I've travelled the world twice over,
Met the famous: saints and sinners,
Poets and artists, kings and queens,
Old stars and hopeful beginners,
I've been where no-one's been before,
Learned secrets from writers and cooks
All with one library ticket
To the wonderful world of books.
© JANICE JAMES.
A CARIBBEAN MYSTERY
In this full length novel the clues and
keys to a murderer's identity are
fairly -- one might even say ostentatiously--paraded
in front of the
reader. Yet we believe it will be a
very perceptive reader who observes
and interprets them correctly. Most of
the large number of readers of A
Caribbean Mystery will in the end ask
themselves how they could have been
so stupid -- or how Mrs. Christie
could have fooled them once again.
This is yet another dazzling tourde-force
from the greatest crime
novelist of our time.
AGATHA CHRISTIE
A CARIBBEAN
MYSTERY
Complete and Unabridged
^v.^,
Q
ULVERSCROFT
Leicester
First Published 1964
First Large Print Edition
published October 1967
by arrangement with Collins, London & Glasgow
Reprinted 1976, 1990
© Agatha Christie, 1964
British Library CIP Data
Christie, Agatha 18901976
A Caribbean Mystery--Large print ed.--
(Ulverscroft large print series: mystery)
I. Title
823'.912 [F]
ISBN 85456 587 6
Published by IF . A. Thorpe (Publishing) Ltd.
Anstey, Leicestershire
Printed and bound in Great Britain by
T. J. Press (Padstow) Ltd., Padstow, Cornwall
To my old friend
JOHN CRUIKSHANK ROSE
with happy memories of my visit
to the West Indies
1
MAJOR PALGRAVE TELLS
A STORY
  TAKE all this business about
 Kenya," said Major Palgrave. "Lots
 of chaps gabbing away who know
nothing about the place! Now I spent
fourteen years of my life there. Some of the
best years of my life, too — ?
Old Miss Marple inclined her head.
It was a gentle gesture of courtesy.
Whilst Major Palgrave proceeded with the
somewhat uninteresting recollections of a
lifetime. Miss Marple peacefully pursued
her own thoughts. It was a routine with
which she was well acquainted. The
locale varied. In the past, it had been
predominantly India. Majors, Colonels,
Lieutenant-Generals — and a familiar
series of words: Simla. Bearers. Tigers.
Chota Hazri -— Tiffin. Khitmagars, and so
on. With Major Palgrave the terms were
slightly different. Safari. Kikuyu. Ele-
phants. Swahili. But the pattern was
essentially the same. An elderly man who
needed a listener so that he could, in
memory, relive days in which he had been
happy. Days when his back had been
straight, his eyesight keen, his hearing
acute. Some of these talkers had been
handsome soldierly old boys, some again
had been regrettably unattractive, and
Major Palgrave, purple of face, with a
glass eye, and the general appearance of a
stuffed frog, belonged in the latter category.
Miss Marple had bestowed on all of
them the same gentle charity. She had sat
attentively, inclining her head from time
to time in gentle agreement, thinking her
own thoughts and enjoying what there was
to enjoy: in this case the deep blue of a
Caribbean Sea.
So kind of dear Raymond—she was
thinking gratefully, so really and truly
kind . . . Why he should take so much
trouble about his old aunt, she really did
not know. Conscience, perhaps, family
feelings ? Or possibly he was truly fond of
her . . .
She thought, on the whole, that he was
fond of her — he always had been — in a
2
slightly exasperated and contemptuous
way! Always trying to bring her up to date.
Sending her books to read. Modern novels.
So difficult--all about such unpleasant
people, doing such very odd things and not, apparently, even enjoying them. "Sex" as
a word had not been much mentioned in
Miss Marple's young days; but there had
been plenty of it--not talked about so
much -- but enjoyed far more than nowadays, or so it seemed to her. Though
usually labelled Sin, she couldn't help
feeling that that was preferable to what it
seemed to be nowadays -- a kind of Duty.
Her glance strayed for a moment to the
book on her lap lying open at page twentythree
which was as far as she had got (and
indeed as far as she felt like getting!).
"Do you mean that you've had no
sexual experience at ALL?" demanded
the young man incredulously. "At nineteen ? But you must. It's vital."
The girl hung her head unhappily, her
straight greasy hair fell forward over her
face.
"I know," she muttered, "I know."
He looked at her, stained old jersey, the
bare feet, the dirty toe nails, the smell of
rancid fat... He wondered why he found
her so maddeningly attractive.
Miss Marple wondered too! And really!
To have sex experience urged on you
exactly as though it was an iron tonic!
Poor young things . . .
"My dear Aunt Jane, why must you
bury your head in the sand like a very
delightful ostrich? All bound up in this
idyllic rural life of yours. real life —
thafs what matters."
Thus Raymond — and his Aunt Jane
had looked properly abashed—and said
"Yes," she was afraid she was rather oldfashioned.
Though
really rural life was far from
idyllic. People like Raymond were so
ignorant. In the course of her duties in a
country parish, Jane Marple had acquired
quite a comprehensive knowledge of the
facts of rural life. She had no urge to talk
about them, far less to write about them —
but she knew them. Plenty of sex, natural
and unnatural. Rape, incest, perversions of
all kinds. (Some kinds, indeed, that even
the clever young men from Oxford who
wrote books didn't seem to have heard
about.)
4
Miss Marple came back to the Caribbean
and took up the thread of what Major
Palgrave was saying . . .
"A very unusual experience,35 she said
encouragingly. "Most interesting."
c(! could tell you a lot more. Some of the
things, of course, not fit for a lady's
ears -- "
With the ease of long practice. Miss
Marple dropped her eyelids in a fluttery
fashion, and Major Palgrave continued his
bowdlerised version of tribal customs
whilst Miss Marple resumed her thoughts
of her affectionate nephew.
Raymond West was a very successful
novelist and made a large income, and he
conscientiously and kindly did all he could
to alleviate the life of his elderly aunt. The
preceding winter she had had a bad go of
pneumonia, and medical opinion had advised
sunshine. In lordly fashion Raymond
had suggested a trip to the West Indies.
Miss Marple had demurred -- at the expense, the distance, the difficulties of
travel, and at abandoning her house in
St. Mary Mead. Raymond had dealt With
everything. A friend who was writing a
book wanted a quiet place in the country.
"He'll look after the house all right. He's
very house proud. He's a queer. I
mean — "
He had paused, slightly embarrassed —
but surely even dear old Aunt Jane must
have heard of queers.
He went on to deal with the next points.
Travel was nothing nowadays. She would
go by air — another friend, Diana Horrocks,
was going out to Trinidad and
would see Aunt Jane was all right as far as
there, and at St. Honore she would stay at
the Golden Palm Hotel which was run by
the Sandersons. Nicest couple in the
world. They'd see she was all right. He'd
write to them straightway.
As it happened the Sandersons had
returned to England. But their successors,
the Kendals, had been very nice and
friendly and had assured Raymond that he
need have no qualms about his aunt. There
was a very good doctor on the island in case
of emergency and they themselves would
keep an eye on her and see to her comfort.
They had been as good as their word,
too. Molly Kendal was an ingenuous blonde
of twenty odd, always apparently in good
spirits. She had greeted the old lady warmly
6
and did everything to make her comfortable.
Tim Kendal, her husband, lean, dark
and in his thirties, had also been kindness
itself.
So there she was, thought Miss Marple, far from the rigours of the English climate,
with a nice little bungalow of her own, with
friendly smiling West Indian girls to wait
on her, Tim Kendal to meet her in the
dining-room and crack a joke as he
advised her about the day's menu, and an
easy path from her bungalow to the sea
front and the bathing beach where she
could sit in a comfortable basket chair and
watch the bathing. There were even a few
elderly guests for company. Old Air.
Rafiel, Dr. Graham, Canon Prescott and
his sister, and her present cavalier Major
Palgrave.
What more could an elderly lady want ?
It is deeply to be regretted, and Miss
Marple felt guilty even admitting it to
herself, but she was not as satisfied as she
ought to be.
Lovely and warm, yes--and so good
for her rheumatism--and beautiful
scenery, though perhaps -- a trifle monotonous?
So many palm trees. Everything
the same every day — never anything
happening. Not like St. Mary Mead where
something was always happening. Her
nephew had once compared life in St.
Mary Mead to scum on a pond, and she
had indignantly pointed out that smeared
on a slide under the microscope there
would be plenty of life to be observed.
Yes, indeed, in St. Mary Mead, there was
always something going on. Incident after
incident flashed through Miss Marple's
mind, the mistake in old Mrs. Linnett's
cough mixture — that very odd behaviour
of young Polegate—the time when
Georgy Wood's mother had come down to
see him — (but was she his mother — ?)
the real cause of the quarrel between Joe
Arden and his wife. So many interesting
human problems—giving rise to endless
pleasurable hours of speculation. If only
there were something here that she could
— well — get her teeth into.
With a start she realised that Major
Palgrave had abandoned Kenya for the
North West Frontier and was relating his
experiences as a subaltern. Unfortunately
he was asking her with great earnestness:
'^Now don't you agree ?"
8
Long practice had made Miss Marple
quite an adept at dealing with that one.
(c! don't really feel that I've got sufficient
experience to judge. I'm afraid I've led
rather a sheltered life."
"And so you should, dear lady, so you
should," cried Major Palgrave gallantly.
"You've had such a very varied life," went on Miss Marple, determined to make
amends for her former pleasurable inattention.

'^Not bad," said Major Palgrave, complacently.
"Not bad at all." He looked
round him appreciatively. "Lovely place,
this."
"Yes, indeed," said Miss Marple and
was then unable to stop herself going on:
"Does anything ever happen here, I
wonder ?"
Major Palgrave stared.
"Oh rather. Plenty of scandals -- eh
what ? Why, I could tell you -- "
But it wasn't really scandals Miss Marple
wanted. Nothing to get your teeth into in
scandals nowadays. Just men and women
changing partners, and calling attention to
it, instead of trying decently to hush it up
and be properly ashamed of themselves.
CM2 9
"There was even a murder here a
couple of years ago. Man called Harry
Western. Made a big splash in the papers.
Daresay you remember it."
Miss Marple nodded without enthusiasm.
It had not been her kind of murder. It had made a big splash because everyone
concerned had been very rich. It had
seemed likely enough that Harry Western
had shot the Count de Ferrari, his wife's
lover, and equally likely that his wellarranged
alibi had been bought and paid
for. Everyone seemed to have been drunk, and there was a fine scattering of dope
addicts. Not really interesting people, thought Miss Marple -- although no
doubt very spectacular and attractive to look at. But definitely not her cup of tea.
"And if you ask me, that wasn't the
only murder about that time." He nodded
and winked. "I had my suspicions --
obi--well--"
Miss Marple dropped her ball of wool, and the Major stooped and picked it up for
her.
"Talking of murder," he went on. "I
once came across a very curious case --
not exactly personally."
10
Miss Marple smiled encouragingly.
"Lots of chaps talking at the club one
day, you know, and a chap began telling a
story. Medical man he was. One of his
cases. Young fellow came and knocked him
up in the middle of the night. His wife had
hanged herself. They hadn't got a telephone, so after the chap had cut her down and
done what he could, he'd got out his car and
hared off looking for a doctor. Well, she
wasn't dead but pretty far gone. Anyway, she pulled through. Young fellow seemed
devoted to her. Cried like a child. He'd
noticed that she'd been odd for some time,
fits of depression and all that. Well, that
was that. Everything seemed all right.
But actually, about a month later, the wife
took an overdose of sleeping stuff and
passed out. Sad case."
Major Palgrave paused, and nodded his
head several times. Since there was obviously
more to come Miss Marple waited.
"And that's that, you might say. Nothing
there. Neurotic woman, nothing out of the
usual. But about a year later, this medical
chap was swapping yarns with a fellow
medico, and the other chap told him about
a woman who'd tried to drown herself,
n
husband got her out, got a doctor, they
pulled her round — and then a few weeks
later she gassed herself.
"Well, a bit of a coincidence—eh?
Same sort of story. My chap said —(! had
a case rather like that. Name of Jones (or
whatever the name was) — What was your
man's name ?' 'Can't remember. Robinson
I think. Certainly not Jones.'
"Well, the chaps looked at each other
and said it was pretty odd. And then my
chap pulled out a snapshot. He showed it
to the second chap. "That's the fellow,' he
said—"I'd gone along the next day to
check up on the particulars, and I noticed
a magnificent species of hibiscus just by
the front door, a variety I'd never seen
before in this country. My camera was in
the car and I took a photo. Just as I
snapped the shutter the husband came out
of the front door so I got him as well.
Don't think he realised it. I asked him
about the hibiscus but he couldn't tell me
its name.' Second medico looked at the
snap. He said: "It's a bit out of focus —
But I could swear — at any rate I'm almost
sure — it^s the same man9
"Don't know if they followed it up. But
12
if so they didn't get anywhere. Expect Mr.
Jones or Robinson covered his tracks too
well. But queer story, isn't it? Wouldn't
think things like that could happen."
"Oh yes, I would," said Miss Marple
placidly. "Practically every day."
"Oh, come, come. That's a bit fantastic."
"If a man gets a formula that works --
he won't stop. He'll go on."
"Brides in the bath -- eh ?"
"That kind of thing, yes."
"Major let me have that snap just as a
curiosity -- "
Major Palgrave began fumbling through
an over-stuffed wallet murmuring to himself:
"Lots of things in here--don't
know why I keep all these things ..."
Miss Marple thought she did know.
They were part of the Major's stock-intrade.
They illustrated his repertoire of
stories. The story he had just told, or so
she suspected, had not been originally
like that -- it had been worked up a good
deal in repeated telling.
The Major was still shuffling and muttering
-- "Forgotten all about that business.
Good-looking woman she was, you'd never
13
suspect--Now where-- Ah--that takes
my mind back -- what tusks! I must show
you --33
He stopped -- sorted out a small photographic
print and peered down at it.
"Like to see the picture of a murderer ?" He was about to pass it to her when his
movement was suddenly arrested. Looking
more like a stuffed frog than ever. Major
Palgrave appeared to be staring fixedly over
her right shoulder--from whence came
the sound of approaching footsteps and
voices.
"Well, I'm damned -- I mean -- " He
stuffed everything back into his wallet and
crammed it into his pocket.
His face went an even deeper shade of
purplish red -- He exclaimed in a loud, artificial voice.
"As I was saying -- I'd like to have
shown you those elephant tusks -- Biggest
elephant I've ever shot--An, hallo!" His voice took on a somewhat spurious
hearty note.
"Look who's here! The great quartette
-- Flora and Fauna -- What luck have you
had today -- Eh ?33
The approaching footsteps resolved
14
themselves into four of the hotel guests
whom Miss Marple already knew by sight.
They consisted of two married couples and
though Miss Marple was not as yet
acquainted with their surnames, she knew
that the big man with the upstanding bush
of thick grey hair was addressed as "Greg",
that the golden blonde woman, his wife,
was known as Lucky — and that the other
married couple, the dark lean man and the
handsome but rather weather-beaten
woman, were Edward and Evelyn. They
were botanists, she understood, and also
interested in birds.
"No luck at all," said Greg — "At least
no luck in getting what we were after."
"Don't know if you know Miss Marple ?
Colonel and Mrs. Hillingdon and Greg and
Lucky Dyson."
They greeted her pleasantly and Lucky
said loudly that she'd die if she didn't have
a drink at once or sooner.
Greg hailed Tim Kendal who was sitting
a little way away with his wife poring
over account books.
"Hi, Tim. Get us some drinks." He
addressed the others. "Planters Punch ?"
They agreed.
15
"Same for you. Miss Marple ?"
Miss Marple said Thank you, but she
would prefer fresh lime.
"Fresh lime it is," said Tim Kendal
"and five Planters Punches."
"Join us, Tim ?"
"Wish I could. But I've got to fix up
these accounts. Can't leave Molly to cope
with everything. Steel band tonight, by
the way."
"Good," cried Lucky. "Damn it," she
winced, "I'm all over thorns. Ouch!
Edward deliberately rammed me into a
thorn bush!"
"Lovely pink flowers," said Hillingdon.
"And lovely long thorns. You're a
sadistic brute Edward."
"Not like me," said Greg, grinning.
"Full of the milk of human kindness."
Evelyn Hillingdon sat down by Miss
Marple and started talking to her in an
easy pleasant way.
Miss Marple put her knitting down on
her lap. Slowly and with some difficulty,
owing to rheumatism in the neck, she
turned her head over her right shoulder to
look behind her. At some little distance
there was the large bungalow occupied by
16
the rich Mr. Rafiel. But it showed no sign
of life.
She replied suitably to Evelyn's remarks
(really, how kind people were to her!) but
her eyes scanned thoughtfully the faces of
the two men.
Edward Hillingdon looked a nice man.
Quiet but with a lot of charm . . . And
Greg — big, boisterous, happy-looking. He
and Lucky were Canadian or American,
she thought.
She looked at Major Palgrave, still
acting a bonhomie a little larger than life.
Interesting . . .
17
2
MISS MARPLE MAKES
COMPARISONS
IT was very gay that evening at the
Golden Palm Hotel.
Seated at her little corner table. Miss
Marple looked round her in an interested
fashion. The dining-room was a large room
open on three sides to the soft warm
scented air of the West Indies. There were
small table lamps, all softly coloured. Most
of the women were in evening dress; light
cotton prints out of which bronzed
shoulders and arms emerged. Miss Marple
herself had been urged by her nephew^s
wife, Joan, in the sweetest way possible, to
accept "a small cheque".
^Because, Aunt Jane, it will be rather hot
out there, and I don't expect you have any
very thin clothes."
Jane Marple had thanked her and had
accepted the cheque. She came of the age
when it was natural for the old to support
18
and finance the young, but also for the
middle-aged to look after the old. She could
not, however, force herself to buy anything
very thin \ At her age she seldom felt more
than pleasantly warm even in the hottest
weather, and the temperature of St. Honore
was not really what is referred to as "tropical heat". This evening she was
attired in the best traditions of the provincial
gentlewoman of England -- grey
lace.
Not that she was the only elderly person
present. There were representatives of all
ages in the room. There were elderly
tycoons with young third or fourth wives.
There were middle-aged couples from the
North of England. There was a gay family
from Caracas complete with children. The
various countries of South America were
well represented, all chattering loudly in
Spanish or Portuguese. There was a solid
English background of two clergymen, one
doctor and one retired judge. There was
even a family of Chinese. The dining-room
service was mainly done by women, tall
black girls of proud carriage, dressed in
crisp white, but there was an experienced
Italian head waiter in charge, and a French
19
wine waiter, and there was the attentive
eye of Tim Kendal watching over everything, pausing here and there to have a
social word with people at their tables. His
wife seconded him ably. She was a goodlooking
girl. Her hair was a natural
golden blonde and she had a wide generous
mouth that laughed easily. It was very
seldom that Molly Kendal was out of
temper. Her staff worked for her enthusiastically, and she adapted her manner
carefully to suit her different guests. With
the elderly men she laughed and flirted, she congratulated the younger women on
their clothes.
"Oh what a smashing dress you've got on
tonight, Mrs. Dyson. I'm so jealous I could
tear it off your back." But she looked very
well in her own dress, or so Miss Marple
thought, a white sheath, with a pale green
embroidered silk shawl thrown over her
shoulders. Lucky was fingering the shawl. "Lovely colour! I'd like one like it." "You
can get them at the shop here," Molly told
her and passed on. She did not pause by
Miss Marple's table. Elderly ladies she
usually left to her husband. "The old dears
like a man much better," she used to say.
20
Tim Kendal came and bent over Miss
Marple.
"Nothing special you want, is there P'5
he asked. "Because you've only got to tell
me — and I could get it specially cooked
for you. Hotel food, and semi-tropical at
that, isn't quite what you're used to at
home, I expect ?53
Miss Marple smiled and said that that
was one of the pleasures of coming abroad.
"That's all right, then. But if there is
anything — "
"Such as ?"
"Well —39 Tim Kendal looked a little
doubtful — "Bread and butter pudding ?"
he hazarded.
Miss Marple smiled and said that she
thought she could do without bread and
butter pudding very nicely for the present.
She picked up her spoon and began to
eat her passion fruit sundae with cheerful
appreciation.
Then the steel band began to play. The
steel bands were one of the main attractions
of the islands. Truth to tell. Miss Marple
could have done very well without them.
She considered that they made a hideous
noise, unnecessarily loud. The pleasure
21
that everyone else took in them was
undeniable, however, and Miss Marple, jin
the true spirit of her youth, decided that
as they had to be, she must manage somehow
to learn to like them. She could hardly
request Tim Kendal to conjure up from
somewhere the muted strains of the "Blue
Danube". (So graceful--waltzing.) Most
peculiar, the way people danced nowadays.
Flinging themselves about, seeming quite contorted. Oh well, young people must
enjoy--Her thoughts were arrested. Because, now she came to think of it, very few
of these people were young. Dancing, lights,
the music of a band (even a steel band) all
that surely was for youth. But where was
youth ? Studying, she supposed, at universities,
or doing a job -- with a fortnight's
holiday a year. A place like this was too far
away and too expensive. This gay and carefree
life was all for the thirties and the
forties -- and the old men who were trying
to live up (or down) to their young wives.
It seemed, somehow, a pity.
Miss Marple sighed for youth. There
was Mrs. Kendal, of course. She wasn^t
more than twenty-two or three, probably,
and she seemed to be enjoying herself--
22
but even so, it was a job she was doing.
At a table nearby Canon Prescott and his
sister were sitting. They motioned to Miss
Marple to join them for coffee and she did
so. Miss Prescott was a thin severe-looking
woman, the Canon was a round, rubicund
man, breathing geniality.
Coffee was brought, and chairs were
pushed a little way away from the tables.
Miss Prescott opened a work bag and took
out some frankly hideous table mats that
she was hemming. She told Miss Marple
all about the day's events. They had
visited a new Girls' School in the morning.
After an afternoon's rest, they had walked
through a cane plantation to have tea at a
pension where some friends of theirs were
staying.
Since the Prescotts had been at the
Golden Palm longer than Miss Marple,
they were able to enlighten her as to some
of her fellow guests.
That very old man, Mr. Panel. He came
every year. Fantastically rich! Owned an
enormous chain of supermarkets in the
North of England. The young woman with
him was his secretary, Esther Walters — a
widow. (Quite all right, of course. Nothing
23
improper. After all, he was nearly eighty!)
Miss Marple accepted the propriety of
the relationship with an understanding nod
and the Canon remarked:
"A very nice young woman; her mother, I understand, is a widow and lives in
Chichester.35
"Mr. Panel has a valet with him, too. Or
rather a kind of Nurse Attendant -- he's a
qualified masseur, I believe. Jackson, his
name is. Poor Mr. Rafiel is practically paralysed.
So sad -- with all that money, too.33
"A generous and cheerful giver,39 said
Canon Prescott approvingly.
People were regrouping themselves
round about, some going farther from the
steel band, others crowding up to it.
Major Palgrave had joined the HillingdonDyson
quartette.
"Now those people -- 33 said Miss Prescott,
lowering her voice quite unnecessarily
since the steel band easily drowned it.
"Yes, I was going to ask you about
them.33
"They were here last year. They spend
three months every year in the West
Indies, going round the different islands.
The tall thin man is Colonel Hillingdon
24
and the dark woman is his wife — they are
botanists. The other two, Mr. and Mrs.
Gregory Dyson—they're American. He
writes on butterflies, I believe. And all of
them are interested in birds."
"So nice for people to have open-air
hobbies,33 said Canon Prescott genially.
"I don't think they'd like to hear you
call it hobbies, Jeremy," said his sister.
"They have articles printed in the National
Geographic and the Royal Horticultural
Journal. They take themselves very
seriously."
A loud outburst of laughter came from
the table they had been observing. It was
loud enough to overcome the steel band.
Gregory Dyson was leaning back in his
chair and thumping the table, his wife was
protesting, and Major Palgrave emptied his
glass and seemed to be applauding.
They hardly qualified for the moment as
people who took themselves seriously.
"Major Palgrave should not drink so
much,35 said Miss Prescott acidly. "He has
blood pressure."
A fresh supply of Planters Punches
were brought to the table.
"It's so nice to get people sorted out,"
CM3 25
said Miss Marple. "When I met them this
afternoon I wasn't sure which was married
to which.35
There was a slight pause. Miss Prescott
coughed a small dry cough, and said—
"Well, as to that — "
"Joan,39 said the Canon in an admonitory
voice. "Perhaps it would be wise to say no
more.53
"Really, Jeremy, I wasn't going to say
anything. Only that last year, for some
reason or other — I really don't know why
—we got the idea that Mrs. Dyson was
Mrs. Hillingdon until someone told us she
wasn't."
"It's odd how one gets impressions,
isn't it?" said Miss Marple innocently.
Her eyes met Miss Prescott's for a moment.
A flash of womanly understanding passed
between them.
A more sensitive man than Canon
Prescott might have felt that he was de trop.
Another signal passed between the
women. It said as clearly as if the words
had been spoken: "Some other time ..."
"Mr. Dyson calls his wife 'Lucky'. Is
that her real name or a nickname ?" asked
Miss Marple.
26
"It can hardly be her real name, I
should think.35
"I happened to ask him," said the
Canon. "He said he called her Lucky
because she was his good luck piece. If he
lost her, he said, he^d lose his luck. Very
nicely put, I thought."
"He's very fond of joking," said Miss
Prescott.
The Canon looked at his sister doubtfully.

The steel band outdid itself with a wild
burst of cacophony and a troupe of
dancers came racing on to the floor.
Miss Marple and the others turned their
chairs to watch. Miss Marple enjoyed the
dancing better than the music, she liked
the shuffling feet and the rhythmic sway
of the bodies. It seemed, she thought, very real. It had a kind of power of understatement.

Tonight, for the first time, she began to
feel slightly at home in her new environment
. . . Up to now, she had missed
what she usually found so easily, points of
resemblance in the people she met, to
various people known to her personally.
She had, possibly, been dazzled by the gay
27
clothes and the exotic colouring; but soon, she felt, she would be able to make some
interesting comparisons.
Molly Kendal, for instance, was like
that nice girl whose name she couldn't
remember, but who was a conductress on
the Market Basing bus. Helped you in, and never rang the bus on until she was
sure you'd sat down safely. Tim Kendal
was just a little like the head waiter at the
Royal George in Medchester. Self-confident,
and yet, at the same time, worried.
(He had had an ulcer, she remembered.)
As for Major Palgrave, he was indistinguishable
from General Leroy, Captain
Flemming, Admiral Wicklow and Commander
Richardson. She went on to
someone more interesting. Greg for instance
? Greg was difficult because he was
American. A dash of Sir George Trollope, perhaps, always so full of jokes at the
Civil Defence meetings -- or perhaps Mr.
Murdoch the butcher. Mr. Murdoch had
had rather a bad reputation, but some
people said it was just gossip, and that
Mr. Murdoch himself liked to encourage
the rumours! ^Lucky" now? Well, that
was easy -- Marleen at the Three Crowns.
28
Evelyn Hillingdon ? She couldn't fit Evelyn
in precisely. In appearance she fitted many
roles—tall thin weather-beaten Englishwomen
were plentiful. Lady Caroline
Wolfe, Peter Wolfe's first wife, who had
committed suicide? Or there was Leslie
James — that quiet woman who seldom
showed what she felt and who had sold up
her house and left without ever telling
anyone she was going. Colonel Hillingdon ?
No immediate clue there. She'd have to get
to know him a little first. One of those quiet
men with good manners. You never knew
what they were thinking about. Sometimes
they surprised you. Major Harper, she
remembered, had quietly cut his throat one
day. Nobody had ever known why. Miss
Marple thought that she did know — but
she'd never been quite sure...
Her eyes strayed to Mr. Panel's table.
The principal thing known about Mr.
Rafiel was that he was incredibly rich, he
came every year to the West Indies, he was
semi-paralysed and looked like a wrinkled
old bird of prey. His clothes hung loosely
on his shrunken form. He might have been
seventy or eighty, or even ninety. His eyes
were shrewd and he was frequently rude,
29
but people seldom took offence, partly
because he was so rich, and partly because
of his overwhelming personality which
hypnotised you into feeling that somehow, Mr. Rafiel had the right to be rude if he
wanted to.
With him sat his secretary, Mrs.
Walters. She had corn-coloured hair, and a
pleasant face. Mr. Rafiel was frequently
very rude to her, but she never seemed to
notice it -- She was not so much subservient, as oblivious. She behaved like a
well-trained hospital nurse. Possibly, thought Miss Marple, she had been a
hospital nurse.
A young man, tall and good-looking, in
a white jacket, came to stand by Mr.
Rafiel's chair. The old man looked up at
him, nodded, then motioned him to a
chair. The young man sat down as bidden. "Mr. Jackson, I presume,55 said Miss
Marple to herself-- "His valet-attendant."
She studied Mr. Jackson with some attention.
II
In the bar, Molly Kendal stretched her
back, and slipped off her high-heeled
30
shoes. Tim came in from the terrace to join
her. They had the bar to themselves for the
moment.
"Tired, darling ?33 he asked.
"Just a bit. I seem to be feeling my feet
tonight.39
"Not too much for you, is it ? All this ?
I know it's hard work.33 He looked at her
anxiously.
She laughed. "Oh Tim, don't be ridiculous.
I love it here. It's gorgeous. The
kind of dream I've always had, come true.33
"Yes, it would be all right -- if one was
just a guest. But running the show--
that's work.33
"Well, you can't have anything for
nothing, can you?33 said Molly Kendal
reasonably.
Tim Kendal frowned.
"You think it's going all right? A
success ? We're making a go of it ?33
"Of course we are.33
"You don't think people are saying,
'It's not the same as when the Sandersons
were here'.33
"Of course someone will be saying that --
they always do! But only some old stick-inthe-mud.
I'm sure that we're far better at
3i
the job than they were. We're more
glamorous. You charm the old pussies and
manage to look as though you'd like to
make love to the desperate forties and
fifties, and I ogle the old gentlemen and
make them feel sexy dogs—or play the
sweet little daughter the sentimental ones
would love to have had. Oh, we've got it all
taped splendidly.5'
Tim's frown vanished.
"As long as you think so. I get scared.
We've risked everything on making a job
of this. I chucked my job — "
"And quite right to do so," Molly put in
quickly. "It was soul-destroying."
He laughed and kissed the tip of her
nose.
"I tell you we've got it taped," she
repeated. "Why do you always worry ?"
"Made that way, I suppose. I'm always
thinking—suppose something should go
wrong."
"What sort of thing — "
"Oh I don't know. Somebody might get
drowned."
"Not they. It's one of the safest of all
the beaches. And we've got that hulking
Swede always on guard."
32
"I'm a fool," said Tim Kendal. He
hesitated--and then said, "You--
haven't had any more of those dreams, have you ?33
'That was shellfish," said Molly, and
laughed.
33
3
A DEATH IN THE HOTEL
MISS MARPLE had her breakfast
brought to her in bed as usual.
Tea, a boiled egg, and a slice of
pawpaw.
The fruit on the island, thought Miss
Marple, was rather disappointing. It
seemed always to be paw-paw. If she could
have a nice apple now--but apples
seemed to be unknown.
Now that she had been here a week, Miss Marple had cured herself of the
impulse to ask what the weather was like.
The weather was always the same -- fine.
No interesting variations.
"The many splendoured weather of an
English day" she murmured to herself
and wondered if it was a quotation, or
whether she had made it up.
There were, of course, hurricanes, or so
she understood. But hurricanes were not
weather in Miss Marple's sense of the
word. They were more in the nature of an
34
Act of God. There was rain, short violent
rainfall that lasted five minutes and stopped
abruptly. Everything and everyone was
wringing wet, but in another five minutes
they were dry again.
The black West Indian girl smiled and
said Good-Morning as she placed the tray
on Miss Marple's knees. Such lovely
white teeth and so happy and smiling.
Nice natures, all these girls, and a pity
they were so averse to getting married. It
worried Canon Prescott a good deal.
Plenty of christenings, he said, trying to
console himself, but no weddings.
Miss Marple ate her breakfast and
decided how she would spend her day.
It didn't really take much deciding. She
would get up at her leisure, moving slowly
because it was rather hot and her fingers
weren't as nimble as they used to be.
Then she would rest for ten minutes or so,
and she would take her knitting and walk
slowly along towards the hotel and decide
where she would settle herself. On the
terrace overlooking the sea? Or should
she go on to the bathing beach to watch
the bathers and the children? Usually it
was the latter. In the afternoon, after her
35
rest, she might take a drive. It really didn't
matter very much.
Today would be a day like any other day, she said to herself.
Only, of course, it wasn't.
Miss Marple carried out her programme
as planned and was slowly making her way
along the path towards the hotel when she
met Molly Kendal. For once that sunny
young woman was not smiling. Her air of
distress was so unlike her that Miss Marple
said immediately:
"My dear, is anything wrong ?"
Molly nodded. She hesitated and then
said: ''Well, you'll have to know -- everyone
will have to know. It's Major Palgrave.
He's dead."
"Dead ?"
"Yes. He died in the night."
"Oh dear, I am sorry."
"Yes, it's horrid having a death here.
It makes everyone depressed. Of course --
he was quite old."
"He seemed quite well and cheerful
yesterday," said Miss Marple, slightly
resenting this calm assumption that everyone
of advanced years was liable to die at
any minute.
36
"He had high blood pressure," said Molly.
"But surely there are things one takes
nowadays -- some kind of pill. Science is
so wonderful."
"Oh yes, but perhaps he forgot to take
his pills, or took too many of them. Like
insulin, you know."
Miss Marple did not think that diabetes
and high blood pressure were at all the
same kind of thing. She asked.
"What does the doctor say ?"
"Oh, Dr. Graham, who's practically
retired now, and lives in the hotel, took a
look at him, and the local people came
officially, of course, to give a death certificate,
but it all seems quite straightforward.
This kind of thing is quite liable to happen
when you have high blood pressure, especially if you overdo the alcohol, and
Major Palgrave was really very naughty
that way. Last night, for instance."
"Yes, I noticed," said Miss Marple.
"He probably forgot to take his pills.
It is bad luck for the old boy--but
people can't live for ever, can they? But
it's terribly worrying--for me and Tim, I mean. People might suggest it was
something in the food."
37
"But surely the symptoms of food
poisoning and of blood pressure are quite
different ?"
"Yes. But people do say things so easily.
And if people decided the food was bad —
and left — or told their friends — M
"I really don't think you need worry,w
said Miss Marple kindly. "As you say, an
elderly man like Major Palgrave—he
must have been over seventy—is quite
liable to die. To most people it will seem
quite an ordinary occurrence—sad, but
not out of the way at all.39
"If only," said Molly unhappily, "it
hadn't been so sudden"
Yes, it had been very sudden. Miss
Marple thought as she walked slowly on.
There he had been last night, laughing
and talking in the best of spirits with the
Hillingdons and the Dysons.
The Hillingdons and the Dysons . . .
Miss Marple walked more slowly still . . .
Finally she stopped abruptly. Instead of
going to the bathing beach she settled
herself in a shady corner of the terrace.
She took out her knitting and the needles
clicked rapidly as though they were trying
to match the speed of her thoughts. She
38
didn't like it -- no she didn't like it. It came
so pat.
She went over the occurrences of yesterday
in her mind.
Major Palgrave and his stories ...
That was all as usual and one didn't
need to listen very closely . . . Perhaps, though, it would have been better if she
had.
Kenya--he had talked about Kenya
and then India--the North West
Frontier--and then--for some reason
they had got on to murder--And even then she hadn't really been listening...
Some famous case that had taken place
out here--that had been in the newspapers
--
It was after that -- when he picked up
her ball of wool--that he had begun
telling her about a snapshot -- A snapshot
of a murderer -- that is what he had said.
Miss Marple closed her eyes and tried to
remember just exactly how that story had
gone.
It had been rather a confused story--
told to the Major in his Club -- or in
somebody else^s club--told him by a
doctor--who had heard it from another
39
doctor--and one doctor had taken a
snapshot of someone coming through a
front door--someone who was a murderer
--
Yes, that was it -- the various details
were coming back to her now --
And he had offered to show her that
snapshot--He had got out his wallet
and begun hunting through its contents --
talking all the time --
And then still talking, he had looked up
-- had looked -- not at her -- but at something
behind her -- behind her right
shoulder to be accurate. And he had
stopped talking, his face had gone purple --
and he had started stuffing back everything
into his wallet with slightly shaky hands
and had begun talking in a loud unnatural
voice about elephant tusks!
A moment or two later the Hillingdons
and the Dysons had joined them ...
It was then that she had turned her head
over her right shoulder to look . . . But
there had been nothing and nobody to see.
To her left, some distance away, in the
direction of the hotel, there had been Tim
Kendal and his wife, and beyond them a
family group of Venezuelans. But Major
40
Palgrave had not been looking in that
direction...
Miss Marple meditated until lunch time.
After lunch she did not go for a drive.
Instead she sent a message to say that
she was not feeling very well, and to ask if
Dr. Graham would be kind enough to
come and see her.
CM4	AI
4
MISS MARPLE
SEEKS MEDICAL ATTENTION
DR. GRAHAM was a kindly elderly
man of about sixty-five. He had
practised in the West Indies for
many years, but was now semiretired, and left most of his work to his West
Indian partners. He greeted Miss Marple
pleasantly and asked her what the trouble
was. Fortunately at Miss Marple's age, there was always some ailment that could
be discussed with slight exaggerations on
the patient's part. Miss Marple hesitated
between "her shoulder" and "her knee",
but finally decided upon the knee. Miss
Marple's knee, as she would have put it to
herself, was always with her.
Dr. Graham was exceedingly kindly but
he refrained from putting into words the
fact that at her time of life such troubles
were only to be expected. He prescribed
for her one of the brands of useful little
42
pills that form the basis of a doctors
prescriptions. Since he knew by experience
that many elderly people could be lonely
when they first came to St. Honore, he
remained for a while gently chatting.
"A very nice man," thought Miss
Marple to herself, "and I really feel rather
ashamed of having to tell him lies. But I
don't quite see what else I can do."
Miss Marple had been brought up to
have a proper regard for truth and was
indeed by nature a very truthful person.
But on certain occasions, when she considered
it her duty so to do, she could tell
lies with a really astonishing verisimilitude.
She cleared her throat, uttered an
apologetic little cough, and said, in an old
ladyish and slightly twittering manner:
"There is something. Dr. Graham, I
would like to ask you. I don't really like
mentioning it -- but I don't quite see what
else I am to do -- although of course it's quite unimportant really. But you see, it's
important to me. And I hope you will
understand and not think what I am asking
is tiresome or--or unpardonable in any
way."
To this opening Dr. Graham replied
43
kindly. "Something is worrying you? Do
let me help.39
"It's connected with Major Palgrave. So sad about his dying. It was quite a shock
when I heard it this morning."
"Yes,35 said Dr. Graham, "it was very
sudden, I'm afraid. He seemed in such
good spirits yesterday." He spoke kindly, but conventionally. To him, clearly. Major
Palgrave's death was nothing out of the
way. Miss Marple wondered whether she
was really making something out of nothing.
Was this suspicious habit of mind growing
on her ? Perhaps she could no longer trust
her own judgement. Not that it was
judgement really, only suspicion. Anyway
she was in for it now! She must go ahead.
"We were sitting talking together yesterday
afternoon,53 she said. "He was telling
me about his very varied and interesting
life. So many strange parts of the globe."
"Yes indeed," said Dr. Graham, who
had been bored many times by the Major's
reminiscences.
"And then ^he spoke of his family,
boyhood rather, and I told him a little
about my own nephews and nieces and he
listened very sympathetically. And I
44
showed him a snapshot I had with me of
one of my nephews. Such a dear boy — at
least not exactly a boy now, but always a
boy to me if you understand.5'
"Quite so,35 said Dr. Graham, wondering
how long it would be before the old lady
was going to come to the point.
(c! had handed it to him and he was
examining it when quite suddenly those
people—those very nice people—who
collect wild flowers and butterflies. Colonel
and Mrs. Hillingdon I think the name
is
33

"Oh yes? The Hillingdons and the
Dysons."
"Yes, that's right. They came suddenly
along laughing and talking. They sat down
and ordered drinks and we all talked
together. Very pleasant it was. But without
thinking. Major Palgrave must have put
back my snapshot into his wallet and
returned it to his pocket. I wasn't paying
very much attention at the time but I
remembered afterward and I said to
myself—<! mustn't forget to ask the
Major to give me back my picture of
Denzil.' I did think of it last night while
the dancing and the band was going on,
45
but I didn't like to interrupt him just then,
because they were having such a merry
party together and I thought 'I will
remember to ask him for it in the morning".
Only this morning -- " Miss Marple
paused -- out of breath.
"Yes, yes," said Dr. Graham, (c! quite
understand. And you -- well, naturally
you want the snapshot back. Is that it ?"
Miss Marple nodded her head in eager
agreement.
"Yes. That's it. You see, it is the only
one I have got and I haven't got the
negative. And I would hate to lose that
snapshot, because poor Denzil died some
five or six years ago and he was my
favourite nephew. This is the only picture
I have to remind me of him. I wondered --
I hoped -- it is rather tiresome of me to
ask -- whether you could possibly manage
to get hold of it for me? I don't really
know who else to ask, you see. I don't
know who'll attend to all his belongings
and things like that. It is all so difficult.
They would think it such a nuisance of me.
You see, they don't understand. Nobody
could quite understand what this snapshot
means to me."
46
"Of course, of course," said Dr. Graham. "I quite understand. A most
natural feeling on your part. Actually, I
am meeting the local authorities shortly --
the funeral is tomorrow, and someone will
be coming from the Administrator's office
to look over his papers and effects before
communicating with the next of kin -- all
that sort of thing -- If you could describe
this snapshot."
"It was just the front of a house," said
Miss Marple. "And someone -- Denzil, I
mean -- was just coming out of the front
door. As I say it was taken by one of my
other nephews who is very keen on flower
shows -- and he was photographing a
hibiscus, I think, or one of those beautiful
-- something like antipasto -- lilies. Denzil
just happened to come out of the front
door at that time. It wasn't a very good
photograph of him -- just a trifle blurred
-- But I liked it and have always kept it."
"Well," said Dr. Graham, "that seems
clear enough. I think we'll have no difficulty
in getting back your picture for you, Miss Marple."
He rose from his chair. Miss Marple
smiled up at him.
47
"You are very kind. Dr. Graham, very
kind indeed. You do understand, don't
you ?"
"Of course I do, of course I do," said
Dr. Graham, shaking her warmly by the
hand. "Now don't you worry. Exercise
that knee every day gently but not too
much, and I'll send you round these
tablets. Take one three times a day."
48
5
MISS MARPLE MAKES A DECISION
THE funeral service was said over the
body of the late Major Palgrave on
the following day. Miss Marple
attended in company with Miss Prescott.
The Canon read the service -- after that
life went on as usual.
Major Palgrave's death was already only
an incident, a slightly unpleasant incident, but one that was soon forgotten. Life here
was sunshine, sea, and social pleasures.
A grim visitor had interrupted these
activities, casting a momentary shadow, but the shadow was now gone. After all, nobody had known the deceased very well.
He had been rather a garrulous elderly
man of the club-bore type, always telling
you personal reminiscences that you had no
particular desire to hear. He had had little
to anchor himself to any particular part of
the world. His wife had died many years
ago. He had had a lonely life and a lonely
death. But it had been the kind of lone^
49
liness that spends itself in living amongst
people, and in passing the time that way
not unpleasantly. Major Palgrave might
have been a lonely man, he had also been
quite a cheerful one. He had enjoyed
himself in his own particular way. And
now he was dead, buried, and nobody
cared very much, and in another week's
time nobody would even remember him
or spare him a passing thought.
The only person who could possibly be
said to miss him was Miss Marple. Not
indeed out of any personal affection, but
he represented a kind of life that she knew.
As one grew older, so she reflected to
herself, one got more and more into the
habit of listening; listening possibly without
any great interest, but there had been
between her and the Major the gentle
give and take of two old people. It had had
a cheerful, human quality. She did not
actually mourn Major Palgrave but she
missed him.
On the afternoon of the funeral, as
she was sitting knitting in her favourite
spot. Dr. Graham came and joined her.
She put her needles down and greeted
him. He said at once, rather apologetically:
50
"I am afraid I have rather disappointing
news. Miss Marple.33
"Indeed ? About my -- 33
"Yes. We haven't found that precious
snapshot of yours. I'm afraid that will be a
disappointment to you.33
"Yes. Yes it is. But of course it does not really matter. It was a sentimentality. I do
realise that now. It wasn't in Major Palgrave's
wallet ?33
"No. Nor anywhere else among his
things. There were a few letters and newspaper
clippings and odds and ends, and a
few old photographs, but no sign of a
snapshot such as you mentioned.33
"Oh dear,33 said Miss Marple. "Well, it
can't be helped . . . Thank you very much, Dr. Graham, for the trouble you've taken.33
"Oh it was no trouble, indeed. But I
know quite well from my own experience
how much family trifles mean to one,
especially as one is getting older.33
The old lady was really taking it very
well, he thought. Major Palgrave, he
presumed, had probably come across the
snapshot when taking something out of his
wallet, and not even realising how it had
come there, had torn it up as something
I 51
&- "
of no importance. But of course it was of
great importance to this old lady. Still, she
seemed quite cheerful and philosophical
about it.
Internally, however. Miss Marple was
far from being either cheerful or philosophical.
She wanted a little time in which
to think things out, but she was also
determined to use her present opportunities
to the fullest effect.
She engaged Dr. Graham in conversation
with an eagerness which she did not
attempt to conceal. That kindly man, putting down her flow of talk to the
natural loneliness of an old lady, exerted
himself to divert her mind from the loss of
the snapshot, by conversing easily and
pleasantly about life in St. Honore, and the
various interesting places perhaps Miss
Marple might like to visit. He hardly knew
himself how the conversation drifted back
to Major Palgrave's decease.
"It seems so sad," said Miss Marple,
"to think of anyone dying like this away
from home. Though I gather, from what
he himself told me, that he had no immediate
family. It seems he lived by himself
in London."
52
"He travelled a fair amount, I believe,"
said Dr. Graham. "At any rate in the
winters. He didn't care for our English
winters. Can't say I blame him."
"No, indeed," said Miss Marple. "And
perhaps he had some special reason like a
weakness of the lungs or something which
made it necessary for him to winter
abroad ?"
"Oh no, I don't think so."
"He had high blood pressure, I believe.
So sad nowadays. One hears so much of it."
"He spoke about it to you, did he ?"
"Oh no. No, he never mentioned it.
It was somebody else who told me."
"Ah, really."
"I suppose," went on Miss Marple,
"that death was to be expected under those
circumstances."
"Not necessarily," said Dr. Graham.
"There are methods of controlling blood
pressure nowadays."
"His death seemed very sudden — but I
suppose you weren't surprised."
"Well I wasn't particularly surprised
in a man of that age. But I certainly didn't
expect it. Frankly, he always seemed to me
in very good form, but I hadn't ever
53
attended him professionally. I'd never
taken his blood pressure or anything like
that."
"Does one know — I mean, does a
doctor know—when a man has high
blood pressure just by looking at him?"
Miss Marple inquired with a kind of dewy
innocence.
"Not just by looking," said the doctor,
smiling. "One has to do a bit of testing."
"Oh I see. That dreadful thing when
you put a rubber band round somebody's
arm and blow it up — I dislike it so much.
But my doctor said that my blood pressure
was really very good for my age."
"Well that's good hearing," said Dr.
Graham.
"Of course, the Major was rather fond
of Planters Punch," said Miss Marple
thoughtfully.
"Yes. Not the best thing with blood
pressure — alcohol."
"One takes tablets, doesn't one, or so
I have heard ?"
"Yes. There are several on the market.
There was a bottle of one of them in his
room — Serenite."
"How wonderful science is nowadays,"
54
said Miss Marple. "Doctors can do so
much, can't they ?"
"We all have one great competitor," said Dr. Graham. "Nature, you know.
And some of the good old-fashioned home
remedies come back from time to time."
"Like putting cobwebs on a cut?" said
Miss Marple. "We always used to do that
when I was a child."
"Very sensible," said Dr. Graham.
"And a linseed poultice on the chest
and rubbing in camphorated oil for a bad
cough."
"I see you know it all!" said Dr.
Graham laughing. He got up. "How's the
knee ? Not been too troublesome ?"
"No, it seems much, much better."
"Well, we won't say whether that's
Nature or my pills," said Dr. Graham.
"Sorry I couldn't have been of more help
to you."
"But you have been most kind -- I am
really ashamed of taking up your time --
Did you say that there were no photographs
in the Major's wallet ?"
"Oh yes -- a very old one of the Major
himself as quite a young man on a polo
pony -- and one of a dead tiger -- He was
55
standing with his foot on it. Snaps of that
sort -- memories of his younger days --
But I looked very carefully, I assure you, and the one you describe of your nephew
was definitely not there -- "
"Oh I'm sure you looked carefully --
I didn't mean that -- I was just interested
-- We all tend to keep such very odd
things -- "
"Treasures from the past," said the
doctor smiling.
He said good-bye and departed.
Miss Marple remained looking thoughtfully
at the palm trees and the sea. She did
not pick up her knitting again for some
minutes. She had a fact now. She had to
think about that fact and what it meant.
The snapshot that the Major had brought
out of his wallet and replaced so hurriedly
was not there after he died. It was not the
sort of thing the Major would throw away.
He had replaced it in his wallet and it
ought to have been in his wallet after his
death. Money might have been stolen, but
no-one would want to steal a snapshot.
Unless, that is, they had a special reason
for so doing ...
Miss Marple's face was grave. She had
56
to take a decision. Was she, or was she not, going to allow Major Palgrave to remain
quietly in his grave ? Might it not be better
to do just that? She quoted under her
breath. "Duncan is dead. After Life's
fitful fever he sleeps well!" Nothing could
hurt Major Palgrave now. He had gone
where danger could not touch him. Was it
just a coincidence that he should have died
on that particular night? Or was it just
possibly not a coincidence? Doctors accepted
the deaths of elderly men so easily.
Especially since in his room there had been
a bottle of the tablets that people with
high blood pressure had to take every day
of their lives. But if someone had taken the
snapshot from the Mayor's wallet, that
same person could have put that bottle of
tablets in the Major's room. She herself
never remembered seeing the Major take
tablets, he had never spoken about his
blood pressure to her. The only thing he
had ever said about his health was the
admission -- "Not as young as I was".
He had been occasionally a little short of
breath, a trifle asthmatic, nothing else.
But someone had mentioned that Major
Palgrave had high blood pressure--
CMS 57
Molly? Miss Prescott? She couldn't
remember.
Miss Marple sighed, then admonished
herself in words, though she did not speak
those words aloud.
"Now, Jane, what are you suggesting or
thinking? Are you, perhaps, just making
the whole thing up? Have you really got
anything to build on ?"
She went over, step by step, as nearly
as she could, the conversation between
herself and the Major on the subject of
murder and murderers.
"Oh dear," said Miss Marple. "Even if
— really, I don't see how I can do anything
about it — "
But she knew that she meant to try.
58
6
IN THE SMALL HOURS
MISS MARPLE woke early. Like
many old people she slept lightly
and had periods of wakefulness
which she used for the planning of some
action or actions to be carried out on the
next or following days. Usually, of course,
these were of a wholly private or domestic
nature, of little interest to anybody but
herself. But this morning Miss Marple
lay thinking soberly and constructively
of murder, and what, if her suspicions
were correct, she could do about it. It
wasn't going to be easy. She had one
weapon and one weapon only, and that
was conversation.
She could find out, possibly, a little more
about Major Palgrave, but would that really
help her? She doubted if it would. If
Major Palgrave had been killed it was not
because of secrets in his life or to inherit
his money or for revenge upon him. In
59
fact, although he was the victim, it was one
of those rare cases where a greater knowledge
of the victim does not help you or lead
you in any way to his murderer. The point, it seemed to her, and the sole point, was
that Major Palgrave talked too much!
She had learnt one rather interesting
fact from Dr. Graham. He had had in his
wallet various photographs, one of himself
in company with a polo pony, one of a
dead tiger, also one or two other shots of
the same nature. Now why did Major
Palgrave carry these about with him?
Obviously, thought Miss Marple, with
long experience of old Admirals, Brigadier
Generals and mere Majors behind her, because he had certain stories which he
enjoyed telling to people. Starting off
with "Curious thing happened once when
I was out tiger shooting in India ..."
Or a reminiscence of himself and a polo
pony. Therefore this story about a suspected
murderer would in due course be
illustrated by the production of the snapshot
from his wallet.
He had been following that pattern in
his conversation with her. The subject
of murder having come up, and to focus
60
interest on his story, he had done what
he no doubt usually did, produced his
snapshot and said something in the
nature of "Wouldn't think this chap was a
murderer, would you ?"
The point was that it had been a habit of his. This murderer story was one of his
regular repertoire. If any reference to
murder came up, then away went the
Major, full steam ahead.
In that case reflected Miss Marple, he might already have told his story to
someone else here. Or to more than one
person -- If that were so, then she herself
might learn from that person what the
further details of the story had been, possibly what the person in the snapshot
had looked like.
She nodded her head in satisfaction--
That would be a beginning.
And, of course, there were the people
she called in her mind the "Four Suspects".
Though really, since Major Palgrave
had been talking about a man -- there were only two. Colonel Hillingdon
or Mr. Dyson, very unlikely looking
murderers, but then murderers so often were unlikely. Could there have been any61
one else? She had seen no-one when she
turned her head to look. There was the
bungalow of course. Mr. RafteRs bungalow.
Could somebody have come out of the
bungalow and gone in again before she had
had time to turn her head ? If so, it could
only have been the valet-attendant. What
was his name? Oh yes, Jackson. Could it
have been Jackson who had come out of
the door ? That would have been the same
pose as the photograph. A man coming
out of a door. Recognition might have
struck suddenly. Up till then. Major
Palgrave would not have looked at Arthur
Jackson, valet-attendant, with any interest.
His roving and curious eye was essentially
a snobbish eye — Arthur Jackson was not
a pukka sahib — Major Palgrave would
not have glanced at him twice.
Until, perhaps, he had had the snapshot
in his hand, and had looked over Miss
Marple's right shoulder and had seen a
man coming out of a door... ?
Miss Marple turned over on her pillow
— Programme for tomorrow — or rather
for today — Further investigation of the
Hillingdons, the Dysons and Arthur
Jackson, valet-attendant.
62
II
Dr. Graham also woke early. Usually he
turned over and went to sleep again. But
today he was uneasy and sleep failed to
come. This anxiety that made it so difficult
to go to sleep again was a thing he had not
suffered from for a long time. What was
causing this anxiety? Really, he couldn't
make it out. He lay there thinking it
over. Something to do with — something
to do with—yes. Major Palgrave. Major
Palgrave's death? He didn't see, though,
what there could be to make him uneasy
there. Was it something that that twittery
old lady had said ? Bad luck for her about
her snapshot. She'd taken it very well.
But now what was it she had said, what
chance word of hers had it been that had
given him this funny feeling of uneasiness ?
After all, there was nothing odd about the
Major's death. Nothing at all. At least he
supposed there was nothing at all.
It was quite clear that in the Major's
state of health—a faint check came in
his thought process. Did he really know
much about Major Palgrave's state of
health ? Everybody said that he'd suffered
63
from high blood pressure. But he himself
had never had any conversation with the
Major about it. But then he'd never had
much conversation with Major Palgrave
anyway. Palgrave was an old bore and he
avoided old bores. Why on earth should he
have this idea that perhaps everything mightn't be all right? Was it that old
woman? But after all she hadn't said anything. Anyway, it was none of his
business. The local authorities were quite
satisfied. There had been that bottle of
Serenite tablets, and the old boy had
apparently talked to people about his
blood pressure quite freely.
Dr. Graham turned over in bed and soon
went to sleep again.
Ill
Outside the hotel grounds, in one of a row
of shanty cabins beside a creek, the girl
Victoria Johnson rolled over and sat up
in bed. The St. Honore girl was a magnificent
creature with a torso of black marble
such as a sculptor would have enjoyed.
She ran her fingers through her dark,
tightly curling hair. With her foot she
nudged her sleeping companion in the ribs.
64
Makeup, man.33
The man grunted and turned.
''What you want ? It's not morning."
''Wake up, man. I want to talk to you."
The man sat up, stretched, showed a
wide mouth and beautiful teeth.
"What's worrying you, woman ?"
"That Major man who died. Something
I don't like. Something wrong about it."
"Ah, what d'you want to worry about
that ? He was old. He died."
"Listen, man. It's them pills. Them
pills the doctor asked me about."
"Well, what about them? He took too
many maybe."
"No. It's not that. Listen." She leant
towards him, talking vehemently. He
yawned widely and then lay down again.
"There's nothing in that. What're you
talking about ?"
"All the same, I'll speak to Mrs. Kendal
about it in the morning. I think there's
something wrong there somewhere."
"Shouldn't bother," said the man who,
without benefit of ceremony, she considered
as her present husband. "Don't let's look
for trouble," he said and rolled over on
his side yawning.
65
7
MORNING ON THE BEACH
IT was mid morning on the beach below
the hotel.
Evelyn Hillingdon came out of the
water and dropped on the warm golden
sand. She took off her bathing cap and
shook her dark head vigorously. The beach
was not a very big one. People tended to
congregate there in the mornings and about
11.30 there was always something of a
social reunion. To Evelyn's left in one of
the exotic-looking modern basket chairs
lay Senora de Caspearo, a handsome
woman from Venezuela. Next to her was
old Mr. Rafiel who was by now doyen of
the Golden Palm Hotel and held the sway
that only an elderly invalid of great wealth
could attain. Esther Walters was in
attendance on him. She usually had her
shorthand notebook and pencil with her
in case Mr. Rafiel should suddenly think
of urgent business cables which must be
66
got off at once. Mr. Rafiel in beach attire
was incredibly desiccated, his bones draped
with festoons of dry skin. Though looking
like a man on the point of death, he had
looked exactly the same for at least the
last eight years -- or so it was said in the
islands. Sharp blue eyes peered out of his
wrinkled cheeks, and his principal pleasure
in life was denying robustly anything that
anyone else said.
Miss Marple was also present. As usual
she sat and knitted and listened to what
went on, and very occasionally joined in
the conversation. When she did so, everyone
was surprised because they had
usually forgotten that she was there!
Evelyn Hillingdon looked at her indulgently, and thought that she was a nice
old pussy.
Senora de Caspearo rubbed some more
oil on her long beautiful legs and hummed
to herself. She was not a woman who spoke
much. She looked discontentedly at the
flask of sun oil.
"This is not so good as Frangipanio,"
she said, sadly. "One cannot get it here.
A pity." Her eyelids drooped again.
"Are you going in for your dip now, Mr.
67
Rafiel?" asked Esther Walters tactfully.
"I'll go in when I'm ready,39 said Mr.
Rafiel, snappishly.
"It's half past eleven,35 said Mrs. Walters.
"What of it ?" said Mr. Rafiel. "Think
I'm the kind of man to be tied by the
clock? Do this at the hour, do this at
twenty minutes past, do that at twenty
to--bah!"
Mrs. Walters had been in attendance on
Mr. Rafiel long enough to have adopted
her own formula for dealing with him.
She knew that he liked a good space of
time in which to recover from the exertion
of bathing and she had therefore reminded
him of the time, allowing a good ten
minutes for him to rebut her suggestion
and then be able to adopt it without seeming
to do so.
"I don't like these espadrilles," said Mr.
Rafiel raising a foot and looking at it.
"I told that fool Jackson so. The man never
pays attention to a word I say."
"I'll fetch you some others, shall I, Mr. Rafiel ?"
'^No, you won't, you'll sit here and
keep quiet. I hate people rushing about
like clucking hens."
68
Evelyn shifted slightly in the warm
sand, stretching out her arms.
Miss Marple, intent on her knitting—
or so it seemed—stretched out a foot,
then hastily she apologised.
"I'm so sorry, so very sorry, Mrs.
Hillingdon. I'm afraid I kicked you."
"Oh, it's quite all right," said Evelyn.
"This beach gets rather crowded.w
"Oh, please don't move. Please. I'll
move my chair a little back so that I won't
do it again."
As Miss Marple resettled herself, she
went on talking in a childish and garrulous
manner.
"It seems so wonderful to be here\
I've never been to the West Indies before,
you know. I thought it was the kind of
place I never should come to and here I
am. All by the kindness of my dear
nephew. I suppose you know this part of
the world very well, don't you, Mrs.
Hillingdon ?"
"I have been in this island once or twice
before and of course in most of the others.w
"Oh yes. Butterflies isn't it, and wild
flowers ? You and your — your friends —
or are they relations ?35
69
"Friends. Nothing more.35
"And I suppose you go about together
a great deal because of your interests being
the same ?55
"Yes. We've travelled together for some
years now.35
"I suppose you must have had some
rather exciting adventures sometimes ?55
"I don't think so,55 said Evelyn. Her
voice was unaccentuated, slightly bored.
"Adventures always seem to happen to
other people." She yawned.
"No dangerous encounters with snakes
or with wild animals or with natives gone
berserk ?55
("What a fool I sound,35) thought Miss
Marple.
"Nothing worse than insect bites,"
Evelyn assured her.
"Poor Major Palgrave, you know, was
bitten by a snake once,55 said Miss Marple,
making a purely fictitious statement.
"Was he ?55
"Did he never tell you about it ?55
"Perhaps. I don't remember.55
"I suppose you knew him quite well.
didn't you ?55
"Major Palgrave ? No, hardly at all.55
70
"He always had so many interesting
stories to tell.35
"Ghastly old bore," said Mr. Rafiel.
"Silly fool, too. He needn't have died if
he'd looked after himself properly."
"Oh come now, Mr. Rafiel," said Mrs.
Walters.
"I know what I'm talking about. If
you look after your health properly you're
all right anywhere. Look at me. The
doctors gave me up years ago. All right, I
said, I've got my rules of health and I shall
keep to them. And here I am."
He looked round proudly.
It did indeed seem rather a miracle that
he should be there.
"Poor Major Palgrave had high blood
pressure," said Mrs. Walters.
"Nonsense," said Mr. Rafiel.
"Oh, but he did," said Evelyn Hillingdon.
She spoke with sudden, unexpected
authority.
"Who says so ?" said Mr. Rafiel. "Did
he tell you so ?"
"Somebody said so."
"He looked very red in the face," Miss
Marple contributed.
"Can't go by that," said Mr. Rafiel.
7i
"And anyway he didn't have high blood
pressure because he told me so."
"What do you mean, he told you so ?"
said Mrs. Walters. "I mean, you can't
exactly tell people you haven9! got a thing."
"Yes you can. I said to him once when
he was downing all those Planters Punches, and eating too much. I said. "You ought
to watch your diet and your drink. You've
got to think of your blood pressure at
your age." And he said he'd nothing to
look out for in that line, that his blood
pressure was very good for his age."
"But he took some stuff for it, I believe," said Miss Marple, entering the conversation
once more. "Some stuff called --
oh, something like -- was it Serenite ?"
"If you ask me," said Evelyn Hillingdon,
"I don't think he ever liked to admit that
there could be anything the matter with
him or that he could be ill. I think he was
one of those people who are afraid of
illness and therefore deny there's ever
anything wrong with them."
It was a long speech for her. Miss
Marple looked thoughtfully down at the
top of her dark head.
"The trouble is," said Mr. Rafiel
72
dictatorially "everybody's too fond of
knowing other people's ailments. They
think everybody over fifty is going to die
of hypertension or coronary thrombosis
or one of those things -- poppycock! If a
man says there's nothing much wrong
with him I don't suppose there is. A man
ought to know about his own health.
What's the time? Quarter to twelve? I
ought to have had my dip long ago.
Why can't you remind me about these
things, Esther ?33
Mrs. Walters made no protest. She rose
to her feet and with some deftness assisted
Mr. Rafiel to his. Together they went
down the beach, she supporting him carefully.
Together they stepped into the sea.
Senora de Caspearo opened her eyes
and murmered: "How ugly are old men!
Oh how they are ugly! They should all be
put to death at forty, or perhaps thirtyfive
would be better. Yes ?"
Edward Hillingdon and Gregory Dyson
came crunching down the beach.
'What's the water like, Evelyn ?"
"Just the same as always.33
"Never much variation, is there?
Where's Lucky ?"

CM6
73

"I don't know,35 said Evelyn.
Again Miss Marple looked down
thoughtfully at the dark head.
"Well, now I give my imitation of a
whale," said Gregory. He threw off his
gaily patterned Bermuda shirt and tore
down the beach, flinging himself, puffing
and panting, into the sea, doing a fast
crawl. Edward Hillingdon sat down on the
beach by his wife. Presently he asked,
"Coming in again ?"
She smiled — put on her cap — and they
went down the beach together in a much
less spectacular manner.
Senora de Caspearo opened her eyes
again.
"I think at first those two they are on
their honeymoon, he is so charming to
her, but I hear they have been married
eight—nine years. It is incredible, is
it not ?"
"I wonder where Mrs. Dyson is ?" said
Miss Marple.
"That Lucky ? She is with some man."
"You — you think so ?"
"It is certain," said Senora de Caspearo.
"She is that type. But she is not so young
any longer—Her husband—already his
74
eyes go elsewhere — He makes passes —
here, there, all the time. I know."
"Yes," said Miss Marple, "I expect you
would know."
Senora de Caspearo shot a surprised
glance at her. It was clearly not what she
had expected from that quarter.
Miss Marple, however, was looking at
the waves with an air of gentle innocence.
II
"May I speak to you, ma'am, Mrs.
Kendal ?"
^es, of course," said Molly. She was
sitting at her desk in the office.
Victoria Johnson tall, and buoyant in her
crisp white uniform came in farther and
shut the door behind her with a somewhat
mysterious air.
"I like to tell you something, please,
Mrs. Kendal."
"Yes, what is it. Is anything wrong ?"
"I don't know that. Not for sure. It's
the old gentleman who died. The Major
gentleman. He die in his sleep."
"Yes, yes. What about it?"
"There was a bottle of pills in his room.
Doctor, he asked me about them."
75
"Yes ?"
"The doctor said—*Let me see what
he has here on the bathroom shelf,' and
he looked, you see. He see there was tooth
powder and indigestion pills and aspirin
and cascara pills, and then these pills in a
bottle called Serenite."
"Yes," repeated Molly yet again.
"And the doctor looked at them. He
seemed quite satisfied, and nodded his
head. But I get to thinking afterwards.
Those pills weren't there before. I've not
seen them in his bathroom before. The
others, yes. The tooth powder and
the aspirin and the after shave lotion
and all the rest. But those pills, those
Serenite pills, I never noticed them
before.35
"So you think—" Molly looked
puzzled.
"I don't know what to think," said
Victoria. "I just think it's not right, so I
think I better tell you about it. Perhaps you
tell doctor? Perhaps it means something.
Perhaps someone put those pills there so
he take them and he died."
"Oh, I don't think that's likely at all,"
said Molly.
76
Victoria shook her dark head. "You
never know. People do bad things."
Molly glanced out of the window. The
place looked like an earthly paradise. With
its sunshine, its sea, its coral reef, its
music, its dancing, it seemed a Garden
of Eden. But even in the Garden of Eden, there had been a shadow--the shadow
of the Serpent -- Bad things -- how hateful
to hear those words.
"I'll make inquiries, Victoria," she said
sharply. "Don't worry. And above all
don't go starting a lot of silly rumours."
Tim Kendal came in, just as Victoria was, somewhat unwillingly, leaving.
"Anything wrong, Molly ?"
She hesitated--but Victoria might go
to him -- She told him what the girl had
said.
"I don't see what all this rigmarole--
what were these pills anyway ?"
"Well, I don't really know, Tim. Dr.
Robertson when he came said they--
were something to do with blood pressure, I think."
"Well, that would be all right, wouldn't
it? I mean, he had high blood pressure, and he would be taking things for it,
77
wouldn't he? People do. I've seen them, lots of times."
"Yes," Molly hesitated, "but Victoria
seemed to think that he might have taken
one of these pills and it would have killed
him."
"Oh darling, that is a bit too melodramatic!
You mean that somebody might
have changed his blood pressure pills for
something else, and that they poisoned
him?"
"It does sound absurd," said Molly
apologetically, "when you say it like that.
But that seemed to be what Victoria
thought!"
"Silly girl! We could go and ask Dr.
Graham about it, I suppose he'd know.
But really it's such nonsense that it's not
worth bothering him."
"That's what I think."
"What on earth made the girl think
anybody would have changed the pills. You mean, put different pills into the same
bottle ?"
"I didn't quite gather," said Molly, looking rather helpless. "Victoria seemed
to think that was the first time that
Serenite bottle had been there."
78
^Oh but that's nonsense," said Tim
Kendal. "He had to take those pills all
the time to keep his blood pressure
down.33 And he went off cheerfully to
consult with Fernando the maitre
d'hotel.
But Molly could not dismiss the matter
so lightly. After the stress of lunch was
over she said to her husband:
"Tim -- I've been thinking -- If Victoria
is going around talking about this
perhaps we ought just to ask someone
about it?"
"My dear girl! Robertson and all the
rest of them came and looked at everything
and asked all the questions they wanted at
the time."
"Yes, but you know how they work
themselves up, these girls -- "
"Oh, all right! I'll tell you what--
we'll go and ask Graham -- he'll know."
Dr. Graham was sitting on his loggia
with a book. The young couple came in and
Molly plunged into her recital. It was a
little incoherent and Tim took over.
"Sounds rather idiotic," he said apologetically, "but as far as I can make out, this girl has got it into her head that
79
someone put some poison tablets in the --
what's the name of the stuff--Sera--
something bottle.35
"But why should she get this idea into
her head?" asked Dr. Graham. "Did she
see anything or hear anything or -- I
mean, why should she think so ?"
"I don't know," said Tim rather helplessly.
'"Was it a different bottle ? Was that
it, Molly ?"
"No," said Molly. "I think what she
said was that there was a bottle there
labelled -- Seven -- Seren -- "
"Serenite," said the doctor. "That's
quite right. A well-known preparation.
He'd been taking it regularly."
"Victoria said she'd never seen it in his
room before."
"Never seen it in his room before?"
said Graham sharply. "What does she mean
by that ?"
"Well, that's what she said. She said
there were all sorts of things on the bathroom
shelf. You know, tooth powder, aspirin and after shave and--oh--she
rattled them off gaily. I suppose she's
always cleaning them and so she knows
them all off by heart. But this one -- the
80
Serenite--she hadn't seen it here until
the day after he died."
"That's very odd," said Dr. Graham, rather sharply. "Is she sure ?"
The unusual sharpness of his tone made
both of the Kendals look at him. They had
not expected Dr. Graham to take up quite
this attitude.
"She sounded sure," said Molly slowly.
"Perhaps she just wanted to be sensational,"
suggested Tim.
"I think perhaps," said Dr. Graham, "I'd
better have a few words with the girl myself."
Victoria displayed a distinct pleasure
at being allowed to tell her story.
"I don't want to get in no trouble,"
she said. "7 didn't put that bottle there and
I don't know who did."
"But you think it was put there ?" asked
Graham.
"Well, you see. Doctor, it must have been
put there if it wasn't there before."
"Major Palgrave could have kept it in a
drawer--or a dispatch-case, something
like that."
Victoria shook her head shrewdly.
"Wouldn't do that if he was taking it
all the time, would he ?"
81
"No,35 said Graham reluctantly. "No,
it was stuff he would have to take several
times a day. You never saw him taking it
or anything of that kind ?"
"He didn't have it there before. I just
thought — word got round as that stuff
had something to do with his death,
poisoned his blood or something, and I
thought maybe he had an enemy who
put it there so as to kill him."
"Nonsense, my girl," said the doctor
robustly. "Sheer nonsense."
Victoria looked shaken.
"You say as this stuff was medicine,
good medicine ?" she asked doubtfully.
"Good medicine, and what is more,
necessary medicine," said Dr. Graham.
"So you needn't worry, Victoria. I can
assure you there was nothing wrong with
that medicine. It was the proper thing for a
man to take who had his complaint."
"Surely you've taken a load off my
mind," said Victoria. She showed white
teeth at him in a cheerful smile.
But the load was not taken off Dr.
Graham's mind. That uneasiness of his
that had been so nebuloAis was now
becoming tangible.
82
' 8
A TALK WITH ESTHER WALTERS
^ | ^HIS place isn't what it used to be,"
| said Mr. Rafiel, irritably, as he
JL observed Miss Marple approaching
the spot where he and his secretary were
sitting. "Can't move a step without some
old hen getting under your feet. What do
old ladies want to come to the West
Indies for ?"
"Where do you suggest they should go ?"
asked Esther Walters.
"To Cheltenham," said Mr. Rafiel
promptly. "Or Bournemouth," he offered,
"or Torquay or Llandrindod Wells.
Plenty of choice. They like it there —
they're quite happy."
"They can't often afford to come to the
West Indies, I suppose," said Esther.
"It isn't everyone who is as lucky as you
are."
"That's right," said Mr. Rafiel. "Rub
it in. Here am I, a mass of aches and pains
83
and disjoints. You grudge me any alleviation
I And you don't do any work -- Why
haven't you typed out those letters yet ?"
"I haven't had time."
"Well, get on with it, can't you? I
bring you out here to do a bit of work, not
to sit about sunning yourself and showing
off your figure."
Some people would have considered Mr. Panel's remarks quite insupportable but
Esther Walters had worked for him for
some years and she knew well enough that Mr. Panel's bark was a great deal worse
than his bite. He was a man who suffered
almost continual pain, and making disagreeable
remarks was one of his ways of
letting off steam. No matter what he said
she remained quite imperturable.
"Such a lovely evening, isn't it?" said
Miss Marple, pausing beside them.
"Why not?" said Mr. Rafiel. "That's
what we're here for, isn't it ?"
Miss Marple gave a tinkly little laugh.
"You're so severe -- of course the
weather is a very English subject of
conversation -- one forgets -- Oh dear --
this is the wrong coloured wool." She
deposited her knitting bag on the garden
84
table and trotted towards her own bungalow.

"Jackson!" yelled Mr. Rafiel.
Jackson appeared.
"Take me back inside," said Mr. Rafiel. "I'll have my massage now before that
chattering hen comes back. Not that
massage does me a bit of good," he added.
Having said which, he allowed himself to
be deftly helped to his feet and went off
with the masseur beside him into his
bungalow.
Esther Walters looked after them and
then turned her head as Miss Marple
came back with a ball of wool to sit down
near her.
"I hope I'm not disturbing you ?" said
Miss Marple.
"Of course not," said Esther Walters, "I've got to go off and do some typing in a
minute, but I'm going to enjoy another ten
minutes of the sunset first."
Miss Marple sat down and in a gentle voice began to talk. As she talked, she
summed up Esther Walters. Not at all
glamorous, but could be attractive looking
if she tried. Miss Marple wondered why
she didn't try. It could be, of course,
85
because Mr. Rafiel would not have liked
it, but Miss Marple didn't think Mr.
Rafiel would really mind in the least. He
was so completely taken up with himself
that so long as he was not personally
neglected, his secretary might have got
herself up like a houri in Paradise without
his objecting. Besides, he usually went to
bed early and in the evening hours of steel
bands and dancing, Esther Walters might
easily have--Miss Marple paused to
select a word in her mind, at the same time
conversing cheerfully about her visit to
Jamestown--Ah yes, blossomed. Esther
Walters might have blossomed in the evening
hours.
She led the conversation gently in the
direction of Jackson.
On the subject of Jackson, Esther
Walters was rather vague.
"He's very competent," she said. "A
fully trained masseur."
"I suppose he's been with Mr. Rafiel
a long time ?"
"Oh no -- about nine months, I
think -- "
"Is he married ?" Miss Marple hazarded.
"Married? I don't think so," said
86
Esther slightly surprised. "He's never
mentioned it if so --
"No," she added. "Definitely not married, I should say." And she showed amusement.

Miss Marple interpreted that by adding
to it in her own mind the following
sentence -- "At any rate he doesn't behave
as though he were married."
But then, how many married men there
were who behaved as though they weren't
married!! Miss Marple could think of a
dozen examples!
"He's quite good looking," she said
thoughtfully.
"Yes -- I suppose he is," said Esther
without interest.
Miss Marple considered her thoughtfully.
Uninterested in men? The kind of
woman, perhaps, who was only interested
in one man -- A widow, they had said.
She asked -- "Have you worked for Mr. Panel long ?"
"Four or five years. After my husband
died, I had to take a job again. I've got a
daughter at school and my husband left
me very badly off."
"Mr. Rafiel must be a rather difficult
87
man to work for ?" Miss Marple hazarded.
"Not really, when you get to know him.
He flies into rages and is very contradictory.
I think the real trouble is he gets tired of
people. He's had five different valetattendants
in two years. He likes having
someone new to bully. But he and I have
always got on very well."
"Mr. Jackson seems a very obliging young
man ?"
"He's very tactful and resourceful,"
said Esther. "Of course, he's sometimes a
little — " She broke off.
Miss Marple considered. "Rather a
difficult position sometimes?" she
suggested.
"Well, yes. Neither one thing nor the
other. However — " she smiled — "I
think he manages to have quite a good
time."
Miss Marple considered this also. It
didn't help her much. She continued her
twittering conversation and soon she was
hearing a good deal about that natureloving
quartet, the Dysons and the
Hillingdons.
"The Hillingdons have been here for the
last three or four years at least," said
88
Esther, "but Gregory Dyson has been
here much longer than that. He knows the
West Indies very well. He came here,
originally, I believe, with his first wife.
She was delicate and had to go abroad in
the winters, or go somewhere warm, at
any rate."
"And she died ? Or was it divorce ?"
"No. She died. Out here, I believe. I
don't mean this particular island but one
of the West Indies islands. There was some
sort of trouble, I believe, some kind of
scandal or other. He never talks about her.
Somebody else told me about it. They
didn't, I gather, get on very well together."
"And then he married this wife.
'Lucky'." Miss Marple said the word with
faint dissatisfaction as if to say "Really, a
most incredible name!"
"I believe she was a relation of his first
wife."
"Have they known the Hillingdons a
great many years ?"
"Oh, I think only since the Hillingdons
came out here. Three or four years, not
more."
"The Hillingdons seem very pleasant,"
said Miss Marple. "Quiet, of course."
CM7
89

"Yes. They're both quiet."
"Everyone says they're very devoted to
each other," said Miss Marple. The tone
of her voice was quite noncommittal
but Esther Walters looked at her sharply.
"But you don't think they are?" she
said.
"You don't really think so yourself, do you, my dear ?"
"Well, I've wondered sometimes ..."
"Quiet men, like Colonel Hillingdon,"
said Miss Marple "are often attracted
to flamboyant types." And she added,
after a significant pause "Lucky -- such a
curious name. Do you think Mr. Dyson
has any idea of -- of what might be going
on?"
"Old scandal-monger," thought Esther
Walters. "Really, these old women!"
She said rather coldly, "I've no idea."
Miss Marple shifted to another subject.
"It's very sad about poor Major Palgrave
isn't it ?" she said.
Esther Walters agreed, though in a somewhat
perfunctory fashion.
"The people I'm really sorry for are
the Kendals," she said.
"Yes, I suppose it is really rather un90
fortunate when something of that kind
happens in an hotel."
"People come here, you see, to enjoy
themselves, don't they?" said Esther. "To forget about illnesses and deaths
and income tax and frozen pipes and all
the rest of it. They don't like -- " she
went on, with a sudden flash of an entirely
different manner -- "any reminders of
mortality."
Miss Marple laid down her knitting.
"Now that is very well put, my dear,"
she said, "very well put indeed. Yes, it is
as you say."
"And you see they're quite a young
couple," went on Esther Walters. "They
only just took over from the Sandersons
six months ago and they're terribly worried
about whether they're going to succeed
or not, because they haven't had much
experience."
"And you think this might be really
disadvantageous to them ?"
"Well, no, I don't, frankly," said Esther
Walters. "I don't think people remember
anything for more than a day or two, not in
this atmosphere of "we'veallcome-outheretoenjoyourselveslet'sgeton-with
9i
if. I think a death just gives them a jolt
for about twenty-four hours or so and then
they don't think of it again once the funeral
is over. Not unless they're reminded of it,
that is. I've told Molly so, but of course she
is a worrier."
"Mrs. Kendal is a worrier ? She always
seems so carefree."
cc! think a lot of that is put on," said
Esther slowly. "Actually, I think she's one
of those anxious sort of people who can't
help worrying all the time that things may
go wrong."
"I should have thought he worried more
than she did."
"No, I don't think so. I think she's the
worrier and he worries because she
worries if you know what I mean."
"That is interesting," said Miss Marple.
"I think Molly wants desperately to try
and appear very gay and to be enjoying
herself. She works at it very hard but
the effort exhausts her. Then she has these
odd fits of depression. She's not—well
not really well-balanced."
"Poor child," said Miss Marple. "There
certainly are people like that, and very
often outsiders don't suspect it."
92
"No, they put on such a good show, don't
they? However," Esther added, "I don't
think Molly has really anything to worry
about in this case. I mean, people are
dying of coronary thrombosis or cerebral
haemorrhage or things of that kind all
the time nowadays. Far more than they
used to, as far as I can see. It's only
food poisoning or typhoid or something
like that, that makes people get het
up."
"Major Palgrave never mentioned to me that he had high blood pressure," said
Miss Marple. "Did he to you ?"
"He said so to somebody -- I don't know who -- It may have been to Mr.
Rafiel. I know Mr. Rafiel says just the
opposite--but then he's like that!
Certainly Jackson mentioned it to me once.
He said the Major ought to be more
careful over the alcohol he took."
"I see," said Miss Marple, thoughtfully.
She went on: "I expect you found him
rather a boring old man ? He told a lot of
stories and I expect repeated himself a good
deal."...
"That's the worst of it," said Esther.
"You do hear the same story again and
93
again unless you can manage to be quick
enough and fend him off."
"Of course I didn't mind so much,"
said Miss Marple, "because I'm used to
that sort of thing. If I get stories told to
me rather often, I don't really mind hearing
them again because I've usually forgotten
them."
"There is that," said Esther and laughed
cheerfully.
"There was one story he was very fond
of telling," said Miss Marple, "about a
murder. I expect he told you that, didn't
he?"
Esther Walters opened her handbag
and started searching through it. She
drew out her lipstick saying, "I thought
I'd lost it." Then she asked, "I beg your
pardon, what did you say ?"
"I asked if Major Palgrave told you his
favourite murder story ?"
"I believe he did, now I come to think
of it. Something about someone who
gassed themselves, wasn't it? Only really
it was the wife who gassed him. I mean
she'd given him a sedative of some kind
and then stuck his head in the gas oven.
Was that it?"
94
"I don't think that was exactly it,"
said Miss Marple. She looked at Esther
Walters thoughtfully.
"He told such a lot of stories," said
Esther Walters, apologetically, "and as I
said, one didn't always listen."
"He had a snapshot," said Miss Marple,
"that he used to show people."
"I believe he did ... I can't remember
what it was now. Did he show it to you ?"
"No," said Miss Marple. "He didn't
show it to me. We were interrupted — "
95
9
MISS PRESCOTT AND OTHERS
"^ | ^HE story 7 heard," began Miss
| Prescott, lowering her voice, and
JL looking carefully around.
Miss Marple drew her chair a little
closer. It had been some time before she
had been able to get together with Miss
Prescott for a heart-to-heart chat. This
was owing to the fact that clergymen are
very strong family men so that Miss
Prescott was nearly always accompanied
by her brother, and there was no doubt
that Miss Marple and Miss Prescott found
it less easy to take their back hair down in a
good gossip when the jovial Canon was of
their company.
"It seems," said Miss Prescott, "though
of course I don't want to talk any scandal
and I really know nothing about it — "
"Oh, I quite understand," said Miss
Marple.
"It seems there was some scandal when
96
his first wife was still alive! Apparently
this woman. Lucky--such a name!--
who I think was a cousin of his first wife, came out here and joined them and I think
did some work with him on flowers or
butterflies or whatever it was. And people
talked a lot because they got on so well
together -- if you know what I mean."
"People do notice things so much, don't
they," said Miss Marple.
"And then of course, when his wife died
rather suddenly -- "
"She died here, on this island ?"
"No. No, I think they were in Martinique
or Tobago at the time."
"I see."
"But I gathered from some other people
who were there at the time, and who came
on here and talked about things, that the
doctor wasn't very satisfied."
"Indeed," said Miss Marple, with
interest.
"It was only gossip," of course, "but --
well, Mr. Dyson certainly married again very quickly." She lowered her voice again.
"Only a month I believe."
"Only a month," said Miss Marple.
The two women looked at each other.
97
"It seemed — unfeeling," said Miss Prescott.
"Yes,"
said Miss Marple. "It certainly
did.35 She added delicately, "Was there —
any money ?"
"I don't really know. He makes his little
joke — perhaps you've heard him — about
this wife being his 'lucky piece' — "
"Yes, I've heard him,35 said Miss
Marple.
"And some people think that means
that he was lucky to marry a rich wife.
Though, of course," said Miss Prescott
with the air of one being entirely fair,
"she's very good-looking too, if you care
for that type. And I think myself that it
was the first wife who had the money."
"Are the Hillingdons well off?"
"Well, I think they're well off, I don't
mean fabulously rich, I just mean well off.
They have two boys at Public School and
a very nice place in England, I believe,
and they travel most of the winter."
The Canon appearing at this moment
to suggest a brisk walk. Miss Prescott rose
to join her brother. Miss Marple remained
sitting there.
A few minutes later Gregory Dyson
98
passed her striding along towards the
hotel. He waved a cheerful hand as he
passed.
"Penny for your thoughts," he called
out.
Miss Marple smiled gently, wondering
how he would have reacted if she had
replied:
"I was wondering if you were a murderer."

It really seemed most probable that he
was. It all fitted in so nicely -- This story
about the death of the first Mrs. Dyson --
Major Palgrave had certainly been talking about a wife killer -- with special reference
to the "Brides in the Bath Case".
Yes -- it fitted -- the only objection was
that it fitted almost too well. But Miss
Marple reproved herself for this thought --
Who was she to demand Murders Made to
Measure ?
A voice made her jump--a somewhat
raucous one.
"Seen Greg any place. Miss -- er -- "
Lucky, Miss Marple thought, was not
in a good temper.
"He passed by just now -- going towards
the hotel."
R 99
"I'll bet!" Lucky uttered an irritated
ejaculation and hurried on.
"Forty, if she's a day, and looks it this
morning," thought Miss Marple.
Pity invaded her -- Pity for the Luckys
of the world -- who were so vulnerable to
Time --
At the sound of a noise behind her, she
turned her chair round --
Mr. Rafiel, supported by Jackson, was
making his morning appearance and coming
out of his bungalow --
Jackson settled his employer in his
wheel-chair and fussed round him. Mr. Rafiel waved his attendant away impatiently
and Jackson went off in the
direction of the hotel.
Miss Marple lost no time -- Mr. Rafiel
was never left alone for long--Probably
Esther Walters would come and join him.
Miss Marple wanted a word alone with
Mr. Rafiel and now, she thought, was her
chance. She would have to be quick about
what she wanted to say. There could be no
leading up to things. Mr. Rafiel was not a
man who cared for the idle twittering
conversation of old ladies. He would
probably retreat again into his bungalow,
100
definitely regarding himself the victim of
persecution. Miss Marple decided to
plump for downrightness.
She made her way to where he was
sitting, drew up a chair, sat down, and
said:
"I want to ask you something, Mr.
Rafiel."
"All right, all right," said Mr. Rafiel,
"let's have it. What do you want--a
subscription, I suppose? Missions in
Africa or repairing a church, something
of that kind?"
"Yes," said Miss Marple. "I am interested
in several objects of that nature, and
I shall be delighted if you will give me a
subscription for them. But that wasn't
actually what I was going to ask you.
What I was going to ask you was if Major
Palgrave ever told you a story about a
murder."
"Oho," said Mr. Rafiel. "So he told it to
you too, did he? And I suppose you fell
for it, hook line and sinker."
"I didn't really know what to think,"
said Miss Marple. "What exactly did he
tell you ?"
"He prattled on," said Mr. Rafiel,
101
"about a lovely creature, Lucrezia Borgia
reincarnated. Beautiful, young, goldenhaired,
everything."
"Oh," said Miss Marple slightly taken
aback, "and who did she murder ?"
"Her husband, of course," said Mr.
Rafiel, "who do you think ?"
"Poison ?"
"No, I think she gave him a sleeping
draught and then stuck him in a gas oven.
Resourceful female. Then she said it was
suicide. She got off quite lightly. Diminished
responsibility or something. That's
what it's called nowadays if you're a
good-looking woman, or some miserable
young hooligan whose mother's been too
fond of him. Bah!"
"Did the Major show you a snapshot ?"
"What -- a snapshot of the woman ?
No. Why should he ?"
"Oh -- " said Miss Marple.
She sat there, rather taken aback.
Apparently Major Palgrave spent his life
telling people not only about tigers he had
shot and elephants he had hunted but also
about murderers he had met. Perhaps he
had a whole repertoire of murder stories.
One had to face it -- She was startled by
102
Mr. Rafiel suddenly giving a roar of "Jackson!" There was no response.
"Shall I find him for you?" said Miss
Marple rising.
"You won't find him. Tomcatting
somewhere, that's what he does. No good, that fellow. Bad character. But he suits me
all right."
"I'll go and look for him," said Miss
Marple.
Miss Marple found Jackson sitting on
the far side of the hotel terrace having a
drink with Tim Rental.
"Mr. Rafiel is asking for you," she said.
Jackson made an expressive grimace, drained his glass, and rose to his feet.
"Here we go again," he said. "No peace
for the wicked -- Two telephone calls and
a special diet order -- I thought that
might give me a quarter of an hour's alibi
--Apparently not! Thank you. Miss
Marple. Thanks for the drink, Mr.
Kendal."
He strode away.
cc! feel sorry for that chap," said Tim. "I have to stand him a drink now and then, just to cheer him up -- Can I offer you
something. Miss Marple--How about
103
fresh lime ? I know you're fond of that."
''N01 just now, thank you -- I suppose
looking after someone like Mr. Rafiel must
always be rather exacting. Invalids are
frequently difficult -- "
"I didn't mean only that--It's very
well paid and you expect to put up with a
good deal of crochetiness -- old Rafiel's
not really a bad sort. I meant more that -- "
he hesitated.
Miss Marple looked inquiring.
"Well -- how shall I put it -- it's difficult
for him socially. People are so damned
snobbish -- there's no one here of his
class. He's better than a servant--and
below the average visitor -- or they think
he is. Rather like the Victorian governess.
Even the secretary woman, Mrs. Walters --
feels she's a cut above him. Makes things
difficult." Tim paused, then said with
feeling: "It's really awful the amount of
social problems there are in a place like
this."
Dr. Graham passed them--He had a
book in his hand. He went and sat at a
table overlooking the sea.
"Dr. Graham looks rather worried,"
remarked Miss Marple.
104
"Oh! We're all worried."
"You too ? Because of Major Palgrave's
death ?»
"I've left off worrying about that. People
seem to have forgotten it — taken it in
their stride. No — it's my wife — Molly —
Do you know anything about dreams ?"
"Dreams ?" Miss Marple was surprised.
"Yes — bad dreams — nightmares, I
suppose. Oh, we all get that sort of thing
sometimes. But Molly — she seems to have
them nearly all the time. They frighten
her. Is there anything one can do about
them? Take for them? She's got some
sleeping pills, but she says they make it
worse—she struggles to wake up and
can't."
"What are the dreams about ?"
"Oh, something or someone chasing her
— Or watching her and spying on her —
she can't shake off the feeling even when
she's awake."
"Surely a doctor — "
"She's got a thing against doctors.
Won't hear of it — Oh well — I daresay it
will all pass off — But we were so happy.
It was all such fun — And now, just lately
— Perhaps old Palgrave's death upset her.
CM8 105
She seems like a different person since ..."
He got up.
"Must get on with the daily chores -- are
you sure you won't have that fresh
lime ?"
Miss Marple shook her head.
She sat there, thinking. Her face was
grave and anxious.
She glanced over at Dr. Graham.
Presently she came to a decision.
She rose and went across to his table.
(c! have got to apologise to you. Dr.
Graham," she said.
"Indeed ?" The doctor looked at her in
kindly surprise. He pulled forward a chair
and she sat down.
"I am afraid I have done the most disgraceful
thing," said Miss Marple. "I told
you. Dr. Graham, a deliberate lie."
She looked at him apprehensively.
Dr. Graham did not look at all shattered, but he did look a little surprised.
"Really ?" he said. "Ah well, you mustn't
let that worry you too much."
What had the dear old thing been telling
lies about, he wondered; her age ? Though
as far as he could remember she hadn't
mentioned her age. "Well, let's hear about
106
it," he said, since she clearly wished to
confess.
"You remember my speaking to you
about a snapshot of my nephew, one that I
showed to Major Palgrave, and that he
didn't give back to me ?"
"Yes, yes, of course I remember. Sorry
we couldn't find it for you."
"There wasn't any such thing," said
Miss Marple, in a small, frightened voice.
"I beg your pardon ?"
"There wasn't any such thing. I made up
that story, I'm afraid."
"You made it up ?" Dr. Graham looked
slightly annoyed. "Why ?"
Miss Marple told him. She told him
quite clearly, without twittering. She told
him about Major Palgrave's murder story
and how he'd been about to show her this
particular snapshot and his sudden confusion
and then she went on to her own
anxiety and to her final decision to try
somehow to obtain a view of it.
"And really, I couldn't see any way of
doing so without telling you something that
was quite untrue," she said, "I do hope
you will forgive me."
"You thought that what he had been
107
about to show you was a picture of a murderer
?"
"That's what he said it was," said Miss
Marple. "At least he said it was given him
by this acquaintance who had told him the
story about a man who was a murderer."
"Yes, yes. And -- excuse me -- you believed
him ?"
"I don't know if I really believed him or
not at the time," said Miss Marple. "But
then, you see, the next day he died."
"Yes," said Dr. Graham, struck suddenly
by the clarity of that one sentence. The next day he died...
"And the snapshot had disappeared."
Dr. Graham looked at her. He didn't
quite know what to say.
"Excuse, Miss Marple," he said at last,
"but is what you're telling me now -- is it
really true this time ?"
"I don't wonder your doubting me,"
said Miss Marple. "I should, in your place.
Yes, it is true what I am telling you now, but I quite realise that you have only my
word for it. Still, even if you don't believe
me, I thought I ought to tell you."
"Why ?"
"I realised that you ought to have the
108
fullest information possible — In case — "
"In case what ?"
"In case you decided to take any steps
about it."
109
10
A DECISION IN JAMESTOWN
DR. GRAHAM was in Jamestown, in the Administrator's office; sitting
at a table opposite his friend Daventry,
a grave young man of thirty-five.
"You sounded rather mysterious on the
phone, Graham," said Daventry. "Anything
special the matter ?"
"I don't know," said Dr. Graham, "but
I'm worried."
Daventry looked at the other's face, then
he nodded as drinks were brought in. He spoke lightly of a fishing expedition he had
made lately. Then when the servant had
gone away, he sat back in his chair and
looked at the other man.
"Now then" he said, "let's have it."
Dr. Graham recounted the facts that had
worried him. Daventry gave a slow long
whistle.
"I see. You think maybe there's something
funny about old Palgrave's death?
no
You're no longer sure that it was just
natural causes? Who certified the death?
Robertson, I suppose. He didn't have any
doubts, did he ?"
"No, but I think he may have been
influenced in giving the certificate by the
fact of the Serenite tablets in the bathroom.
He asked me if Palgrave had mentioned
that he suffered from hypertension, and I
said no, I'd never had any medical conversation
with him myself, but apparently
he had talked about it to other people in the
hotel. The whole thing--the bottle of
tablets, and what Palgrave had said to
people -- it all fitted in -- no earthly reason
to suspect anything else. It was a perfectly
natural inference to make -- but I think
now it may not have been correct. If it had
been my business to give the certificate, I'd
have given it without a second thought.
The appearances are quite consistent with
his having died from that cause. I'd never
have thought about it since if it hadn't
been for the odd disappearance of that
snapshot..."
"But look here, Graham," said Daventry,
"if you will allow me to say so, aren't you relying a little too much on a
in
rather fanciful story told by an elderly
lady. You know what these elderly ladies
are like. They magnify some detail and
work the whole thing up."
"Yes, I know," said Dr. Graham, unhappily.
"I know that. I've said to myself
that it may be so, that it probably is so.
But I can't quite convince myself. She was
so very clear and detailed in her statement."
"The whole thing seems wildly improbable
to me," said Daventry. "Some old
lady tells a story about a snapshot that
ought not to be there -- no I'm getting
mixed myself -- I mean the other way
about don't I ? -- but the only thing you've
really got to go on is that a chambermaid
says that a bottle of pills which the
authorities had relied on for evidence,
wasn't in the Major's room the day before
his death. But there are a hundred explanations
for that. He might always have carried
those pills about in his pocket."
"It's possible, I suppose, yes."
"Or the chambermaid may have made a
mistake and she simply hadn't noticed them
before -- "
"That's possible, too."
"Well, then."
112
Graham said slowly:
"The girl was very positive."
"Well, the St. Honore people are very
excitable, you know. Emotional. Work
themselves up easily. Are you thinking that
she knows — a little more than she has
said ?"
"I think it might be so," said Dr.
Graham slowly.
"You'd better try and get it out of her, if
so. We don't want to make an unnecessary
fuss — unless we've something to go on.
If he didn't die of blood pressure, what do
you think it was ?"
"There are too many things it might be
nowadays," said Dr. Graham.
"You mean things that don't leave
recognisable traces ?"
"Not everyone," said Dr. Graham dryly,
"is so considerate as to use arsenic."
"Now let's get things quite clear —
what's the suggestion? That a bottle of
pills was substituted for the real ones?
And that Major Palgrave was poisoned in
that way ?"
"No — it's not like that. That's what the
girl — Victoria Something thinks — But
she's got it all wrong — If it was decided to
"3
set rid ofrfAe Major -- quickly -- he would
have bee:^ given something--most likely
in a drinJ^ of some kind. Then to make it
appear a^ natural death, a bottle of the
tablets prescribed to relieve blood pressure
was put i 1(! his room. And the rumour was
put abou'^ that he suffered from high blood
pressure. ^
"Who < Nt the rumour about ?"
"I've tJ^ied to find out -- with no success
-- It's b'^en too cleverly done. A says (I think B t ^ld me' -- B, asked, says 'No, I
didn't sa^y so but I do remember C mentioning
it^one day.' C says 'Several people
talked abc^ut it -- one of them, I think, was
A.' And tf^ere we are, back again."
"Someone was clever ?"
"Yes. ^s soon as the death was discovered, . everybody seemed to be talking
about the^ Major's high blood pressure and
repeating^ round what other people had
said."
"Wouldn't it have been simpler just to
poison hit ^ and let it go at that ?"
"No. ^hat might have meant an inquiry
--possible an autopsy -- This way, a doctor
woul^ accept the death and give a
certificate-- as he did."
114
"What do you want me to do ? Go to the
C.I.D. ? Suggest they dig the chap up ?
It'd make a lot of stink — "
"It could be kept quite quiet."
"Could it ? In St. Honore ? Think again!
The grapevine would be on to it before it
had happened. All the same," Daventry
sighed —cc! suppose we'll have to do
something. But if you ask me, it's all a
mare's nest!"
"I devoutly hope it is," said Dr. Graham.
ii5
11
EVENING AT THE GOLDEN PALM
MOLLY rearranged a few of the
table decorations in the diningroom,
removed an extra knife,
straightened a fork, reset a glass or two, stood back to look at the effect and then
walked out on to the terrace outside.
There was no one about just at present and
she strolled to the far corner and stood by
the balustrade. Soon another evening would
begin. Chattering, talking, drinking, all so
gay and carefree, the sort of life she had
longed for and, up to a few days ago, had
enjoyed so much. Now even Tim seemed
anxious and worried. Natural, perhaps,
that he should worry a little. It was important
that this venture of theirs should turn
out all right. After all, he had sunk all he
had in it.
But that, thought Molly, is not really what's worrying him. It's me. But I don't
see, said Molly to herself, why he should
n6
worry about me. Because he did worry
about her. That she was quite sure of. The
questions he put, the quick nervous glance
he shot at her from time to time. But why ?
thought Molly. "I've been very careful,"
she summed up things in her mind. She
didn't understand it really herself. She
couldn't remember when it had begun.
She wasn't even very sure what it was.
She'd begun to be frightened of people.
She didn't know why. What could they do
to her? What should they want to do to
her?
She nodded her head, then started
violently as a hand touched her arm. She
spun round to find Gregory Dyson, slightly
taken aback, looking apologetic.
"Ever so sorry. Did I startle you, little
girl ?"
Molly hated being called "little girl".
She said quickly and brightly: "I didn't
hear you coming, Mr. Dyson, so it made
me jump."
"Mr. Dyson ? We're very formal tonight.
Aren't we all one great happy family here ?
Ed and me and Lucky and Evelyn and you
and Tim and Esther Walters and old
Rafiel. All the lot of us one happy family."
117
"He's had plenty to drink already," thought Molly. She smiled at him pleasantly.

"Oh! I come over the heavy hostess
sometimes," she said lightly. "Tim and I
think it's more polite not to be too handy
with Christian names."
"Aw! we don't want any of that stuffedshirt
business. Now then, Molly my
lovely, have a drink with me."
"Ask me later," said Molly. "I have a
few things to get on with."
"Now don't run away." His arm fastened
round her arm. "You're a lovely girl, Molly.
I hope Tim appreciates his good luck."
"Oh, I see to it that he does," said Molly
cheerfully.
"I could go for you, you know, in a big
way." He leered at her -- "though I
wouldn't let my wife hear me say so."
"Did you have a good trip this afternoon
?"
"I suppose so. Between you and me I
get a bit fed up sometimes. You can get
tired of the birds and butterflies. What say
you and I go for a little picnic on our own
one day ?"
"We'll have to see about that," said
118
Molly gaily. "I'll be looking forward to
it."
With a light laugh she escaped, and went
back into the bar.
"Hallo, Molly," said Tim, "you seem in
a hurry. Who's that you've been with out
there ?"
He peered out.
"Gregory Dyson."
"What does he want ?"
"Wanted to make a pass at me," said
Molly.
"Blast him," said Tim.
"Don't worry," said Molly, "I can do all
the blasting necessary."
Tim started to answer her, caught sight
of Fernando and went over to him shouting
out some directions. Molly slipped away
through the kitchen, out through the
kitchen door and down the steps to the
beach.
Gregory Dyson swore under his breath.
Then he walked slowly back in the direction
of his bungalow. He had nearly got
there when a voice spoke to him from the
shadow of one of the bushes. He turned
his head, startled. In the gathering dusk he
thought for a moment that it was a ghostly
119
figure that stood there. Then he laughed.
It had looked like a faceless apparition but
that was because, though the dress was
white, the face was black.
Victoria stepped out of the bushes on to
the path.
"Mr. Dyson, please ?"
"Yes. What is it ?"
Ashamed of being startled, he spoke
with a touch of impatience.
"I brought you this, sir." She held out
her hand. In it was a bottle of tablets.
"This belongs to you, doesn't it. Yes ?"
"Oh, my bottle of Serenite tablets. Yes,
of course. Where did you find it ?"
"I found it where it had been put. In the
gentleman's room."
"What do you mean—in the gentleman's
room ?"
"The gentleman who is dead," she added
gravely. "I do not think he sleeps very well
in his grave."
"Why the devil not ?" asked Dyson.
Victoria stood looking at him.
"I still don't know what you're talking
about. You mean you found this bottle of
tablets in Major Palgrave's bungalow ?"
"That is right, yes. After the doctor and
120
the Jamestown people go away, they give
me all the things in his bathroom to throw
away. The toothpaste and the lotions, and
all the other things -- including this."
"Well, why didn't you throw it away ?"
"Because these are yours. You missed
them. You remember, you asked about
them ?"
"Yes -- well -- yes, I did. I -- I thought
I'd just mislaid them."
"No, you did not mislay them. They
were taken from your bungalow and put in
Major Palgrave's bungalow."
"How do you know ?" He spoke roughly.
"I know I saw." She smiled at him in a
sudden flash of white teeth. "Someone
put them in the dead gentleman's room.
Now I give them back to you."
"Here -- wait. What do you mean ?
What -- who did you see ?"
She hurried away, back into the darkness
of the bushes. Greg made as to move
after her and then stopped. He stood
stroking his chin.
"What's the matter, Greg? Seen a
ghost?" asked Mrs. Dyson, as she came
along the path from their bungalow.
"Thought I had for a minute or two."
CM9 121
"Who was that you were talking to ?"
"The coloured girl who does our place.
Victoria, her name is, isn't it ?"
"What did she want ? Making a pass at
you ?"
"Don't be stupid. Lucky. That girl's
got some idiotic idea into her head."
"Idea about what ?"
"You remember I couldn't find my
Serenite the other day ?"
"You said you couldn't."
"What do you mean 'I said I couldn't' ?"
"Oh, for heck's sake, have you got to
take me up on everything ?"
"I'm sorry," said Greg. "Everybody
goes about being so damn' mysterious."
He held out his hand with the bottle in it.
"That girl brought them back to me."
"Had she pinched them ?"
"No. She—found them somewhere I
think."
"Well, what of it ? What's the mystery
about ?"
"Oh nothing," said Greg. "She just
riled me, that's all."
"Look here, Greg, what is this stuff all
about? Come along and have a drink
before dinner."
122
II
Molly had gone down to the beach. She
pulled out one of the old basket chairs, one
of the more pickety ones that were seldom
used. She sat in it for a while looking at the
sea, then suddenly she dropped her head in
her hands and burst into tears. She sat
there sobbing unrestrainedly for some
time. Then she heard a rustle by her and
glanced up sharply to see Mrs. Hillingdon
looking down at her.
"Hallo, Evelyn, I didn't hear you. I —
I'm sorry."
"What's the matter, child ?" said Evelyn.
"Something gone wrong?" She pulled
another chair forward and sat down. "Tell
me."
"There's nothing wrong," said Molly.
"Nothing at all."
"Of course there is. You wouldn't sit and
cry here for nothing. Can't you tell me ? Is
it — some trouble between you and Tim ?"
"Oh no"
"I'm glad of that. You always look so
happy together."
"Not more than you do," said Molly.
"Tim and I always think how wonderful it
123
children you know,55 she said. "Children
whom we're both very fond of. They're at
school in England. We didn't want to
break up the home. And then of course, Lucky didn't want a divorce either. Greg's
a very rich man. His first wife left a lot of
money. So we agreed to live and let live --
Edward and Lucky in happy immorality, Greg in blissful ignorance, and Edward and
I just good friends.55 She spoke with scalding
bitterness.
"How -- how can you bear it ?"
"One gets used to anything. But sometimes
-- "
"Yes ?" said Molly.
"Sometimes I'd like to kill that woman."
The passion behind her voice startled
Molly.
"Don't let's talk any more about me,"
said Evelyn. "Let's talk about you. I want
to know what's the matter."
Molly was silent for some moments and
than she said, "It's only-it's only that I
think there's something wrong about me."
"Wrong ? What do you mean ?"
Molly shook her head unhappily. "I'm
frightened," she said. "I'm terribly frightened."

126
"Frightened of what ?"
"Everything," said Molly. "It's -- growing
on me. Voices in the bushes, footsteps
--or things that people say. As though
someone were watching me all the time, spying on me. Somebody hates me. That's
what I keep feeling. Somebody hates me."
"My dear child," Evelyn was shocked
and startled. "How long has this been
going on ?"
"I don't know. It came -- it started by
degrees. And there have been other things
too."
"What sort of things?"
"There are times," said Molly slowly,
"that I can't account for, that I can't
remember."
"Do you mean you have blackouts --
that sort of thing."
"I suppose so. I mean sometimes it's --
oh, say it's five o'clock--and I can't
remember anything since about half past
one or two."
"Oh my dear, but that's just that you've
been asleep. Had a doze."
"No," said Molly, "it's not like that at
all. Because you see, at the end of the time
it's not as though I'd just dozed off. I'm in a
127
different place. Sometimes I'm wearing
different clothes and sometimes I seem to
have been doing things — even saying
things to people, talking to someone, and
not remembering that I've done so.33
Evelyn looked shocked. "But, Molly,
my dear, if this is so, then you ought to see
a doctor."
"I won't see a doctor! I don't want to. I
wouldn't go near a doctor."
Evelyn looked sharply down into her
face, then she took the girl's hand in hers.
"You may be frightening yourself for
nothing, Molly. You know there are all
kinds of nervous disorders that aren't
really serious at all. A doctor would soon
reassure you."
"He mightn't. He might say that there
was something really wrong with me."
"Why should there be anything wrong
with you ?"
"Because — " Molly spoke and then was
silent — " — no reason, I suppose," she
said.
"Couldn't your family—haven't you
any family any mother or sisters or someone
who could come out here ?"
"I don't get on with my mother. I never
128
have. I've got sisters. They're married but I
suppose — I suppose they could come if I
wanted them. But I don't want them. I
don't want anyone — anyone except Tim.35
"Does Tim know about this ? Have you
told him ?"
"Not really," said Molly. "But he's
anxious about me and he watches me. It's as
though he were trying to — to help me or
to shield me. But if he does that it means I
want shielding, doesn't it ?"
"I think a lot of it may be imagination
but I still think you ought to see a doctor."
"Old Dr. Graham ? He wouldn't be any
good."
"There are other doctors on the island."
"It's all right, really," said Molly. "I
just — mustn't think of it. I expect, as you
say, it's all imagination. Good gracious,
it's getting frightfully late. I ought to be on
duty now in the dining-room. I — I must
go back."
She looked sharply and almost offensively
at Evelyn Hillingdon, and then hurried off.
Evelyn stared after her.
129
12
OLD SINS CAST LONG SHADOWS
"T' THINK as I am on to something,
I
man."
"What's that you say, Victoria ?"
"I think I'm on to something. It may
mean money. Big money."
"Now look, girl, you be careful, you'll
not tangle yourself up in something. Maybe
I'd better tackle what it is."
Victoria laughed, a deep rich chuckle.
"You wait and see," she said. cc! know
how to play this hand. It's money, man, it's
big money. Something I see, and something
I guess. I think I guess right."
And again the soft rich chuckle rolled
out on the night.
II
"Evelyn..."
"Yes ?"
Evelyn Hillingdon spoke mechanically,
without interest. She did not look at her
husband.
130
"Evelyn, would you mind if we chucked
all this and went home to England ?"
She had been combing her short dark
hair. Now her hands came down from her
head sharply. She turned towards him.
"You mean — but we've only just come.
We've not been out here in the islands for
more than three weeks."
"I know. But — would you mind ?"
Her eyes searched him incredulously.
"You really want to go back to England.
Back home ?"
"Yes."
"Leaving — Lucky."
He winced.
"You've known all the time, I suppose,
that — that it was still going on ?"
"Pretty well. Yes."
"You've never said anything."
"Why should I ? We had the whole thing
out years ago. Neither of us wanted to make
a break. So we agreed to go our separate
ways — but keep up the show in public."
Then she added before he could speak,
"But why are you so set on going back to
England now ?"
"Because I'm at breaking point. I can't
stick it any longer, Evelyn. I can't." The
131
quiet Edward Hillingdon was transformed.
His hands shook, he swallowed, his calm
unemotional face seemed distorted by pain.
"For God's sake, Edward, what's the
matter ?"
"Nothing's the matter except that I want
to get out of here — "
"You fell wildly in love with Lucky. And
now you've got over it. Is that what you're
telling me ?"
"Yes. I don't suppose you'll ever feel the
same."
"Oh let's not go into that now! I want to
understand what's upsetting you so much,
Edward."
"I'm not particularly upset."
"But you are. Why ?"
"Isn't it obvious ?"
"No, it isn't," said Evelyn. "Let's put it
in plain concrete terms. You've had an
affair with a woman. That happens often
enough. And now it's over. Or isn't it over ?
Perhaps it isn't over on her side. Is that it ?
Does Greg know about it? I've often
wondered."
"I don't know," said Edward. "He's
never said anything. He always seems
friendly enough."
132
"Men can be extraordinarily obtuse,"
said Evelyn thoughtfully. "Or else -- Perhaps
Greg has got an outside interest of his
own!"
"He's made passes at you, hasn't he?"
said Edward. "Answer me -- I know he
has -- M
"Oh yes," said Evelyn, carelessly, "but
he makes passes at everybody. That's just
Greg. It doesn't ever really mean much. I
imagine. It's just part of the Greg he-man
act."
"Do you care for him, Evelyn? I'd
rather know the truth."
"Greg? I'm quite fond of him--he
amuses me. He's a good friend."
"And that's all ? I wish I could believe
you."
"I can't really see how it can possibly
matter to you," said Evelyn dryly.
"I suppose I deserve that."
Evelyn walked to the window, looked out
across the veranda and came back again.
"I wish you would tell me what's really upsetting you, Edward."
"I've told you."
"I wonder."
"You can't understand, I suppose, how
i33
extraordinary a temporary madness of this
kind can seem to you after you've got over
it."
"I can try, I suppose. But what's worrying
me now is that Lucky seems to have
got some kind of strangle-hold upon you.
She's not just a discarded mistress. She's a
tigress with claws. You must tell me the
truth, Edward. It's the only way if you
want me to stand by you.35
Edward said in a low voice: "If I don't
get away from her soon -- I shall kill her."
"Kill Lucky ? Why ?"
"Because of what she made me do ..."
"What did she make you do ?"
"I helped her to commit a murder -- "
The words were out -- There was
silence -- Evelyn stared at him.
"Do you know what you are saying ?"
"Yes. I didn't know I was doing it. There
were things she asked me to get for her --
at the chemist's. I didn't know -- I hadn't
the least idea what she wanted them for --
She got me to copy out a prescription she
had..."
"When was this ?"
"Four years ago. When we were in Martinique.
When -- when Greg's wife -- "
134
"You mean Greg's first wife — Gail ?
You mean Lucky poisoned her ?55
"Yes—and I helped her. When I
realised — 55
Evelyn interrupted him.
"When you realised what had happened,
Lucky pointed out to you that you had
written out the prescription, that you had
got the drugs, that you and she were in it
together ? Is that right ?"
"Yes. She said she had done it out of
pity — that Gail was suffering — that she
had begged Lucky to get something that
would end it all.55
"A mercy killing! I see. And you
believed that ?55
Edward Hillingdon was silent a moment
— then he said:
"No — I didn't really — not deep down
— I accepted it because I wanted to believe
it — because I was infatuated with Lucky."
"And afterwards — when she married
Greg — did you still believe it ?55
"I'd made myself believe it by then.55
"And Greg—how much did he know
about it all ?55
"Nothing at all.55
"That I find hard to believe!"
135
Edward Hillingdon broke out —
"Evelyn, I've got to get free of it all!
That woman taunts me still with what I
did. She knows I don't care for her any
longer. Care for her ? — I've come to hate
her — But she makes me feel I'm. tied to
her — by the thing we did together — w
Evelyn walked up and down the room —
then she stopped and faced him.
"The entire trouble with you, Edward,
is that you are ridiculously sensitive — and
also incredibly suggestible. That devil of a
woman has got you just where she wants
you by playing on your sense of guilt —
And I'll tell you this in plain Bible terms,
the guilt that weighs on you is the guilt of
adultery — not murder — You were guiltstricken
about your affair with Lucky—
and then she made a cat's-paw of you for
her murder scheme, and managed to make
you feel you shared her guilt. You don't."
"Evelyn55... He stepped towards her —
She stepped back a minute — and looked
at him searchingly.
"Is this all true, Edward — Is it ? Or are
you making it up ?"
"Evelyn! Why on earth should I do such
a thing?"
136
FR1;"I don't know," said Evelyn Hillingdon
slowly -- "It's just perhaps -- because I
find it hard to trust--anybody. And
because -- Oh! I don't know -- I've got, I
suppose, so that I don't know the truth
when I hear it."
"Let's chuck all this -- Go back home to
England."
"Yes -- We will -- But not now."
"Why not ?"
"We must carry on as usual -- just for
the present. It's important. Do you understand, Edward? Don't let Lucky have an
inkling of what we're up to -- "
CM10	1^7
13
EXIT VICTORIA JOHNSON
^ | ^HE evening was drawing to a close.
| The steel band was at last relaxing
JL. its efforts. Tim stood by the diningroom
looking over the terrace. He extinguished
a few lights on tables that had
been vacated.
A voice spoke behind him. "Tim, can
I speak to you a moment ?"
Tim Kendal started.
"Hallo, Evelyn, is there anything I can
do for you ?"
Evelyn looked round.
"Come to this table here, and let's sit
down a minute."
She led the way to a table at the extreme
end of the terrace. There were no other
people near them.
"Tim, you must forgive me talking to
you, but I'm worried about Molly."
His face changed at once.
"What about Molly ?" he said stiffly.
138
"I don't think she's awfully well. She
seems upset."
"Things do seem to upset her rather
easily just lately."
"She ought to see a doctor, I think."
"Yes, I know, but she doesn't want to.
She'd hate it.39
"Why ?"
"Eh ? What d'you mean ?"
"I said why? Why should she hate
seeing a doctor ?"
"Well,53 said Tim rather vaguely,
"People do sometimes, you know. It's —
well, it sort of makes them feel frightened
about themselves."
"You're worried about her yourself,
aren't you, Tim ?"
"Yes. Yes, I am rather."
"Isn't there anyone of her family who
could come out here to be with her ?"
"No. That'd make things far worse."
"What is the trouble — with her family,
I mean ?"
"Oh, just one of those things. I suppose
she's just highly strung and — she didn't
get on with them—particularly her
mother. She never has. They're — they're
rather an odd family in some ways and she
139
cut loose from them. Good thing she did,
I think."
Evelyn said hesitantly — "She seems to
have had blackouts, from what she told
me, and to be frightened of people. Almost
like persecution mania."
"Don't say that,33 said Tim angrily.
"Persecution mania! People always say
that about people. Just because she —
well — maybe she's a bit nervy. Coming
out here to Ae West Indies. All the dark
faces. You know, people are rather queer,
sometimes, about the West Indies and
coloured people."
"Surely not girls like Molly ?"
"Oh, how does one know the things
people are frightened of? There are
people who can't be in the room with
cats. And other people who faint if a
caterpillar drops on them."
"I hate suggesting it — but don't you
think perhaps she ought to see a—well,
a psychiatrist ?"
"No/" said Tim explosively. "I won't
have people like that monkeying about with
her. I don't believe in them. They make
people worse. If her mother had left
psychiatrists alone..."
140
"So there was trouble of that kind in
her family -- was there ? I mean a history
of--" she chose the word carefully--
"instability."
"I don't want to talk about it -- I took
her away from it all and she was all right, quite all right. She has just got into a
nervous state . . . But these things aren't
hereditary. Everybody knows that nowadays.
It's an exploded idea. Molly's
perfectly sane. It's just that--oh! I
believe it was that wretched old Palgrave
dying that started it all off."
"I see," said Evelyn thoughtfully. "But
there was nothing really to worry anyone
in Major Palgrave's death, was there ?"
"No of course there wasn't. But it's a
kind of shock when somebody dies suddenly."

He looked so desperate and defeated that
Evelyn's heart smote her. She put her
hand on his arm.
"Well, I hope you know what you're
doing, Tim, but if I could help in any
way -- I mean if I could go with Molly
to New York -- I could fly with her there
or Miami or somewhere where she could
get really first-class medical advice."
141
"It's very good of you, Evelyn, but
Molly's all right. She's getting over it, anyway."
Evelyn shook her head in doubt. She
turned away slowly and looked along the
line of the terrace. Most people had gone
by now to their bungalows. Evelyn was
walking towards her table to see if she'd
left anything behind there, when she heard
Tim give an exclamation. She looked up
sharply. He was staring towards the steps
at the end of the terrace and she followed
his gaze. Then she too caught her breath.
Molly was coming up the steps from the
beach. She was breathing with deep, sobbing breaths, her body swayed to and
fro as she came, in a curious directionless
run. Tim cried,
c('Molly I What's the matter ?35
He ran towards her and Evelyn followed
him. Molly was at the top of the steps
now and she stood there, both hands behind
her back. She said in sobbing breaths:
cc! found her... She's there in the bushes
. . . There in the bushes . . . And look at
my hands--look at my hands ^ She
held them out and Evelyn caught her
breath as she saw the queer dark stains.
142
They looked dark in the subdued lighting
but she knew well enough that their real
colour was red.
''What's happened, Molly ?" cried Tim.
'Down there," said Molly. She swayed
on her feet. "In the bushes..."
Tim hesitated, looked at Evelyn, then
shoved Molly a little towards Evelyn and
ran down the steps. Evelyn put her arm
round the girl.
"Come. Sit down, Molly. Here. You'd
better have something to drink."
Molly collapsed in a chair and leaned
forward on the table, her forehead on her
crossed arms. Evelyn did not question
her any more. She thought it better to
leave her time to recover.
"It'll be all right, you know," said
Evelyn gently. "It'll be all right."
"I don't know," said Molly. "I don't
know what happened. I don't know anything.
I can't remember. I -- " She raised
her head suddenly. "What's the matter
with me ? What's the matter with me ?"
"It's all right, child. It's all right."
Tim was coming slowly up the steps.
His face was ghastly. Evelyn looked up at
him, raising her eyebrows in a query.
143
"It's one of our girls,35 he said. "What's- |
her-name--Victoria. Somebody's put a (
knife in her."
144
14
INQUIRY
MOLLY lay on her bed. Dr. Graham
and Dr. Robertson, the West Indian
police doctor stood on one side —
Tim on the other. Robertson had his hand
on Molly's pulse—He nodded to the
man at the foot of the bed, a slender dark
man in police uniform. Inspector Weston
of the St. Honore Police Force.
"A bare statement—no more/3 the
doctor said.
The other nodded.
''Now, Mrs. Kendal — just tell us how
you came to find this girl.M
For a moment or two it was as though
the figure on the bed had not heard. Then
she spoke in a faint, far-away voice.
"In the bushes — white..."
"You saw something white—and you
looked to see what it was ? Is that it ?"
"Yes — white — lying there — I tried
— tried to lift — she — it — blood —
blood all over my hands."
145
She began to tremble.
Dr. Graham shook his head at them.
Robertson whispered — "She can't stand
much more."
"What were you doing on the beach
path, Mrs. Kendal ?"
"Warm — nice — by the sea — "
"You knew who the girl was ?"
"Victoria — nice — nice girl — laughs
—she used to laugh—oh! and now she
won't — She won't ever laugh again. I'll
never forget it — I'll never forget it — "
Her voice rose hysterically.
"Molly — don't." It was Tim.
"Quiet — Quiet — " Dr. Robertson
spoke with a soothing authority — "Just
relax — relax — Now just a small
prick — "
He withdrew the hypodermic.
"She'll be in no fit condition to be
questioned for at least twenty-four hours,"
he said — "I'll let you know when."
II
The big handsome negro looked from one
to the other of the men sitting at the
table.
"Ah declare to God," he said. "That's
146
all I know. I don't know nothing but
what Ah've told you.33
The perspiration stood out on his forehead.
Daventry sighed. The man presiding
at the table. Inspector Weston of the St.
Honore C.I.D., made a gesture of dismissal.
Big Jim Ellis shuffled out of the
room.
"It's not all he knows, of course,3' Weston said. He had the soft Island voice. "But it's all we shall learn from him."
"You think he's in the clear himself?53 asked Daventry.
"Yes. They seem to have been on good
terms together."
"They weren't married ?"
A faint smile appeared on Lieutenant
Weston's lips. "No," he said, "they
weren't married. We don't have so many
marriages on the Island. They christen
the children, though. He's had two children
by Victoria."
"Do you think he was in it, whatever it
was, with her ?"
"Probably not. I think he'd have been
nervous of anything of that kind. And I'd
say, too, that what she did know wasn't
very much."
147
"But enough for blackmail ?33
"I don't know that I'd even call it that.
I doubt if the girl would even understand
that word. Payment for being discreet
isn't thought of as blackmail. You see,
some of the people who stay here are the
rich playboy lot and their morals won't
bear much investigation.35 His voice was
slightly scathing.
"We get all kinds, I agree,33 said
Daventry. "A woman, maybe, doesn't
want it known that she's sleeping around,
so she gives a present to the girl who waits
on her. It's tacitly understood that the
payments for discretion.33
"Exactly.33
"But this,33 objected Daventry, "wasn't
anything of that kind. It was murder.33
"I should doubt, though, if the girl
knew it was serious. She saw something,
some puzzling incident, something to do
presumably with this bottle of pills. It
belonged to Mr. Dyson, I understand.
We'd better see him next.33
Gregory came in with his usual hearty
air.
"Here I am,33 he said, "what can I do
to help ? Too bad about this girl. She was
148
a nice girl. We both liked her. I suppose
it was some sort of quarrel or other
with a man, but she seemed quite happy
and no signs of being in trouble about
anything. I was kidding her only last
night."
"I believe you take a preparation, Mr.
Dyson, called Serenite ?"
"Quite right. Little pink tablets."
"You have them on prescription from a
physician ?"
"Yes. I can show it to you if you like.
Suffer a bit from high blood pressure, like
so many people do nowadays."
"Very few people seem to be aware of
that fact."
"Well, I don't go talking about it. I --
well, I've always been well and hearty
and I never like people who talk about
their ailments all the time."
"How many of the pills do you take ?"
"Two, three times a day."
"Do you have a fairly large stock with
you ?"
"Yes. I've got about half a dozen bottles.
But they're locked up, you know, in a
suitcase. I only keep out one, the one that's
»
in current use."
149
"And you missed this bottle a short
time ago, so I hear ?"
"Quite right."
"And you asked this girl, Victoria
Johnson, whether she'd seen it ?"
"Yes, I did."
"And what did she say ?"
"She said the last time she'd seen it was
on the shelf in our bathroom. She said
she'd look around."
"And after that ?"
"She came and returned the bottle to
me some time later. She said was this the
bottle that was missing ?"
"And you said ?"
"I said 'that's it, all right, where did
you find it?' And she said it was in old
Major Palgrave's room. I said 'how on earth
did it get there ?' "
"And what did she answer to that ?"
"She said she didn't know, but — " he
hesitated.
"Yes, Mr. Dyson ?"
"Well, she gave me the feeling that she
did know a little more than she was
saying, but I didn't pay much attention.
After all, it wasn't very important. As I
say, I've got other bottles of pills with me.
150
I thought perhaps I'd left it around in
the restaurant or somewhere and old
Palgrave picked it up for some reason.
Perhaps he put it in his pocket meaning to
return it to me, then forgot."
"And that's all you know about it, Mr.
Dyson ?"
"That's all I know. Sorry to be so unhelpful.
Is it important ? Why!"
Weston shrugged his shoulders. "As
things are, anything may be important."
"I don't see where pills come in. I
thought you'd want to know about what
my movements were when this wretched
girl was stabbed. I've written them all
down as carefully as I can."
Weston looked at him thoughtfully.
"Indeed ? That was very helpful of you,
Mr. Dyson."
"Save everybody trouble, I thought,"
said Greg. He shoved a piece of paper
across the table.
Weston studied it and Daventry drew
his chair a little closer and looked over his
shoulder.
"That seems very clear," said Weston,
after a moment or two. "You and your wife
were together changing for dinner in your
i5l
bungalow until ten minutes to nine. You
then went along to the terrace where you
had drinks with Senora de Caspearo. At
quarter past nine Colonel and Mrs. Hillingdon
joined you and you went in to dine.
As far as you can remember, you went off
to bed at about half past eleven."
"Of course," said Greg. cc! don't know
what time the girl was actually killed — ?"
There was a faint semblance of a question
in the words. Lieutenant Weston, however,
did not appear to notice it.
"Mrs. Kendal found her, I understand ?
Must have been a very nasty shock for her."
"Yes. Dr. Robertson had to give her a
sedative."
"This was quite late, wasn't it, when
most people had trundled off to bed ?"
"Yes."
"Had she been dead long? When Mrs.
Kendal found her, I mean ?"
"We're not quite certain of the exact
time yet," said Weston smoothly.
"Poor little Molly. It must have been a
nasty shock for her. Matter of fact, I
didn't notice her about last night. Thought
she might have a headache or something
and was lying down."
152
"When was the last time you did see
Mrs. Kendal ?33
"Oh, quite early, before I went to change.
She was playing about with some of the
table decorations and things. Rearranging
the knives.33
cc! see.33
"She was quite cheerful then,33 said
Greg. "Kidding and all that. She's a great
girl. We're all very fond of her. Tim's a
lucky fellow.33
"Well, thank you, Mr. Dyson. You
can't remember anything more than you've
told us about what the girl Victoria said
when she returned the tablets ?33
"No ... It was just as I say. Asked me
were these the tablets I'd been asking for.
Said she'd found them in old Palgrave's
room.33
"She'd no idea who put them there ?33
"Don't think so--can't remember, really.33
"Thank you, Mr. Dyson.33
Gregory went out.
"Very thoughtful of him,33 said Weston,
gently tapping the paper with his fingernail, "to be so anxious to want us to know
for sure exactly where he was last night.33

CM11
153

"A little over-anxious do you think?"
asked Daventry.
"That's very difficult to tell. There
are people, you know, who are naturally
nervous about their own safety, about being
mixed up with anything. It isn't necessarily
because they have any guilty knowledge.
On the other hand it might be just that.5'
"What about opportunity? Nobody's
really got much of an alibi, what with the
band and the dancing and the coming and
going. People are getting up, leaving their
tables, coming back. Women go to powder
their noses. Men take a stroll. Dyson could
have slipped away. Anybody could have
slipped away. But he does seem rather
anxious to prove that he didn't." He looked
thoughtfully down at the paper. "So Mrs.
Kendal was rearranging knives on the
table,39 he said. "I rather wonder if he
dragged that in on purpose."
"Did it sound like it to you ?"
The other considered. "I think it's
possible."
Outside the room where the two men
were sitting, a noise had arisen. A high
voice was demanding admittance shrilly.
"I've got something to tell. I've got
154
something to tell. You take me in to where
the gentlemen are. You take me in to
where the policeman is.39
A uniformed policeman pushed open
the door.
"It's one of the cooks here,3' he said,
"very anxious to see you. Says he's got
something you ought to know.35
A frightened dark man in a cook's
cap pushed past him and came into the
room. It was one of the minor cooks. A
Cuban, not a native of St. Honore.
"I tell you something. I tell you,"
he said. "She come through my kitchen,
she did, and she had a knife with her. A
knife, I tell you. She had a knife in her
hand. She come through my kitchen and
out of the door. Out into the garden. I
saw her."
"Now calm down," said Daventry,
"calm down. Who are you talking about ?"
"I tell you who I'm talking about. I'm
talking about the boss's wife. Mrs Kendal.
I'm talking about her. She have a knife
in her hand and she go out into the dark.
Before dinner that was — and she didn't
come back"
155
15
INQUIRY CONTINUED
cc y^^lAN we have a word with you, Mr.
| Kendal ?"
V^ "Of course." Tim looked up
from his desk. He pushed some papers
aside and indicated chairs. His face was
drawn and miserable. "How are you
getting on? Got any forwarder? There
seems to be a doom in this place. People
are wanting to leave, you know, asking
about air passages. Just when it seemed
everything was being a success. Oh lord,
you don't know what it means, this place,
to me and to Molly. We staked everything
on it."
"It's very hard on you, I know," said
Inspector Weston. "Don't think that we
don't sympathise."
"If it all could be cleared up quickly,"
said Tim. "This wretched girl Victoria —
Oh! I oughtn't to talk about her like that.
She was quite a good sort, Victoria was.
But—but there must be some quite
156
[r
' simple reason, some--kind of intrigue, or love affair she had. Perhaps her husband
-- "
"Jim Ellis wasn't her husband, and they
seemed a settled sort of couple."
"If it could only be cleared up quickly," said Tim again. "I'm sorry. You wanted
to talk to me about something, ask me
something.3'
"Yes. It was about last night. According
to medical evidence Victoria was killed
some time between 10.30 p.m. and midnight.
Alibis under the circumstances that
prevail here, are not very easy to prove.
People are moving about, dancing, walking
away from the terrace, coming back. It's
all very difficult."
"I suppose so. But does that mean that
you definitely consider Victoria was killed
by one of the guests here ?"
"Well, we have to examine that possibility,
Mr. Kendal. What I want to ask
you particularly about, is a statement made
by one of your cooks."
"Oh ? Which one ? What does he say ?"
"He's a Cuban, I understand."
"We've got two Cubans and a Puerto
Rican."
157
"This man Enrico states that your wife
passed through the kitchen on her way
from the dining-room, and went out into
the garden and that she was carrying a
knife.33
Tim stared at him.
"Molly, carrying a knife? Well, why
shouldn't she ? I mean — why — you don't
think — what are you trying to suggest ?"
"I am talking of the time before people
had come into the dining-room. It would
be, I suppose, some time about 8.30. You
yourself were in the dining-room talking
to the head waiter, Femando, I believe."
"Yes." Tim cast his mind back. "Yes,
I remember."
"And your wife came in from the
terrace ?"
"Yes, she did," Tim agreed. "She always
went out to look over the tables. Sometimes
the boys set things wrong, forgot some of
the cutlery, things like that. Very likely
that's what it was. She may have been
rearranging cultery or something. She
might have had a spare knife or a spoon,
something like that in her hand."
"And she came from the terrace into
the dining-room. Did she speak to you ?"
158
"Yes, we had a word or two together." "What did she say? Can you remember
?"
"I think I asked her who she'd been
talking to. I heard her voice out there."
"And who did she say she'd been talking
to?"
"Gregory Dyson."
"Ah. Yes. That is what he said."
Tim went on, "He'd been making a pass
at her I understand. He was a bit given
to that kind of thing. It annoyed me and I
said 'Blast him' and Molly laughed and said
she could do all the blasting that needed
to be done. Molly's a very clever girl that
way. It's not always an easy position, you
know. You can't offend guests, and so an
attractive girl like Molly has to pass
things off with a laugh and a shrug.
Gregory Dyson finds it difficult to keep
his hands off any good-looking woman."
"Had there been any altercation between
them ?"
"No, I don't think so. I think, as I
say, she just laughed it off as usual.
"You can't say definitely whether she
had a knife in her hand or not ?"
"I can't remember--I'm almost sure
159
she didn't--In fact quite sure she
didn't.35
"But you said just now..."
"Look here, what I meant was that if
she was in the dining-room or in the kitchen
it's quite likely she might have picked up a
knife or had one in her hand. Matter of
fact I can remember quite well, she came
in from the dining-room and she had nothing in her hand. Nothing at all. That's
definite.33
"I see,35 said Weston.
Tim looked at him uneasily.
"What on earth is this you're getting
at? What did that damn. fool Enrico--
Manuel -- whichever it was -- say ?33
"He said your wife came out into the
kitchen, that she looked upset, that she
had a knife in her hand.33
"He's just dramatising.33
"Did you have any further conversation
with your wife during dinner or
after ?33
"No, I don't think I did really. Matter
of fact I was rather busy.33
"Was your wife in the dining-room
during the meal ?33
"I -- oh -- yes, we always move about
160
among the guests and things like that.
See how things are going on."
"Did you speak to her at all ?"
"No, I don't think I did ... We're
usually fairly busy. We don't always
notice what the other one's doing and we
certainly haven't got time to talk to each
other."
"Actually you don't remember speaking
to her until she came up the steps three
hours later, after finding the body ?"
"It was an awful shock for her. It upset
her terribly.93
"I know. A very unpleasant experience.
How did she come to be walking along
the beach path ?"
"After the stress of dinner being served, she often does go for a turn. You know, get away from the guests for a minute
or two, get a breather."
"When she came back, I understand
you were talking to Mrs. Hillingdon."
"Yes. Practically everyone else had gone
to bed."
"What was the subject of your conversation
with Mrs. Hillingdon ?"
"Nothing particular. Why? What's she
been saying ?"
161
"So far she hasn't said anything. We
haven't asked her.33
"We were just talking of this and that.
Molly, the hotel running, and one thing
and another."
"And then--your wife came up the
steps of the terrace and told you what had
happened ?33
"Yes."
"There was blood on her hands ?33
"Of course there was! She'd bent over
the girl, tried to lift her, couldn't understand
what had happened, what was the
matter with her. Of course there was blood
on her hands! Look here, what the hell
are you suggesting? You are suggesting
something ?33
"Please calm down,53 said Daventry.
"It's all a great strain on you I know, Tim, but we have to get the facts clear. I
understand your wife hasn't been feeling
very well lately ?33
"Nonsense--she's all right. Major
Palgrave's death upset her a bit. Naturally.
She's a sensitive girl.33
"We shall have to ask her a few questions
as soon as she's fit enough,33 said Weston.
"Well, you can't now. The doctor gave
162
her a sedative and said she wasn't to be
disturbed. I won't have her upset and browbeaten, d'you hear ?"
"We're not going to do any browbeating," said Weston. "We've just got to
get the facts clear. We won't disturb her
at present, but as soon as the doctor allows
us, we'll have to see her." His voice was
gentle -- inflexible.
Tin looked at him, opened his mouth, but said nothing.
II
Evelyn Hillingdon, calm and composed
as usual, sat down in the chair indicated.
She considered the few questions asked
her, taking her time over it. Her dark, intelligent eyes looked at Weston thoughtfully.

"Yes," she said, cc! was talking to Mr.
Kendal on the terrace when his wife came
up the steps and told us about the murder.35
"Your husband wasn't there ?"
"No, he had gone to bed."
"Had you any special reason for your
conversation with Mr. Kendal ?"
Evelyn raised her finely pencilled eyebrows
-- It was a definite rebuke.
163
She said coldly:
''What a very odd question. No -- there
was nothing special about our conversation.33

"Did you discuss the matter of his wife's
health ?"
Again Evelyn took her time.
cc! really can't remember," she said at
last.
"Are you sure of that ?"
"Sure that I can't remember? What a
curious way of putting it--one talks
about so many things at different times."
"Mrs. Kendal has not been in good
health lately, I understand."
"She looked quite all right--a little
tired perhaps. Of course running a place
like this means a lot of worries, and she
is quite inexperienced. Naturally, she gets
flustered now and then."
"Flustered." Weston repeated the word.
"That was the way you would describe it ?"
"It's an old-fashioned word, perhaps, but just as good as the modern jargon we
use for everything -- A 'virus infection' for
a bilious attack -- an 'anxiety neurosis' for
the minor bothers of daily life -- "
Her smile made Weston feel slightly
164
ridiculous. He thought to himself that
Evelyn Hillingdon was a clever woman.
He looked at Daventry whose face remained
unmoved and wondered what he thought.
"Thank you, Mrs. Hillingdon," said
Weston.
Ill
"We don't want to worry you, Mrs.
Kendal, but we have to have your account
of just how you came to find this girl.
Dr. Graham says you are sufficiently
recovered to talk about it now.39
"Oh yes," said Molly, "Pm really quite
all right again." She gave them a small
nervous smile. "It was just the shock--
It was rather awful, you know."
"Yes, indeed it must have been -- I
understand you went for a walk after
dinner."
"Yes--I--often do."
Her eyes shifted, Daventry noticed, and
the fingers of her hands twined and untwined
about each other.
"What time would that have been, Mrs.
Kendal ?" asked Weston.
"Well, I don't really know -- we don't
go much by the time."
165
"The steel band was still playing ?33
"Yes--at least--I think so--I can't
really remember.33
"And you walked -- which way ?33
"Oh, along the beach path.33
"To the left or the right ?33
"Oh! First one way--and then the
other -- I -- I -- really didn't notice.33
"Why didn't you notice, Mrs. Kendal
?33
She frowned.
"I suppose I was -- well -- thinking of
things.33
"Thinking of anything particular ?33
"No -- No -- Nothing particular -- Just
things that had to be done -- seen to -- in
the hotel.33 Again that nervous twining
and untwining of fingers. "And then -- I
noticed something white--in a clump
of hibiscus bushes--and I wondered
what it was. I stopped and--and
pulled -- 33 She swallowed convulsively --
"And it was her -- Victoria -- all huddled
up -- and I tried to raise her head up and I
got -- blood -- on my hands.33
She looked at them and repeated wonderingly
as though recalling something
impossible:
166
"Blood -- on my hands."
"Yes -- Yes -- A very dreadful experience.
There is no need for you to
tell us more about that part of it -- How
long had you been walking, do you think, when you found her -- "
"I don't know -- I have no idea."
"An hour ? Half an hour ? Or more than
an hour -- "
"I don't know," Molly repeated.
Daventry asked in a quiet everyday
voice:
"Did you take a knife with you on your
-- walk ?"
"A knife?" Molly sounded surprised. 'Why should I take a knife ?"
"I only ask because one of the kitchen
staff mentioned that you had a knife in
your hand when you went out of the kitchen
into the garden."
Molly frowned.
"But I didn't go out of the kitchen --
oh you mean earlier -- before dinner -- I
-- I don't think so -- "
"You had been rearranging the cutlery
on the tables, perhaps."
"I have to, sometimes. They lay things
wrong -- not enough knives -- or too
167
many. The wrong number of forks and
spoons — that sort of thing."
"And did that happen on this particular
evening ?"
"It may have done—something like
that—It's really automatic. One doesn't
think, or remember — "
"So you may have gone out of the kitchen
that evening carrying a knife in your
hand ?33
"I don't think I did—I'm sure I
didn't — 3? She added — "Tim was there
— he would know. Ask him.33
"Did you like this girl—Victoria—
was she good at her work ?" asked Weston.
"Yes — she was a very nice girl.3'
"You had had no dispute with her ?"
"Dispute? No."
"She had never threatened you—in
any way ?"
"Threatened me ? What do you mean ?"
"It doesn't matter — You have no idea
of who could have killed her ? No idea
at all ?33
"None." She spoke positively.
"Well, thank you, Mrs. Kendal." He
smiled. "It wasn't so terrible, was it ?"
"That's all ?"
168
"That's all for now."
Daventry got up, opened the door for
her, and watched her go out.
"Tim would know,53 he quoted as he
returned to his chair. "And Tim says
definitely that she didn't have a knife."
Weston said gravely:
"I think that that is what any husband
would feel called upon to say."
"A table knife seems a very poor type
of knife to use for murder."
"But it was a steak knife, Mr. Daventry.
Steaks were on the menu that evening.
Steak knives are kept sharp."
"I really can't bring myself to believe
that the girl we've just been talking to is a
red-handed murderess, Weston."
"It is not necessary to believe it yet.
It could be that Mrs. Kendal went out into
the garden before dinner, clasping a knife
she had taken off one of the tables because
it was superfluous—she might not even
have noticed she was holding it, and she
could have put it down somewhere—or
dropped it — It could have been found and
used by someone else — I, too, think her
an unlikely murderess."
"All the same," said Daventry thought-
CM12	l69
fully, "I'm pretty sure she is not telling
all* she knows. Her vagueness over time
is odd--where was she--what was she
doing out there? Nobody, so far, seems
to have noticed her in the dining-room
that evening.53
"The husband was about as usual--
but not the wife -- "
"You think she went to meet someone --
Victoria Johnson ?"
"Perhaps--or perhaps she saw whoever
it was who did go to meet Victoria."
"You're thinking of Gregory Dyson ?"
"We know he was talking to Victoria
earlier--He may have arranged to meet
her again later -- everyone moved around
freely on the terrace, remember -- dancing,
drinking -- in and out of the bar."
"No alibi like a steel band," said
Daventry wryly.
170
16
MISS MARPLE SEEKS ASSISTANCE
IF anybody had been there to observe
the gentle-looking elderly lady wBio stood
meditatively on the loggia outsaside her
bungalow, they would have thou|jight she
had nothing more on her minad than
deliberation on how to arrange h.ier time
that day—An expedition, perh;Jiaps, to
Castle Cliff—a visit to JamesMown—
a nice drive and lunch at Pelican DOPoint —
or just a quiet morning on the beach n —
But the gentle old lady was delilberating
quite other matters — she was in : militant
mood.
"Something has got to be don&e," said
Miss Marple to herself.
Moreover, she was convinced thiaat there
was no time to be lost — There was inurgency.
But who was there that shae could
convince of that fact? Given tiome, she
thought she could find out the tdruth by
herself.
171
She had found out a good deal. But not
enough--not nearly enough. And time
was short.
She realised, bitterly, that here on this
Paradise of an island, she had none of her
usual allies.
She thought regretfully of her friends
in England -- Sir Henry dithering --
always willing to listen indulgently--his
godson Dermot, who in spite of his increased
status at Scotland Yard, was still
ready to believe that when Miss Marple
voiced an opinion there was usually something
behind it.
But would that soft-voiced native police
officer pay any attention to an old lady's
urgency? Dr. Graham? But Dr. Graham
was not what she needed -- too gentle and
hesitant, certainly not a man of quick
decisions and rapid actions.
I I'll Miss Marple, feeling rather like a humble
deputy of the Almighty, almost cried aloud
her need in Biblical phrasing.
Who will go for me ?
Whom shall I send ?
The sound that reached her ears a
moment later was not instantly recognised
by her as an answer to a prayer--far
172
from it—At the back of her mind it
registered only as a man possibly calling
his dog.
'TO?"
Miss Marple, lost in perplexity, paid
no attention.
"Hi!33 The volume thus increased. Miss
Marple looked vaguely round.
"Hi!" called Mr. Rafiel impatiently.
He added — "You — there — "
Miss Marple had not at first realised that
Mr. Rafiel's "Hi You" was addressed to
her. It was not a method that anyone had
ever used before to summon her. It was
certainly not a gentlemanly mode of
address. Miss Marple did not resent it.
because people seldom did resent Mr.
RafieFs somewhat arbitrary method of
doing things. He was a law unto himself
and people accepted him as such. Miss
Marple looked across the intervening space
between her bungalow and his. Mr.
Rafiel was sitting outside on his loggia
and he beckoned her.
"You were calling me ?" she asked.
"Of course I was calling you," said Mr.
Rafiel. "Who did you think I was calling —
a cat ? Come over here."
173
Miss Marple looked round for her handbag, picked it up, and crossed the intervening
space.
"I can't come to you unless someone
helps me," explained Mr. Rafiel, "so
you've got to come to me.3'
"Oh yes," said Miss Marple, "I quite
understand that.39
Mr. Rafiel pointed to an adjacent chair. "Sit down," he said, "I want to talk to
you. Something damned odd is going on
in this island."
"Yes, indeed," agreed Miss Marple, taking the chair as indicated. By sheer
habit she drew her knitting out of her
bag.
"Don't start knitting again," said Mr.
Rafiel, "I can't stand it. I hate women
knitting. It irritates me."
Miss Marple returned her knitting to her
bag. She did this with no undue air of
meekness, rather with the air of one who
makes allowances for a fractious patient.
"There's a lot of chit-chat going on,"
said Mr. Rafiel, "and I bet you're in the
forefront of it. You and the parson and his
sister."
"It is, perhaps, only natural that there
i74
should be chit-chat,55 said Miss Marple
with spirit, "given the circumstances.39
"This Island girl gets herself knifed.
Found in the bushes. Might be ordinary
enough. That chap she was living with
might have got jealous of another man —
or he's got himself another girl and she
got jealous and they had a row. Sex in
the tropics. That sort of stuff. What do you
say ?"
"No," said Miss Marple, shaking her
head.
"The authorities don't think so, either."
"They would say more to you,35 pointed
out Miss Marple, "than they would say
tome."
"All the same, I bet you know more
about it than I do. You've listened to the
tittle-tattle."
"Certainly I have,35 said Miss Marple.
"Nothing much else to do, have you,
except listen to tittle-tattle ?"
"It is often informative and useful."
"D'you know," said Mr. Rafiel, studying
her attentively, "I made a mistake about
you. I don't often make mistakes about
people. There's a lot more to you than I
thought there was. All these rumours
175
about Major Palgrave and the stories he
told. You think he was bumped off, don't
you r9
"I very much fear so,33 said Miss Marple.
"Well, he was,39 said Mr. Rafiel.
Miss Marple drew a deep breath. "That
is definite is it ?" she asked.
"Yes, it's definite enough. I had it from
Daventry. I'm not breaking a confidence
because the facts of the autopsy will have
to come out. You told Graham something, he went to Daventry, Daventry went to
the Administrator, the C.I.D. were m\ formed, and between them they agreed
that things looked fishy, so they dug up
old Palgrave and had a look.39
"And they found ?55 Miss Marple paused
interrogatively.
"They found he'd had a lethal dose of
something that only a doctor could pronounce
properly. As far as I can remember
it sounds vaguely like di-flor, hexagonalethylcarbenzol.
That's not the right name.
But that's roughly what it sounds like.
The police doctor put it that way so that
nobody should know. I suppose, what it
really was. The stuff's probably got some
quite simple nice easy name like Evipan
176
or Veronal or Easton's Syrup or something
of that kind. This is its official name to
baffle laymen with. Anyway, a sizeable
dose of it, I gather, would produce death,
and the signs would be much the same
as those of high blood pressure aggravated
by over indulgence in alcohol on a gay
evening. In fact, it all looked perfectly
natural and nobody questioned it for a
moment. Just said 'poor old chap' and
buried him quick. Now they wonder if he
ever had high blood pressure at all. Did
he ever say he had to you ?"
'"No."
"Exactly! And yet everyone seems to
have taken it as a fact."
"Apparently he told people he had."
"It's like seeing ghosts," said Mr.
Rafiel. "You never meet the chap who's
seen the ghost himself. It's always the
second cousin of his aunt, or a friend, or a
friend of a friend. But leave that for a
moment. They thought he had blood
pressure, because there was a bottle of
tablets controlling blood pressure found
in his room but — and now we're coming
to the point — I gather that this girl
who was killed went about saying that
177
that bottle was put there by somebody
else, and that actually it belonged to that
fellow Greg."
"Mr. Dyson has got blood pressure.
His wife mentioned it," said Miss Marple.
"So it was put in Palgrave's room to
suggest that he suffered from blood pressure
and to make his death seem natural."
"Exactly,35 said Miss Marple. "And the
story was put about, very cleverly, that he
had frequently mentioned to people that
he had high blood pressure. But you know, it's very easy to put about a story. Very
easy. I've seen a lot of it in my time.-"
"I bet you have," said Mr. Rafiel.
"It only needs a murmur here and
there," said Miss Marple. ^You don't say
it of your own knowledge you just say that
Mrs. B. told you that Colonel C. told her.
It's always at second hand or third hand or
fourth hand and it's very difficult to find
out who was the original whisperer. Oh
yes, it can be done. And the people you
say it to go on and repeat it to others as if
they know it of their own knowledge."
"Yes," said Miss Marple, "I think
somebody's been quite clever."
"This girl saw something, or knew
178
something and tried blackmail, I suppose," said Mr. Rafiel.
"She mayn't have thought of it as blackmail," said Miss Marple. "In these large
hotels, there are often things the maids
know that some people would rather not
have repeated. And so they hand out a
larger tip or a little present of money.
The girl possibly didn't realise at first the
importance of what she knew."
"Still, she got a knife in her back all
right," said Mr. Rafiel brutally.
"Yes. Evidently someone couldn't afford
to let her talk."
"Well ? Let's hear what you think about
it all."
Miss Marple looked at him thoughtfully.
"Why should you think I know any
more than you do, Mr. Rafiel ?"
"Probably you don't," said Mr. Rafiel, "but I'm interested to hear your ideas
about what you do know."
"But why ?"
"There's not very much to do out here,"
said Mr. Rafiel, "except make money."
Miss Marple looked slightly surprised.
"Make money ? Out here ?"
"You can send out half a dozen cables
179
in code every day if you like,35 said Mr.
Rafiel. "That's how I amuse myself.35
"Take-over bids?55 Miss Marple asked
doubtfully, in the tone of one who speaks a
foreign language.
"That kind of thing,55 agreed Mr. Rafiel.
"Pitting your wits against other people's
wits. The trouble is it doesn't occupy
enough time, so I've got interested in this
business. It's aroused my curiosity. Palgrave
spent a good deal of his time talking
to you. Nobody else would be bothered
with him, I expect. What did he say ?55
"He told me a good many stories,55 said
Miss Marple.
"I know he did. Damn' boring, most of
them. And you hadn't only got to hear
them once. If you got anywhere within
range you heard them three or four times
over.55
"I know,55 said Miss Marple. "I'm
afraid that does happen when gentlemen
get older.55
Mr. Rafiel looked at her very sharply.
"I don't tell stories,55 he said. "Go on.
It started with one of Palgrave's stories,
did it ?55
"He said he knew a murderer,55 said
180
Miss Marple. there's nothing really
special about that," she added in her gentle
voice, "because I suppose it happens to
nearly everybody."
cc! don't follow you," said Mr. Rafiel.
"I don't mean specifically," said Miss
Marple. "but surely, Mr. Rafiel, if you
cast over in your mind your recollections
of various events in your life, hasn't there
nearly always been an occasion when
somebody has made some careless reference
such as ^h yes I knew the So-andSo's
quite well--he died very suddenly
and they always say his wife did him in, but I daresay that's just gossip'. You've
heard people say something like that,
haven't you ?"
'Well, I suppose so -- yes, something
of the kind. But not well, not seriously."
"Exactly," said Miss Marple, "but
Major Palgrave was a very serious man.
I think he enjoyed telling this story. He
said he had a snapshot of the murderer.
He was going to show it to me but--
actually -- he didn't."
"Why ?"
"Because he saw something," said Miss
Marple. "Saw someone, I suspect. His
181
face got very red and he shoved back the
snapshot into his wallet and began talking
on another subject.35
"Who did he see ?"
"I've thought about that a good deal,"
said Miss Marple. cc! was sitting outside
my bungalow, and he was sitting nearly
opposite me and—whatever he saw, he
saw over my right shoulder."
"Someone coming along the path then
from behind you on the right, the path
from the creek and the car park — "
"Yes.33
^Was anyone coming along the path ?"
"Mr. and Mrs. Dyson and Colonel and
Mrs. Hillingdon."
"Anybody else ?"
"Not that I can find out. Of course, your
bungalow would also be in his line of
vision ..."
"Ah. Then we include — shall we say —
Esther Walters and my chap, Jackson. Is
that right? Either of them, I suppose,
might have come out of the bungalow and
gone back inside again without your seeing
them."
"They might have," said Miss Marple,
"I didn't turn my head at once."
182
"The Dysons, the Hillingdons, Esther, Jackson. One of them's a murderer. Or of
course, myself," he added, obviously as an
afterthought.
Miss Marple smiled faintly.
"And she spoke of the murderer as a man ?"
"Yes.33
"Right. That cuts out Evelyn Hillingdon,
Lucky and Esther Walters. So your
murderer, allowing that all this farfetched
nonsense is true, your murderer is Dyson, Hillingdon or my smooth-tongued Jackson.3'
"Or
yourself," said Miss Marple.
Mr. Rafiel ignored this last point.
"Don't say things to irritate me," he
said. "I'll tell you the first thing that strikes
me, and which you don't seem to have
thought of. If it's one of those three, why
the devil didn't old Palgrave recognise him
before ? Dash it all, they've all been sitting
round looking at each other for the last
two weeks. That doesn't seem to make
sense."
"I think it could," said Miss Marple.
"Well, tell me how."
"You see, in Major Palgrave's story he
183
face got very red and he shoved back the
snapshot into his wallet and began talking
on another subject.35
"Who did he see ?33
"I've thought about that a good deal,35
said Miss Marple. "I was sitting outside
my bungalow, and he was sitting nearly
opposite me and — whatever he saw, he
saw over my right shoulder."
"Someone coming along the path then
from behind you on the right, the path
from the creek and the car park — 33
"Yes."
^Was anyone coming along the path ?"
"Mr. and Mrs. Dyson and Colonel and
Mrs. Hillingdon.33
"Anybody else ?33
"Not that I can find out. Of course, your
bungalow would also be in his line of
vision . . ,33
"Ah. Then we include — shall we say —
Esther Walters and my chap, Jackson. Is
that right? Either of them, I suppose,
might have come out of the bungalow and
gone back inside again without your seeing
them.33
"They might have,33 said Miss Marple,
"I didn't turn my head at once.33
182
"The Dysons, the Hillingdons, Esther, Jackson. One of them's a murderer. Or of
course, myself," he added, obviously as an
afterthought.
Miss Marple smiled faintly.
"And she spoke of the murderer as a man ?"
"Yes.35
"Right. That cuts out Evelyn Hillingdon,
Lucky and Esther Walters. So your
murderer, allowing that all this farfetched
nonsense is true, your murderer is Dyson, Hillingdon or my smooth-tongued Jack
son."
"Or
yourself," said Miss Marple.
Mr. Rafiel ignored this last point.
"Don't say things to irritate me," he
said. "I'll tell you the first thing that strikes
me, and which you don't seem to have
thought of. If it's one of those three, why
the devil didn't old Palgrave recognise him
before ? Dash it all, they've all been sitting
round looking at each other for the last
two weeks. That doesn't seem to make
sense."
"I think it could," said Miss Marple.
"Well, tell me how."
"You see, in Major Palgrave's story he
183
hadn't seen this man himself at any time.
It was a story told to him by a doctor.
The doctor gave him the snapshot as a
curiosity. Major Palgrave may have looked
at the snapshot fairly closely at the time
but after that he'd just stuck it away in his
wallet and kept it as a souvenir. Occasionally, perhaps, he'd take it out and show it
to someone he was telling the story to.
And another thing, Mr. Rafiel, we don't
know how long ago this happened. He
didn't give me any indication of that when
he was telling the story. I mean this may
have been a story he's been telling to
people for years. Five years -- ten years --
longer still perhaps. Some of his tiger
stories go back about twenty years."
"They would!" said Mr. Rafiel. "So I don't suppose for a moment that
Major Palgrave would recognise the face
in the snapshot if he came across the man
casually. What I think happened, what I'm
almost sure must have happened, is that
as he told his story he fumbled for the
snapshot, took it out, looked down at it
studying the face and then looked up
to see the same face, or one with a strong
resemblance coming towards him from
184
a distance of about ten or twelve feet
away.5'
"Yes,33 said Mr. Rafiel consideringly, "Yes, that's possible."
"He was taken aback," said Miss Marple,
"and he shoved it back in his wallet and
began to talk loudly about something
else."
"He couldn't have been sure," said Mr.
Rafiel, shrewdly.
"No," said Miss Marple, "he couldn't
have been sure. But of course afterwards
he would have studied the snapshot very
carefully and would have looked at the man
and tried to make up his mind whether it
was just a likeness or whether it could
actually be the same person."
Mr. Rafiel reflected a moment or two, then he shook his head.
"There's something wrong here. The
motive's inadequate. Absolutely inadequate.
He was speaking to you loudly, was
he?"
"Yes," said Miss Marple, "quite loudly.
He always did."
"True enough. Yes, he did shout. So
whoever was approaching would hear what
he said ?"

CM13
185

cc! should imagine you could hear it for
quite a good radius round."
Mr. Rafiel shook his head again. He said,
"It's fantastic, too fantastic. Anybody
would laugh at such a story. Here's an old
booby telling a story about another story
somebody told him, and showing a snapshot, and all of it centring round a murder
which had taken place years ago! Or at any
rate, a year or two. How on earth can that worry the man in question. No evidence, just a bit of hearsay, a story at third hand.
He could even admit a likeness, he could
say: 'Yes, I do look rather like that fellow, don't I! Ha, ha!' Nobody's going to take
old Palgrave's identification seriously.
Don't tell me so, because I won't believe it.
No, the chap, if it was the chap, had
nothing to fear--nothing whatever. It's
the kind of accusation he can just laugh off.
Why on earth should he proceed to
murder old Palgrave? It's absolutely unnecessary.
You must see that."
"Oh I do see that," said Miss Marple.
"I couldn't agree with you more. That's
what makes me uneasy. So very uneasy
that I really couldn't sleep last night."
Mr. Rafiel stared at her. "Let's hear
186
what's on your mind," he said quietly.
"I may be entirely wrong," said Miss
Marple hesitantly.
"Probably you are," said Mr. Rafiel
with his usual lack of courtesy, "but at any
rate let's hear what you've thought up in
the small hours."
"There could be a very powerful motive
if--"
"If what?"
"If there was going to be -- quite soon
-- another murder."
Mr. Rafiel stared at her. He tried to pull
himself up a little in his chair.
"Let's get this clear," he said.
"I am so bad at explaining." Miss
Marple spoke rapidly and rather incoherently.
A pink flush rose to her cheeks.
"Supposing there was a murder planned.
If you remember, the story Major Palgrave
told me concerned a man whose wife died
under suspicious circumstances. Then,
after a certain lapse of time, there was
another murder under exactly the same
circumstances. A man of a different name
had a wife who died in much the same way
and the doctor who was telling it recognised
him as the same man, although he'd
187
changed his name. Well, it does look, doesn't it, as though this murderer might
be the kind of murderer who made a habit
of the thing?53
"You mean like Smith, Brides in the
Bath, that kind of thing. Yes."
"As far as I can make out," said Miss
Marple, "and from what I have heard
and read, a man who does a wicked thing
like this and gets away with it the first time,
is, alas, encouraged. He thinks it's easy, he
thinks he's clever. And so he repeats it.
And in the end, as you say, like Smith
and the Brides in the Bath, it becomes a habit. Each time in a different place and
each time the man changes his name. But
the crimes themselves are all very much
alike. So it seems to me, although I may
be quite wrong -- "
"But you don't think you are wrong, do
you ?" Mr. Rafiel put it shrewdly.
Miss Marple went on without answering.
" -- that if that were so and if this --
this person had got things all lined up for
a murder out here, for getting rid of another wife, say, and if this is crime three
or four, well then, the Major's story would matter because the murderer couldn't
188
afford to have any similarity pointed out.
If you remember, that was exactly the way
Smith got caught. The circumstances of a
crime attracted the attention of somebody
who compared it with a newspaper clipping
of some other case. So you do see, don't
you, that if this wicked person has got a
crime planned, arranged, and shortly about
to take place, he couldn't afford to let
Major Palgrave go about telling this story
and showing that snapshot.M
She stopped and looked appealingly at
Mr. Rafiel.
"So you see he had to do something very
quickly, as quickly as possible."
Mr. Rafiel spoke, "In fact, that very
same night, eh ?"
"Yes," said Miss Marple.
"Quick work,33 said Mr. Rafiel, "but it
could be done. Put the tablets in old
Palgrave's room, spread the blood pressure
rumour about and add a little of our
fourteen syllable drug to a Planters Punch.
Is that it ?"
"Yes — But that's all over — we needn't
worry about it. It's the future. It's
now. With Major Palgrave out of the
way and the snapshot destroyed, this man
189
will go on with his murder as planned ^
Mr. Rafiel whistled.
"You've got it all worked out, haven't
you ?"
Miss Marple nodded. She said in a most
unaccustomed voice, firm and almost
dictatorial, "And we've got to stop it.
You've got to stop it, Mr. Rafiel."
"Me?" said Mr. Rafiel, astonished,
"why me ?"
"Because you're rich and important,"
said Miss Marple, simply. "People will
take notice of what you say or suggest.
They wouldn't listen to me for a moment.
They would say that I was an old lady
imagining things."
"They might at that," said Mr. Rafiel.
"More fools if they did. I must say,
though, that nobody would think you had
any brains in your head to hear your
usual line of talk. Actually, you've got a
logical mind. Very few women have." He
shifted himself uncomfortably in his chair.
"Where the hell's Esther or Jackson ?" he
said. "I need resettling. No, it's no good
your doing it. You're not strong enough.
I don't know what they mean, leaving me
alone like this."
190
'Til go and find them."
''No, you won't. You'll stay here — and
thrash this out. Which of them is it ? The
egregious Greg? The quiet Edward Hillingdon
or my fellow Jackson ? It's got to be
one of the three, hasn't it ?"
191
17
MR. RAFIEL TAKES CHARGE
"T DON'T know,33 said Miss Marple.
| ''What do you mean ? What have we
JLbeen talking about for the last twenty
minutes ?33
"It has occurred to me that I may have
been wrong.33
Mr. Rafiel stared at her.
"Scatty after all!33 he said disgustedly.
"And you sounded so sure of yourself.33
"Oh, I am sure—about the murder.
It's the murderer I'm not sure about. You
see I've found out that Major Palgrave^had
more than one murder story—you told
me yourself he'd told you one about a kind
ofLucrezia Borgia —33
"So he did — at that. But that was quite
a different kind of story.33
"I know. And Mrs. Walters said he had
one about someone being gassed in a gas
oven —33
"But the story he told you —33
192
Miss Marple allowed herself to interrupt
-- a thing that did not often happen
to Mr. Rafiel.
She spoke with desperate earnestness
and only moderate incoherence.
"Don't you see -- it's so difficult to be sure. The whole point is that -- so often --
one doesn't listen. Ask Mrs. Walters -- she
said the same thing -- you listen to begin
with -- and then your attention flags --
your mind wanders -- and suddenly you
find you've missed a bit. I just wonder if
possibly there may have been a gap -- a
very small one -- between the story he was
telling me -- about a man -- and the moment
when he was getting out his wallet
and saying -- "Like to see a picture of a
murderer'."
"But you thought it was a picture of the
man he had been talking about ?"
cc! thought so -- yes. It never occurred
to me that it mightn't have been. But now
-- how can I be sure ?"
Mr. Rafiel looked at her very thoughtfully
...
"The trouble with you is/3 he said, "that
you're too conscientious. Great mistake --
Make up your mind and don't shilly shally.
193
You didn't shilly shally to begin with. If you
ask me, in all this chit-chat you've been
having with the parson's sister and the rest
of them, you've got hold of something
that's unsettled you."
"Perhaps you're right."
'Well, cut it out for the moment. Let's
go ahead with what you had to begin with.
Because, nine times out of ten, one's
original judgements are right — or so I've
found. We've got three suspects. Let's
take 'em out and have a good look at them.
Any preference ?"
cc! really haven't," said Miss Marple,
"all three of them seem so very unlikely."
'We'll take Greg first," said mx. Rafiel.
Can't stand the fellow. Doesn't make him
a murderer, though. Still, there are one or
two points against him. Those blood
pressure tablets belonged to him. Nice and
handy to make use of."
"That would be a little obvious, wouldn't
it ?" Miss Marple objected.
"I don't know that it would," said Mr.
Rafiel. "After all, the main thing was to do
something quickly, and he'd got the tablets.
Hadn't much time to go looking round for
tablets that somebody else might have.
194
Let's say it's Greg. All right. If he wanted
to put his dear wife Lucky out of the way
-- (Good job, too, I'd say. In fact I'm in
sympathy with him) I can't actually see his
motive. From all accounts he's rich. Inherited
money from his first wife who had
pots of it. He qualifies on that as a possible
wife murderer all right. But that's over and
done with. He got away with it. But Lucky
was his first wife's poor relation. No money
there, so if he wants to put her out of the
way it must be in order to marry somebody
else. Any gossip going around about that ?"
Miss Marple shook her head.
"Not that I have heard. He -- er -- has
a very gallant manner with all the ladies."
"Well, that's a nice, old-fashioned way of
putting it," said Mr. Rafiel. "All right, he's
a stoat. He makes passes. Not enough! We
want more than that. Let's go on to
Edward Hillingdon. Now there's a dark
horse, if ever there was one."
"He is not, I think, a happy man," offered Miss Marple.
Mr. Rafiel looked at her thoughtfully.
"Do you think a murderer ought to be a
happy man ?"
Miss Marple coughed.
195
"Well, they usually have been in my
experience."
"I don't suppose your experience has
gone very far," said Mr. Rafiel.
In this assumption, as Miss Marple
could have told him, he was wrong. But she
forbore to contest his statement. Gentlemen, she knew, did not like to be put right
in their facts.
"I rather fancy Hillingdon myself," said
Mr. Rafiel. "Pve an idea that there is something
a bit odd going on between him and
his wife. You noticed it at all ?"
"Oh yes," said Miss Marple, "I have
noticed it. Their behaviour is perfect in public,
of course, but that one would expect."
"You probably know more about those
sort of people than I would," said Mr.
Rafiel. "Very well, then, everything is in
perfectly good taste but it's a probability
that, in a gentlemanly way, Edward Hillingdon
is contemplating doing away with
Evelyn Hillingdon. Do you agree ?"
"If so," said Miss Marple, "there must
be another woman."
"But what woman ?"
Miss Marple shook her head in a dissatisfied
manner.
196
"I can't help feeling -- I really can't --
that it's not all quite as simple as that.33
"Well, who shall we consider next--
Jackson ? We leave me out of it."
Miss Marple smiled for the first time.
"And why do we leave you out of it, Mr.
Rafiel ?"
"Because if you want to discuss the
possibilities of my being a murderer you'd
have to do it with somebody else. Waste of
time talking about it to me. And anyway, I
ask you, am I cut out for the part ? Helpless, hauled out of bed like a dummy, dressed, wheeled about in a chair, shuffled
along for a walk. What earthly chance have I of going and murdering anyone ?"
"Probably as good a chance as anyone
else," said Miss Marple vigorously.
"And how do you make that out ?"
"Well, you would agree yourself, I
think, that you have brains ?"
"Of course I've got brains," declared
Mr. Rafiel. "A good deal more than anybody
else in this community, I'd say."
"And having brains," went on Miss
Marple, "would enable you to overcome
the physical difficulties of being a murderer."

197
"It would take some doing!"
"Yes," said Miss Marple, "it would take
some doing. But then, I think, Mr. Rafiel, you would enjoy that."
Mr. Rafiel stared at her for quite a long
time and then he suddenly laughed.
"You've got a nerve!" he said. "Not
quite the gentle fluffy old lady you look, are
you ? So you really think I'm a murderer ?"
"No," said Miss Marple, "I do not."
"And why?"
"Well, really, I think just because you
have got brains. Having brains, you can get
most things you want, without having
recourse to murder. Murder is stupid."
"And anyway who the devil should I
want to murder ?"
"That would be a very interesting
question," said Miss Marple. "I have not
yet had the pleasure of sufficient conversation
with you to evolve a theory as to that."
Mr. Panel's smile broadened.
"Conversations with you might be dangerous,"
he said.
"Conversations are always dangerous, if
you have something to hide," said Miss
Marple.
"You may be right. Let's get on to
198
Jackson. What do you think of Jackson ?"
"It is difficult for me to say. I have not
had the opportunity really of any conversation
with him."
"So you've no views on the subject ?"
"He reminds me a little," said Miss
Marple reflectively, "of a young man in the
Town Clerk's office near where I live,
Jonas Parry."
"And ?" Mr. Rafiel asked and paused.
"He was not," said Miss Marple, "very
satisfactory."
"Jackson's not wholly satisfactory either.
He suits me all right. He's first class at his
job, and he doesn't mind being sworn at.
He knows he's damn' well paid and so he
puts up with things. I wouldn't employ
him in a position of trust, but I don't have
to trust him. Maybe his past is blameless, maybe it isn't. His references were all right
but I discern--shall I say, a note of
reserve. Fortunately, I'm not a man who
has any guilty secrets, so I'm not a subject
for blackmail."
"No secrets?" said Miss Marple,
thoughtfully. "Surely, Mr. Rafiel, you have
business secrets ?"
"Not where Jackson can get at them. No.
199
Jackson is a smooth article, one might say, but I really don't see him as a murderer.
I'd say that wasn't his line at all."
He paused a minute and then said suddenly, "Do you know, if one stands back
and takes a good look at all this fantastic
business. Major Palgrave and his ridiculous
stories and all the rest of it, the emphasis is
entirely wrong. Pm the person who ought
to be murdered."
Miss Marple looked at him in some surprise.

"Proper type casting," explained Mr.
Rafiel. "Who's the victim in murder
stories ? Elderly men with lots of money."
"And lots of people with a good reason
for wishing him out of the way, so as to get
that money," said Miss Marple. "Is that
true also ?"
"Well -- " Mr. Rafiel considered, "I can
count up to five or six men in London who
wouldn't burst into tears if they read my
obituary in The Times. But they wouldn't
go as far to do anything to bring about my
demise. After all, why should they? I'm
expected to die any day. In fact the bug --
blighters are astonished that I've lasted so
long. The doctors are surprised too."
200
"You have of course, a great will to live,"
said Miss Marple.
"You think that's odd, I suppose," said
Mr. Rafiel.
Miss Marple shook her head.
"Oh no," she said, "I think it's quite
natural. Life is more worth living, more
full of interest when you are likely to lose
it. It shouldn't be, perhaps, but it is. When
you're young and strong and healthy, and
life stretches ahead of you, living isn't
really important at all. It's young people
who commit suicide easily, out of despair
from love, sometimes from sheer anxiety
and worry. But old people know how
valuable life is and how interesting."
"Hah!" said Mr. Rafiel, snorting. "Listen
to a couple of old crocks."
"Well, what I said is true, isn't it?"
demanded Miss Marple.
"Oh, yes," said Mr. Rafiel, "it's true
enough. But don't you think I'm right
when I say that I ought to be cast as the
victim ?"
"It depends on who has reason to gain by
your death," said Miss Marple.
"Nobody, really," said Mr. Rafiel.
"Apart, as I've said, from my competitors
CM14 201
in the business world who, as I have also
said, can count comfortably on my being
out of it before very long. I'm not such a
fool as to leave a lot of money divided up
among my relations. Precious little they'd
get of it after Government had taken
practically the lot. Oh no, I've attended to
all that years ago. Settlements, trusts, and
all the rest of it."
"Jackson, for instance, wouldn't profit by
your death ?"
"He wouldn't get a penny,3? said Mr.
Rafiel cheerfully. "I pay him double the
salary that he'd get from anyone else.
That's because he has to put up with my
bad temper, and he knows quite well that
he will be the loser when I die.53
"And Mrs. Walters ?"
"The same goes for Esther. She's a good
girl. First-class secretary, intelligent, goodtempered,
understands my ways, doesn't
turn a hair if I fly off the handle, couldn't
care less if I insult her. Behaves like a nice
nursery governess in charge of an outrageous
and obstreperous child. She irritates
me a bit sometimes, but who doesn't ?
There's nothing outstanding about her.
She's rather a commonplace young woman
202
in many ways, but I couldn't have anyone
who suited me better. She's had a lot of
trouble in her life. Married a man who
wasn't much good. I'd say she never had
much judgement when it came to men.
Some women haven't. They fall for anyone
who tells them a hard luck story. Always
convinced that all the man needs is proper
female understanding. That, once married
to her, he'll pull up his socks and make a go
of life! But of course that type of man never
does. Anyway, fortunately her unsatisfactory
husband died, drank too much at a
party one night and stepped in front of a
bus. Esther had a daughter to support and
she went back to her secretarial job. She's
been with me five years. I made it quite
clear to her from the start that she need
have no expectations from me in the event
of my death. I paid her from the start a very
large salary, and that salary I've augmented
by as much as a quarter as much again each
year. However decent and honest people
are, one should never trust anybody--
that's why I told Esther quite clearly that
she'd nothing to hope for from my death.
Every year I live she'll get a bigger salary. If she puts most of that aside every year --
203
and that's what I think she has done—
she'll be quite a well-to-do woman by the
time I kick the bucket. I've made myself
responsible for her daughter's schooling
and I've put a sum in trust for the daughter
which she'll get when she comes of age. So
Mrs. Esther Walters is very comfortably
placed. My death, let me tell you, would
mean a serious financial loss to her.35 He
looked very hard at Miss Marple. "She
fully realises all that. She's very sensible,
Esther is.39
"Do she and Jackson get on?" asked
Miss Marple.
Mr. Rafiel shot a quick glance at her.
"Noticed something, have you?" he
said. "Yes, I think Jackson's done a bit of
tom-catting around, with an eye in her
direction, especially lately. He's a goodlooking
chap, of course, but he hasn't
cut any ice in that direction. For one thing,
there's class distinction. She's just a cut
above him. Not very much. If she was
really a cut above him it wouldn't matter,
but the lower middle class — they're very
particular. Her mother was a school teacher
and her father a bank clerk. No, she won't
make a fool of herself about Jackson. Dare
204
say he's after her little nest egg, but he
won't get it.3'
"Hush — she's coming now!" said Miss
Marple.
They both looked at Esther Walters as
she came along the hotel path towards
them.
"She's quite a good-looking girl, you
know," said Mr. Rafiel, "but not an atom
of glamour. I don't know why, she's quite
nicely turned out."
Miss Marple sighed, a sigh that any
woman will give however old at what
might be considered wasted opportunities.
What was lacking in Esther had been
called by so many names during Miss
Marple's span of existence, "Not really
attractive to men." "No S.A." "Lacks
Come-hither in her eye." Fair hair, good
complexion, hazel eyes, quite a good
figure, pleasant smile, but lacking that
something that makes a man's head turn
when he passes a woman in the street.
"She ought to get married again," said
Miss Marple, lowering her voice.
"Of course she ought. She'd make a man
a good wife."
Esther Walters joined them and Mr.
205
Rafiel said, in a slightly artificial voice.
"So there you are at last! What's been
keeping you ?"
everyone seemed to be sending cables
this morning,55 said Esther. "What with
that, and people trying to check out -- "
"Trying to check out, are they ? A result
of this murder business ?"
"I suppose so. Poor Tim Kendal is
worried to death."
"And well he might be. Bad luck for that
young couple, I must say."
"I know. I gather it was rather a big
undertaking for them to take on this place.
They've been worried about making a
success of it. They were doing very well, too."
"They were doing a good job," agreed
Mr. Rafiel. "He's very capable and a
damned hard worker. She's a very nice
girl -- attractive too. They've both worked
like blacks, though that's an odd term to
use out here, for blacks don't work themselves
to death at all, so far as I can see.
Was looking at a fellow shinning up a
coconut tree to get his breakfast, then he
goes to sleep for the rest of the day. Nice
life."
206
He added, "We've been discussing the
murder here.33
Esther Walters looked slightly startled.
She turned her head towards Miss Marple.
"I've been wrong about her," said Mr.
Rafiel, with characteristic frankness.
"Never been much of a one for the old
pussies. All knitting wool and tittle-tattle.
But this one's got something. Eyes and
ears, and she uses them.35
Esther Walters looked apologetically at
Miss Marple, but Miss Marple did not
appear to take offence.
"That's really meant to be a compliment,
you know,35 Esther explained.
"I quite realise that,33 said Miss Marple.
"I realise, too, that Mr. Rafiel is privileged,
or thinks he is.33
"What do you mean—privileged?33
asked Mr. Rafiel.
"To be rude if you want to be rude,33
said Miss Marple.
"Have I been rude?33 said Mr. Rafiel,
surprised. "I'm sorry if I've offended
you.33
"You haven't offended me,33 said Miss
Marple, "I make allowances.33
"Now, don't be nasty. Esther, get a
207
chair and bring it here. Maybe you can
help.33
Esther walked a few steps to the balcony
of the bungalow and brought over a light
basket chair.
"We'll go on with our consultation,"
said Mr. Rafiel. "We started with old
Palgrave, deceased, and his eternal stories."
"Oh dear," sighed Esther. "I'm afraid
I used to escape from him whenever I
could."
"Miss Marple was more patient," said
Mr. Rafiel. "Tell me, Esther, did he ever
tell you a story about a murderer ?"
"Oh yes," said Esther. "Several times."
"What was it exactly ? Let's have your
recollection."
"Well — " Esther paused to think. "The
trouble is," she said apologetically, "I
didn't really listen very closely. You see, it
was rather like that terrible story about the
lion in Rhodesia which used to go on and
on. One did get rather in the habit of not
listening."
'Well, tell us what you do remember."
"I think it arose out of some murder case
that had been in the papers. Major Palgrave
said that he'd had an experience not every
208
person had had. He'd actually met a murderer
face to face.33
"Met ?" Mr. Rafiel exclaimed. "Did he
actually use the word 'Met' ?"
Esther looked confused.
"I think so." She was doubtful. "Or he
may have said, <I can point you out a
murderer'."
"Well, which was it ? There's a difference."

"I can't really be sure ... I think he said
he'd show me a picture of someone."
"That's better."
"And then he talked a lot about Lucrezia
Borgia."
"Never mind about Lucrezia Borgia.
We know all about her."
"He talked about poisoners and that
Lucrezia was very beautiful and had red
hair. He said there were probably far more
women poisoners going about the world
than anyone knew."
"That I fear is quite likely," said Miss
Marple.
"And he talked about poison being a
woman's weapon."
"Seems to have been wandering from
the point a bit," said Mr. Rafiel.
209
''Well, of course, he always did wander
from the point in his stories. And then one
used to stop listening and just say *Yes' and 'Really ?' and 'You don't say so'.53
"What about this picture he was going
to show you ?"
cc! don't remember. It may have been
something he'd seen in the paper -- "
"He didn't actually show you a snapshot
?"
"A snapshot ? No." She shook her head.
"I'm quite sure of that. He did say that she
was a good-looking woman, and you'd
never think she was a murderer to look at
her."
"She ?"
"There you are," exclaimed Miss Marpie.
"It makes it all so confusing."
"He was talking about a woman ?" Mr.
Rafiel asked.
"Oh yes."
"The snapshot was a snapshot of a
woman ?"
"Yes."
"It can't have been!"
"But it was," Esther persisted. "He said "She's here in this island. I'll point her out,
and then I'll tell you the whole story.'"
210
Mr. Rafiel swore. In saying what he
thought of the late Major Palgrave he did
not mince his words.
"The probabilities are," he finished,
"that not a word of anything he said was
true!"
"One does begin to wonder," Miss
Marple murmured.
"So there we are," said Mr. Rafiel. "The
old booby started telling you hunting tales.
Pig sticking, tiger shooting, elephant hunting, narrow escapes from lions. One or two
of them might have been fact. Several of
them were fiction, and others had happened
to somebody else! Then he gets on
to the subject of murder and he tells one
murder story to cap another murder story.
And what's more he tells them all as if
they'd happened to him. Ten to one most
of them were a hash up of what he'd read
in the paper, or seen on T.V."
He turned accusingly on Esther. "You
admit that you weren't listening closely.
Perhaps you misunderstood what he was
saying."
"I'm certain he was talking about a
woman," said Esther obstinately, "because
of course I wondered who it was."
211
''Who do you think it was ?" asked Miss
Marple.
Esther flushed and looked slightly embarassed.
"Oh,
I didn't really--I mean, I
wouldn't like to-- "
Miss Marple did not insist. The presence
of Mr. Rafiel, she thought, was inimical to
her finding out exactly what suppositions
Esther Walters had made. That could only
be cosily brought out in a teteatete
between 	two women. And there was, of
course, the possibility that Esther Walters
was lying. Naturally, Miss Marple did not
suggest this aloud. She registered it as a
possibility but she was not inclined to
believe in it. For one thing she did not
think that Esther Walters was a liar (though
one never knew) and for another, she
could see no point in such a lie.
"But you say," Mr. Rafiel was now turning
upon Miss Marple, "you say that he told
you this yam about a murderer and that he
then said he had a picture of him which he
was going to show you."
(c! thought so, yes."
"You thought so ? You were sure enough
to begin with!"
212
Miss Marple retorted with spirit. "It is never easy to repeat a conversation
and be entirely accurate in what the other
party to it has said. One is always inclined
to jump at what you think they meant. Then, afterwards, you put actual words
into their mouths. Major Palgrave told me
this story, yes. He told me that the man
who told it to him, this doctor, had shown
him a snapshot of the murderer; but if I
am to be quite honest I must admit that
what he actually said to me was 'Would you
like to see a snapshot of a murderer ?' and
naturally I assumed that it was the same
snapshot he had been talking about. That
it was the snapshot of that particular
murderer. But I have to admit that it is
possible -- only remotely possible, but still
possible -- that by an association of ideas
in his mind he leaped from the snapshot
he had been shown in the past, to a snapshot
he had taken recently of someone here
whom he was convinced was a murderer.M
"Women!" snorted Mr. Rafiel, in exasperation,
"You're all the same, the whole
blinking lot of you! Can't be accurate.
You're never exactly sure of what a thing
was. And now,33 he added irritably, "where
213
does that leave us ?33 He snorted. "Evelyn
Hillingdon, or Greg's wife. Lucky? The
whole thing is a mess.3'
There was a slight apologetic cough.
Arthur Jackson was standing at Mr.
Rand's elbow. He had come so noiselessly
that nobody had noticed him.
"Time for your massage, sir,35 he said.
Mr. Rafiel displayed immediate temper. "What do you mean by sneaking up on
me in that way and making me jump? I
never heard you." "Very sorry, sir."
"I don't think I'll have any massage today.
It never does me a damn bit of good."
"Oh come sir, you mustn't say that.33 Jackson was full of professional cheerfulness.
"You'd soon notice it if you left it
off.33
He wheeled the chair deftly round.
Miss Marple rose to her feet, smiled at
Esther and went down to the beach.
214
18
WITHOUT BENEFIT OF CLERGY
THE beach was rather empty this
morning. Greg was splashing in the
water in his usual noisy style. Lucky
was lying on her face on the beach with a
sun-tanned back well oiled and her blonde
hair splayed over her shoulders. The Hillingdons
were not there. Senora de Caspearo,
with an assorted bag of gentlemen
in attendance was lying face upwards and
talking deep-throated, happy Spanish.
Some French and Italian children were
playing at the water's edge and laughing.
Canon and Miss Prescott were sitting in
beach chairs observing the scene. The
Canon had his hat tilted forward over his
eyes and seemed half asleep. There was a
convenient chair next to Miss Prescott
and Miss Marple made for it and sat
down.
"Oh dear," she said, with a deep sigh.
cc! know," said Miss Prescott.
215
It was their joint tribute to violent
death.
"That poor girl," said Miss Marple.
"Very sad," said the Canon. "Most
deplorable."
"For a moment or two," said Miss
Prescott, "we really thought of leaving,
Jeremy and I. But then we decided against
it. It would not really be fair, I felt, on the
Kendals. After all, it's not their fault — It
might have happened anywhere."
"In the midst of life we are in death,3'
said the Canon solemnly.
"It's very important, you know," said
Miss Prescott, "that they should make a go
of this place. They have sunk all their
capital in it."
"A very sweet girl," said Miss Marple,
"but not looking at all well lately."
"Very nervy," agreed Miss Prescott.
"Of course her family — " she shook her
head.
"I really think, Joan," said the Canon in
mild reproof, "that there are some
things—"
"Everybody knows about it," said Miss
Prescott. "Her family live in our part of the
world. A great-aunt—most peculiar—
216
and one of her uncles took off all his
clothes in one of the tube stations. Green
Park, I believe it was."
"Joan, that is a thing that should not be repeated."
"Very sad," said Miss Marple, shaking
her head, "though I believe not an uncommon
form of madness. I know when
we were working for the Armenian relief, a
most respectable elderly clergyman was
afflicted the same way. They telephoned
his wife and she came along at once and
took him home in a cab, wrapped in a
blanket."
"Of course, Molly's immediate family's
all right," said Miss Prescott. "She never
got on very well with her mother, but then
so few girls seem to get on with their
mothers nowadays."
"Such a pity," said Miss Marple, shaking
her head, "because really a young girl needs
her mother's knowledge of the world and
experience."
"Exactly," said Miss Prescott with emphasis.
"Molly, you know, took up with
some man--quite unsuitable, I understand."

"It so often happens," said Miss Marple.
CM15 217
"Her family disapproved, naturally. She didn't tell them about it. They heard about
it from a complete outsider. Of course her
mother said she must bring him along so
that they met him properly. This, I understand, the girl refused to do. She said it
was humiliating to him. Most insulting to
be made to come and meet her family and
be looked over. Just as though you were a
horse, she said."
Miss Marple sighed. "One does need so
much tact when dealing with the young," she murmured.
"Anyway there it was! They forbade her
to see him."
"But you can't do that nowadays," said
Miss Marple. "Girls have jobs and they
meet people whether anyone forbids them
or not."
"But then, very fortunately," went on
Miss Prescott, "she met Tim Kendal, and
the other man sort of faded out of the
picture. I can't tell you how relieved the
family was."
"I hope they didn't show it too plainly,"
said Miss Marple. "That so often puts
girls off from forming suitable attachments."
218
"Yes, indeed.'9
"One remembers oneself — 33 murmured
Miss Marple, her mind going back to the
past. A young man she had met at a
croquet party. He had seemed so nice—
rather gay, almost Bohemian in his views.
And then he had been unexpectedly
warmly welcomed by her father. He had
been suitable, eligible; he had been asked
freely to the house more than once, and
Miss Marple had found that, after all, he
was dull. Very dull.
The Canon seemed safely comatose and
Miss Marple advanced tentatively to the
subject she was anxious to pursue.
"Of course you know so much about this
place," she murmured. "You have been
here several years running, have you
not ?33
"Well, last year and two years before
that. We like St. Honore very much.
Always such nice people here. Not the
flashy, ultra-rich set.33
"So I suppose you know the Hillingdons
and the Dysons well !33
'"Yes, fairly well.33
Miss Marple coughed and lowered her
voice slightly.
219
"Major Palgrave told me such an interesting
story," she said.
"He had a great repertoire of stories, hadn't he ? Of course he had travelled very 	c widely. Africa, India, even China I
believe."
"Yes indeed,33 said Miss Marple. "But
I didn't mean one of those stories. This was
a story concerned with--well, with one
of the people I have just mentioned."
"Oh!" said Miss Prescott. Her voice
held meaning.
"Yes. Now I wonder -- " Miss Marple
allowed her eyes to travel gently round the
beach to where Lucky lay sunning her back.
"Very beautifully tanned, isn't she," remarked
Miss Marple. "And her hair. Most
attractive. Practically the same colour as
Molly Kendal's, isn't it ?"
"The only difference," said Miss Prescott,
"is that Molly's is natural and
Lucky's comes out of a bottle!"
"Really, Joan," the Canon protested,
unexpectedly awake again. "Don't you
think that is rather an uncharitable thing
to say ?"
"It's not uncharitable," said Miss Prescott,
acidly. "Merely a/acr."
220
"It looks very nice to me^ said the Canon.
"Of course. That's why she does it. But
I assure you, my dear Jeremy, it wouldn't
deceive any woman for a moment. Would
it ?33 She appealed to Miss Marple.
"Well, I'm afraid -- " said Miss Marple,
"of course I haven't the experience that you
have -- but I'm afraid -- yes I should say
definitely not natural. The appearance at
the roots every fifth or sixth day -- " She
looked at Miss Prescott and they both
nodded with quiet female assurance.
The Canon appeared to be dropping off
again.
"Major Palgrave told me a really extraordinary
story,w murmured Miss Marple, "about -- well I couldn't quite make out.
I am a little deaf sometimes. He appeared
to be saying or hinting -- " she paused.
"I know what you mean. There was a
great deal of talk at the time -- "
"You mean at the time that -- "
"When the first Mrs. Dyson died. Her
death was quite unexpected. In fact, everybody
thought she was a malade imaginaire
-- a hypochondriac. So when she had this
attack and died so unexpectedly, well of
course, people did talk.35
221
"There wasn't—any—trouble at the
time ?"
"The doctor was puzzled. He was quite a
young man and he hadn't had much
experience. He was what I call one of those
antibiotics-for-all men. You know, the
kind that doesn't bother to look at the
patient much, or worry what's the matter
with him. They just give them some kind
of pill out of a bottle and if they don't get
better, then they try a different pill. Yes, I
believe he was puzzled, but it seemed she
had had gastric trouble before. At least her
husband said so, and there seemed no
reason for believing anything was wrong."
"But you yourself think— "
"Well, I always try to keep an open
mind, but one does wonder, you know. And
what with various things people said — "
"Joan!" The Canon sat up. He looked
belligerent. "I don't like—I really don't
like to hear this kind of ill-natured gossip
being repeated. We've always set our faces
against that kind of thing. See no evil, hear
no evil, speak no evil — and what is more,
think no evil! That should be the motto of
every Christian man and woman."
The two women sat in silence. They
222
were rebuked, and in deference to their
training they deferred to the criticism of a
man. But inwardly they were frustrated, irritated and quite unrepentant. Miss Prescott
threw a frank glance of irritation towards
her brother. Miss Marple took out
her knitting and looked at it. Fortunately
for them Chance was on their side.
"Mon pere^ said a small shrill voice. It
was one of the French children who had
been playing at the water's edge. She had
come up unnoticed, and was standing by
Canon Prescotfs chair.
^Monpere^ she fluted.
"Eh ? Yes, my dear ? Oui, qu^est-ce qu'il
y a, ma petite!"
The child explained. There had been a
dispute about who should have the waterwings
next and also other matters of seaside
etiquette. Canon Prescott was extremely
fond of children, especially small girls. He
was always delighted to be summoned to
act as arbiter in their disputes. He rose willingly now and accompanied the child
to the water's edge. Miss Marple and Miss
Prescott breathed deep sighs and turned
avidly towards each other.
"Jeremy, of course rightly, is very
223
against ill-natured gossip,33 said Miss Prescott,
"but one cannot really ignore what
people are saying. And there was, as I say, a
great deal of talk at the time.33
"Yes?33 Miss Marple's tone urged her
forward.
"This young woman, you see. Miss
Greatorex I think her name was then I
can't remember now, was a kind of cousin
and she looked after Mrs. Dyson. Gave her
all her medicines and things like that.33
There was a short, meaningful pause. "And
of course there had, I understand33 — Miss
Prescott's voice was lowered — "been
goings-on between Mr. Dyson and Miss
Greatorex. A lot of people had noticed
them. I mean things like that are quickly
observed in a place like this. Then there
was some curious story about some stuff
that Edward Hillingdon got for her at a
chemist.33
"Oh, Edward Hillingdon came into it ?33
"Oh yes, he was very much attracted.
People noticed it. And Lucky—Miss
Greatorex — played them off against each
other. Gregory Dyson and Edward Hillingdon.
One has to face it, she has always been
an attractive woman.33
224
"Though not as young as she was," Miss
Marple replied.
"Exactly. But she was always very well
turned out and made up. Of course not
so flamboyant when she was just the poor
relation. She always seemed very devoted to
the invalid. But, well, you see how it was."
"What was this story about the chemist
-- how did that get known ?"
"Well, it wasn't in Jamestown, I think it
was when they were in Martinique. The
French, I believe, are more lax than we are
in the matter of drugs -- This chemist
talked to someone, and the story got
around--You know how these things
happen.w
Miss Marple did. None better.
"He said something about Colonel Hillingdon
asking for something and not seeming
to know what it was he was asking for.
Consulting a piece of paper, you know, on
which it was written down. Anyway, as I
say, there was talk."
"But I don't see quite why Colonel
Hillingdon -- " Miss Marple frowned in
perplexity.
"I suppose he was just being used as a cat's-paw. Anyway, Gregory Dyson married
225
again in an almost indecently short time.
Barely a month later, I understand."
They looked at each other.
"But there was no real suspicion ?" Miss
Marple asked.
"Oh no, it was just—well, talk. Of
course there may have been absolutely
nothing in it.35
"Major Palgrave thought there was."
"Did he say so to you ?"
"I wasn't really listening very closely,"
confessed Miss Marple. "I just wondered
if— er — well, if he'd said the same things
to you?"
"He did point her out to me one day,"
said Miss Prescott.
"Really ? He actually pointed her out ?"
"Yes. As a matter of fact, I thought at
first it was Mrs. Hillingdon he was pointing
out. He wheezed and chuckled a bit and
said 'Look at that woman over there. In my
opinion that's a woman who's done murder
and got away with it.' I was very shocked,
of course. I said, 'surely you're joking,
Major Palgrave,' and he said, 'Yes, yes,
dear lady, let's call it joking.' The Dysons
and the Hillingdon's were sitting at a table
quite near to us, and I was afraid they'd
226
overhear. He chuckled and said 'Wouldn't
care to go to a drink party and have a
certain person mix me a cocktail. Too much
like supper with the Borgias.' "
"How very interesting," said Miss Marpie.
"Did he mention a — a photograph ?"
cc! don't remember . . . Was it some
newspaper cutting ?"
Miss Marple, about to speak, shut her
lips. The sun was momentarily obscured
by a shadow. Evelyn Hillingdon paused
beside them.
"Good-morning," she said.
"I was wondering where you were,'3 said
Miss Prescott, looking up brightly.
"I've been to Jamestown, shopping."
"Oh, I see."
Miss Prescott looked round vaguely and
Evelyn Hillingdon said:
"Oh, I didn't take Edward with me.
Men hate shopping."
"Did you find anything of interest ?"
"It wasn't that sort of shopping. I just
had to go to the chemist."
With a smile and a slight nod she went on
down the beach.
"Such nice people, the Hillingdons,"
said Miss Prescott, "though she's not really
227
very easy to know, is she? I mean, she's
always very pleasant and all that, but one
never seems to get to know her any better.3'
Miss Marple agreed thoughtfully.
"One never knows what she is thinking,53 said Miss Prescott.
"Perhaps that is just as well," said Miss
Marple.
cc! beg your pardon ?"
"Oh nothing really, only that I've always
had the feeling that perhaps her thoughts
might be rather disconcerting."
"Oh," said Miss Prescott, looking puzzled.
"I see what you mean." She went on
with a slight change of subject. "I believe
they have a very charming place in Hampshire,
and a boy -- or is it two boys -- who
have just gone -- or one of them -- to
Winchester."
"Do you know Hampshire well ?"
"No. Hardly at all. I believe their house
is somewhere near Alton."
"I see." Miss Marple paused and then
said, "And where do the Dysons live ?"
"California," said Miss Prescott. "When
they are at home, that is. They are great
travellers."
"One really knows so little about the
228
people one meets when one is travelling,"
said Miss Marple. "I mean -- how shall I
put it -- One only knows, doesn't one, what
they choose to tell you about themselves.
For instance, you don't really know that
the Dysons live in California."
Miss Prescott looked startled. "I'm sure Mr. Dyson mentioned it.53 "Yes. Yes, exactly. That's what I mean.
And the same thing perhaps with the Hillingdons.
I mean when you say that they
live in Hampshire, you're really repeating
what they told 3^3 aren't you ?"
Miss Prescott looked slightly alarmed.
"Do you mean that they don't live in
Hampshire ?" she asked.
"No, no, not for one moment," said Miss
Marple, quickly apologetic. "I was only
using them as an instance as to what one
knows or doesn't know about people." She
added, "/ have told you that I live at St.
Mary Mead, which is a place, no doubt, of
which you have never heard. But you
don't, if I may say so, know it of your own knowledge, do you ?"
Miss Prescott forbore from saying that
she really couldn't care less where Miss
Marple lived. It was somewhere in the
229
country and in the south of England and
that is all she knew. "Oh, I do see what
you mean," she agreed hastily, "and I
know that one can't possibly be too careful
when one is abroad."
"I didn't exactly mean that^ said Miss
Marple.
There were some odd thoughts going
through Miss Marple's mind. Did she
really know, she was asking herself, that
Canon Prescott and Miss Prescott were
really Canon Prescott and Miss Prescott?
They said so. There was no evidence to
contradict them. It would really be easy, would it not, to put on a dog-collar, to wear
the appropriate clothes, to make the appropriate
conversation. If there was a
motive...
Miss Marple was fairly knowledgeable
about the clergy in her part of the world, but the Prescotts came from the north.
Durham, wasn't it ? She had no doubt they
were the Prescotts, but still, it came back
to the same thing--one believed what
people said to one.
Perhaps one ought to be on one's guard
against that. Perhaps . . . She shook her
head thoughtfully.
230
19
USES OF A SHOE
CANON PRESCOTT came back
from the water's edge slightly short
of breath (playing with children is
always exhausting).
Presently he and his sister went back to
the hotel, finding the beach a little too hot.
"But,53 said Senora de Caspearo scornfully
as they walked away -- "How can a
beach be too hot ? It is nonsense that --
And look what she wears -- her arms and
her neck are all covered up. Perhaps it is as
well, that. Her skin it is hideous, like a
plucked chicken \"
Miss Marple drew a deep breath. Now or
never was the time for conversation with
Senora de Caspearo. Unfortunately she did
not know what to say. There seemed to be
no common ground on which they could
meet.
"You have children, Senora?" she inquired.

231
"I have three angels,95 said Senora de
Caspearo, kissing her fingertips.
Miss Marple was rather uncertain as to
whether this meant that Senora de Caspearo's
offspring were in Heaven or whether
it merely referred to their characters.
One of the gentlemen in attendance made
a remark in Spanish and Senora de
Caspearo flung back her head appreciatively
and laughed loudly and melodiously.

"You understand what he said?" she
inquired of Miss Marple.
"I'm afraid not," said Miss Marple
apologetically.
"It is just as well. He is a wicked man."
A rapid and spirited interchange of
Spanish followed.
"It is infamous -- infamous," said Senora
de Caspearo, reverting to English with
sudden gravity, "that the police do not let
us go from this island. I storm, I scream, I
stamp my foot -- but all they say is No --
No. You know how it will end -- we shall
all be killed."
Her bodyguard attempted to reassure
her.
"But yes -- I tell you it is unlucky here.
232
FR1;I knew it from the first -- That old Major, the ugly one -- he had the Evil Eye -- you
remember ? His eyes they crossed -- It is
bad, that! I make the Sign of the Horns
every time when he looks my way." She
made it in illustration. "Though since he is
cross-eyed I am not always sure when he
does look my way -- "
"He had a glass eye," said Miss Marple
in an explanatory voice. "An accident, I
understand, when he was quite young. It
was not his fault."
"I tell you he brought bad luck -- I say
it is the evil eye he had."
Her hand shot out again in the wellknown
Latin gesture -- the first finger and
the little finger sticking out, the two
middle ones doubled in. "Anyway," she
said cheerfully, "he is dead--I do not
have to look at him any more. I do not like
to look at things that are ugly."
It was. Miss Marple thought, a somewhat
cruel epitaph on Major Palgrave.
Farther down the beach Gregory Dyson
had come out of the sea. Lucky had turned
herself over on the sand. Evelyn Hillingdon
was looking at Lucky, and her expression, for some reason, made Miss Marple shiver.
CM16 233
"Surely I can't be cold—in this hot
sun," she thought.
What was the old phrase — ^A goose
walking over your grave — "
She got up and went slowly back to her
bungalow.
On the way she passed Mr. Rafiel and
Esther Walters coming down the beach.
Mr. Rafiel winked at her. Miss Marple
did not wink back. She looked at him
disapprovingly.
She went into her bungalow and lay
down on her bed. She felt old and tired and
worried.
She was quite certain that there was no
time to be lost — no time — to — be lost
... It was getting late. . . . The sun was
going to set — the sun — one must always
look at the sun through smoked glass —
Where was that piece of smoked glass that
someone had given her ?...
No, she wouldn't need it after all. A
shadow had come over the sun blotting it
out. A shadow. Evelyn Hillingdon's
shadow—No, not Evelyn Hillingdon—
The Shadow (what were the words) the
Shadow of the Valley of Death. That was it.
She must — what was it ? Make the Sign of
234
the Horns — to avert the Evil Eye —
Major Palgrave's Evil Eye.
Her eyelids flickered open—she had
been asleep. But there was a shadow —
someone peering in at her window.
The shadow moved away—and Miss
Marple saw who it was — It was Jackson.
"Impertinence
—
peering in like that,"
she thought—and added parenthetically
"Just like Jonas Parry.35
The comparison reflected no credit on
Jackson.
Then she wondered why Jackson had
been peering into her bedroom. To see if
she was there? Or to note that she was
there, but was asleep.
She got up, went into the bathroom and
peered cautiously through the window.
Arthur Jackson was standing by the door
of the bungalow next door. Mr. RafteRs
bungalow. She saw him give a rapid
glance round and then slip quickly inside.
Interesting, thought Miss Marple. Why
did he have to look round in that furtive
manner. Nothing in the world could have
been more natural than his going into Mr.
Panel's bungalow since he himself had a
235
room at the back of it. He was always
going in and out of it on some errand or
other. So why that quick, quilty glance
round? "Only one reason," said Miss
Marple, "he wanted to be sure that nobody
was observing him enter at this particular
moment because of something he was
going to do in there.39
Everybody, of course, was on the beach
at this moment except those who had gone
for expeditions. In about twenty minutes
or so, Jackson himself would arrive on the
beach in the course of his duties to aid
Mr. Rafiel to take his sea dip. If he wanted
to do anything in the bungalow unobserved, now was a very good time. He had
satisfied himself that Miss Marple was
asleep on her bed, he had satisfied himself
that there was nobody near at hand to
observe his movements. Well, she must do
her best to do exactly that.
Sitting down on her bed. Miss Marple
removed her neat sandal shoes and replaced
them with a pair of plimsolls. Then she
shook her head, removed the plimsolls,
burrowed in her suitcase and took out a pair
of shoes the heel on one of which she had
recently caught on a hook by the door. It
236
was now in a slightly precarious state and
Miss Marple adroitly rendered it even
more precarious by attention with a nail
file. Then she emerged with due precaution
from her door walking in stockinged feet.
With all the care of a Big Game Hunter
approaching up-wind of a herd of antelope, Miss Marple gently circumnavigated Mr.
Rafiel's bungalow.
Cautiously she manoeuvred her way
around the corner of the house. She put on
one of the shoes she was carrying, gave a
final wrench to the heel of the other, sank
gently to her knees and lay prone under the
window. If Jackson heard anything, if he
came to the window to look out, an old lady
would have had a fall owing to the heel coming
off her shoe. But evidently Jackson had
heard nothing.
Very, very gently Miss Marple raised
her head. The windows of the bungalow
were low. Shielding herself slightly with a
festoon of creeper she peered inside...
Jackson was on his knees before a suitcase.
The lid of the suitcase was up and
Miss Marple could see that it was a
specially fitted affair containing compartments
filled with various kinds of papers.
237
Jackson was looking through the papers, occasionally drawing documents out of long
envelopes. Miss Marple did not remain at
her observation post for long. All she
wanted was to know what Jackson was
doing. She knew now. Jackson was snooping.
Whether he was looking for something
in particular, or whether he was just
indulging his natural instincts, she had no
means of judging. But it confirmed her in
her belief that Arthur Jackson and Jonas
Parry had strong affinities in other things
than facial resemblance.
Her problem was now to withdraw. Very
carefully she dropped down again and
crept along the flowerbed until she was
clear of the window. She returned to her
bungalow and carefully put away the shoe
and the heel that she had detached from
it. She looked at them with affection. A
good device which she could use on
another day if necessary. She resumed her
own sandal shoes, and went thoughtfully
down to the beach again.
Choosing a moment when Esther Walters
was in the water. Miss Marple moved
into the chair Esther had vacated.
Greg and Lucky were laughing and talk238
ing with Senora de Caspearo and making a
good deal of noise.
Miss Marple spoke very quietly, almost
under her breath, without looking at Mr.
Rafiel.
"Do you know that Jackson snoops ?" "Doesn't surprise me," said Mr. Rafiel. "Caught him at it, did you ?"
"I managed to observe him through a
window. He had one of your suitcases open
and was looking through your papers."
"Must have managed to get hold of a
key to it. Resourceful fellow. He'll be
disappointed though. Nothing he gets hold
of in that way will do him a mite of good."
"He's coming down now," said Miss
Marple, glancing up towards the hotel.
"Time for that idiotic sea dip of mine." He spoke again -- very quietly.
"As for you -- don't be too enterprising.
We don't want to be attending your funeral next. Remember your age, and be careful. There's somebody about
who isn't too scrupulous, remember,"
239
20
NIGHT ALARM
EVENING came--The lights came
up on the terrace -- People dined and
talked and laughed, albeit less loudly
and merrily than they had a day or two
ago -- The steel band played.
But the dancing ended early. People
yawned--went off to bed--The lights
went out -- There was darkness and stillness
-- The Golden Palm Tree slept...
"Evelyn. Evelyn!33 The whisper came
sharp and urgent.
Evelyn Hillingdon stirred and turned on
her pillow.
^Evelyn. Please wake up.33
Evelyn Hillingdon sat up abruptly. Tim
Kendal was standing in the doorway. She
stared at him in surprise.
''Evelyn, please, could you come ? It's --
Molly. She's ill. I don't know what's the
matter with her. I think she must have
taken something."
Evelyn was quick, decisive.
240
"All right, Tim. 141 come. You go back
to her. I'll be with you in a moment.33
Tim Kendal disappeared. Evelyn slipped
out of bed, threw on a dressing-gown and
looked across at the other bed. Her husband, it seemed, had not been awakened.
He lay there, his head turned away, breathing quietly. Evelyn hesitated for a
moment, then decided not to disturb him.
She went out of the door and walked
rapidly to the main building and beyond it
to the Kendals' bungalow. She caught up
with Tim in the doorway.
Molly lay in bed. Her eyes were closed
and her breathing was clearly not natural.
Evelyn bent over her, rolled up an eyelid, felt her pulse and then looked at the bedside
table. There was a glass there which
had been used. Beside it was an empty
phial of tablets. She picked it up.
"They were her sleeping pills,35 said
Tim, "but that bottle was half full yesterday
or the day before. I think she -- must
have taken the lot.35
"Go and get Dr. Graham,35 said Evelyn, "and on the way knock them up and tell
them to make strong coffee. Strong as
possible. Hurry.33
241
Tim dashed off. Just outside the doorway
he collided with Edward Hillingdon.
"Oh, sorry, Edward."
"What's happening here?" demanded
Hillingdon. "What's going on ?"
"It's Molly. Evelyn's with her. I must
get hold of the doctor. I suppose I ought've
gone to him first but I — I wasn't sure and
I thought Evelyn would know. Molly
would have hated it if I'd fetched a doctor
when it wasn't necessary.33
He went off, running. Edward Hillingdon
looked after him for a moment and
then he walked into the bedroom.
"What's happening?" he said. "Is it
serious ?"
"Oh, there you are, Edward. I wondered
if you'd woken up. This silly child has been
taking things."
"Is it bad ?"
"One can't tell without knowing how
much she's taken. I shouldn't think it was
too bad if we get going in time. I've sent
for coffee. If we can get some of that down
her — "
"But why should she do such a thing?
You don't think — " He stopped.
"What don't I think ?" asked Evelyn.
242
"You don't think it's because of the
inquiry -- the police -- all that ?"
"It's possible, of course. That sort of
thing could be very alarming to a nervous type.59
"Molly never used to seem a nervous
type."
"One can't really tell," said Evelyn. "It's
the most unlikely people sometimes who
lose their nerve."
"Yes, I remember.. ."Again he stopped.
"The truth is," said Evelyn, "that one
doesn't really know anything about anybody."
She added, "Not even the people
who are nearest to you..."
"Isn't that going a little too far, Evelyn
-- exaggerating too much ?"
"I don't think it is. When you think of
people, it is in the image you have made of
them for yourself."
"I know you," said Edward Hillingdon
quietly.
"You think you do."
"No. I'm sure." He added, "And you're
sure of me."
Evelyn looked at him then turned back
to the bed. She took Molly by the shoulders
and shook her.
243
"We ought to be doing something, but I
suppose it's better to wait until Dr. Graham comes -- Oh, I think I hear
them.35
II
"She'll do now." Dr. Graham stepped
back, wiped his forehead with a handkerchief
and breathed a sigh of relief.
"You think she'll be all right, sir ?" Tim
demanded anxiously.
"Yes, yes. We got to her in good time.
Anyway, she probably didn't take enough
to kill her. A couple of days and she'll be
as right as rain but she'll have a rather
nasty day or two first." He picked up the
empty bottle. "Who gave her these things
anyway ?"
"A doctor in New York. She wasn't
sleeping well."
"Well, well. I know all we medicos hand
these things out freely nowadays. Nobody
tells young women who can't sleep to count
sheep, or get up and eat a biscuit, or write
a couple of letters and then go back to bed.
Instant remedies, that's what people demand
nowadays. Sometimes I think it's a
pity we give them to them. You've got to
244
learn to put up with things in life. All very
well to stuff a comforter into a baby's
mouth to stop it crying. Can't go on doing
that all a person's life." He gave a small
chuckle. "I bet you, if you asked Miss
Marple what she does if she can't sleep, she'd tell you she counted sheep going
under a gate." He turned back to the bed
where Molly was stirring. Her eyes were
open now. She looked at them without
interest or recognition. Dr. Graham took
her hand.
"Well, well, my dear, and what have you
been doing to yourself?"
She blinked but did not reply.
"Why did you do it, Molly, why ? Tell
me why ?" Tim took her other hand.
Still her eyes did not move. If they rested
on anyone it was on Evelyn Hillingdon.
There might have been even a faint
question in them but it was hard to tell.
Evelyn spoke as though there had been the
question.
"Tim came and fetched me," she said.
Her eyes went to Tim, then shifted to
Dr. Graham.
"You're going to be all right now," said Dr. Graham, "but don't do it again."
245
"She didn't mean to do it," said Tim
quietly. "I'm sure she didn't mean to do
it. She just wanted a good night's rest.
Perhaps the pills didn't work at first and so
she took more of them. Is that it, Molly ?"
Her head moved very faintly in a negative
motion.
"You mean--you took them on purpose
?" said Tim.
Molly spoke then. "Yes,39 she said.
"But why, Molly, why r9
The eyelids faltered. "Afraid.w The
word was just heard.
"Afraid ? Of what ?"
But her eyelids closed down.
"Better let her be," said Dr. Graham.
Tim spoke impetuously.
"Afraid of what ? The police ? Because
they've been hounding you, asking you
questions ? I don't wonder. Anyone might
feel frightened. But it's just their way, that's all. Nobody thinks for one moment
-- " he broke off.
Dr. Graham made him a decisive gesture.

"I want to go to sleep," said Molly.
"The best thing for you,'5 said Dr. Graham.
246
He moved to the door and the others
followed him.
"She'll sleep all right,35 said Graham.
"Is there anything I ought to do ?" asked
Tim. He had the usual, slightly apprehensive
attitude of a man in illness.
"I'll stay if you like," said Evelyn
kindly.
"Oh no. No, that's quite all right," said
Tim.
Evelyn went back towards the bed.
"Shall I stay with you, Molly ?"
Molly's eyes opened again. She said, "No," and then after a pause, "just
Tim."
Tim came back and sat down by the
bed.
"I'm here, Molly," he said and took her
hand.
"Just go to sleep. I won't leave you."
She sighed faintly and her eyes closed.
The doctor paused outside the bungalow
and the Hillingdons stood with him.
"You're sure there's nothing more I can
do ?" asked Evelyn.
"I don't think so, thank you, Mrs. Hillingdon.
She'll be better with her husband
now. But possibly tomorrow--after all,
247
he's got this hotel to run -- I think someone
should be with her."
"D'you think she might--try again?" asked Hillingdon.
Graham rubbed his forehead irritably.
"One never knows in these cases. Actually, it's most unlikely. As you've seen for
yourselves, the restorative treatment is
extremely unpleasant. But of course one
can never be absolutely certain. She may
have more of this stuff hidden away somewhere.M
cc!
should never have thought of suicide
in connection with a girl like Molly," said
Hillingdon.
Graham said dryly, "It's not the people
who are always talking of killing themselves, threatening to do so, who do it.
They dramatise themselves that way and let
off steam.35
"Molly always seemed such a happy girl.
I think perhaps" -- Evelyn hesitated -- "I
ought to tell you. Dr. Graham."
She told him then about her interview
with Molly on the beach the night that
Victoria had been killed. Graham's face
was very grave when she had finished.
"I'm glad you've told me, Mrs. Hilling248
don. There are very definite indications
there of some kind of deep-rooted trouble.
Yes. I'll have a word with her husband in
the morning.53
Ill
"I want to talk to you seriously, Kendal, about your wife.33
They were sitting in Tim's office. Evelyn
Hillingdon had taken his place by Molly's
bedside and Lucky had promised to come
and, as she expressed it, "spell her33 later.
Miss Marple had also offered her services.
Poor Tim was torn between his hotel commitments
and his wife's condition.
cc! can't understand it,33 said Tim, cc! can't understand Molly any longer. She's
changed. Changed out of all seeming.33
"I understand she's been having bad
dreams ?33
"Yes. Yes, she complained about them a
good deal.33
"For how long ?33
"Oh, I don't know. About -- oh I suppose
a month -- perhaps longer. She -- we
--thought they were just well, nightmares,
you know.33
"Yes, yes, I quite understand. But what's
CM17	249
a much more serious sign is the fact that
she seems to have felt afraid of someone.
Did she complain about that to you ?"
"Well, yes. She said once or twice that --
oh, people were following her.3'
"Ah! Spying on her?55
"Yes, she did use that term once. She
said they were her enemies and they'd
followed her here.35
"Did she have enemies, Mr. Kendal ?55
"No. Of course she didn't."
"No incident in England, anything you
know about before you were married ?55
"Oh no, nothing of that kind. She
didn't get on with her family very well,
that was all. Her mother was rather an
eccentric woman, difficult to live with perhaps, but. ..55
"Any signs of mental instability in her
family ?55
Tim opened his mouth inpulsively, then
shut it again. He pushed a fountain pen
about on the desk in front of him.
The doctor said:
"I must stress the fact that it would
be better to tell me, Tim, if that is the
case."
"Well, yes, I believe so. Nothing serious,
250
but I believe there was an aunt or something
who was a bit batty. But that's
nothing. I mean--well you get that in
almost any family."
"Oh yes, yes, that's quite true. I'm not
trying to alarm you about that, but it just
» might show a tendency to -- well to break
I down or imagine things if any stress arose."
| "I don't really know very much," said
Tim. "After all, people don't pour out all
their family histories to you, do they ?"
"No, no. Quite so. She had no former
friend--she was not engaged to anyone, anyone who might have threatened her or
made jealous threats ? That sort of thing ?"
cc! don't know. I don't think so. Molly was engaged to some other man before I
came along. Her parents were very against
it, I understand, and I think she really
stuck to the chap more out of opposition
and defiance than anything else.5' He gave
a sudden half-grin. "You know what it is
when you're young. If people cut up a fuss
it makes you much keener on whoever it
is."
Dr. Graham smiled too. "Ah yes, one
often sees that. One should never take
exception to one's children's objectionable
251
friends. Usually they grow out of them
naturally. This man, whoever he was, didn't make threats of any kind against
Molly ?"
^o, I'm sure he didn't. She would have
told me. She said herself she just had a
silly adolescent craze on him, mainly
because he had such a bad reputation."
Tes, yes. Well, that doesn't sound
serious. Now there's another thing. Apparrently
your wife has had what she describes
as blackouts. Brief passages of time during
which she can't account for her actions.
Did you know about that, Tim ?"
"No," said Tim slowly, ^o. I didn't.
She never told me. I did notice, you know, now you mention it, that she seemed rather
vague sometimes and . . ."He paused, thinking. ^Yes, that explains it. I couldn't
understand how she seemed to have forgotten
the simplest things, or sometimes
not to seem to know what time of day it
was. I just thought she was absentminded,
I suppose."
'What it amounts to, Tim, is just this.
I advise you most strongly to take your
wife to see a good specialist."
Tim flushed angrily.
252
"You mean a mental specialist, I suppose
?"
"Now, now, don't be upset by labels. A
neurologist, a psychologist, someone who
specialises in what the layman call nervous
breakdowns. There's a good man in Kingston.
Or there's New York of course. There
is something that is causing these nervous
terrors of your wife's. Something perhaps
for which she hardly knows the reason herself.
Get advice about her, Tim. Get advice
as soon as possible."
He put his hand on the young man's
shoulder and got up.
there's no immediate worry. Your
wife has good friends and we'll all be keeping
an eye on her.35
"She won't -- you don't think she'll try
it again ?"
"I think it most unlikely," said Dr.
Graham.
"You can't be sure," said Tim.
"One can never be sure," said Dr. Graham, "that's one of the first things you learn in my profession." Again he laid a
hand on Tim's shoulder. "Don't worry too
much."
"That's easy to say," said Tim as the
253
doctor went out of the door. "Don't
worry, indeed! What does he think I'm
made of?"
254
21
JACKSON ON COSMETICS
"^T^OU'RE sure you don't mind, Miss Y Marple ?" said Evelyn Hillingdon. JL "No, indeed, my dear," said
Miss Marple. "I'm only too delighted to be
of use in any way. At my age, you know, one feels very useless in the world. Especially
when I am in a place like this, just
enjoying myself. No duties of any kind.
No, I'll be delighted to sit with Molly. You
go along on your expedition. Pelican Point, wasn't it?"
"Yes," said Evelyn. "Both Edward and I
love it. I never get tired of seeing the birds
diving down, catching up the fish. Tim's
with Molly now. But he's got things to do
and he doesn't seem to like her being left
alone."
"He's quite right,53 said Miss Marple.
"I wouldn't in his place. One never knows, does one ? when anyone has attempted anything
of that kind -- Well, go along, my
dear."
255
Evelyn went off to join a little group that
was waiting for her. Her husband, the
Dysons and three or four other people.
Miss Marple checked her knitting requirements, saw that she had all she wanted with
her, and walked over towards the Kendals'
bungalow.
As she came up on to the loggia she
heard Tim's voice through the half-open
french window.
"If you'd only tell me why you did it, Molly. What made you ? Was it anything
I did? There must be some reason. If
you'd only tell me."
Miss Marple paused. There was a little
pause inside before Molly spoke. Her
voice was flat and tired.
cc! don't know, Tim, I really don't
know. I suppose--something came over
me.33
Miss Marple tapped on the window and
walked in.
"Oh there you are. Miss Marple. It is
very good of you.n
"Not at all,33 said Miss Marple. "I'm
delighted to be of any help. Shall I sit here
in this chair ? You're looking much better, Molly. I'm so glad.53
256
"I'm all right,33 said Molly. "Quite all
right. Just -- oh, just sleepy."
cc! shan't talk," said Miss Marple. '"You
just lie quiet and rest. I'll get on with my
knitting."
Tim Kendal threw her a grateful glance
and went out. Miss Marple established
herself in her chair.
Molly was lying on her left side. She had
a half-stupefied, exhausted look. She said
in a voice that was almost a whisper:
^It's very kind of you. Miss Marple. I --
I think I'll go to sleep."
She half turned away on her pillows and
closed her eyes. Her breathing grew more
regular though it was still far from normal.
Long experience of nursing made Miss
Marple almost automatically straighten the
sheet and tuck it under the mattress on
her side of the bed. As she did so her hand
encountered something hard and rectangular
under the mattress. Rather surprised
she took hold of this and pulled it out. It
was a book. Miss Marple threw a quick
glance at the girl in the bed, but she lay
there utterly quiescent. She was evidently
asleep. Miss Marple opened the book. It
was, she saw, a current work on nervous
257
diseases. It came open naturally at a certain
place which gave a description of the onset
of persecution mania and various other
manifestations of schizophrenia and allied
complaints.
It was not a highly technical book, but
one that could be easily understood by a
layman. Miss Marple's face grew very
grave as she read. After a minute or two
she closed the book and stayed thinking.
Then she bent forward and with some care
replaced the book where she had found it,
under the mattress.
She shook her head in some perplexity.
Noiselessly she rose from her chair. She
walked the few steps towards the window,
then turned her head sharply over her
shoulder. Molly's eyes were open but even
as Miss Marple turned the eyes shut again.
For a minute or two Miss Marple was not
quite certain whether she might not have
imagined that quick, sharp glance. Was
Molly then only pretending to be asleep ?
That might be natural enough. She might
feel that Miss Marple would start talking
to her if she showed herself awake. Yes,
that could be all it was.
Was she reading into that glance of
258
Molly's a kind ofslyness that was somehow
innately disagreeable? One doesn't know, Miss Marple thought to herself, one really
doesn't know.
She decided that she would try to manage
a little talk with Dr. Graham as soon as
it could be managed. She came back to her
chair by the bed. She decided after about
five minutes or so that Molly was really
asleep. No one could have lain so still,
could have breathed so evenly. Miss Marple
got up again. She was wearing her plimsolls
today. Not perhaps very elegant, but
admirably suited to this climate and comfortable
and roomy for the feet.
She moved gently round the bedroom, pausing at both of the windows, which gave
out in two different directions.
The hotel grounds seemed quiet and
deserted. Miss Marple came back and was
standing a little uncertainly before regaining
her seat, when she thought she heard a
faint sound outside. Like the scrape of a
shoe on the loggia? She hesitated a
moment then she went to the window,
pushed it a little farther open, stepped out
and turned her head back into the room as
she spoke.
259
cc! shall be gone only a very short time, dear,55 she said, "just back to my bungalow, to see where I could possibly have put that
pattern. I was so sure I had brought it with
me. You'll be quite all right till I come
back, won't you ?" Then turning her head
back, she nodded to herself. "Asleep, poor
child. A good thing."
She went quietly along the loggia, down
the steps and turned sharp right to the path
there. Passing along between the screen of
some hibiscus bushes an observer might
have been curious to see that Miss Marple
veered sharply on to the flower-bed, passed round to the back of the bungalow
and entered it again through the second
door there. This led directly into a small
room that Tim sometimes used as an
unofficial office and from that into the
sitting-room.
Here there were wide curtains semidrawn
to keep the room cool. Miss Marple
slipped behind one of them. Then she
waited. From the window here she had a
good view of anyone who approached
Molly's bedroom. It was some few minutes, four or five, before she saw anything.

260
The neat figure of Jackson in his white
uniform went up the steps of the loggia.
He paused for a minute at the balcony
there, and then appeared to be giving a
tiny discreet tap on the door of the window
that was ajar. There was no response that
Miss Marple could hear. Jackson looked
around him, a quick furtive glance, then he
slipped inside the open doors. Miss Marple
moved to the door which led directly into
the bedroom. She did not go through it but
applied her eye to the hinge.
Jackson had walked into the room. He
approached the bed and looked down for a
minute on the sleeping girl. Then he
turned away and walked not to the sittingroom
door but to the far door which led
into the adjoining bathroom. Miss Marpie's
eyebrows rose in slight surprise. She
reflected a minute or two, then walked out
into the passageway and into the bathroom
by the other door.
Jackson spun round from examining the
shelf over the wash-basin. He looked taken
aback, which was not surprising.
"Oh,35 he said,cc! — I didn't.. .5?
"Mr. Jackson,n said Miss Marple, in
great surprise.
261
"I thought you would be here somewhere,"
said Jackson.
"Did you want anything?" inquired
Miss Marple.
"Actually," said Jackson, "I was just
looking at Mrs. KendaTs brand of face
cream."
Miss Marple appreciated the fact that
as Jackson was standing with a jar of face
cream in his hand he had bene adroit in
mentioning the fact at once.
"Nice smell," he said, wrinkling up his
nose. "Fairly good stuff, as these preparations
go. The cheaper brands don't suit
every skin. Bring it out in a rash as likely
as not. The same thing with face powders
sometimes."
"You seem to be very knowledgeable on
the subject," said Miss Marple.
"Worked in the pharmaceutical line for
a bit," said Jackson. "One learns to know a
good deal about cosmetics there. Put stuff
in a fancy jar, package it expensively, and
it's astonishing what you could rook
women for."
"Is that what you -- ?" Miss Marple
broke off deliberately.
"Well no, I didn't come in here
262
to talk about cosmetics," Jackson agreed.
You've not had much time to think up
a lie," thought Miss Marple to herself.
"Let's see what you'll come out with."
"Matter of fact," said Jackson, "Mrs.
Walters lent her lipstick to Mrs. Kendal
the other day. I came in to get it back for
her. I tapped on the window and then I
saw Mrs. Kendal was fast asleep, so I
thought it would be quite all right if I just
walked across into the bathroom and looked
for it."
"I see," said Miss Marple. "And did you
find it ?"
Jackson shook his head. "Probably in
one of her handbags," he said lightly. "I
won't bother. Mrs. Walters didn't make a
point of it. She only just mentioned it
casually." He went on, surveying the toilet
preparations: "Doesn't have very much,
does she ? Ah well, doesn't need it at her
age. Good natural skin."
"You must look at women with quite a
different eye from ordinary men," said
Miss Marple, smiling pleasantly.
"Yes. I suppose various jobs do alter
one's angle."
"You know a good deal about drugs ?"
263
"Oh yes. Good working acquaintance
with them. If you ask me, there are too
many of them about nowadays. Too many
tranquillisers and pep pills and miracle
drugs and all the rest of it. All right if
they're given on prescription, but there
are too many of them you can get without
prescription. Some of them can be
dangerous."
"I suppose so/3 said Miss Marple.
"Yes, I suppose so."
"They have a great effect, you know, on
behaviour. A lot of this teenage hysteria
you get from time to time. It's not natural
causes. The kids've been taking things.
Oh, there's nothing new about it. It's
been known for ages. Out in the East —
not that I've ever been there—all sorts
of funny things used to happen. You'd
be surprised at some of the things women
gave their husbands. In India, for example,
in the bad old days, a young wife who
married an old husband. Didn't want to
get rid of him, I suppose, because she'd
have been burnt on the funeral pyre, or
if she wasn't burnt she'd have been treated
as an outcast by the family. No catch to
have been a widow in India in those days.
264
But she could keep an elderly husband
under drugs, make him semi-imbecile, give him hallucinations, drive him more or
less off his head.35 He shook his head.
"Yes, lot of dirty work."
He went on: "And witches, you know.
There's a lot of interesting things known
now about witches. Why did they always
confess, why did they admit so readily
that they were witches, that they had flown
on broomsticks to the Witches' Sabbath."
"Torture,33 said Miss Marple.
"Not always,35 said Jackson. "Oh yes, torture accounted for a lot of it, but they
came out with some of those confessions
almost before torture was mentioned. They
didn't so much confess as boast about it.
Well, they rubbed themselves with ointments, you know. Anointing they used to
call it. Some of the preparations, beladonna,
atropine, all that sort of thing, if you rub
them on the skin they give you hallucinations
of levitation, of flying through the
air. They thought it all was genuine, poor
devils. And look at the Assassins --
medieval people, out in Syria, the Lebanon, somewhere like that. They fed them
Indian hemp, gave them hallucinations of
CM18	265
paradise and houris, and endless time. They
were told that that was what would happen
to them after death, but to attain it they
had to go and do a ritual killing. Oh, I'm
not putting it in fancy language, but that's
what it came to."
"What it came to," said Miss Marple, "is in essence the fact that people are
highly credulous."
"Well yes, I suppose you could put it
like that."
"They believe what they are told,"
said Miss Marple. "Yes indeed, we're all
inclined to do that," she added. Then
she said sharply. "Who told you these
stories about India, about the doping of
husbands with datura," and she added
sharply, before he could answer, "Was it
Major Palgrave ?"
Jackson looked slightly surprised.
"Well -- yes, as a matter of fact, it was. He
told me a lot of stories like that. Of course
most of it must have been before his time, but he seemed to know all about it."
"Major Palgrave was under the impression
that he knew a lot about everything,"
said Miss Marple. "He was often
inaccurate in what he told people." She
266
shook her head thoughtfully. "Major
Palgrave," she said, "has a lot to answer
for."
There was a slight sound from the
adjoining bedroom. Miss Marple turned
her head sharply. She went quickly out
of the bathroom into the bedroom. Lucky
Dyson was standing just inside the window.
"I—oh! I didn't think you were here,
Miss Marple."
"I just stepped into the bathroom for a
moment," said Miss Marple, with dignity
and a faint air of Victorian reserve.
In the bathroom, Jackson grinned
broadly. Victorian modesty always amused
him.
"I just wondered if you'd like me to sit
with Molly for a bit," said Lucky. She
looked over towards the bed. "She's
asleep, isn't she ?"
"I think so," said Miss Marple. "But
it's really quite all right. You go and
amuse yourself, my dear. I thought you'd
gone on that expedition ?"
"I was going," said Lucky, "but I had
such a filthy headache that at the last
moment I cried off. So I thought I might
as well make myself useful."
267
"That was very nice of you,35 said Miss
Marple. She reseated herself by the bed
and resumed her knitting, "but I'm quite
happy here."
Lucky hesitated for a moment or two
and then turned away and went out.
Miss Marple waited a moment then
tiptoed back into the bathroom, but
Jackson had departed, no doubt through
the other door. Miss Marple picked up the
jar of face cream he had been holding,
and slipped it into her pocket.
268
22
A MAN IN HER LIFE
GETTING a little chat in a natural
manner with Dr. Graham was not
so easy as Miss Marple had hoped.
She was particularly anxious not to
approach him directly since she did not
want to lend undue importance to the
questions she was going to ask him.
Tim was back, looking after Molly
and Miss Marple had arranged that she
should relieve him there during the time
that dinner was served and he was needed
in the dining-room. He had assured her
that Mrs. Dyson was quite willing to
take that on, or even Mrs. Hillingdon, but
Miss Marple said firmly that they were
both young women who liked enjoying
themselves and that she herself preferred
a light meal early and so that would suit
everybody. Tim once again thanked her
warmly. Hovering rather uncertainly round
the hotel and on the pathway which
269
connected with various bungalows, among
them Dr. Graham's, Miss Marple tried
to plan what she was going to do next.
She had a lot of confused and contradictory
ideas in her head and if there was one
thing that Miss Marple did not like, it was
to have confused and contradictory ideas.
This whole business had started out clearly
enough. Major Palgrave with his regrettable
capacity for telling stories, his indiscretion
that had obviously been overheard and the
corollary, his death within twenty-four
hours. Nothing difficult about that, thought Miss Marple.
But afterwards, she was forced to admit, there was nothing but difficulty. Everything
pointed in too many different
directions at once. Once admit that you
didn't believe a word that anybody had
said to you, that nobody could be trusted, and that many of the persons with whom
she had conversed here had had regrettable
resemblances to certain persons at St.
Mary Mead, and where did that lead you ?
Her mind was increasingly focused on
the victim. Someone was going to be
killed and she had the increasing feeling
that she ought to know quite well who that
270
someone was. There had been something. Something she had heard? Noticed?
Seen?
Something someone had told her that had
a bearing on the case. Joan Prescott?
Joan Prescott had said a lot of things
about a lot of people. Scandal ? Gossip ?
What exactly had Joan Prescott said ?
Gregory Dyson, Lucky -- Miss Marple's
mind hovered over Lucky. Lucky, she was
convinced with a certainty born of her
natural suspicions, had been actively
concerned in the death of Gregory
Dyson's first wife. Everything pointed to
it. Could it be that the predestined victim
over whom she was worrying was Gregory
Dyson? That Lucky intended to try her
luck again with another husband, and for
that reason wanted not only freedom but
the handsome inheritance that she would
get as Gregory Dyson's widow ?
"But really," said Miss Marple to herself, "this is all pure conjecture. I'm being
stupid. I know I'm being stupid. The
truth must be quite plain, if one could just
clear away the litter. Too much litter, that's what's the matter."
Talking to yourself?35 said Mr. Rafiel.
271
Miss Marple jumped. She had not
noticed his approach. Esther Walters was
supporting him and he was coming slowly
down from his bungalow to the terrace.
"I really didn't notice you, Mr. Rafiel."
"Your lips were moving. What's become
of all this urgency of yours ?"
"It's still urgent," said Miss Marple,
"only I can't just see what must be perfectly
plain -- "
"I'm glad it's as simple as that -- Well, if you want any help, count on me."
He turned his head as Jackson approached
them along the path.
"So there you are, Jackson. Where the
devil have you been? Never about when
I want you."
"Sorry, Mr. Rafiel."
Dexterously he slipped his shoulder
under Mr. Panel's. "Down to the terrace, sir ?"
"You can take me to the bar," said Mr.
Rafiel. "All right, Esther, you can go now
and change into your evening togs. Meet
me on the terrace in half an hour."
He and Jackson went off together. Mrs.
Walters dropped into the chair by Miss
Marple. She rubbed her arm gently.
272
"He seems a very light weight,53 she
observed, "but at the moment my arm
feels quite numb. I haven't seen you this
afternoon at all. Miss Marple."
"No, I've been sitting with Molly
Kendal," Miss Marple explained. "She
seems really very much better."
"If you ask me there was never very
much wrong with her," said Esther
Walters.
Miss Marple raised her eyebrows.
Esther Walters's tone had been decidedly
dry.
"You mean—you think her suicide
attempt..."
"I don't think there was any suicide
attempt," said Esther Walters. "I don't
believe for a moment she took a real
overdose and I think Dr. Graham knows
that perfectly well."
"Now you interest me very much,"
said Miss Marple. "I wonder why you
say that?"
"Because I'm almost certain that it's
the case. Oh, it's a thing that happens
very often. It's a way, I suppose, of calling
attention to oneself," went on Esther
Walters.
273
"'You'll be sorry when I'm dead'?59
quoted Miss Marple.
'That sort of thing," agreed Esther
Walters, "though I don't think that was the
motive in this particular instance. That's
the sort of thing you feel like when your
husband's playing you up and yet you're
still terribly fond of him."
"You don't think Molly Kendal is fond
of her husband?"
"Well," said Esther Walters, "do you ?"
Miss Marple considered. "I have,"
she said, "more or less assumed it." She
paused a moment before adding, "perhaps
wrongly."
Esther was smiling her rather wry smile.
"I've heard a little about her, you know.
About the whole business."
"From Miss Prescott ?"
"Oh," said Esther, "from one or two
people. There's a man in the case. Someone
she was keen on. Her people were dead
against him."
"Yes," said Miss Marple, "I did hear
that."
"And then she married Tim. Perhaps she
was fond of him in a way. But the other
man didn't give up. I've wondered once or
274
twice if he didn't actually follow her out
here."
"Indeed. But -- who ?"
"I've no idea who," said Esther, "and
I should imagine that they've been very
careful."
"You think she cares for this other
man ?"
Esther shrugged her shoulders. "I dare
say he's a bad lot," she said, "but that's
very often the kind who knows how to
get under a woman's skin and stay there."
"You never heard what kind of a man --
what he did -- anything like that ?"
Esther shook her head. "No. People
hazard guesses, but you can't go by that
type of thing. He may have been a married
man. That may have been why her people
disliked it, or he may have been a real
bad lot. Perhaps he drank. Perhaps he
tangled with the law -- I don't know. But
she cares for him still. That I know
positively."
"You've seen something, heard something
?" Miss Marple hazarded.
"I know what I'm talking about," said
Esther. Her voice was harsh and unfriendly.

275
"These murders --" began Miss
Marple.
"Can't you forget murders?" said
Esther. "You've got Mr. Rafiel now all
tangled up in them. Can't you just--let
them be ? You'll never find out any more, I'm sure of that."
Miss Marple looked at her.
"You think you know, don't you ?" she
said.
"I think I do, yes. I'm fairly sure."
"Then oughtn't you to tell what you
know -- do something about it ?"
"Why should I? What good would it
do ? I couldn't prove anything. What would
happen anyway ? People get let off nowadays
so easily. They call it diminished
responsibility and things like that. A
few years in prison and you're out again,
as right as rain."
"Supposing, because you don't tell
what you know, somebody else gets
killed -- another victim ?"
Esther shook her head with confidence.
"That won't happen," she said.
"You can't be sure of it."
"I am sure. And in any case I don't see
who --" She frowned. "Anyway," she
276
added, almost inconsequently, "perhaps
it is--diminished responsibility. Perhaps
you can't help it -- not if you are really
mentally unbalanced. Oh, I don't know.
By far the best thing would be if she went
off with whoever it is, then we could all
forget about things."
She glanced at her watch, gave an
exclamation of dismay and got up.
cc! must go and change.55
Miss Marple sat looking after her. Pronouns, she thought, were always puzzling
and women like Esther Walters were
particularly prone to strew them about
haphazard. Was Esther Walters for some
reason convinced that a woman had been
responsible for the deaths of Major
Palgrave and Victoria ? It sounded like it.
Miss Marple considered.
"Ah, Miss Marple, sitting here all
alone -- and not even knitting ?"
It was Dr. Graham for whom she had
sought so long and so unsuccessfully.
And here he was prepared of his own
accord to sit down for a few minutes'
chat. He wouldn't stay long. Miss Marple
thought, because he too was bent on
changing for dinner, and he usually
277
dined fairly early. She explained that she
had been sitting by Molly Kendal's bedside
that afternoon.
"One can hardly believe she has made
such a good recovery so quickly," she
said.
"Oh well," said Dr. Graham, "it's not
very surprising. She didn't take a very
heavy overdose, you know."
"Oh, I understood she'd taken quite a
half-bottle full of tablets."
Dr. Graham was smiling indulgently.
"No," he said, "I don't think she took
that amount. I dare say she meant to take
them, then probably at the last moment
she threw half of them away. People, even
when they think they want to commit
suicide, often don't really want to do it.
They manage not to take a full overdose.
It's not always deliberate deceit, it's just
the subconscious looking after itself."
"Or, I suppose it might be deliberate.
I mean, wanting it to appear that ..."
Miss Marple paused.
"It's possible," said Dr. Graham.
"If she and Tim had had a row, for
instance ?"
"They don't have rows, you know. They
278
seem very fond of each other. Still, I
suppose it can always happen once. No, I don't think there's very much wrong
with her now. She could really get up and
go about as usual. Still, it's safer to keep
her where she is for a day or two -- "
He got up, nodded cheerfully and went
off towards the hotel. Miss Marple sat
where she was a little while longer.
Various thoughts passed through her
mind -- The book under Molly's mattress
-- The way Molly had feigned sleep --
Things Joan Prescott and, later Esther
Walters, had said...
And then she went back to the beginning
of it all -- to Major Palgrave --
Something struggled in her mind. Something
about Major Palgrave --
Something that if she could only remember--

279
23
THE LAST DAY
cc A^D the evening and the morning
^\ were the last day^ said Miss jL A Marple to herself.
Then, slightly confused, she sat upright
again in her chair. She had dozed off, an
incredible thing to do because the steel
band was playing and anyone who could
doze off during the steel band--Well, it showed, thought Miss Marple, that she
was getting used to this place! What was
it she had been saying? Some quotation
that she'd got wrong. Last day? First day. That's what it ought to be. This
wasn't the first day. Presumably it wasn't
the last day either.
She sat upright again. The fact was that
she was extremely tired. All this anxiety,
this feeling of having been shamefully
inadequate in some way . . . She remembered
unpleasantly once more that queer
sly look that Molly had given her from
280
FR1;under her half-closed eyelids. What had
been going on in that girl's head? How
different, thought Miss Marple, everything
had seemed at first. Tim Kendal and Molly, such a natural happy young couple. The
Hillingdons so pleasant, so well-bred, such
what is called "nice" people. The gay
hearty extrovert, Greg Dyson, and the
gay strident Lucky, talking nineteen to the
dozen, pleased with herself and the world
... A quartet of people getting on so well
together. Canon Prescott, that genial
kindly man. Joan Prescott, an acid streak
in her, but a very nice woman, and nice
women have to have their gossipy distractions.
They have to know what is going
on, to know when two and two make
four, and when it is possible to stretch
them to five! There was no harm in such
women. Their tongues wagged but they
were kind if you were in misfortune. Mr.
Rafiel, a personality, a man of character, a man that you would never by any chance
forget. But Miss Marple thought she knew
something else about Mr. Rafiel.
The doctors had often given him up, so he had said, but this time, she thought, they had been more certain in their
CM19	28l
pronouncements. Mr. Rafiel knew that his
days were numbered.
Knowing this with certainty, was there
any action he might have been likely to
take?
Miss Marple considered the question.
It might, she thought, be important.
What was it exactly he had said, his
voice a little too loud, a little too sure?
Miss Marple was very skilful in tones of
voice. She had done so much listening in
her life.
Mr. Rafiel had been telling her something
that wasn't true.
Miss Marple looked round her. The
night air, the soft fragrance of flowers,
the tables with their little lights, the
women with their pretty dresses, Evelyn
in a dark indigo and white print. Lucky
in a white sheath, her golden hair shining.
Everybody seemed gay and full of life
tonight. Even Tim Kendal was smiling.
He passed her table and said:
^Can't thank you enough for all you've
done. Molly's practically herself again.
The doc says she can get up tomorrow.M
Miss Marple smiled at him and said
that that was good hearing. She found it,
282
however, quite an effort to smile. Decidedly, she was tired...
She got up and walked slowly back to
her bungalow. She would have liked to
go on thinking, puzzling, trying to remember, trying to assemble various facts and
words and glances. But she wasn't able
to do it. The tired mind rebelled. It said "Sleep! You've got to go to sleep I"
Miss Marple undressed, got into bed,
read a few verses of the Thomas a Kempis
which she kept by her bed, then she turned
out the light. In the darkness she sent up a
prayer. One couldn't do everything oneself.
One had to have help. Nothing will
happen tonight," she murmured hopefully.

II
Miss Marple woke suddenly and sat up
in bed. Her heart was beating. She switched
on the light and looked at the little clock
by her bedside. Two a.m. Two a.m. and
outside activity of some kind was going
on. She got up, put on her dressing-gown
and slippers, and a woollen scarf round her
head and went out to reconnoitre. There
were people moving about with torches.
283
Among them she saw Canon Prescott and
went to him.
"What's happening ?"
"Oh, Miss Marple? It's Mrs. Kendal.
Her husband woke up, found she'd slipped
out of bed and gone out. We're looking for
her.35
He hurried on. Miss Marple walked
more slowly after him. Where had Molly
gone ? Why ? Had she planned this deliberately, planned to slip away as soon as the
guard on her was relaxed, and while her
husband was deep in sleep ? Miss Marple
thought it was probable. But why ? What
was the reason? Was there, as Esther
Walters had so strongly hinted, some other
man ? If so, who could that man be ? Or
was there some more sinister reason ?
Miss Marple walked on, looking around
her, peering under bushes. Then suddenly
she heard a faint call:
"Here... This way...w
The cry had come from some little
distance beyond the hotel grounds. It
must be, thought Miss Marple near the
creek of water that ran down to the sea.
She went in that direction as briskly as
she could.
284
There were not really so many searchers
as it had seemed to her at first. Most people
must still be asleep in their bungalows.
She saw a place on the creek bank where
there were people standing. Someone
pushed past her, almost knocking her down,
running in that direction. It was Tim
Kendal. A minute or two later she heard
his voice cry out:
"Molly! My God, Molly!53
It was a minute or two before Miss
Marple was able to join the little group.
It consisted of one of the Cuban waiters,
Evelyn Hillingdon, and two of the native
girls. They had parted to let Tim through.
Miss Marple arrived as he was bending
over to look.
"Molly . . .^ He slowly dropped on to
his knees. Miss Marple saw the girl's
body clearly, lying there in the creek, her
face below the level of the water, her
golden hair spread over the pale green
embroidered shawl that covered her
shoulders. With the leaves and rushes of
the creek, it seemed almost like a scene
from Hamlet with Molly as the dead
Ophelia...
As Tim stretched out a hand to touch
285
her, the quiet, common-sense Miss Marple
took charge and spoke sharply and
authoritatively.
'Don't move her, Mr. Kendal,33 she said.
"She mustn't be moved."
Tim turned a dazed face up to her.
"But -- I must -- it's Molly. I must.. ,33
Evelyn Hillingdon touched his shoulder.

"She's dead, Tim. I didn't move her,
but I did feel her pulse.33
"Dead?33 said Tim unbelievingly.
"Dead ? You mean she's -- drowned herself?33

"I'm afraid so. It looks like it.33
"But whyl" A great cry burst from the
young man. ^Why ? She was so happy this
evening. Talking about what we'd do
tomorrow. Why should this terrible death
wish come over her again. Why should she
steal away as she did -- rush out into the
night, come down here and drown herself.
What despair did she have--what
misery--why couldn't she tell me anything?33

"I don't know, my dear,33 said Evelyn
gently. "I don't know.33
Miss Marple said,
286
"Somebody had better get Dr. Graham.
And someone will have to telephone the
police."
"The police?33 Tim uttered a bitter
laugh. '"What good will they be ?"
"The police have to be notified in a case
of suicide," said Miss Marple.
Tim rose slowly to his feet.
"I'll get Graham," he said heavily.
"Perhaps — even now — he could — do
something."
He stumbled away in the direction of
the hotel.
Evelyn Hillingdon and Miss Marple
stood side by side looking down at the
dead girl.
Evelyn shook her head. "It's too late.
She's quite cold. She must have been dead
at least an hour — perhaps more. What a
tragedy it all is. Those two always seemed
so happy. I suppose she was always
unbalanced."
"No," said Miss Marple. "I don't think
she was unbalanced."
Evelyn looked at her curiously. "What do
you mean ?"
The moon had been behind a cloud,
but now it came out into the open. It
287
shone with a luminous silvery brightness
on Molly's outspread hair...
Miss Marple gave a sudden ejaculation.
She bent down, peering, then stretched
out her hand and touched the golden
head. She spoke to Evelyn Hillingdon,
and her voice sounded quite different.
cc! think,35 she said, "that we had better
make sure.33
Evelyn Hillingdon stared at her in
astonishment.
"But you yourself told Tim we mustn't
touch anything ?33
"I know. But the moon wasn't out. I
hadn't seen — "
Her finger pointed. Then, very gently,
she touched the blonde hair and parted it
so that the roots were exposed...
Evelyn gave a sharp ejaculation.
"Lucky r
And then after a moment she repeated:
"Not Molly... Lucky.3'
Miss Marple nodded. "Their hair was
of much the same colour — but hers, of
course, was dark at the roots because it
was dyed.33
"But she's wearing Molly's shawl ?33
"She admired it. I heard her say she
288
was going to get one like it. Evidently she
did."
"So that's why we were — deceived.. ."
Evelyn broke off as she met Miss
Marple's eyes watching her.
"Someone,33 said Miss Marple, "will
have to tell her husband.39
There was a moment's pause, then
Evelyn said:
"All right. I'll do it."
She turned and walked away through
the palm trees.
Miss Marple remained for a moment
motionless, then she turned her head
very slightly, and said:
"Yes, Colonel Hillingdon ?"
Edward Hillingdon came from the trees
behind her to stand by her side.
"You knew I was there ?"
"You cast a shadow," said Miss Marple.
They stood a moment in silence.
He said, more as though he were
speaking to himself:
"So, in the end, she played her luck
too far..."
"You are, I think, glad she is dead ?"
"And that shocks you ? Well, I will not
deny it. I am glad she is dead."
289
"Death is often a solution to problems."
Edward Hillingdon turned his head
slowly. Miss Marple met his eyes calmly
and steadfastly.
"If you think—" he took a sharp
step towards her.
There was a sudden menace in his tone.
Miss Marple said quietly:
"Your wife will be back with Mr. Dyson
in a moment. Or Mr. Kendal will be here
with Dr. Graham."
Edward Hillingdon relaxed. He turned
back to look down at the dead woman.
Miss Marple slipped away quietly.
Presently her pace quickened.
Just before reaching her own bungalow,
she paused. It was here that she had sat
that day talking to Major Palgrave. It was
here that he had fumbled in his wallet
looking for the snapshot of a murderer...
She remembered how he had looked up,
and how his face had gone purple and
red . . . "So ugly," as Senora de Caspearo
had said. "He has the Evil Eye."
The Evil Eye... Eye... Eye...
290
24
NEMESIS
WHATEVER the alarms and excursions
of the night, Mr. Rafiel
had not heard them.
He was fast asleep in bed, a faint thin
snore coming from his nostrils, when he
was taken by the shoulders and shaken
violently.
"Eh --- what -- what the devil's this ?"
"It's me," said Miss Marple, for once
ungrammatical, "though I should put it a
little more strongly than that. The Greeks, I believe, had a word for it. Nemesis, if I
am not wrong."
Mr. Rafiel raised himself on his pillows
as far as he could. He stared at her. Miss
Marple, standing there in the moonlight, her head encased in a fluffy scarf of pale
pink wool, looked as unlike a figure of
Nemesis as it was possible to imagine.
"So you're Nemesis, are you ?" said Mr.
Rafiel after a momentary pause.
291
"I hope to be -- with your help."
'Do you mind telling me quite plainly
what you're talking about like this in the
middle of the night."
"I think we may have to act quickly.
Very quickly. I have been foolish. Extremely
foolish. I ought to have known
from the very beginning what all this was
about. It was so simple."
"What was simple, and what are you
talking about ?"
"You slept through a good deal," said
Miss Marple. "A body was found. We
thought at first it was the body of Molly
Kendal. It wasn't, it was Lucky Dyson.
Drowned in the creek."
"Lucky, eh?" said Mr. Rafiel. "And
drowned? In the creek. Did she drown
herself or did somebody drown her ?"
"Somebody drowned her," said Miss
Marple.
"I see. At least I think I see. That's
what you mean by saying it's so simple, is it? Greg Dyson was always the first
possibility, and he's the right one. Is
that it? Is that what you're thinking?
And what you're afraid of is that he may
get away with it.
292
Miss Marple took a deep breath.
"Mr. Rafiel, will you trust me. We have
got to stop a murder being committed."
cc! thought you said it had been committed."

"That murder was committed in error.
Another murder may be committed any
moment now. There's no time to lose.
We must prevent it happening. We must
go at once."
"It's all very well to talk like that,"
said Mr. Panel. ^We, you say? What do you think I can do about it ? I can't even
walk without help. How can you and I
set about preventing a murder? You're
about a hundred and I'm a broken up
old crock."
cc! was thinking of Jackson," said Miss
Marple. "Jackson will do what you tell
him, won't he ?"
"He will indeed," said Mr. Rafiel,
"especially if I add that I'll make it worth
his while. Is that what you want ?"
"Yes. Tell him to come with me and tell
him to obey any orders I give him."
Mr. Rafiel looked at her for about six
seconds. Then he said:
"Done. I expect I'm taking the biggest
293
risk of my life. Well, it won't be the first
one." He raised his voice. "Jackson."
At the same time he picked up the electric
bell that lay beside his hand and pressed
the button.
Hardly thirty seconds passed before
Jackson appeared through the connecting
door to the adjoining room.
"You called and rang, sir? Anything
wrong?" He broke off, staring at Miss
Marple.
"Now Jackson, do as I tell you. You
will go with this lady. Miss Marple. You'll
go where she takes you and you'll do
exactly as she says. You'll obey every
order she gives you. Is that understood ?"
CCT __ 53
"/5 that understood ?"
"Yes, sir."
"And for doing that," said Mr. Rafiel,
"you won't be the loser. I'll make it worth
your while."
"Thank you, sir."
"Come along, Mr. Jackson," said Miss
Marple. She spoke over her shoulder to
Mr. Rafiel. "We'll tell Mrs. Walters to
come to you on our way. Get her to get
you out of bed and bring you along."
294
"Bring me along where ?"
"To the Kendals' bungalow," said
Miss Marple. cc! think Molly will be
coming back there."
II
Molly came up the path from the sea.
Her eyes stared fixedly ahead of her.
Occasionally, under her breath, she gave
a little whimper...
She went up the steps of the loggia,
paused a moment, then pushed open the
window and walked into the bedroom.
The lights were on, but the room itself
was empty. Molly went across to the bed
and sat down. She sat for some minutes,
now and again passing her hand over her
hand over her forehead and frowning.
Then, after a quick surreptitious glance
round, she slipped her hand under the
mattress and brought out the book that
was hidden there. She bent over it,
turning the pages to find what she wanted.
Then she raised her head as a sound
of running footsteps came from outside.
With a quick guilty movement she pushed
the book behind her back.
Tim Kendal, panting and out of breath,
295
came in, and uttered a great sigh of relief
at the sight of her.
"Thank God. Where have you been,
Molly? I've been searching everywhere
for you.33
"I went to the creek."
"You went — " he stopped.
"Yes. I went to the creek. But I couldn't
wait there. I couldn't. There was someone
in the water — and she was dead."
"You mean — Do you know I thought it
was you. I've only just found out it was
Lucky.35
"I didn't kill her. Really, Tim, I didn't
kill her. I'm sure I didn't. I mean — I'd
remember if I did, wouldn't I ?"
Tim sank slowly down on the end of the
bed.
"You didn't—Are you sure that— ?
No. No, of course you didn't!" He fairly
shouted the words. "Don't start thinking
like that, Molly. Lucky drowned herself.
Of course she drowned herself. Hillingdon
was through with her. She went and lay
down with her face in the water — "
"Lucky wouldn't do that. She'd never
do that. But / didn't kill her. I swear I
didn't."
296
"Darling, of course you didn't!9' He put
his arms round her but she pulled herself
away.
"I hate this place. It ought to be all
sunlight. It seemed to be all sunlight.
But it isn't. Instead there's a shadow — a
big black shadow . . . And I'm in it — and
I can't get out — "
Her voice had risen to a shout.
"Hush, Molly. For God's sake, hush!"
He went into the bathroom, came back
with a glass.
"Look. Drink this. It'll steady you."
"I — I can't drink anything. My teeth
are chattering so."
"Yes you can, darling. Sit down. Here,
on the bed." He put his arm round her.
He approached the glass to her lips.
"There you are now. Drink it."
A voice spoke from the window.
"Jackson," said Miss Marple clearly.
"Go over. Take that glass from him and
hold it tightly. Be careful. He's strong and
he may be pretty desperate."
There were certain points about Jackson.
He was a man of training, trained to obey
orders. He was a man with a great love
for money, and money had been promised
CM20 ^97
him by his employer, that employer being
a man of stature and authority. He was
also a man of extreme muscular development
heightened by his training. His not
to reason why, his but to do.
Swift as a flash he had crossed the room.
His hand went over the glass that Tim was
holding to Molly's lips, his other arm had
fastened round Tim. A quick flick of the
wrist and he had the glass. Tim turned
on him wildly, but Jackson held him
firmly.
"What the devil--let go of me. Let
go of me. Have you gone mad ? What are
you doing ?"
Tim struggled violently.
"Hold him, Jackson," said Miss Marple.
"What's going on? What's the matter
here ?"
Supported by Esther Walters, Mr. Rafiel came through the window.
"You ask what's the matter?" shouted
Tim. "Your man's gone mad, stark, staring mad, that's what's the matter.
Tell him to let go of me."
"No," said Miss Marple.
Mr. Rafiel turned to her.
"Speak up, Nemesis," he said. "We've
298
got to have chapter and verse of some
kind."
"I've been stupid and a fool," said Miss
Marple, "but I'm not being a fool now.
When the contents of that glass that he was
trying to make his wife drink, have been
analysed, I'll wager -- yes, I'll wager my
immortal soul that you'll find it's got a
lethal does of narcotic in it. It's the same
pattern, you see, the same pattern as in
Major Palgrave's story. A wife in a depressed
state, and she tries to do away
with herself, husband saves her in time.
Then the second time she succeeds. Yes, it's the right pattern. Major Palgrave
told me the story and he took out a snapshot
and then he looked up and saw -- "
"Over your right shoulder -- " continued
Mr. Rafiel.
"No," said Miss Marple, shaking her
head. "He didn't see anything over my
right shoulder."
"What are you talking about? You
told me..."
"I told you wrong. I was completely
wrong. I was stupid beyond belief. Major
Palgrave appeared to me to be looking
over my right shoulder, glaring, in fact,
299
at something — But he couldn't have seen
anything, because he was looking through
his left eye and his left eye was his glass
eye."
"I remember—he had a glass eye,"
said Mr. Rafiel. "I'd forgotten—or I
took it for granted. You mean he couldn't
see anything ?"
"Of course he could see," said Miss
Marple. "He could see all right, but he
could only see with one eye. The eye he
could see with was his right eye. And so,
you see, he must have been looking at
something or someone not to the right of
me but to the left of me."
"Was there anyone on the left of you ?"
"Yes," said Miss Marple. "Tim Kendal
and his wife were sitting not far off.
Sitting at a table just by a big hibiscus
bush. They were doing accounts there.
So you see the Major looked up. His
glass left eye was glaring over my shoulder,
but what he saw with his other eye was a
man sitting by a hibiscus bush and the
face was the same, only rather older, as
the face in the snapshot. Also by a hibiscus
bush. Tim Kendal had heard the story the
Major had been telling and he saw that the
300
Major had recognised him. So, of course,
he had to kill him. Later, he had to kill
the girl, Victoria, because she'd seen him
putting a bottle of tablets in the Major's
room. She didn't think anything of it at
first because of course it was quite natural
on various occasions for Tim Kendal to go
into the guests' bungalows. He might have
just been returning something to it that
had been left on a restaurant table. But
she thought about it and then she asked him
questions and so he had to get rid of her.
But this is the real murder, the murder
he's been planning all along. He's a wifekiller,
you see."
"What damned nonsense, what — " Tim
Kendal shouted.
There was a sudden cry, a wild angry
cry. Esther Walters detached herself from
Mr. Rafiel, almost flinging him down and
rushed across the room. She pulled vainly
at Jackson.
"Let go of him — let go of him. It's not
true. Not a word of it's true. Tim — Tim
darling, it's not true. You could never
kill anyone, I know you couldn't. I know
you wouldn't. It's that horrible girl you
married. She's been telling lies about you.
301
They're not true. None of them are true.
I believe in you. I love you and trust in
you. I'll never believe a word anyone
says. I'll -- "
Then Tim Kendal lost control of himself.

"For God's sake, you damned bitch," he said, "shut up, can't you ? D'you want
to get me hanged? Shut up, I tell you.
Shut that big, ugly mouth of yours."
"Poor silly creature," said Mr. Rafiel
softly. "So that's what's been going on, is it ?"
302
25
MISS MARPLE
USES HER IMAGINATION
"^(0 that's what had been going on?"
^^said Mr. Rafiel.
^J He and Miss Marple were sitting
together in a confidential manner.
"She'd been having an affair with Tim
Kendal had she ?"
"Hardly an affair, I imagine," said Miss
Marple, primly. "It was, I think, a romantic
attachment with the prospect of marriage
in the future."
"What — after his wife was dead ?"
"I don't think poor Esther Walters knew
that Molly was going to die,35 said Miss
Marple. "I just think she believed the
story Tim Kendal told her about Molly
having been in love with another man, and
the man having followed her here, and I
think she counted on Tim's getting a
divorce. I think it was all quite proper
and respectable. But she was very much
in love with him."
303
"Well, that's easily understood. He was
an attractive chap. But what made him
go for her — d'you know that too ?"
^You know, don't you?" said Miss
Marple.
"I dare say I've got a pretty fair idea,
but I don't know how you should know
about it. As far as that goes, I don't see
how Tim Kendal could know about
it."
"Well, I really think I could explain all
that with a little imagination, though it
would be simpler if you told me.33
"I'm not going to tell you," said Mr.
Rafiel. "You tell me, since you're being
so clever."
"Well, it seems to me possible," said
Miss Marple, "that as I have already hinted
to you, your man Jackson was in the
habit of taking a good snoop through your
various business papers from time to
time."
"Perfectly possible," said Mr. Rafiel,
"but I shouldn't have said there was
anything there that could do him much
good. I took care of that."
"I imagine," said Miss Marple, "he
read your will."
304
"Oh I see. Yes, yes, I did have a copy
of my will along."
'Toil told me," said Miss Marple,
"you told me—(as Humpty Dumpty
said—very loud and clear) that you
had not left anything to Esther Walters
in your will. You had impressed that
fact upon her, and also upon Jackson.
It was true in Jackson's case, I should
imagine. You have not left him anything,
but you had left Esther Walters money,
though you weren't going to let her have
any inkling of the fact. Isn't that right ?"
"Yes, it's quite right, but I don't know
how you knew."
"Well, it's the way you insisted on the
point," said Miss Marple. "I have a certain
experience of the way people tell lies."
"I give in," said Mr. Rafiel. "All right.
I left Esther 50 pounds ,000. It would come as a
nice surprise to her when I died. I suppose
that, knowing this, Tim Kendal decided
to exterminate his present wife with a nice
dose of something or other and marry
50,000 pounds and Esther Walters. Possibly
to dispose of her also in good time. But
how did he know she was going to have
50,000 pounds ?"
305
"Jackson told him, of course," said Miss
Marple. "They were very friendly, those
two. Tim Kendal was nice to Jackson and, quite, I should imagine, without ulterior
motive. But amongst the bits of gossip
that Jackson let slip I think Jackson told
him that unbeknown to herself, Esther
Walters was going to inherit a fat lot of
money, and he may have said that he himself
hoped to induce Esther Walters to
marry him though he hadn't had much
success so far in taking her fancy. Yes,
I think that's how it happened."
"The things you imagine always seem
perfectly plausible," said Mr. Rafiel.
"But I was stupid," said Miss Marple, "very stupid. Everything fitted in really, you see. Tm Kendal was a very clever
man as wel as being a very wicked one.
He was particularly good at putting about
rumours. Half the things I've been told
here came from him originally, I imagine.
There wers stories going around about
Molly waning to marry an undesirable
young mali but I rather fancy that the
undesirable young man was actually Tim
Kendal hixself, though that wasn't the
name he was using then. Her people had
306
heard something, perhaps that his background
was rather fishy. So he put on a
high indignation act, refused to be taken
by Molly to be 'shown off' to her people
and then he brewed up a little scheme with
her which they both thought great fun.
She pretended to sulk and pine for him.
Then a Mr. Tim Kendal turned up, primed with the names of various old
friends of Molly's people, and they welcomed
him with open arms as being the
sort of young man who would put the former
delinquent one out of Molly's head.
I am afraid Molly and he must have
laughed over it a good deal. Anyway, he
married her, and with her money he
bought out the people who ran this place
and they came out here. I should imagine
that he ran through her money at a pretty
fair rate. Then he came across Esther
Walters and he saw a nice prospect of more
money."
"Why didn't he bump me off?" said
Mr. Rafiel.
Miss Marple coughed.
"I expect he wanted to be fairly sure
of Mrs. Walters first. Besides -- I
mean..." She stopped, a little confused.
307
"Besides, he realised he wouldn't have
to wait long," said Mr. Rafiel, "and it
would clearly be better for me to die a
natural death. Being so rich. Deaths of
millionaires are scrutinised rather carefully, aren't they, unlike mere wives ?"
"Yes, you're quite right. Such a lot of
lies as he told," said Miss Marple. "Look
at the lies he got Molly herself to believe --
putting that book on mental disorders in
her way. Giving her drugs which would
give her dreams and hallucinations. You
know, your Jackson was rather clever
over that. I think he recognised certain of
Molly's symptoms as being the result of
drugs. And he came into the bungalow
that day to potter about a bit in the bathroom.
That face cream he examined. He
might have got some idea from the old
tales of witches rubbing themselves with
ointments that had belladonna in them.
Belladonna in face cream could have
produced just that result. Molly would have
black-outs. Times she couldn't account
for, dreams of flying through the air. No
wonder she got frightened about herself.
She had all the signs of mental illness, Jackson was on the right track. Maybe he
308
got the idea from Major Palgrave's stories
about the use of datura by Indian women
on their husbands."
"Major Palgrave!" said Mr. Rafiel.
"Really, that man!"
"He brought about his own murder,"
said Miss Marple, "and that poor girl
Victoria's murder, and he nearly brought
about Molly's murder. But he recognised
a murderer all right."
"What made you suddenly remember
about his glass eye?" asked Mr. Rafiel
curiously.
"Something that Senora de Caspearo
said. She talked some nonsense about his
being ugly, and having the Evil Eye; and
I said it was only a glass eye, and he
couldn't help that, poor man, and she said his
eyes looked different ways, they were crosseyes
—
which, of course, they were. And
she said it brought bad luck. I knew — I
knew that I had heard something that day
that was important. Last night, just after
Lucky's death, it came to me what it was!
And then I realised there was no time to
waste..."
"How did Tim Kendal come to kill the
wrong woman ?"
309
"Sheer chance. I think his plan was
this: Having convinced everybody -- and
that included Molly herself-- that she was
mentally unbalanced, and after giving her
a sizeable dose of the drug he was using, he told her that between them they were
going to clear up all these murder puzzles.
But she had got to help him. After everyone
was asleep, they would go separately
and meet at an agreed spot by the creek.
"He said he had a very good idea who
the murderer was, and they would trap
him. Molly went off obediently -- but
she was confused and stupefied with the
drug she had been given, and it slowed her
up. Tim arrived there first and saw what
he thought was Molly. Golden hair and
pale green shawl. He came up behind her, put his hand over her mouth, and forced
her down into the water and held her
there."
"Nice fellow! But wouldn't it have been
easier just to give her an overdose of
narcotic ?"
"Much easier, of course. But that might have given rise to suspicion. All narcotics
and sedatives had been carefully removed
from Molly's reach, remember. And if she
310
had got hold of a fresh supply, who more
likely to have supplied it than her husband ?
But if, in a fit of despair, she went out and
drowned herself whilst her innocent
husband slept, the whole thing would be a
romantic tragedy, and no one would be
likely to suggest that she had been drowned
deliberately. Besides," added Miss Marple, "murderers always find it difficult to keep
things simple. They can't keep themselves
from elaborating."
"You seem convinced you know all
there is to be known about murderers!
So you believe Tim didn't know he had
killed the wrong woman ?"
Miss Marple shook her head.
"He didn't even look at her face, just
hurried off as quickly as he could, let
an hour elapse, then started to organise a
search for her, playing the part of a distracted
husband."
"But what the devil was Lucky doing
hanging about the creek in the middle
of the night?"
Miss Marple gave an embarrassed little
cough.
"It is possible, I think, that she was --
er -- waiting to meet someone."
311
"Edward Hillingdon ?"
"Oh no^ said Miss Marple. "That's
all over. I wondered whether -- just possibly--she
might have been waiting for
Jackson."
"Waiting for Jackson ?"
"I've noticed her--look at him once
or twice,3' murmured Miss Marple, averting her eyes.
Mr. Rafiel whistled.
"My Torn Cat Jackson! I wouldn't put
it past him! Tim must have had a shock
later when he found he'd killed the wrong
woman."
"Yes, indeed. He must have felt quite
desperate. Here was Molly alive and
wandering about. And the story he'd
circulated so carefully about her mental
condition wouldn't stand up for a moment
once she got into the hands of competent
mental specialists. And once she told her
damning story of his having asked her to
meet him at the creek, where would Tim
Kendal be? He'd only one hope--to
finish off Molly as quickly as possible.
Then there was a very good chance that everyone would believe that Molly, in a
fit of mania, had drowned Lucky, and had
312
then, horrified by what she had done,
taken her own life.33
"And it was then,53 said Mr. Rafiel,
"that you decided to play Nemesis, eh ?33
He leaned back suddenly and roared
with laughter. "It's a damned good joke,33
he said. "If you knew what you looked like
that night with that fluffy pink wool all
round your head, standing there and saying
you were Nemesis! I'll never forget it !33
CM21
313

EPILOGUE
THE time had come and Miss Marple
was waiting at the airport for her
plane. Quite a lot of people had come
to see her off. The Hillingdons had left
already. Gregory Dyson had flown to
one of the other islands and the rumour
had come that he was devoting himself
to an Argentinian widow. Senora de
Caspearo had returned to South America.
Molly had come to see Miss Marple off.
She was pale and thin but she had weathered
the shock of her discovery bravely
and with the help of one of Mr. Panel's
nominees whom he had wired for to
England she was carrying on with the
running of the hotel.
"Do you good to be busy," Mr. Rafiel
observed. "Keep you from thinking. Got
a good thing here."
"You don't think the murders -- "
"People love murders when they're
all cleared up," Mr. Rafiel assured her.
"You carry on, girl, and keep your heart
up. Don't distrust all men because you've
met one bad lot."
314
"You sound like Miss Marple," Molly
had said, "she's always telling me Mr.
Right will come along one day."
Mr. Rafiel grinned at this sentiment. So
Molly was there and the two Prescotts
and Mr. Rafiel, of course, and Esther --
an Esther who looked older and sadder
and to whom Mr. Rafiel was quite often
unexpectedly kind. Jackson also was very
much to the fore, pretending to be looking
after Miss Marple's baggage. He was all
smiles these days and let it be known that
he had come into money.
There was a hum in the sky. The plane
was arriving. Things were somewhat informal
here. There was no "taking your
place by Channel 8" or Channel 9. You
just walked out from the little flowercovered
pavilion on to the tarmac.
"Good-bye, darling Miss Marple."
Molly kissed her.
"Good-bye. Do try and come and visit
us." Miss Prescott shook her warmly by
the hand.
"It has been a great pleasure to know
you," said the Canon. "I second my
sister's invitation most warmly."
"All the best. Madam," said Jackson,
315
"and remember any time you want any
massage free, just you send me a line and
we'll make an appointment."
Only Esther Walters turned slightly away
when the time came for good-byes. Miss
Marple did not force one upon her. Mr.
Rafiel came last. He took her hand.
"Ave Caesar, nos morituri te salutamus,"
he said.
"I'm afraid," said Miss Marple, cc!
don't know very much Latin."
"But you understand that ?"
"Yes." She said no more. She knew
quite well what he was telling her.
"It has been a great pleasure to know
you," she said.
Then she walked across the tarmac and
got into the plane.
THE END