herself was away at the Institute."

	"You're not overlooking the possibility that the husband

	was deliberately got out of the way--by someone who

	wanted to murder Mrs. Spenlow?"

	"You're thinking of young Ted Gerard, aren't you, sir?

	I've been working on him--what we're up against there is

	lack of motive. He doesn't stand to gain anything."

	"He's an undesirable character, though. Quite a pretty lit
	tle
spot of embezzlement to his credit."

	"I'm not saying he isn't a wrong 'un. Still, he did go to his

	boss and own up to that embezzlement. And his employers

	wise to it."


	286 	MISS MARPLE

"An Oxford Grouper," said Melchett.
"Yes, sir. Became a convert and went off to do the straight thing and own up to having pinched money. I'm not saying,
mind you, that it mayn't have been astuteness--he may have
thought he was suspected and decided to gamble on honest
repentance."
"You have a skeptical mind, Slack," said Colonel Mel-
chert. "By the way, have you talked to Miss Marple at all?" "What's she got to do with it, sir?"
"Oh, nothing. But she hears things, you know. Why don't you go and have a chat with her? She's a very sharp old
lady."
Slack changed the subject. "One thing I've been meaning to ask you, sir: That domestioservice job where the deceased
started her career--Sir Robert Abercrombie's place. That's
where the jewel robbery was--emeralds--worth a packet.
Never got them. I've been looking it up--must have happened
when the Spenlow woman was there, though she'd
have been quite a girl at the time. Don't think she was
mixed up in it, do you, sir? Spenlow, you know, was one of
those little tuppenny-ha'penny jewelers--just the chap for a fence."
Melchett shook his head. "Don't think there's anything in that. She didn't even know Spenlow at the time. I remember
the case. Opinion in police circles was that a son of the
house was mixed up in it--Jim Abercrombie--awful young
waster. Had a pile of debts, and just after the robbery they
were all paid off some rich woman, so they said, but I don't
know--old Abercrombie hedged a bit about the case--tried
to call the police off."
"It was just an idea, sir," said Slack.
Miss Marple received Inspector Slack with gratification, especially when she heard that he had been sent by Colonel
Melchett.


	TAPE-MEASURE MURDER 	287

"Now, really, that is very kind of Colonel Melchett. I didn't know he remembered me."
"He remembers you, all right. Told me that what you didn't know of what goes on in St. Mary Mead isn't worth
knowing."
"Too kind of him, but really I don't know anything at all. About this murder, I mean."
"You know what the talk about it is."
"Of course--but it wouldn't do, would it, to repeat just idle talk?"
Slack said, with an attempt at geniality. "This isn't an official conversation, you know. It's in confidence, so to
speak."
"You mean you really want t6 kow what people are say-
ing? Whether there's any truth in it or not?"
"That's the idea."
"Well, of course, there's been a great deal of talk and speculation. And there are really two distinct camps, if you understand
me. To begin with, there are the people who think
that the husband did it. A husband or a wife is, in a way, the
natural person to suspect, don't you think so?"
"Maybe," said the inspector cautiously.
"Such close quarters, you know. Then, so often, the money angle. I heard that it was Mrs. Spenlow who had the
money and therefore Mr. Spenlow does benefit by her death.
In this wicked world I'm afraid the most uncharitable assumptions
are often justified."
"He comes into a tidy sum, all right."
"Just so. It would seem quite plausible, wouldn't it, for him to strangle her, leave the house by the back, come across
the fields to my house, ask for me and pretend he'd had a telephone
call from me, then go back and find his wife murdered
in his absence--hoping, of course, that the crime
would be put down to some tramp or burglar."


	288 	MISS M A R PLE

The inspector nodded. "qhat with the money angle--and if they'd been on bad terms lately?"
But Miss Marple interrupted him: "Oh, but they hadn't." "You know that for a fact?"
"Everyone would have known if they'd quarrelled! The
maid, Gladys Brcnt--she'd have soon spread it round the
village."
The inspector said feebly, "She mighm't have known," and received a pitying smile in reply.
Miss Marple went on: "And then there's the other school of thought. Ted Gerard. A good-looking young man. I'm
afraid, you know, that good looks are inclined to influence
one more than they should. Our last curate but one---quite a
magical effect! All the girls came to church---evening service
as well as morning. And many older women became unusually
active in parish work--and the slippers and scarves
that were made for him! Quite embarrassing for the poor
young man.
"But let me sec, where was I? Oh yes, this young man, Ted Gerard. Of course, there has been talk about him. He's
come down to see her so often. Though Mrs. Spenlow told
me herself that he was a member of what I think they call
the Oxford Group. A religious movement. They are quite
sincere and very earnest, I believe, and Mrs. Spenlow ,':s
impressed by it all."
Miss Marple took a breath and went on: "And I'm sure there was no reason to believe that there was anything more
in it than that, but you know what people are. Quite a lot of
people are convinced that Mrs. Spenlow was infatuated with
the young man and that she'd lent him quite a lot of money.
And it's perfectly true that he was actually seen at the station
that day. In the train--the two twenty-seven down train.
But of course it would be quite easy, wouldn't it, to slip out
of the other side of the train and go through the cutting and
over thc fence and round by the hedge and never come out


TAPE-MEASURE MURDER 	289

of the station entrance at all? So that he need not have been

seen going to the cottage. And of course people do think
that what Mrs. Spenlow was wearing was rather peculiar." "Peculiar."
"A kimono. Not a dress." Miss Marple blushed. "That sort of thing, you know, is, perhaps, rather suggestive to
some people."
"You think it was suggestive?"
"Oh no, I don't think so. I think it was perfectly natural." "You think it was natural?"
"Under the circumstances, yes." Miss Marple's glance was cool and reflective.
Inspector Slack said, "It might give us another motive for the husband. Jealousy."
"Oh no, Mr. Spenlow would never be jealous. He's not the sort of man who notices things. If his wife had gone
away and left a note on the pincushion, it would be the first
he'd know of anything of that kind."
Inspector Slack was puzzled by the intent way she was looking at him. He had an-idea that all her conversation
was intended to hint at something he didn't understand. She
said now, with some emphasis, "Didn't you find any clues,
Inspector--on the spot?"
"People don't leave fingerprints and cigarette ash nowadays, Miss Marple."
"But this, I think," she suggested, "was an old-fashioned crime--"
Slack said sharply. "Now what do you mean by that?" Miss Marple remarked slowly, "I think, you know, that
Constable Palk could help you. He was the first person on
the--on the 'scene of the crime,' as they say."

Mr. Spenlow was sitting in a deck chair. He looked bewildered. He said, in his thin, precise voice, "I may, of course,
be imagining what occurred. My hearing is not as good as it


	290 	MISS MARPLE
was. But I distinctly think I heard a small boy call after me, 'Yah, who's a Crippen?' It--it conveyed the impression to
me that he was of the opinion that I had--had killed my
dear wife."
Miss Marple, gently snipping off a dead rose head, said, "That was the impression he meant to convey, no doubt."
"But what could possibly have put such an idea into a child's head?"
Miss Marple coughed. "Listening, no doubt, to the opinions of his elders."
"You--you really mean that other people think that also?"
"Quite half the people in St. Mary Mead."
"But, my dear lady, what can possibly have given rise to such an idea? I was sincerely attached to my wife. She did
not, alas, take to li„ing in the country as much as I had
hoped she would do, but perfect agreement on every subject
is an impossible ideal. I assure you I feel her loss very
keenly."
"Probably. But if you will excuse my saying so, you don't sound as though you do."
Mr. Spcnlow drew his meager frame up to its full height. "My dear lady, many years ago I read of a certain Chinese
philosopher who, when his dearly loved wife was taken from
him, continued calmly to beat a gong in the street--a customary
Chinese pastime, I presume--exactly as usual. The
people in the city were much impressed by his fortitude."
"But," said Miss Marple, "the people of St. Mary Mead react rather differently. Chinese philosophy does not appeal
to them."
"But you understand?"
Miss Marple nodded. "My Uncle Henry," she explained, "was a man of unusual self-control. His motto was 'Never
display emotion.' He, too, was very fond of flowers."


	TAPE-MEASURE MURDER 	29I

"I was thinking," said Mr. Spenlow with something like eagerness, "that I might, perhaps, have a pergola on the west
side of the cottage. Pink roses and, perhaps, wisteria. And
there is a white starry flower, whose name for the moment
escapes me--"
In the tone in which she spoke to her grandnephew, aged three, Miss Marple said, "I have a very nice catalogue here,
with pictures. Perhaps you would like to look through it--I
have to go up to the village."
Leaving Mr. Spenlow sitting happily in the garden with his catalogue, Miss Marple went up to her room, hastily
rolled up a dress in a piece of brown paper, and, leaving thc
house, walked briskly up to the post office. Miss Politt, the
dressmaker, lived in rooms over the post office.
But Miss Marple did not at once go through the door and up thc stairs. It was just two-thirty, and, a minute later, the
Much Benham bus drew up outside the post-office door. It
was one of the events of the day in St. Mary Mead. The postmistress
hurried out with parcels, parcels connected with thc
shop side of her business, for the post office also dealt in sweets, cheap books, and children's toys.
For some four minutes Miss Marplc was alone in the post
office. 	/ ....
	Not till the postmistress returned to her post did Miss
	Marple go upstairs and explain to Miss Politt that she

	wanted her own grey crepe altered and made more fashion
	able
if that were possible. Miss Politt promised to see what

	she could do.

The chief constable was rather astonished when Miss Mar-pie's name was brought to him. She came in with many
apologies. "So sorry--so very sorry to disturb you. You are
so busy, I know, but then you have always been so very kind,
Colonel Melchett, and I felt I would rather come to you in-


	292 	MISS MARPLE

stead of to Inspector Slack. For one thing, you know, I should hate Constable Palk to get into any trouble. Strictly
speaking, I suppose he shouldn't have touched anything at
all."
Colonel Melchett was slightly bewildered. He said, "Palk? That's the St. Mary Mead constable, isn't it? What has he
been doing?"
"He picked up a pin, you know. It was in his tumc. And it occurred to me at the time that it was quite probable he had
actually picked it up in Mrs. Spenlow's house."
"Quite, quite. But, after all, you know, what's a pin? Matter of fact, he did pick the pin up just by Mrs. Spenlow's
body. Came and told Slack about it yesterday--you put him
up to that, I gather? Oughtn't to have touched anything, of
course, but, as I said, what's a pin? It was only a common
pin. Sort of thing any woman might use."
"Oh no, Colonel Melchett, that's where you're wrong. To a man's eye, perhaps, it looked like an ordinary pin, but it
wasn't. It was a special pin, a very thin pin, the kind you buy
by the box, the kind used mostly by dressmakers."
Melchett stared at her, a faint light of comprehension breaking in on him. Miss Marple nodded her head several
times eagerly.
"Yes, of course. It seems to me so obvious. She was in her kimono because she was going to try on her new dress, and
she went into the front room, and Miss Politt just said something
about measurements and put the tape measure round
her neck--and then all she'd have to do was to cross it and
pullcluite easy, so I've heard. And then of course she'd go
outside and pull the door to and stand there knocking as
though she'd just arrived. But the pin shows she'd already
been in the house."
"And it was Miss Politt who telephoned to Spenlow?' "Yes. From the post office at two-thirty--just when tt:c
bus comes and the post office would be empty."


TAPE-MEASURE MURDER 	293

Colonel Melchett said, "But, my dear Miss Marple, why?

In heaven's name, why? You can't have a murder without a

motive."
"Well, I think, you know, Colonel Melchett, from all I've heard, that the crime dates from a long time back. It reminds
me, you know, of my two cousins. Antony and Gordon.
Whatever Antony did always went right for him, and with
poor Gordon it was just the other way about: race horses
went lame, and stocks went down, and property depreciated
.... As I see it, the two women were in it together."
"In what?"
"The robbery. Long ago. Very valuable emeralds, so I've heard. The lady's maid and the tweeny. Because one thing
hasn't been explained--how, when the tweeny married the
gardener, did they have enough money to set up a flower
shop?
"The answer is, it was her share of the--the swag, I think is the right expression. Everything she did turned out well.
Money made money. But the other one, the lady's maid,
must have been unlucky. She came down to being just a village
dressmaker. Then they met again. Quite all right at
first, I expect, until Mr. Ted Gerard came on the scene.
"Mrs. Spenlow, you see, was already sugering from conscience and was inclined to be emotionally religious. This
young man no doubt urged her to 'face up' and to 'come
clean,' and I daresay she was strung up to do so. But Miss
Politt didn't see it that way. All she saw was that she might
go to prison for a robbery she had committed years ago. So
she made up her mind to put a stop to it all. I'm afraid, you
know, that she was always rather a wicked woman. I don't
believe she'd have turned a hair if that nice, stupid Mr.
Spenlow had been hanged."
Colonel Melchett said slowly, "We can---er--verify your theory--up to a point. The identity of the Politt woman
with the lady's maid at the Abercrombies', but--"


	294 	MISS MARPLE

Miss Marple reassured him.
"It will all be quite easy. She's the kind of woman who will break down at once when she's taxed with the truth.
And then, you see, I've got her tape measure. I---er--ab-stracted
it yesterday when I was trying on. When she misses
it and thinks the police have got it--well, she's quite an ignorant
woman and she'll think it will prove the case against
her in some way."
She smiled at him encouragingly. "You'll have no trouble, I can assure you." It was the tone in which his favourite
aunt had once assured him that he could not fail to pass his
entrance examination into Sandhurst.
And he had passed.


DOUBLE

SIN


Greenshaw's Folly

T
'he two men rounded the corner of the shrubbery. "Well, there you are," said Raymond West.
"That's It."
Horace Bindler took a deep, appreciative breath.
"How wonderful," he cried. His voice rose in a high screech of esthetic delight, then deepened in reverent awe.
"It's unbelievable. Out of this world! A period piece of the
best."
"I thought you'd like it," said Raymond West complacently.
"Like it?" Words failed Horace. He unbuckled the strap of his camera and got busy. "This will be one of the gems of
my collection," he said happily. "I do think, don't you, that
it's rather amusing to have a collection of monstrosities? The
idea came to me one night seven years ago in my bath. My
last real gem was in the Campo Santo at Genoa, but I really
think this beats it. What's it called?"
"I haven't the least idea," said Raymond.
"I suppose it's got a name?"
"It must have. But the fact is that it's never referred to round here as anything but Greenshaw's Folly."
"Greenshaw being the man who built it?"

297


	298 	MISS MARPLE

"Yes. In eighteen sixty or seventy or thereabouts. The local success story of the time. Barefoot boy who had risen to
immense prosperity. Local opinion is divided as to why he
built this house, whether it was sheer exuberance of wealth
or whether it was done to impress his creditors. If the latter,
it didn't impress them. He either went bankrupt or the next
thing to it. Hence the name, Greenshaw's Folly."
Horace's camera clicked. "There," he said in a satisfied voice. "Remind me to show you Number Three-ten in my
collection. A really incredible marble mantelpiece in the Italian
manner." He added, looking at the house, "I can't conceive
of how Mr. Greenshaw thought of it all."
"Rather obvious in some ways," said Raymond. "He had visited the chateaux of the Loire, don't you think? Those
turrets. And then, rather unfortunately, he seems to have
travelled in the Orient. The influence of the Taj Mahal is
unmistakable. I rather like the Moorish wing," he added,
"and the traces of a Venetian palace."
"One wonders how he ever got hold of an architect to carry out these ideas."
Raymond shrugged his shoulders.
"No difficulty about that, I expect," he said. "Probably the architect retired with a good income for life while poor
old Greenshaw went bankrupt."
"Could we look at it from the other side?" asked Horace, "or are we trespassing?"
"We're trespassing all right," said Raymond, "but I don't think it will matter."
He turned toward the corner of the house and Horace skipped after him.
"But who lives here? Orphans or holiday visitors? It can't be a school. No playing fields or brisk efficiency."
"Oh, a Greenshaw lives here still," said Raymond over his shoulder. "The house itself didn't go in the crash. Old
Greenshaw's son inherited it. He was a bit of a miser and


GREENSHAW'S FOLLY 	299

lived here in a corner of it. Never spent a penny. Probably

never had a penny to spend. His daughter lives here now.

Old lady--very eccentric."
As he spoke Raymond was congratulating himself on having thought of Greenshaw's Folly as a means of entertaining
his guest. These literary critics always professed
themselves as longing for a weekend in the country and were
wont to find the country extremely boring when they got
there. Tomorrow there would be the Sunday papers, and for
today Raymond West congratulated himself on suggesting a
visit to Greenshaw's Folly to enrich Horace Bindler's well-known
collection of monstrosities.
They turned the corner of the house and came out on a neglected lawn. In one corner of it was a large artificial rock-ery,
and bending over it was a figure at the sight of which
Horace clutched Raymond delightedly by the arm.
"Do you see what she's got on?" he exclaimed. "A sprigged print dress. Just like a housemaid--when there were
housemaids. One of my most cherished memories is staying
at a house in the country when I was quite a boy where a real
housemaid called you in the morning, all crackling in a print
dress and a cap. Yes, my boy, really--a cap. Muslin with
streamers. No, perhaps it was the parlourmaid who had the
streamers. But anyway, she was a real housemaid and she
brought in an enormous brass can of hot water. What an
exciting day we're having."
The figure in the print dress had straightened up and turned toward them, trowel in hand. She was a sufficiently
startling figure. Unkempt locks of iron-grey fell wispily on
her shoulders, and a straw hat, rather like the hats that
horses wear in Italy, was crammed down on her head. The
coloured print dress she wore fell nearly to her ankles. Out
of a weather-beaten, not too clean face, shrewd eyes surveyed
them appraisingly.
"I must apologize for trespassing, Miss Greenshaw," said


	300 	MISS MA R PLE

P, aymond West, as he advanced toward her, "but Mr.
Horace Bindler who is staying with me--"
Horace bowed and removed his hat.
"--is most interested in---er--ancient history and-er--fine buildings."
Raymond West spoke with the ease of a famous author who knows that he is a celebrity, that he can venture where
other people may not.
Miss Greenshaw looked up at the sprawling exuberance behind her.
"It is a fine house," she said appreciatively. "My grandfather built it--before my time, of course. He is reported as
having said that he wished to astonish the natives."
"I'll say he did that, ma'am," said Horace Bindler.
"Mr. Bindler is the well-known literary critic," said Pay-mond West.
Miss Greenshaw had clearly no reverence for literary critics. She remained unimpressed.
"I consider it," said Miss Greenshaw, referring to the house, "as a monument to my grandfather's genius. Silly
fools come here and ask me why I don't sell it and go and
live in a flat. What would I do in a flat? It's my home and I
live in t," said Miss Greenshaw. "Always have lived here."
She considered, brooding over the past. "There were three of
us. Laura married the curate. Papa wouldn't give her any
money, said clergymen ought to be unworldly. She died,
having a baby. Baby died too. Nettie ran away with the riding
master. Papa cut her out of his will, of course. Handsome
fellow, Harry Fletcher, but no good. Don't think
Nettle was happy with him. Anyway, she didn't live long.
They had a son. He writes to me sometimes, but of course
he isn't a Greenshaw. I'm the last of the Greenshaws."
She drew up her bent shoulders with a certain pride and readjusted
the rakish angle of the straw hat. Then, turning, she
said sharply:


	GREENSHAW'S FOLLY 	3OI

	"Yes, Mrs. Cresswell, what is it?"
Approaching them from the house was a figure that, seen side by side with Miss Greenshaw, seemed ludicrously dissimilar.
Mrs. Cresswell had a marvellously dressed head of
well-blued hair towering upward in meticulously arranged
curls and rolls. It was as though she had dressed her head to
go as a French marquise to a fancy dress party. The rest of
her middle-aged person was dressed in what ought to have
been rustling black silk but was actually one of the shinier
varieties of black rayon. Although she was not a large
woman, she had a well-developed and sumptuous bosom.
Her voice was unexpectedly deep. She spoke with exquisite
diction-only a slight hesitation over words beginning with
h, and the final pronunciation of them with an exaggerated
aspirate gave rise to a suspicion that at some remote period
in her youth she might have had trouble over dropping her
h's.
"The fish, madam," said Mrs. Cresswell, "the slice of cod. It has not arrived. I have asked Alfred to go down for it and
he refuses."
Rather unexpectedly, Miss Greenshaw gave a cackle of laughter.
	"Refuses, does he?"
	"Alfred, madam, has been most disobliging."
Miss Greenshaw raised two earth-stained fingers to her lips, suddenly produced an earsplitting whistle, and at the
same time yelled, "Alfred, Alfred, come here."
Round the corner of the house a young man appeared in answer to the summons, carrying a spade in his hand. He
had a bold, handsome face, and as he drew near he cast an
unmistakably malevolent glance toward Mrs. Cresswell. "You wanted me, miss?" he said.
"Yes, Alfred. I hear you've refused to go down for the fish. What about it, eh?"
	Alfred spoke in a surly voice.


	302 	MISS MARPLE

"I'll go down for it if you wants it, miss. You've only got
tO say."
"I do want it. I want it for my supper."
"Right you are, miss. I'll go right away."
He threw an insolent glance at Mrs. Cresswell, who flushed and murmured below her breath.
"Now that I think of it," said Miss Greenshaw, "a couple of strange visitors are just what we need, aren't they, Mrs.
Cresswell?"
Mrs. Cresswell looked puzzled.
"I'm sorry, madam--"
"For you-know-what," said Miss Greenshaw, nodding her head. "Beneficiary to a will mustn't witness it. That's right,
isn't it?" She appealed to Raymond West.
"Quite correct," said Raymond.
"I know enough law to know that," said Miss Greenshaw, "and you two are men of standing."
She flung down the trowel on her weeding basket. "Would you mind coming up to the library with me?"
"Delighted," said Horace eagerly.
She led the way through French windows and through a vast yellow-and-gold drawing-room with faded brocade on
the walls and dust covers arranged over the funiture, then
through a large dim hall, up a staircase, and into a room on
the second floor.
"My grandfather's library," she announced.
Horace looked round with acute pleasure. It was a room from his point of view quite full of monstrosities. The heads
of sphinxes appeared on the most unlikely pieces of furniture;
there was a colossal bronze representing, he thought,
Paul and Virginia, and a vast bronze clock with classical
motifs of which he longed to take a photograph.
"A fine lot of books," said Miss Greenshaw.
Raymond was already looking at the books. From what he could see from a cursory glance there was no book here of


GREENSHAW'S FOLLY
303 any real interest or, indeed, any book which appeared to have
been read. They were all superbly bound sets of the classics as
supplied ninety years ago for furnishing a gentleman's
brary. Some novels d a bygone period were included. But
they too showed little signs of having been read.
Miss Greenshaw was fumbling in the drawers of a vast desk. Finally she pulled out a parchment document.
"My will," she e?lained. "Got to leave your money to someone--or so they say. If I died without a will, I suppose
that son of a horse trader would get it. Handsome fellow,
Harry Fletcher, but a rogue if ever there was one. Don't see
why his son should inherit this place. No," she went on, as
though answering some unspoken objection, "I've made up
my mind. I'm leaving it to Cresswell."
"Your housekeer ?"
"Yes. I've explained it to her. I make a will leaving her all I've got and then I don't need to pay her any wages. Saves
me a lot in current expenses, and it keeps her up to the
mark. No giving me notice and walking off at any minute.
Very la-di-dah and all that, isn't she? But her father was a
working plumber in a very small way. She's nothing to give
herself airs about."
By now Miss Greenshaw had unfolded the parchment. Picking up a pen, she dipped it in the inkstand and wrote
her signature, Katherine Dorothy Greenshaw.
"That's right," she said. "You've seen me sign it, and then you two sign it, and that makes it legal."
She handed the pen to Raymond West. He hesitated a moment, feeling an unexpected repulsion to what he was
asked to do. Then he quickly scrawled his well-known autograph,
for which his morning's mail usually brought at least
six requests.
Horace took the pen from him and added his own minute signature.
"That's done," said Miss Greenshaw.


	304 	MISS MARPLE
She moved across the bookcases and stood looking at them uncertainly, then she opened a glass door, took out a
book, and slipped the folded parchment inside.
"I've my own places for keeping things," she said.
"Lady Audley's Secret," Raymond West remarked, catching sight of the title as she replaced the book.
Miss Grcenshaw gave another cackle of laughter.
"Best-seller in its day," she remarked. "But not like your books, eh?"
She gave Raymond a sudden friendly nudge in the ribs. Raymond was rather surprised that she even knew he wrote
books. Although Raymond West was a "big name" in literature,
he could hardly be described as a best-seller. Though
softening a little with the advent of middle age, his books
dealt bleakly With the sordid side of life.
"I wonder," Horace demanded breathlessly, "if I might just take a photograph of the clock."
"By all means," said Miss Greenshaw. "It came, I believe, from the Paris Exhibition."
"Very probably," said Horace. He took his picture. "This room's not been used much since my grandfather's
time," said Miss Greenshaw. "This desk's full of old diaries
of his. Interesting, I should think. I haven't the eyesight to
read them myself. I'd like to get them published, but I suppose
one would have to work on them a good deal."
"You could engage someone to do that," said Raymond West.
"Could I really? It's an idea, you know. I'll think about it."
Raymond West glanced at his watch.
"We mustn't trespass on your kindness any longer," he said.
"Pleased to have seen you," said Miss Greenshaw graciously. "Thought you were the policeman when I heard


	GREENSHAW'S FOLLY 	305

"Why a policeman?" demanded Horace, who never minded asking questions.
Miss Greenshaw responded unexpectedly.
"If you want to know the time, ask a policeman," she carolled, and with this example of Victorian wit she nudged
Horace in the ribs and roared with laughter.

"It's been a wonderful afternoon." Horace sighed as he and Raymond walked home. "Really, that place has everything.
The only thing the library needs is a body. Those old-fashioned
detective stories about murder in the library--that's
just the kind of library I'm sure the authors had in
mind."
"If you want to discuss murder," said Raymond, "you must talk to my Aunt Jane."
"Your Aunt Jane? Do you mean Miss Marple?" HOrace felt a little at a loss.
The charming old-world lady to whom he had been introduced the night before seemed the last person to be mentioned
in connection with murder.
"Oh yes," said Raymond. "Murder is a specialty of hers." "How intriguing! What do you really mean?"
"I mean just that," said Raymond. He paraphrased: "Some commit murder, some get mixed up in murders, others have
murder thrust upon them. My Aunt Jane comes into the
third category."
"You are joking."
"Not in the least. I can refer you to the former Commissioner of Scotland Yard, several chief constables, and one or
two hard-working inspectors of the C.I.D."
Horace said happily that wonders would never cease. Over the tea table they gave Joan West, Raymond's wife, Louise
her niece, and old Miss Marple a rsum of the afternoon's happenings, recounting in detail everything that
Miss Greenshaw had said to them.


	306 	MISS MARPLE

"But I do think," said Horace, "that there is something a little sinister about the whole setup. That duchess-like creature,
the housekeeper--arsenic, perhaps, in the teapot, now
that she knows her mistress has made the will in her favour?''
"Tell us, Aunt Jane," said Raymond, "will there be murder or won't there? What do you think?"
"I think," said Miss Marple, winding up her wool with a rather severe air, "that you shouldn't joke about these things
as much as you do, Raymond. Arsenic is, of course, quite a
possibility. So easy to obtain. Probably present in the tool
shed already in the form of weed killer."
"Oh, really, darling," said Joan West affectionately. "Wouldn't that be rather too obvious?"
"It's all very well to make a will," said Raymond. "I don't suppose the poor old thing has anything to leave except that
awful white elephant of a house, and who would want
that?"
"A film company possibly," said Horace, "or a hotel or an institution?"
"They'd expect to buy it for a song," said Raymond, but Miss Marple was shaking her head.
"You know, dear Raymond, I cannot agree with you there. About the money, I mean. The grandfather was evidently
one of those lavish spenders who make money easily
but can't keep it. He may have gone broke, as you say, but
hardly bankrupt, or else his son would not have had the
house. Now the son, as is so often the case, was of an entirely
different character from his father. A miser. A man
who saved every penny. I should say that in the course of his
lifetime he probably put by a very good sum. This Miss
Greenshaw appears to have taken after him--to dislike
spending money, that is. Yes, I should think it quite likely
that she has quite a substantial sum tucked away."


	GREENSHAW'S FOLLY 	307

"In that case," said Joan West, "I wonder now--what about Louise?"
They looked at Louise as she sat, silent, by the fire. Louise was Joan West's niece. Her marriage had recently,
as she herself put it, come unstuck, leaving her with two
young children and a bare sufficiency of money to keep them
on.
"I mean," said Joan, "if this Miss Greenshaw really wants someone to go through diaries and get a book ready for
publication ..."
"It's an idea," said Raymond.
Louise said in a low voice. "It's work I could do--and I think I'd enjoy it."
"I'11 write to her," said Raymond.
"I wonder," said Miss Marple thoughtfully, "what the old
lady meant by that remark about a policeman?"
"Oh, it was just a joke."
"It reminded me," said Miss Marple, nodding her head vigorously, "yes, it reminded me very much of Mr. Nay-smith."
"Who was Mr. Naysmith?" asked Raymond curiously. "He kept bees," said Miss Marple, "and was very good at
doing the acrostics in the Sunday papers. And he liked giving
people false impressions just for fun. But sometimes it
led to trouble."
Everybody was silent for a moment, considering Mr. Naysmith, but as there did not seem to be any points of resemblance
between him and Miss Greenshaw, they decided
that dear Aunt Jane was perhaps getting a little bit disconnected
in her old age.

Horace Bindler went back to London without having collected any more monstrosities, and Raymond West wrote a
letter to Miss Greenshaw telling her that he knew of a Mrs.


MISS MARPLE

Louise Oxley who would be competent to undertake work on the diaries. After a lapse of some days a letter arrived,
written in spidery old-fashioned handwriting, in which Miss
Greenshaw declared herself anxious to avail herself of the
services of Mrs. Oxley, and making an appointment for Mrs.
Oxley to come and see her.
Louise duly kept the appointment, generous terms were arranged, and she started work the following day.
"I'm awfully grateful to you," she said to Raymond. "It will fit in beautifully. I can take the children to school, go
on to Greenshaw's Folly, and pick them up on my way back.
How fantastic the whole setup is! That old woman has to be
seen to be believed."
On the evening of her first day at work she returned and described her day.
"I've hardly seen the housekeeper," she said. "She came in with coffee and biscuits at half-past eleven, with her mouth
pursed up very prunes and prisms, and would hardly speak to
me. I think she disapproves deeply of my having been engaged.''
She went on, "It seems there's quite a feud between
her and the gardener, Alfred. He's a local boy and fairly lazy,
I should imagine, and he and the housekeeper won't speak
to each other. Miss Greenshaw said in her rather grand way,
'There have always been feuds as far as I can remember between
the garden and the house staff. It was so in my grandfather's
time. There were three men and a boy in the garden
then, and eight maids in the house, but there was always friction.'"
On the next day Louise returned with another piece of news.
"Just fancy," she said, "I was asked to ring up the nephew today."
"Miss Greenshaw's nephew?"
"Yes. It seems he's an actor playing in the stock company that's doing a summer season at Boreham-on-Sea. I rang up


GREENSHAW'S FOLLY 309

the theater and left a message asking him to lunch tomorrow. Rather fun, really. The old girl didn't want the housekeeper
to know. I think Mrs. Cresswell has done something
that's annoyed her."
"Tomorrow another installment of this thrilling serial," murmured Raymond.
"It's exactly like a serial, isn't it? Reconciliation with the nephew, blood is thicker than water--another will to be
made and the old will destroyed.
"Aunt Jane, you're looking very serious."
"Was I, my dear? Have you heard any more about the policeman?''
Louise looked bewildered. "I don't know anything about a policeman."
"That remark of hers, my dear," said Miss Marple, "must have meant something."
Louise arrived, at her work the following day in a cheerful mood. She passed through the open front door--the doors
and windows of the house were always open. Miss Green-shaw
appeared to have no fear of burglars, and was probably
justified, as most things in the house weighed several tons
and were of no marketable value.
Louise had passed Alfred in the drive. When she fi}st noticed him he had been leaning against a tree smoking a cigarette,
but as soon as he had caught sight of her he had seized
a broom and begun diligently to sweep leaves. An idle young
man, she thought, but good-looking. His features reminded
her of someone. As she passed through the hall on the way
upstairs to the library, she glanced at the large picture of
Nathaniel Greenshaw which presided over the mantelpiece,
showing him in the acme of Victorian prosperity, leaning
back in a large armchair, his hands resting on the gold Albert
chain across his capacious stomach. As her glance swept
up from the stomach to the face with its heavy jowls, its
bushy eyebrows and its flourishing black moustache, the


3ZO MISS MARPLE
thought occurred to her that Nathaniel Greenshaw must have been handsome as a young man. He had looked, perhaps,
a little like Alfred ....
She went into the library on the second floor, shut the door behind her, opened her typewriter, and got out the diaries
from the drawer at the side of her desk. Through the
open window she caught a glimpse of Miss Greenshaw
below, in a puce-coloured sprigged print, bending over the
rockery, weeding assiduously. They had had two wet days, of
which the weeds had taken full advantage.
Louise, a town-bred girl, decided that if she ever had a garden, it would never contain a rockery which needed
weeding by hand. Then she settled down to her work.
When Mrs. Cresswell entered the library with the coffee tray at half-past eleven, she was clearly in a very bad temper.
She banged the tray down on the table and observed to the
universe:
"Company for lunch--and nothing in the house! What am I supposed to do, I should like to know? And no sign of
Alfred."
"He was sweeping the drive when I got here," Louise offered.
"I daresay. A nice soft job."
Mrs. Cresswell swept out of the room, slamming the door behind her. Louise grinned to herself. She wondered what
"the nephew" would be like.
She finished her coffee and settled down to her work again. It was so absorbing that time passed quickly. Nathan-iel
Greenshaw, when he started to keep a diary, had succumbed
to the pleasures of frankness. Typing out a passage
relating to the personal charms of a barmaid in the neigh-bouring
town, Louise reflected that a good deal of editing
would be necessary.
As she was thinking this, she was startled by the scream from the garden. Jumping up, she ran to the open window.


	GREENSHAW'S FOLLY 	3I I

Below her Miss Greenshaw was staggering away from the rockery toward the house. Her hands were clasped to her
breast, and between her hands there protruded a feathered
shaft that Louise recognized with stupefaction to be the
shaft of an arrow.
Miss Greenshaw's head, in its battered straw hat, fell forward on her breast. She called up to Louise in a failing
voice: "... shot ... he shot me ... with an arrow ... get
help..."
Louise rushed to the door. She turned the handle, but the door would not open. It took her a moment or two of futile
endeavor to realize that she was locked in. She ran back to
the window and called down.
"I'm locked in!"
Miss Greenshaw, her back toward Louise and swaying a little on her feet, was calling up to the housekeeper at a window
farther along.
"Ring police ... telephone ..."
Then, lurching from side to side like a drunkard, Miss Greenshaw disappeared from Louise's view through the window
and staggered into the drawing-room on the ground
floor. A moment later Louise heard a crash of broken china,
a heavy fall, and then silence. Her imagination reconstructed
the scene. Miss Greenshaw must have stumbled blindly into
a small table with a Sfvres tea set on it.
Desperately Louise pounded on the library door, calling and shouting. There was no creeper or drainpipe outside the
window that could help her to get out that way.
Tired at last of beating on the door, Louise returned to the window. From the window of her sitting-room farther along
the housekeeper's head appeared.
"Come and let me out, Mrs. Oxley. I'm locked in." "So am I," said Louise.
"Oh, dear, isn't it awful? I've telephoned the police. There's an extension in this room, but what I can't under-


	3I2 	MISS MARPLE

stand, Mrs. Oxley, is our being locked in. I never heard a key turn, did you?"
"No, I didn't hear anything at all. Oh, dear, what shall we do? Perhaps Alfred might hear us." Louise shouted at the
top of her voice, "Alfred, Alfred."
"Gone to his dinner as likely as not. What time is it?" Louise glanced at her watch.
"Twenty-five past twelve."
"He's not supposed to go until half-past, but he sneaks off earlier whenever he can."
"Do you think--do you think--"
Louise meant to ask, "Do you think she's dead?"--but the words stuck in her throat.
There was nothing to do but wait. She sat down on the window sill. It seemed an eternity before the stolid helmeted
figure of a police constable came round the corner of the
house. She leaned out of the window and he looked up at
her, shading his eyes with his hand.
"What's going on here?" he demanded.
From their respective windows Louise and Mrs. Cresswell poured a flood of excited information down on him.
The constable produced a notebook and pencil. "You ladies ran upstairs and locked yourselves in? Can I have your
names, please?"
"Somebody locked us in. Come and let us out."
The constable said reprovingly, "All in good time," and disappeared through the French window below.
Once again time seemed infinite. Louise heard the sound of a car arriving, and after what seemed an hour, but was actually
only three minutes, first Mrs. Cresswcll and then
Louise were released by a police sergeant more alert than the
original constable.
"Miss Greenshaw?" Louise's voice faltered. "What--what's happened?"
The sergeant cleared his throat.


	GREENSHAW'S FOLLY 	3 Z 3
"I'm sorry to have to tell you, madam," he said, "what I've already told Mrs. Cresswell here. Miss Greenshaw is
dead."
"Murdered," said Mrs. Cresswell. "That's what it is--mur-der?
The sergeant said dubiously, "Could have been an acci-dent-some country lads shooting arrows."
Again there was thc sound of a car arriving.
The sergeant said, "That'll be the M.O.,' and he started downstairs.
But it was not the M.O. As Louise and Mrs. Cresswell came down the stairs, a young man stepped hesitatingly
through the front door and paused, looking around him
with a somewhat bewildered air.
Then, speaking in a pleasant voice that in some way seemed familiar to Louise--perhaps it reminded her of Miss
Gteenshaw's--he asked, "Excuse me, does--er--does Miss
Greenshaw live here?"
"May I have your name if you please?" said the sergeant, advancing upon him.
"Fletcher," said the young man. "Nat Fletcher. I'm Miss
Greenshaw's nephew, as a matter of fact."
"Indeed, sir, well--I'm sorry--"
"Has anything happened?" asked Nat Fletcher.
"There's been an--accident. Your aunt was shot with an arrow--penetrated the jugular vein--"
Mrs. Cresswell spoke hysterically and without her usual refinement: "Your h'aunt's been murdered, that's what's
pened. Your h'aunt's been murdered."

Inspector Welch drew his chair a little nearer to the table and let his gaze wander from one to the other of the four
people in the room. It was evening of the same day. He had
called at the Wests' house to take Louise Oxley once more
over her statement.


3$4 MSS MARPLE
"You are sure of the exact words? Shot--he shot me--with
an arrow--get help?" Louise nodded.
"And the time?"
"I looked at my watch a minute or two later--it was then twelve twenty-five--"
"Your watch keeps good time?"
"I looked at the clock as well." Louise left no doubt of her
accuracy.
The inspector turned to Raymond West.
"it appears, sir, that about a week ago you and a Mr. Horace Bindler were witnesses to Miss Greenshaw's will?"
Briefly Raymond recounted the events of the afternoon visit he and Horace Bindler had paid to Greenshaw's Folly.
"This testimony of yours may be important," said Welch. "Miss Grecnshaw distinctly told you, did she, that her will
was being made in favour of Mrs. Cresswell, the housekeeper,
and that she was not paying Mrs. Cresswell any
wages in view of the expectations Mrs. Cresswell had of profiting
by her death?"
"That is what she told me--yes."
"Would you say that Mrs. Cresswdl was definitely aware of these facts?"
"I should say undoubtedly. Miss Greenshaw made a reference in my presence to beneficiaries not being able to witness
a will, and Mrs. Crcsswell clearly understood what she meant
by it. Moreover, Miss Greenshaw herself told me that she
had come to this arrangement with Mrs. Cresswell."
"So Mrs. Cresswell had reason to believe she was an interested party. Motive clear enough in her case, and I daresay
she'd be our chief suspect now if it wasn't for the fact that
she was securely locked in her room like Mrs. Oxley here,
and also that Miss Greenshaw definitely said a man shot
her--"
"She definitely was locked in her room?"


	GREENSHAW'S FOLLY 	315
"Oh yes. Sergeant Cayley let her out. It's a big old-fashioned lock with a big old-fashioned key. The key was in the
lock and there's not a chance that it could have been turned
from inside or any hanky-panky of that kind. No, you can
take it definitely that Mrs. Cresswell was locked inside that
room and couldn't get out. And there were no bows and
arrows in the room and Miss Greenshaw couldn't in any case
have been shot from her window--the angle forbids it. No,
Mrs. Cresswell's out."
He paused, then went on: "Would you say that Miss
Greenshaw, in your opinion, was a practical joker?"
Miss Marple looked up sharply from her corner.
"So the will wasn't in Mrs. Cresswell's favour after all?" she said.
Inspector Welch looked over at her in a rather surprised fashion.
"That's a very clever guess of yours, madam," he said. "No, Mrs. Cresswell isn't named as beneficiary."
"Just like Mr. Naysmith," said Miss Marple, nodding her head. "Miss Greenshaw told Mrs. Cresswell she was going to
leave her everything and so got out of paying her wages, and
then she left her money to somebody else. No doubt she was
vastly pleased with herself. No wonder she chortled when
she put the will away in Lady Audley's Secret."
"It was lucky Mrs. Oxley was able to tell us about the will and where it was put," said the inspector. "We might have
had a long hunt for it otherwise."
"A Victorian sense of humour," murmured Raymond West.
"So she left her money to her nephew after all," said Louise.
The inspector shook his head.
"No," he said, "she didn't leave it to Nat Fletcher. The story goes around here--of course, I'm new to the place and
I only get the gossip that's secondhand but it seems that


	3x6 	MISS MARPLE

in the old days both Miss Greenshaw and her sister were set on the handsome young riding master, and the sister got
him. No, she didn't leave the money to her nephew--" Inspector
Welch paused, rubbing his chin. "She left it to
Alfred," he said.
"Alfred--the gardener?" Joan spoke in a surprised voice. "Yes, Mrs. West. Alfred Pollock."
"But why?" cried Louise.
"I daresay," said Miss Marple, "that she thought Alfred Pollock might have a pride in the house, might even want to
live in it, whereas her nephew would almost certainly have
no use for it whatever and would sell it as soon as he could
possibly do so. He's an actor, isn't he? What play exactly is
he acting in at present?"
Trust an old lady to wander from the point, thought Inspector Welch; but he replied civilly, "I believe, madam,
they are doing a season of Sir James M. Barrie's plays." "Barrie," said Miss Marple thoughtfully.
"IVhat Every IVoman Knows," said Inspector Welch, and then blushed. "Name of a play," he said quickly. "I'm not
much of a theater-goer myself," he added, "but the wife
went along and saw it last week. Quite well done, she said it
was."
"Barrie, wrote some very charming plays," said Miss Mar-pie, "though I must say that when I went with an old friend
of mine, General Easterly, to see Barrie's Little Mary"--she
shook her head sadly--"neither of us knew where to look."
The inspector, unacquainted with the play Little Mary, seemed completely fogged.
Miss Marple explained: "When I was a girl, Inspector, nobody ever mentioned the word stomach."
The inspector looked even more at sea. Miss Marple was murmuring titles under her breath.
"The Admirable Crichton. Very clever. Mary Rose--a charming play. I cried, I remember. Quality Street I didn't


	GREENSHAW'S FOLLY 	317

care for so much. Then there was A Kiss for Cinderella. Oh, of course!"
Inspector Welch had no time to waste on theatrical discussion. He returned to the matter at hand.
"The question is," he said, "did Alfred Pollock know the old lady had made a will in his favour? Did she tell him?"
He added, "You see--there's an archery club over at Bore-ham--and
Alfred Pollock's a member. He's a very good shot
indeed with a bow and arrow."
"Then isn't your case quite clear?" asked Raymond West. "It would fit in with the doors being locked on the two
women--he'd know just where they were in the house."
The inspector looked at him. He spoke with deep melancholy.
"He's got an alibi," said the inspector.
"I always think alibis are definitely suspicious," Raymond remarked.
"Maybe, sir," said Inspector Welch. "You're talking as a writer."
"I don't write detective stories," said Raymond West, horrified at the mere idea.
"Easy enough to say that alibis are suspicious," went on Inspector Welch, "but unfortunately we've got to deal with
facts." He sighed. "We've got three good suspects," he went
on. "Three people who, as it happened, were very close upon
the scene at the time. Yet the odd thing is that it looks as
though none of the three could have done it. The housekeeper
I've already dealt with; the nephew, Nat Fletcher, at
the moment Miss Greenshaw was shot, was a couple of miles
away, filling up his car at a garage and asking his way; as for
Alfred Pollock, six people will swear that he entered the
Dog and Duck at twenty past twelve and was there for an
hour, having his usual bread and cheese and beer."
"Deliberately establishing an alibi," said Raymond West hopefully.


3I8 	MISS M^RPL£

"Maybe," said Inspector Welch, "but if so, he did esta[-lish it."
There was a lang silence. Then Raymond turned his hcad to where Miss iarple sat upright and thoughtful.
"It's up to you, Aunt Jane," he said. "The inspector's baffled, the sergeaWs baffled, Joan's baffled, Louise is baffled.
But to you, Art Jane, it is crystal clear. Am I right?"
"I wouldn't Say that," said Miss Marple, "not crystal clear. And murder, dear Raymond, isn't a game. I don't suppose
poor Miss Greeshaw wanted to die, and it was a particularly
brutal murder. Very well-planned and quite cold-blooded.
It's not a thing to make jokes about."
"I'm sorry," said Raymond. "I'm not really as callous as I sound. One treats a thing lightly to take away from the--well,
the horror of it."
"That is, I believe, the modern tendency," said Miss Mar-pie. "All these ars, and having to joke about funerals. Yes,
perhaps I was thoughtless when I implied that you were callous.''
"It isn't," said Joan, "as though we'd known her at all well."
"That is very true," said Miss Marple. "You, dear Joan, did not know hr at all. I did not know her at all. Raymond
gathered an impression of her from one afternoon's conversation.
Louise kew her for only two days."
"Come now, Aunt Jane," said Raymond, "tell us your views. You don't mind, Inspector?"
"Not at all," said the inspector politely.
"Well, my dear, it would seem that we have three people who had--or might have thought they had--a motive to
kill the old lady. And three quite simple reasons why none of
the three could have done so. The housekeeper could not
have killed Miss Greenshaw because she was locked in her
room and because her mistress definitely stated that a man


	GREENSHAW'S FOLLY 	39

shot her. The gardener was inside the Dog and Duck at the time, the nephew at the garage."
"Very clearly put, madam," said the inspector.
"And since it seems most unlikely that any outsider should have done it, where, then, are we?"
"That's what the inspector wants to know," said Raymond West.
"One so often looks at a thing the wrong way round," said Miss Marple apologetically. "If we can't alter the movements
or the positions of those three people, then couldn't
we perhaps alter the time of the murder?"
"You mean that both my watch and the clock were wrong?" asked Louise.
"No, dear," said Miss Marple, "I didn't mean that at all. I mean that the murder didn't occur when you thought it occurred.''
"But I saw it," cried Louise.
"Well, what I have been wondering, my dear, was whether you weren't meant to see it. I've been asking myself,
you know, whether that wasn't the real reason why you were
engaged for this job."
"What do you mean, Aunt Jane?"
"Well, dear, it seems odd. Miss Greenshaw did not like spending money--yet she engaged you and agreed quite
willingly to the terms you asked. It seems to me that perhaps
you were meant to be there in that library on the second
floor, looking out of the window so that you could be the
key witness--someone from outside of irreproachably good
character--to fix a definite time and place for the murder."
"But you can't mean," said Louise incredulously, "that Miss Greenshaw intended to be murdered."
"What I mean, dear," said Miss Marple, "is that you didn't really know Miss Greenshaw. There's no real reason, is
there, why the Miss Greenshaw you saw when you went up


	320 	MISS MARPLE

to thc house should be the same Miss Greenshaw that Raymond saw a few days earlier? Oh yes, I know," she went on,
to prevent Louise's reply, "she was wearing the peculiar old-fashioned
print dress and the strange straw hat and had unkempt
hair. She corresponded exactly to the description
Raymond gave us last weekend. But those two women, you
know, were much the same age, height, and size. The housekeeper,
I mean, and Miss Greenshaw."
"But the housekeeper is fat!" Louise exclaimed. "She's got an enormous bosom."
Miss Marple coughed.
"But, my dear, surely, nowadays I have seen--<r--them myself in shops most indelicately displayed. It is very easy for
anyone to have a--a bosom--of any size and dimension." "What are you trying to say?" demanded Raymond.
"I was just thinking that during the two days Louise was working there, one woman could have played both parts.
You said yourself, Louise, that you hardly saw the housekeeper,
except for the one minute in the morning when she
brought you the tray with coffee. One sees those clever artists
on the stage coming in as different characters with only a
moment or two to spare, and I am sure the change could
have been effected quite easily. That marquise headdress
could be just a wig slipped on and off."
"Aunt Jane! Do you mean that Miss Greenshaw was dead before I started work there?"
"Not dead. Kept under drugs, I should say. A very easy job for an unscrupulous woman like the housekeeper to do.
Then she made the arrangements with you and got you to
telephone to the nephew to ask him to lunch at a definite
time. The only person who would have known that this
Miss Greenshaw was not Miss Greenshaw would have been
Alfred. And if you remember, the first two days you were
working there it was wet, and Miss Greenshaw stayed in the
house. Alfred never came into the house because of his feud


GREENSHAW'S FOLLY 32 I

with the housekeeper. And on the last morning Alfred was in the drive, while Miss Greenshaw was working on the
rockery--I'd like to have a look at that rockery."
"Do you mean it was Mrs. Cresswell who killed Miss Greenshaw?"
"I think that after bringing you your coffee, the housekeeper locked the door on you as she went out, then carried
the unconscious Miss Greenshaw down to the drawing
room, then assumed her 'Miss Greenshaw' disguise and went
out to work on the rockery where you could see her from the
upstairs window. In due course she screamed and came staggering
to the house clutching an arrow as though it had
penetrated her throat. She called for help and was careful to
say 'he shot me' so as to remove suspicion from the house-keeper--from
herself. She also called up to the housekeeper's
window as though she saw her there. Then, once inside the
drawing-room, she threw over a table with porcelain on it,
ran quickly upstairs, put on her marquise wig, and was able a
few moments later to lean her head out of the window and
tell you that she, too, was locked in."
"But she was locked in," said Louise.
"I know. That is where the policeman comes in." "What policeman?"
"Exactly--what policeman? I wonder, Inspector, if you would mind telling me how and when you arrived on the
scene?"
The inspector looked a little puzzled.
"At twelve twenty-nine we received a telephone call from Mrs. Cresswell, housekeeper to Miss Greenshaw, stating that
her mistress had been shot. Sergeant Cayley and myself went
out there at once in a car and arrived at the house at twelve thirty-five. We found Miss Greenshaw dead and the two
ladies locked in their rooms."
"So, you see, my dear," said Miss Marple to Louise, "the


	322 	MISS MARPLE

police constable you saw wasn't a real police constable at all. You never thought of him again---one doesn't-one just ac-
cepts one more uniform as part of the law."
"But who-why?"
"As to whowell, if they are playing A Kiss for Cinderella, a policeman is the principal character. Nat Fletcher would
only have to help himself to the costume he wears on the
stage. He'd ask his way at a garage, being careful to call attention
to the time--twelve twenty-five; then he would
drive on quickly, leave his car round a corner, slip on his po-
lice uniform, and do his 'act.'"
"But why--why?"
"Someone had to lock the housekeeper's door on the outside, and someone had to drive the arrow through Miss
Greenshaw's throat. You can stab anyone with an arrow just
as well as by shooting it but it needs force."
"You mean they were both in it?"
"Oh yes, I think so. Mother and son as likely as not." "But Miss Greenshaw's sister died long ago."
"Yes, but I've no doubt Mr. Fletcher married again--he sounds like the sort of man who would. I think it possible
that the child died, too, and that this so-called nephew was
the second wife's child and not really a relation at all. The
woman got the post as housekeeper and spied out the land.
Then he wrote to Miss Greenshaw as her nephew and proposed
to call on her--he may have even made some joking
reference to coming in his policeman's uniform--remember,
she said she was expecting a policeman. But I think Miss
Greenshaw suspected the truth and refused to see him. He
would have been her heir if she had died without making a
will but of course once she had made a will in the housekeeper's
favour, as they thought, then it was clear sailing."
"But why use an arrow?" objected .Joan. "So very farfetched."


GREENSHAW'S FOLLY
323
"Nor far-fetched at all, dear. Alfred belonged to an archery club--Alfred was meant to take the blame. The fact that he
was in the pub as early as twelve-twenty was most unfortunate
from their point of view. He always left a little before
his proper time and that would have been just right." She
shook her head. "It really seems all wrong--morally, I mean,
that Alfred's laziness should have saved his life."
The inspector cleared his throat.
"Well, madam, these suggestions of yours are very interesting. I shall, of course, have to investigate--"

Miss Marple and Raymond West stood by the rockery and
looked down at a gardening basket full of dying vegetation. Miss Marple murmured:
"Alyssum, saxifrage, cystis, thimble campanula ... Yes, that's all the proof I need. Whoever was weeding here yesterday
morning was no gardener--she pulled up plants as
well as weeds. So now I know I'm right. Thank. you, dear
Raymond, for bringing me here. I wanted to see the place
for myself."
She and Raymond both looked up at the outrageous pile of Greenshaw's Folly.
A cough made them turn. A handsome young man was also looking at the monstrous house.
"Plaguey big place," he said. "Too big for nowadays--or so they say. I dunno about that. If I won a football pool and
made a lot of money, that's the kind of house I'd like to
build."
He smiled bashfully at them, then rumpled his hair.
"Reckon I can say so now," said Alfred Pollock. "And a fine house it is, for all they call it Greenshaw's Folly!"


Sanctuary

T
he vicar's wife came round the corner of the vicarage with her arms full of chrysanthemums. A good deal
of rich garden soil was attached to her strong brogue
shoes and a few fragments of earth were adhering to her
nose, but of that fact she was perfectly unconscious.
She had a slight struggle in opening the vicarage gate which hung, rustily, half off its hinges. A puff of wind
caught at her battered felt hat, causing it to sit even more
rakishly than it had done before. "Bother!" said Bunch.
Christened by her optimistic parents Diana, Mrs. Harmon had become Bunch at an early age for somewhat obvious
reasons and the name had stuck to her ever since. Clutching
the chrysanthemums, she made her way through the gate to
the churchyard and so to the church door.
The November air was mild and damp. Clouds scudded across the sky with patches of blue here and there. Inside, the
church was dark and cold; it was unheated except at service
times.
"Brrrrrh!" said Bunch expressively. "I'd better get on with this quickly. I don't want to die of cold."
With the quickness born of practice she collected the necessary paraphernalia: vases, water, flower holders. "I wish we
had lilies," thought Bunch to herself. "I get so tired of these

324


	SANCTUARY 	3 2 5

scraggy chrysanthemums." Her nimble fingers arranged the blooms in their holders.
There was nothing particularly original or artistic about the decorations, for Bunch Harmon herself was neither original
nor artistic, but it was a homely and pleasant arrangement.
Carrying the vases carefully, Bunch stepped up the
aisle and made her way toward the altar. As she did so the
sun came out.
It shone through the east window of somewhat crude col-oured glass, mostly blue and red--the gift of a wealthy Victorian
churchgoer. The effect was almost startling in its
sudden opulence. "Like jewels," thought Bunch. Suddenly
she stopped, staring ahead of her. On the chancel steps was a
huddled dark form.
Putting down the flowers carefully, Bunch went up to it and bent over it. It was a man lying there, huddled over on
himself. Bunch knelt down by him and slowly, carefully, she
turned him over. Her fingers went to his pulse--a pulse so
feeble and fluttering that it told its own story, as did the almost
greenish pallor of his face. There was no doubt, Bunch
thought, that the man was dying.
He was a man of about forty-five, dressed in a dark, shabby suit. She laid down the limp hand she had picked up and
looked at his other hand. This seemed clenched like a fist on
his breast. Looking more closely, she saw that the fingers
were closed over what seemed to be a large wad or handkerchief
which he was holding tightly to his chest. Ail round
the clenched hand there were splashes of a dry brown fluid
which, Bunch guessed, was dry blood. Bunch sat back on her
heels, frowning.
Up till now the man's eyes had been closed, but at this point they suddenly opened and fixed themselves on Bunch's
face. They were neither dazed nor wandering. They seemed
fully alive and intelligent. His lips moved, and Bunch bent


326 MISS MARPLE
forward to catch the words, or rather the word. It was only
one word that he said:
"Sanctuary."
There was, she thought, just a very faint smile as he breathed out this word. There was no mistaking it, for after
a moment he said it again, "Sanctuary ..."
Then, with a faint, long-drawn-out sigh, his eyes closed again. Once more Bunch's fingers went to his pulse. It was
still there, but fainter now and more intermittent. She got
up with decision.
"Don't move," she said, "or try to move. I'm going for help."
The man's eyes opened again, but he seemed now to be fixing his attention on the coloured light that came through
the east window. He murmured something that Bunch
could not quite catch. She thought, startled, that it might
have been her husband's name.
"Julian?" she said. "Did you come here to find Julian?" But there was no answer. The man lay with eyes closed, his
breathing coming in slow, shallow fashion.
Bunch turned and left the church rapidly. She glanced at her watch and nodded with some satisfaction. Dr. Griffiths
would still be in his surgery. It was only a couple of minutes'
walk from the church. She went in, without waiting to
knock or ring, passing through the waiting-room and into
the doctor's surgery.
"You must come at once," said Bunch. "There's a man
' ch"
dying in the cnur .
Some minutes later Dr. Griffiths rose from his knees after a brief examination.
"Can we move him from here into the vicarage? I can attend to him better there--not that it's any use."
"Of course," said Bunch. "I'11 go along and get things ready. I'll get Harper and Jones, shall I? To help you carry
him."


	SANCTUARY 	32'7

"Thanks." I can telephone from the vicarage for an ambulance, but I'm afraid--by the time it comes ..." He left the
remark unfinished.
Bunch said, "Internal bleeding?"
Dr. Griffiths nodded. He said, "How on earth did he come here?"
"I think he must have been here all night," said Bunch, considering. "Harper unlocks the church in the morning as
he goes to work, but he doesn't usually come in."
It was about five minutes later when Dr. Griffiths put down the telephone receiver and came back into the morn-ing-room
where the injured man was lying on quickly arranged
blankets on the sofa. Bunch was moving a basin of
water and clearing up after the doctor's examination.
"Well, that's that," said Griffiths. "I've sent for an ambulance and I've notified the police." He stood, frowning,
looking down on the patient who lay with closed eyes. His
left hand was plucking in a nervous, spasmodic way at his
side.
"He was shot," said Griffiths. "Shot at fairly close quarters. He rolled his handkerchief up into a ball and plugged
the wound with it so as to stop the bleeding."
"Could he have gone far after that happened?" Bunch asked.
"Oh yes, it's quite possible. A mortally wounded man has been known to pick himself up and walk along a street as
though nothing had happened and then suddenly collapse
five or ten minutes later. So he needn't have been shot in the
church. Oh no. He may have been shot some distance away.
Of course, he may have shot himself and then dropped the
revolver and staggered blindly toward the church. I don't
quite know why he made for the church and not for the vicarage.''
"Oh, I know that," said Bunch. "He said it: 'Sanctuary.'" The doctor stared at her. "Sanctuary?"


	328 	MiSS M^UPrE

"Here's Julian," said Bunch, turning her head as she heard her husband's steps in the hall. "Julian! Come here."
The Reverend Julian Harmon entered the room. His vague, scholarly manner always made him appear much older
than he really was. "Dear me!" said Julian Harmon, staring
in a mild, puzzled manner at the surgical appliances and the
prone figure on the sofa.
Bunch explained with her usual economy of words. "He was in the church, dying. He'd been shot. Do you know
him, Julian? I thought he said your name."
The vicar came up to the sofa and looked down at the dying man. "Poor fellow," he said, and shook his head. "No,
I don't know him. I'm almost sure I've never seen him before."
At the moment the dying man's eyes opened once more. They went from the doctor to Julian Harmon and from him
to his wife. The eyes stayed there, staring into Bunch's rice.
Griffiths stepped forward.
"If you could tell us," he said urgently.
But with his eyes fixed on Bunch, the man said in a weak voice, "Please--please--" And then, with a slight tremor, he
died ....

Sergeant Hayes licked his pencil and turned the page of his notebook.
"So that's all you can tell me, Mrs. Harmon?"
"That's all," said Bunch. "These are the things out of his coat pockets."
On a table at Sergeant Hayes's elbow was a wallet, a rather battered old watch with the initials W.S., and the return half
of a ticket to London. Nothing more.
"You've found our who he is?" asked Bunch.
"A Mr. and Mrs. Eccles phoned up the station. He's her brother, it seems. Name of Sandbourne. Been in a low state
of health and nerves for some time. He's been getting worse


SANCTUARY 329
lately. The day before yesterday he walked out and didn't come back. He took a revolver with him."
"And he came out here and shot himself with it?" said Bunch. "Why?"
"Well, you see, he'd been depressed ..."
Bunch interrupted him. "I don't mean that. I mean, why here?"
Since Sergeant Hayes obviously did not know the answer to that one he replied in an oblique fashion, "Come out
here, he did, on the five-ten bus."
"Yes," said Bunch again. "But why?"
"I don't know, Mrs. Harmon," said Sergeant Hayes. "There's no accounting. If the balance of the mind is disturbed''
Bunch finished for him. "They may do it anywhere. But it still seems to me unnecessary to take a bus out to a small
country place like this. He didn't know anyone here, did
he?"
"Not so far as can be ascertained," said Sergeant Hayes. He coughed in an apologetic manner and said, as he rose to
his feet, "It may be as Mr. and Mrs. Eccles will come out and
see you, ma'am--if you don't mind, that is."
"Of course I don't mind," said Bunch. "It's very natural. I only wish I had something to tell them."
"I'll be getting along," said Sergeant Hayes.
"I'm only so thankful," said Bunch, going with him to the front door, "that it wasn't murder."
A car had drawn up at the vicarage gate. Sergeant Hayes, glancing at it, remarked, "Looks as though that's Mr. and
Mrs. Eccles come here now, ma'am, to talk with you."
Bunch braced herself to endure what, she felt, might be rather a difficult ordeal. "However," she thought, "[ can always
call Julian to help me. A clergyman's a great help when
people are bereaved."
Exactly what she had expected Mr. and Mrs. Eccles to be


	330 	MISS MARPLE

like, Bunch could not have said, but she was conscious, as she greeted them, of a feeling of surprise. Mr. Eccles was a
stout and florid man whose natural manner would have been
cheerful and facetious. Mrs. Eccles had a vaguely flashy look
about her. She had a small, mean, pursed-up mouth. Her
voice was thin and reedy.
"It's been a terrible shock, Mrs. Harmon, as you can imagine,'' she said.
"Oh, I know," said Bunch. "It must have been. Do sit down. Can I offer you--well, perhaps it's a little early for
tea--"
Mr. Eccles waved a pudgy hand. "No, no, nothing for us," he said. "It's very kind of you, I'm sure. Just wanted to ...
well ... what poor William said and all that, you know?"
"He's been abroad a long time," said Mrs. Eccles, "and I think he must have had some very nasty experiences. Very
quiet and depressed he's been, ever since he came home. Said
the world wasn't fit to live in and there was nothing to look
forward to. Poor Bill, he was always moody."
Bunch stared at them both for a moment or two without speaking.
"Pinched my husband's revolver, he did," went on Mrs. Eccles. "Without our knowing. Then it seems he come out
here by bus. I suppose that was nice feeling on his part. He
wouldn't have liked to do it in our house."
"Poor fellow, poor fellow," said Mr. Eccles, with a sigh. "It doesn't do to judge."
There was another short pause, and Mr. Eccles said, "Did he leave a message? Any last words, nothing like that?"
His bright, rather piglike eyes watched Bunch closely. Mrs. Eccles, too, leaned forward as though anxious for the
reply.
"No," said Bunch quietly. "He came into the church when he was dying, for sanctuary."


	SANCTUARY 	3 3 I

Mrs. Eccles said in a puzzled voice, "Sanctuary? I don't think I quite ..."
Mr. Eccles interrupted. "Holy place, my dear," he said impatiently. "That's what the vicar's wife means. It's a sin--suicide,
you know. I expect he wanted to make amends."
"He tried to say something just before he died," said Bunch. "He began, 'Please,' but that's as far as he got." Mrs.
Eccles put her handkerchief to her eyes and sniffed.
"Oh, dear," she said. "It's terribly upsetting, isn't it?" "There, there, Pam," said her husband. "Don't take on.
These things can't be helped. Poor Willie. Still, he's at peace
now. Well, thank you very much, Mrs. Harmon. I hope we
haven't interrupted you. A vicar's wife is a busy lady, we
know that."
They shook hands with her. Then Eccles turned back suddenly to say, "Oh, yes, there's just one other thing. I think
you've got his coat here, haven't you?"
"His coat?" Bunch frowned.
Mrs. Eccles said, "We'd like all his things, you know. Sentimental like."
"He had a watch and a wallet and a railway ticket in the pockets," said Bunch. "I gave them to Sergeant Hayes."
"That's all right, then," said Mr. Eccles. "He'll hand them over to us, I expect. His private papers would be in the wallet.''
"There was a pound note in the wallet," said Bunch. "Nothing else."
"No letters? Nothing like that?"
Bunch shook her head.
"Well, thank you again, Mrs. Harmon. The coat he was
wearing--perhaps the sergeant's got that, too, has he?" Bunch frowned in an effort of remembrance.
"No," she said. "I don't think ... let me see. The doctor and I took his coat off to examine the wound." She looked


	332 	MISS MARPLE

around the room vaguely. "I must have taken it upstairs with the towels and basin."
"I wonder now, Mrs. Harmon, if you don't mind ... We'd like his coat, you know, the last thing he wore. Well,
the wife feels rather sentimental about it."
"Of course," said Bunch. "Would you like me to have it
cleaned first? I'm afraid it's rather--well--stained."
"Oh no, no, no, that doesn't matter."
Bunch frowned. "Now I wonder where ... Excuse me a moment." She went upstairs and it was some few minutes
before she returned.
"I'm so sorry," she said breathlessly. "My daily woman must have put it aside with other clothes that were going to
the cleaners. It's taken me quite a long time to find it. Here
it is. I'll do it up for you in brown paper."
Disclaiming their protests, she did so; then once more effusively bidding her farewell, the Eccleses departed.
Bunch went slowly back across the hall and entered the study. The Reverend Julian Harmon looked up and his brow
cleared. He was composing a sermon and was fearing that
he'd been led astray by the interest of the political relations
between Judaea and Persia, in the reign of Cyrus.
"Yes, dear?" he said hopefully.
"Julian," said Bunch, "what's sanctuary exactly?" Julian Harmon gratefully put aside his sermon paper.
"Well," he said, "sanctuary in Roman and Greek temples
applied to the cella in which stood the statue of a god. The
Latin word for altar, ara, also means protection." He continued
learnedly: "In ^.r). 399 the right of sanctuary in Christian
churches was finally and definitely recognized. The
earliest mention of the right of sanctuary in England is in
the Code of Laws by Ethelbert in ^.r). 600 ..."
He continued for some time with his exposition but was, as often, disconcerted by his wife's reception of his erudite
pronouncement.


	SANCTUARY 	333
	"Darling," she said, "you are sweet."
Bending over, she kissed him on the tip of his nose. Julian felt rather like a dog who had been congratulated for performing
a clever trick.
	"The Eccles have been here," said Bunch.
The vicar frowned. "The Eccles? I don't seem to remember..."
"You don't know them. They're the sister and her husband of the man in the church."
	"My dear, you ought to have called me."
"There wasn't any need," said Bunch. "They were not in need of consolation. I wonder now." She frowned. "If I put
a casserole in thc oven tomorrow, can you manage, Julian? I
think I shall have to go up to London for the sales."
	"The sails?" Her husband looked at her blankly. "Do you
mean a yacht or a boat or something?"
	Bunch laughed.
"No, darling. There's a special white sale at Burrows and Portman's. You know, sheets, tablecloths, and towels and
glass cloths. I don't know what we do with our glass cloths,
the way they wear through. Besides," she added thoughtfully,
"I think I ought to go and see Aunt Jane."

That sweet old lady, Miss Jane Marple, was enjoyin the delights of the metropolis for a fortnight, comfortably installed
in her nephew's studio flat.
"So kind of dear Raymond," she murmured. "He and Joan have gone to America for a fortnight and they insisted I
should come up here and enjoy myself. And now, dear
Bunch, do tell me what it is that's worrying you."
Bunch was Miss Marple's favourite godchild, and the old lady looked at her with great affection as Bunch, thrusting
her best felt hat further on the back of her head, started on
her story.
Bunch's recital was concise and clear. Miss Marple nodded


	334 	MISS MARP1E

her head as Bunch finished. "I see," she said. "Yes, I see."
"That's why I felt I had to see yOU," said Bunch. "You see, not being clever--"
"But you are clever, my dear."
"No, I'm not. Not clever like Julian."
"Julian, of course, has a very solid intellect," said Miss Marple.
"That's it," said Bunch. "Julian's got the intellect, but on the other hand, I've got the sense."
"You have a lot of common sense, Bunch, and you're very intelligent."
"You sec, I don't really know wht I ought to do. I can't ask Julian because--well, I mean, Julian's so full of rectitude..."
This statement appeared to be perfectly understood by Miss Marple, who said, "I know what you mean, dear. We
women--well, it's different." She went on, "You told mc
what happened, Bunch, but I'd like to know first exactly
what you think."
"It's all wrong," said Bunch. "Thc man who was there in thc church, dying, knew all about snctuary. He said it just
the way Julian would have said it. I ffean he was a well-read,
educated man. And if he'd shot bit, self, he wouldn't drag
himself into a church afterward and say 'sanctuary.' Sanctuary
means that you're pursued, arid when you get into a
church you're safe. Your pursuers can't touch you. At one
time even the law couldn't get at yoU."
She looked questioningly at Miss Marple. The latter nodded. Bunch went on, "Those people, the Eccles, were quite
different. That watch--the dead man'S watch. It had the initials
W.S. on the back of ir. But inside--I opened it--in very
small lettering there was 'To Walter from his father' and a
date. /alter. But the Eccles kept talting of him as William
or Bill."
Miss Marple seemed about to speaL but Bunch rushed on,


	SANCTUARY
	335
			"Oh, I know you're not always called the name you're bap-
			tized by. I mean, I can understand that you might be chris
			tened
William and called 'Porky' or 'Carrots' or something.
			But your sister wouldn't call you William or Bill if your

			name was Walter."

			"You mean that she wasn't his sister?"

			"I'm quite sure she wasn't his sister. They were horrid--

			both of them. They came to the vicarage to get his things

			and to find out if he'd said anything before he died. When I

			said he hadn't I saw it in their faces--relief. I think, myself,"

		finished Bunch, "it was Eccles who shot him."

			"Murder?" said Miss Marple.

			"Yes," said Bunch, "murder. T '

				hat s why I came to you

		darling."

			Bunch's remark might have seemed incongruous to an ig
	norant
listener, but in certain spheres Miss Marple had a rep
	utation
for dealing with murder.

			"He said 'please' to me before he died," said Bunch. "He

	wanted me to do something for him. The awful thing is I've

	no idea what."

			Miss Marple considered for a moment or two and then

	pounced on the point that had already occurred to Bunch.

	"But why was he there at all?" she asked.

			"You mean," said Bunch, "if you wanted sanctuary, you

might pop into a church anywhere. T '

					here s no need to take a

bus that only goes four times a day and come out to a lonely

spot like ours for it."

			"He must have come there for a p rpose, Miss Marple
	U 	"
thought. "He must have come to see someone. Chipping
Cleghorn's not a big place, Bunch. Surely you must have

some idea of who it was he came to see?"

Bunch reviewed the inhabitants of her village in her mind

before rather doubtfully shaking her head. "In a way, "she

said, "it could be anybody."

"He never mentioned a name?"


	336 	MISS MARPLE

"He said Julian, or I thought he said Julian. It might have been Julia, I suppose. As far as I know, there isn't any Julia
living in Chipping Cleghorn."
She screwed up her eyes as she thought back to the scene. The man lying there on the chancel steps, the light coming
through the window with its jewels of red and blue
light.
"Jewels," said Bunch suddenly. "Perhaps that's what he said. The light coming through the east window looked like
jewels."
"Jewels," said Miss Marple thoughtfully.
"I'm coming now," said Bunch, "to the most important thing of all. The reason why I've really come here today.
You see, the Eccles made a great fuss about having his coat.
We took it off when the doctor was seeing to him. It was an
old, shabby sort of coat--there was no reason they should
have wanted it. They pretended it was sentimental, but that
was nonsense.
"Anyway, I went up to find it, and as I was going up the stairs I remembered how he'd made a kind of picking gesture
with his hand, as though he was fumbling with the coat. So
when I got hold of the coat I looked at it very carefully and I
saw that in one place the lining had been sewn up again
with a different thread. So I unpicked it and found a little
piece of paper inside. I took it out and sewed it up again
properly with thread that matched. I was careful and I don't
really think that the Eccles would know I've done it. I don't
think so, but I can't be sure. And I took the coat down to
them and made some excuse for the delay."
"The piece of paper?" asked Miss Marple.
Bunch opened her handbag. "I didn't show it to Julian," she said, "because he would have said that I ought to have given it to the Eccles. But I thought I'd rather bring it to
you instead."


	SANCTUARY 	337
"A cloakroom ticket," said Miss Marple, looking at it. "Paddington Station."
"He had a return ticket to Paddington in his pocket," said Bunch.
The eyes of the two women met.
"This calls for action," said Miss Marple briskly. "But it would be advisable, I think, to be careful. Would you have
noticed at all, Bunch dear, whether you were followed when
you came to London today?"
"Followed!" exclaimed Bunch. "You don't thinks" "Well, I think it's possible," said Miss Marple. "When
anything is possible, I think we ought to take precautions."
She rose with a brisk movement. "You came up here ostensibly,
my dear, to go to the sales. I think the right thing to
do, therefore, would be for us to go to the sales. But before
we set out, we might put one or two little arrangements in
hand. I don't suppose," Miss Marple added obscurely, "that I
shall need the old speckled tweed with the beaver collar just
at present ....
It was about an hour and a half later that the two ladies, rather the worse for wear and battered in appearance, and
both clasping parcels of hard-won household linen, sat down
at a small and sequestered hostelry called the Apple Bough
to restore their forces with steak-and-kidney pudding followed
by apple tart and custard.
"Really a prewar-quality face towel," gasped Miss Marple, slightly out of breath. "With a J on it too. So fortunate that
Raymond's wife's name is Joan. I shall put them aside until I
really need them and then they will do for her if I pass on
sooner than I expect."
"I really did need the glass cloths," said Bunch. "And they were very cheap, though not as cheap as the ones that
woman with the ginger hair managed to snatch from me."
A smart young woman with a lavish application of rouge


	338 	MISS MARPLE

and lipstick entered the Apple Bough at that moment. After looking round vaguely for a moment or two, she hurried to
their table. She laid down an envelope by Miss Marple's
elbow.
"There you are, miss," she said briskly.
"Oh, thank you, Gladys," said Miss Marple. "Thank you very much. So kind of you."
"Always pleased to oblige, I'm sure," said Gladys. "Ernie always says to me, 'Everything what's good you learned from
that Miss Marple of yours that you were in service with,' and
I'm sure I'm always glad to oblige you, miss."
"Such a dear girl," said Miss Marple as Gladys departed again. "Always so willing and so kind."
She looked inside the envelope and then passed it on to Bunch. "Now be very careful, dear," she said. "By the way, is
there still that nice young inspector at Melchester that I remember?"
"I don't know," said Bunch. "I expect so."
"Well, if not," said Miss Marple thoughtfully, "I can always ring up the chief constable. I think he would remember
me."
"Of course he'd remember you," said Bunch. "Everybody would remember you. You're quite unique." She rose.
Arrived at Paddington, Bunch went to the Parcels Oce and produced the cloakroom ticket. A moment or two later
a rather shabby old suitcase was passed across to her, and carrying
this, she made her way to the platform.
The journey home was uneventful. Bunch rose as the train approached Chipping Cleghorn and picked up the old suitcase.
She had just left her carriage when a man, sprinting
along the platform, suddenly seized the suitcase from her
hand and rushed off with it.
"Stop!" Bunch yelled. "Stop him, stop him. He's taken my suitcase."


	SANCTUARY 	339
The ticket collector who, at this rural station, was a man of somewhat slow processes had just begun to say, "Now,
look here, you can't do that--" when a smart blow in the
chest pushed him aside, and the man with the suitcase
rushed out from the station. He made his way toward a
waiting car. Tossing the suitcase in, he was about to climb
after it, but before he could move a hand fell on his shoulder,
and the voice of Police Constable Abel said, "Now then,
what's all this?"
Bunch arrived, panting, from the station. "He snatched my suitcase," she said.
"Nonsense," said the man. "I don't know what this lady
means. It's my suitcase. I just got out of the train with it." "Now, let's get this clear," said Police Constable Abel.
He looked at Bunch with a bovine and impartial stare.
Nobody would have guessed that Police Constable Abel and
Mrs. Harmon spent long half hours in Police Constable
Abel's off time discussing the respective merits of manure
and bone meal for rose bushes.
"You say, madam, that this is your suitcase?" said Police Constable Abel.
"Yes," said Bunch. "Definitely."
"And you, sir?"
"I say this suitcase is mine."
The man was tall, dark, and well dressed, with a drawling voice and a superior manner. A feminine voice from inside
the car said, "Of course it's your suitcase, Edwin. I don't
know what this woman means."
"We'll have to get this clear," said Police Constable Abel. "If it's your suitcase, madam, what do you say is inside it?"
"Clothes," said Bunch. "A long speckled coat with a beaver collar, two wool jumpers, and a pair of shoes."
"Well, that's clear enough," said Police Constable Abel. He turned to the other.


34° 	ass M^V, PLE

"I am a theatrical costumer," said the dark man importantly. "This suitcase contains theatrical properties which I
brought down here for an amateur performance."
"Right, sir," said Police Constable Abel. "Well, we'll just look inside, shall we, and see? We can go along to the police
station, or if you're in a hurry, we'll take the suitcase back to
the station and open it there."
"It'll suit me," said the dark man. "My name is Moss, by the way. Edwin Moss."
The police constable, holding the suitcase, went back into the station. "Just taking this into the Parcels Office,
George," he said to the ticket collector.
Police Constable Abel laid the suitcase on the counter of the Parcels Office and pushed back the clasp. The case was
not locked. Bunch and Mr. Edwin Moss stood on either side
of him, their eyes regarding each other vengefully.
"Ah!" said Police Constable Abel, as he pushed up the lid. Inside, neatly folded, was a long, rather shabby tweed coat
with a beaver fur collar. There were also two wool jumpers
and a pair of country shoes.
"Exactly as you say, madam," said Police Constable Abel, turning to Bunch.
Nobody could have said that Mr. Edwin Moss underdid things. His dismay and compunction were magnificent.
"I do apologize," he said. "I really do apologize. Please believe me, dear lady, when I tell you how very, very sorry I
am. Unpardonable---quite unpardonable--my behavior has
been." He looked at his watch. "I must rush now. Probably
my suitcase has gone on the train." Raising his hat once
more, he said meltingly to Bunch, "Do, do forgive me," and
rushed hurriedly out of the Parcels Office.
"Are you going to let him get away?" asked Bunch in a conspiratorial whisper to Police Constable Abel.
The latter slowly closed a bovine eye in a wink.


	SANCTUARY 	34

"He won't get too far, ma'am," he said. "That's to say, he
won't get far unobserved, if you take my meaning." "Oh," said Bunch, relieved.
"That old lady's been on the phone," said Police Constable Abel, "the one as was down here a few years ago. Bright
she is, isn't she? But there's been a lot cooking up all today.
Shouldn't wonder if the inspector or sergeant was out to see
you about it tomorrow morning."

It was the inspector who came, the Inspector Craddock whom Miss Marple'remembered. He greeted Bunch with a
smile as an old friend.
"Crime in Chipping Cleghorn again," he said cheerfully. "You don't lack for sensation here, do you, Mrs. Harmon?"
"I could do with rather less," said Bunch. "Have you come to ask me questions or are you going to tell me things
for a change?"
"I'11 tell you some things first," said the inspector. "To begin with, Mr. and Mrs. Eccles have been having an eye
kept on them for some time. There's reason to believe
they've been connected with several robberies in this part of
the world. For another thing, although Mrs. Eccles has a
brother called Sandbourne who has recently come back from
abroad, the man you found dying in the church yesterday
was definitely not Sandbourne."
"I knew that he wasn't," said Bunch. "His name, was Walter, to begin with, not William."
The inspector nodded. "His name was Walter St. John, and he escaped forty-eight hours ago from Charrington
Prison."
"Of course," said Bunch softly to herself, "he was being hunted down by the law, and he took sanctuary." Then she
asked, "What had he done?"
"I'11 have to go back rather a long way. It's a complicated


	342 	MISS MARPLE

story. Several years ago there was a certain dancer doing turns at the music halls. I don't expect you'll have ever heard
of her, but she specialized in an Arabian Night's turn. 'Aladdin
in the Cave of Jewels,' it was called.
"She wasn't much of a dancer, I believe, but she was--well--attractive. Anyway, a certain Asiatic royalty fell for her
in a big way. Among other things he gave her a very magnificent
emerald necklace."
"The historic jewels of a rajah?" murmured Bunch ecstatically.
Inspector Craddock coughed. "Well, a rather more modern version, Mrs. Harmon. The affair didn't last very long,
broke up when our potentate's attention was captured by a
certain film star whose demands were not quite so modest.
"Zobeida, to give the dancer her stage name, hung on to the necklace, and in due course it was stolen. It disappeared
from her dressing-room at the theater, and there was a lingering
suspicion in the minds of the authorities that she
herself might have engineered its disappearance. Such things
have been known as a publicity stunt, or indeed from more
dishonest motives.
"The necklace was never recovered, but during the course of the investigation the attention of the police was drawn to
this man, Walter St. John. He was a man of education and
breeding who had come down in the world and who was
employed as a working jeweler with a rather obscure firm
which was suspected as acting as a fence for jewel robberies.
"There was evidence that this necklace had passed through his hands. It was, however, in connection with the theft of
some other jewelry that he was finally brought to trial and
convicted and sent to prison. He had not very much longer
to serve, so his escape was rather a surprise."
"But why did he come here?" asked Bunch.
........... h Mr.. Harmon. Fol-


	S^NCTU^V.Y 	343

lowing up his trail, it seems that he went first to London. He didn't visit any of his old associates, but he visited an elderly
woman, a Mrs. Jacobs who had formerly been a theatrical
dresser. She won't say a word of what he came for, but according
to other lodgers in the house, he left carrying a suit-
case."
"I see," said Bunch. "He left it in the cloakroom at Paddington and then he came down here."
"By that time," said Inspector Craddock, "Eccles and the man who calls himself Edwin Moss were on his trail. They
wanted that suitcase. They saw him get on the bus. They
must have driven out in a car ahead of him and been waiting
for him when he left the bus."
"And he was muMered?" said Bunch.
"Yes," said Craddock. "He was shot. It was Eccles's revolver, but I rather fancy Jt was Moss who did the shooting.
Now, Mrs. Harmon, what we want to know is, where is the
suitcase that Walter St. John actually deposited at Paddington
Station?"
Bunch grinned. "I expect Aunt Jane's got it by now," she said. "Miss Marple, I mean. That was her plan. She sent a former
maid of hers with a suitcase packed with her things to
the cloakroom at Paddington and we exchanged tickets. I
collected her suitcase and brought it down by train. She
seemed to expect that an attempt would be made to get it
from me."
It was Inspector Craddock's turn to grin. "So she said when she rang up. I'm driving up to London to see her. Do
you want to come, too, Mrs. Harmon?"
"Wel-l," said Bunch, considering, "Wel-1, as a matter of fact, it's very fortunate. I had a toothache last night, so I
really ought to go to London to see the dentist, oughtn't I?"
"Definitely," said Inspector Craddock.


	344 	MISS MARPLE

Miss Marple looked from Inspector Craddock's face to the eager face of Bunch Harmon. The suitcase lay on the table.
"Of course, I haven't opened it," the old lady said. "I
wouldn't dream of doing such a thing till somebody official
arrived. Besides," she added, with a demurely mischievous
Victorian smile, "it's locked."
"Like to make a guess at what's inside, Miss Marple?" asked the inspector.
"I should imagine, you know," said Miss Marple, "that it would be Zobeida's theatrical costumes. Would you like a
chisel, Inspector?"
The chisel soon did its work. Both women gave a slight gasp as the lid flew up. The sunlight coming through the
window lit up what seemed like an inexhaustible treasure of
sparkling jewels, red, blue, green, orange.
"Aladdin's Cave," said Miss Marple. "The flashing jewels the girl wore to dance."
"Ah," said Inspector Craddock. "Now, what's so precious about it, do you think, that a man was murdered to get hold
of it?"
"She was a shrewd girl, I expect," said Miss Marple
thoughtfully. "She's dead, isn't she, Inspector?"
"Yes, died three years ago."
"She had this valuable emerald necklace," said Miss Mar-ple musingly. "Had the stones taken out of their setting and
fastened here and there on her theatrical costume, where everyone
would take them for merely coloured rhinestones.
Then she had a replica made of the real necklace, and that, of
course, was what was stolen. No wonder it never came on
the market. The thief soon discovered the stones were false."
"Here is an envelope," said Bunch, pulling aside some of the glittering stones.
Inspector Craddock took it from her and extracted two official-looking papers from it. He read aloud, "'Marriage


	SANCTUARY 	345

certificate between Walter Edmund St. John and Mary Moss.' That was Zobeida's real name."
"So they were married," said Miss Marple. "I see." "What's the other?" asked Bunch.
"A birth certificate of a daughter, Jevqel."
".Jewel?" cried Bunch. "Why, of course. Jewel! Jill! That's it. I see now why he came to Chipping Cleghorn. That's
what he was trying to say to me. Jewel. The Mundys, you
know. Laburnam Cottage. They look after a little girl for
someone. They're devoted to her. She's been like their own
granddaughter. Yes, I remember now, her name is Jewel,
only, of course, they call her Jill.
"Mrs. Mundy had a stroke about a week ago, and the old man's been very ill with pneumonia. They were both going
to go to the infirmary. I've been trying: hard to find a good
home for Jill somewhere. I didn't want her taken away to an
institution.
"I suppose her father heard about it in prison and he managed to break way and get hold of this suitcase from the
old dresser he or his wife left it with. I suppose if the jewels
really belonged to her mother, they can be used for the child
now."
"I should imagine so, Mrs. Harmon. If they're here."
"Oh, they'll be here all right," said Miss Marple cheerfully ....

"Thank goodness you're back, dear," said the Reverend Julian Harmon, greeting his wife with affection and a sigh of
content. "Mrs. Burt always tries to do her best when you're
away, but she really gave me some very peculiar fish cakes for
lunch. I didn't want to hurt her feelings so I gave them to
Tiglash Pileser, but even he wouldn't eat them, so I had to
throw them out of the window."
"Tiglash Pileser," said Bunch, stroking the vicarage cat,


	346 	MISS MARPLE

who was purring against her knee, "is very particular about
what fish he eats. I often tell him he's got a proud stomach!" "And your tooth, dear? Did you have it seen to?"
"Yes," said Bunch. "It didn't hurt much, and I went to see Aunt Jane again, too ..."
"Dear old thing," said Julian. "I hope she's not failing ar all."
"Not in the least," said Bunch, with a grin.
The following morning Bunch took a fresh supply of chrysanthemums to the church. The sun was once more
pouring through the east window, and Bunch stood in the
jeweled light on the chancel steps. She said very softly under
her breath, "Your little girl will be all right. I'll see that she
is. I promise."
Then she tidied up the church, slipped into a pew, and knelt for a few moments to say her prayers before returning
to the vicarage to attack the piled-up chores of two neglected
days.



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