THE GREENWAY EDITION
A Murder is Announced
A CRIME CLUB NOVEL
Every Friday morning to practically every
house in the village of Chipping Cleghorn a
copy of the North Benham News and Chipping
Cleg/torn Gazette was delivered. On Friday,
October ayth, in the "Personal" column,
among the Articles for Sale or Wanted and
the frenzied appeals for domestic help, was
the following singular announcement: A murder
is announced and will take place on Friday, October
sgth, at Little Paddocks at 6.30 p.m. Friends please
accept this, the only intimation. A joke, of course;
but nevertheless nothing would have deterred
anyone who had the slightest excuse from calling
on the owner of Little Paddocks at the appointed
time.
Agatha Christie leaves us breathless with
admiration for her incomparable adroitness
and ingenuity. It is this fertile imagination
which has won her unstinted and consistent
praise throughout her career.
Books by Agatha Christie
Appointment with Death
The Body in the Library
By the Pricking of My Thumbs
A Caribbean Mystery
Cat Among the Pigeons
The Clocks
Curtain: Poirot's Last Case
Death Comes as the End
Death on the Nile
Dumb Witness
Elephants Can Remember
Endless Night
Evil Under the Sun
Five Little Pigs
4.50 From Paddington
Hallowe'en Party
I he Hollow
The Mirror Crack'd from Side
to Side
Murder on the Orient Express
Nemesis
One Two Buckle My Shoe
Ordeal by Innocence
Partners in Crime
Passenger to Frankfurt
Poirot's Early Cases
The Postern of Fate
Sad Cypress
Sparkling Cyanide
Sleeping Murder
Three Act Tragedy
The Third Girl
ABC Murders
At Bertram's Hotel
Cards on the Table
Crooked House
Destination Unknown
Death in the Clouds
Hercule Poirot's Christmas
The Labours of Hercules
Lord Edgware Dies
The Moving Finger
Murder at the Vicarage
A Murder is Announced
The Murder of Roger Ackroyd
The Mystery of the Blue Train
N or M
And Then There Were None
They Came to Baghdad
They Do It With Mirrors
Towards Zero
Three Act Tragedy
The Thirteen Problems
Why Didn't They Ask Evans?
etc., etc.
Biography
Come Tell Me How You Live
Agatha Christie: An
Autobiography
A Murder
is Announced
AGATHA
CHRISTIE
COLLINS
8 Grafton Street, London Wl
William Collins Sons and Co Ltd
London • Glasgow • Sydney • Auckland
Toronto -Johannesburg
riWiCUFFE BRANCH LIBRAE
First published 1950
This reprint 1985
©Agatha Christie 1950
ISBN 000 231510 6
Made and Printed in Great Britain by
William Collins Sons & Co. Ltd, Glasgow
To
RALPH and ANNE NEWMAN
at whose house I first tasted
"Delicious Death!"
Contents
1. A Murder is Announced	page 9
2. Breakfast at Little Paddocks	23
3. At 6.30 p.m.	31
4. The Royal Spa Hotel	45
5. Miss Blacklock and Miss Bunner	54
6. Julia, Mitzi and Patrick	67
7. Among Those Present	76
8. Enter Miss Marple	92
9. Concerning a Door	109
10. Pip and Emma " ••	118
n. Miss Marple Comes to Tea	131
12. Morning Activities in Chipping
Cleghorn	136
13. Morning Activities in Chipping
Cleghorn (continued)	149
14. Excursion into the Past	165
15. Delicious Death	175
16. Inspector Craddock Returns	185
17. The Album	191
Contents
18. The Letters	Rage 200
19. Reconstruction of the Crime	215
20. Miss Marpic is Missing	239
21. Three Women	242
22. The Truth	257
23. Evening at the Vicarage	260
Epilogue	286
i. A Murder is Announced
between 7.30 and 8.30 every morning except Sundays,
Johnnie Butt made the round of the village of
Chipping Cleghom on his bicycle, whistling vociferously
through his teeth, and alighting at each house or cottage
to shove through the letter-box such morning papers as
had been ordered by the occupants of the house in question
from Mr. Totman, stationer, of the High Street.
Thus, at Colonel and Mrs. Easterbrook's he delivered The Times and the Daily Graphic; at Mrs. Swcttenham's
he left The Times and the Daily Worker; at Miss
Hinchliffe and Miss Murgatroyd's he left the Daily
Telegraph and the News Chronicle; at Miss BIacklock's
he left the Telegraph, The Times and the Daily Mail.
At all these houses, and indeed at practically every
house in Chipping Cleghom, he delivered every Friday
a copy of the North Benham News and Chipping Cleghorn
Gazette, known locally simply as " the Gazette."
Thus, on Friday mornings, after a hurried glance at
the headlines in the daily paper (International situation
critical! U.N.O. meets to-day! Bloodhounds seek blonde
typist's killer! Three collieries idle. Twenty-three die
of food poisoning in Seaside Hotel, etc. most of the inhabitants
of Chipping Cleghom eagerly opened the Gazette and plunged into the local news. After a cursory
glance at Correspondence (in which the passionate
hates and feuds of rural life found full play) nine out of
ten subscribers then turned to the personal column.
Here were grouped together higgledy piggledy articles
9
A Murder is Announced
for Sale or Wanted, frenzied appeals for Domestic Help,
innumerable insertions regarding dogs, announcements
concerning poultry and garden equipment; and various
other items of an interesting nature to those living in the
small community of Chipping Cleghorn.
This particular Friday, October agth--was no exception
to the rule----
ii
Mrs. Swettenham, pushing back the pretty little grey
curls from her forehead, opened The Times, looked with
a lack lustre eye at the left hand centre page, decided
that, as usual, if there was any exciting news The Times had succeeded in camouflaging it in an impeccable
manner; took a look at the Births, Marriages and Deaths,
particularly the latter; then, her duty done, she put aside The Times and eagerly seized the Chipping Cleghorn
Gazette.
When her son Edmund entered the room a moment
later, she was already deep in the Personal Column.
" Good morning, dear," said Mrs. Swettenham. " The
Smedleys are selling their Daimler. 1935--that's rather
a long time ago, isn't it ?"
Her son grunted, poured himself out a cup of coffee,
helped himself to a couple of kippers, sat down at the
table and opened the Daily Worker which he propped
up against the toast rack.
"Bull mastiff puppies," read out Mrs. Swettenham.
" I really don't know how people manage to feed big
dogs nowadays--I really don't . . . H'm, Selina Lawrence
is advertising for a cook again. I could tell her it's
just a waste of time advertising in these days. She
hasn't put her address, only a box number--that's quite 10
A Murder is Announced
fatal--I could have told her so--servants simply insist
on knowing where they are going. They like a good
address . . . False teeth--I can't think why false teeth are
so popular. Best prices paid . . . Beautiful bulbs. Our
special selection. They sound rather cheap . . . Here's a
girl wants an ' Interesting post--Would travel.' I dare
say! Who wouldn't? . . . Dachshunds . . . I've never
really cared for dachshunds myself--I don't mean
because they're German, because we've got over all
that--I just don't care for them, that's all.--Yes, Mrs.
Finch?"
The door had opened to admit the head and torso of
a grim-looking female in an aged velvet beret.
" Good morning, Mum," said Mrs. Finch. " Can I
clear?"
" Not yet. We haven't finished," said Mrs. Swettenham.
" Not quite finished," she added ingratiatingly.
Casting a look at Edmund and his paper, Mrs. Finch
sniffed, and withdrew.
" I've only just begun," said Edmund, just as his
mother remarked:
" I do wish you wouldn't read that horrid paper,
Edmund. Mrs. Finch doesn't like it at all."
" I don't see what my political views have to do with
Mrs. Finch."
" And it isn't," pursued Mrs. Swettenham, " as though
you were a worker. You don't do any work at all."
" That's not in the least true," said Edmund indignantly.
" I'm writing a book."
" I meant real work," said Mrs. Swettenham. " And
Mrs. Finch does matter. If she takes a dislike to us and
won't come, who else could we get?"
" Advertise in the Gazette," said Edmund, grinning.
" I've just told you that's no use. Oh dear me, nowadays
unless one has an old Nannie in the family, who it
A Murder is Announced
will go into the kitchen and do everything, one is simply sunk."
" Well, why haven't we an old Nannie? How remiss
of you not to have provided me with one? What were
you thinking about?"
" You had an ayah, dear."
" No foresight," murmured Edmund.
Mrs. Swettenham was once more deep in the Personal
Column.
" Second-hand Motor Mower for sale. Now I wonder
. .. Goodness, what a price I . . . More Dachshunds . . .
' Do write or communicate desperate Woggles.' What
silly nicknames people have . . . Cocker Spaniels . . . Do
you remember darling Susie, Edmund? She really was human. Understood every word you said to her . . . Sheraton sideboard for Sale. Genuine family antique.
Mrs. Lucas, Dayas Hall... What a liar that woman is!
Sheraton indeed... I"
Mrs. Swettenham sniffed and then continued her
reading.
"All a mistake, darling. Undying love. Friday as
usual--J.... I suppose they've had a lovers' quarrel--
or do you think it's a code for burglars? . . . More Dachshunds! Really, I do think people have gone a
little crazy about breeding Dachshunds. I mean, there are other dogs. Your Uncle Simon used to breed Manchester
Terriers. Such graceful little things. I do like
dogs with legs . . . Lady going abroad will sell her navy
two piece suiting ... no measurements or price given.
. . . A marriage is announced--no, a murder ... What?
. . . Well, I never! Edmund, Edmund, listen to this ... A murder is announced and will take place on Friday,
October sgth at Little Paddocks at 6.30 p.m. Friends
please accept this, the only intimation. What an extraordinary
thing? Edmund!" is
A Murder is Announced
" What's that ?" Edmund looked up from his newspaper.

" Friday, October agth ... Why, that's today."
" Let me see." Her son took the paper from her.
"But what does it mean?" Mrs. Swettenham asked
with lively curiosity.
Edmund Swettenham rubbed his nose doubtfully.
" Some sort of party, I suppose. The Murder Game--
that kind of thing."
" Oh," said Mrs. Swettenham doubtfully. " It seems
a very odd way of doing it. Just sticking it in the advertisements
like that. Not at all like Letitia Blacklock who
always seems to me such a sensible woman."
" Probably got up by the bright young things she has
in the house."
" It's very short notice. To-day. Do you think we're
just supposed to go?"
" It says ' Friends, please accept this, the only intimation?'
" her son pointed out.
" Well, I think these new fangled ways of giving invitations
are very tiresome," said * Mrs. Swettenham
decidedly.
" All right. Mother, you needn't go."
" No," agreed Mrs. Swettenham.
There was a pause.
" Do you really want that last piece of toast, Edmund?"

" I should have thought my being properly nourished
mattered more than letting that old hag clear the table."
" Sh, dear, she'll hear you .. . Edmund, what happens
at a Murder Game?"
" I don't know, exactly . . . They pin pieces of paper
upon you, or something . .. No, I think you draw them
out of a hat. And somebody's the victim and somebody
else is a detective--and then they turn the lights out and i3
----ii'1111^
^4 Murder is Announced
somebody taps you on the shoulder and then you scream
and lie down and sham dead."
" It sounds quite exciting."
" Probably a beastly bore. I'm not going."
" Nonsense, Edmund," said Mrs. Swettenham resolutely.
" I'm going and you're coming with me. That's settled'."
ill
" Archie," said Mrs. Easterbrook to her husband, " listen
to this."
Colonel Easterbrook paid no attention, because he was
already snorting with impatience over an article in The
Times.
" Trouble with these fellows is," he said, " that none
of them knows the first thing about India! Not the first
thing!"
" I know, dear, I know."
" If they did, they wouldn't write such piffle."
" Yes, I know. Archie, do listen. A murder is announced
and will take place on Friday, October sgth (that's to-day) at Little Paddocks at 6.30 p.m. Friends
please accept this, the only intimation"
She paused triumphantly. Colonel Easterbrook looked
at her indulgently but without much interest.
" Murder Game," he said.
" Oh."
" That's all it is. Mind you," he unbent a little, " it
can be very good fun if it's well done. But it needs good
organising by someone who knows the ropes. You draw
lots. One person's the murderer, nobody knows who.
Lights out. Murderer chooses his victim. The victim
has to count twenty before he screams. Then the person
who's chosen to be the detective takes charge. Questions 14
A Murder is Announced,
everybody. Where they were, what they were doing,
tries to trip the real fellow up. Yes, it's a good game—if
the detective—er—knows something about police work."
" Like you, Archie. You had all those interesting
cases to try in your district."
Colonel Easterbrook smiled indulgently and gave his
moustache a complacent twirl.
" Yes, Laura," he said. " I dare say I could give them
a hint or two."
And he straightened his shoulders.
" Miss Blacklock ought to have asked you to help her
in getting the tiling up."
The Colonel snorted.
" Oh, well, she's got that young cub staying with her.
Expect this is his idea. Nephew or something. Funny
idea, though, sticking it in the paper."
" It was in the Personal Column. We might never
have seen it. I suppose it is an invitation, Archie?"
" Funny kind of invitation. I can tell you one thing.
They can count me out." ' "
" Oh, Archie," Mrs. Easterbrook's voice rose in a shrill
wail.
" Short notice. For all they know I might be busy."
" But you're not, are you, darling?" Mrs. Easterbrook
lowered her voice persuasively. " And I do think, Archie,
that you really ought to go—just to help poor Miss
Blacklock out. I'm sure she's counting on you to make
the thing a success. I mean, you know so much about
police work and procedure. The whole thing will fall
flat if you don't go and help to make it a success. After
all, one must be neighbourly."
Mrs. Easterbrook put her synthetic blonde head on
one side and opened her blue eyes very wide.
" Of course, if you put it like that, Laura . . ."
Colonel Easterbrook twirled his grey moustache again,
/5
A Murder is Announced
importantly, and looked with indulgence on his fluffy
little wife. Mrs. Easterbrook was at least thirty years
younger than her husband.
" If you put it like that, Laura," he said.
" I really do think it's your duty, Archie," said Mrs.
Easterbrook solemnly.
i v
The Chipping Cleghorn Gazette had also been delivered
at Boulders, the picturesque three cottages knocked
into one inhabited by Miss Hinchliffe and Miss Murgatroyd.

"Hinch?"
" What is it, Murgatroyd?"
" Where are you?"
" Henhouse."
" Oh."
Paddling gingerly through the long wet grass, Miss
Amy Murgatroyd approached her friend. The latter,
attired in corduroy slacks and battledress tunic was conscientiously
stirring in handfuls of balancer meal to a
repellently steaming basin full of cooked potato peelings
and cabbage stumps.
She turned her head with its short man-like crop and
wcatherbeatcn countenance toward her friend.
Miss Murgatroyd, who was fat and amiable, wore a
checked tweed skirt and a shapeless pullover of brilliant
royal blue. Her curly bird's nest of grey hair was in a
good deal of disorder and she was slightly out of breath.
"In the Gazette," she panted. "Just listen--what
can it mean? A murder is announced . . . and will take
place on Friday, October sgth at Little Paddocks at 6.30 p.m. Friends please accept this, the only intimation." 16
mis
A Murder is Announced
She paused, breathless, as she finished reading, and
awaited some authoritative pronouncement.
" Daft," said Miss Hinchliffe.
" Yes, but what do you think it means'!"
" Means a drink, anyway," said Miss Hinchliffe.
" You think it's a sort of invitation ?"
" We'll find out what it means when we get there,"
said Miss Hinchliffe. "Bad sherry, I expect. You'd
better get off the grass, Murgatroyd. You've got your
bedroom slippers on still. They're soaked."
" Oh, dear." Miss Murgatroyd looked down ruefully
at her feet. " How many eggs to-day ?"
" Seven. That damned hen's still broody. I must get
her into the coop."
" It's a funny way of putting it, don't you think ?"
Amy Murgatroyd asked, reverting to the notice in the Gazette. Her voice was slightly wistful.
But her friend was made of sterner and more singleminded
stuff. She was intent on dealing with recalcitrant
poultry and no announcement in a paper, however
enigmatic, could deflect her.
She squelched heavily through the mud and pounced
upon a speckled hen. There was a loud and indignant
squawking.
" Give me ducks every time," said Miss Hinchliffe.
" Far less trouble ..."
v
" Oo, scrumptious!" said Mrs. Harmon across the breakfast
table to her husband, the Rev. Julian Harmon,
" there's going to be a murder at Miss Blacklock's."
"A murder?" said her husband, slightly surprised.
"When?"
i7
A Murder is Announced
" This afternoon ... at least, this evening. 6.30. Oh,
bad luck, darling, you've got your preparations for confirmation
then. It is a shame. And you do so love
murders!"
" I don't really know what you're talking about,
Bunch?"
Mrs. Harmon, the roundness of whose form and face
had early led to the soubriquet of " Bunch " being substituted
for her baptismal name of Diana, handed the Gazette across the table.
" There. All among the second-hand pianos, and the
old teeth."
" What «i very extraordinary announcement."
" Isn't it?" said Bunch happily. " You wouldn't think
that Miss Blacklock cared about murders and games and
things, would you? I suppose it's the young Simmonses
put her up to it--though I should have thought Julia
Simmons would find murders rather crude. Still, there it
is, and I do think, darling, it's a shame you can't be
there. Anyway, I'll go and tell you all about it, though
it's rather wasted on me, because I don't really like
games that happen in the dark. They frighten me, and
I do hope I shan't have to be the one who's murdered.
If someone suddenly puts a hand on my shoulder and
whispers, ' You're dead,' I know my heart will give such
a big bump that perhaps it really might kill me! Do you
think that's likely?"
" No, Bunch. I think you're going to live to be an old,
old woman--with me."
" And die on the same day and be buried in the same
grave. That would be lovely."
Bunch beamed from ear to ear at this agreeable prospect.

" You seem very happy, Bunch ?" said her husband,
smiling.
78
A Murder is Announced
" Who'd not be happy if they were me?" demanded
Bunch, rather confusedly. " With you and Susan and
Edward, and all of you fond of me and not caring if I'm
stupid . . . And the sun shining! And this lovely big
house to live in!"
The Rev. Julian Harmon looked round the big bare
dining-room and assented doubtfully.
" Some people would think it was the last straw to
have to live in this great rambling draughty place."
" Well, I like big rooms. All the nice smells from outside
can get in and stay there. And you can be untidy
and leave things about and they don't clutter you."
"No labour saving devices or central heating? It
means a lot of work for you, Bunch."
" Oh, Julian, it doesn't. I get up at half-past six and
light the boiler and rush around like a steam engine, and
by eight it's all done. And I keep it nice, don't I ? With
beeswax and polish and big jars of autumn leaves. It's
not really harder to keep a big house clean than a small
one. You go round with mops and things much quicker,
because your behind isn't always bumping into things
like it is in a small room. And I like sleeping in a big
cold room--it's so cosy to snuggle down with just the tip
of your nose telling you what it's like up above. And
whatever size of house you live in, you peel the same
amount of potatoes and wash up the same amount of
plates and all that. Think how nice it is for Edward and
Susan to have a big empty room to play in where they
can have railways and dolls' tea-parties all over the floor
and never have to put them away? And then it's nice
to have extra bits of the house that you can let people
have to live in. Jimmy Symes and Johnnie Finch--
they'd have had to live with their in-laws otherwise.
And you know, Julian, it isn't nice living with your
in-laws. You're devoted to Mother, but you wouldn't
^9
A Murder is Announced
really have liked to start our married life living with her
and Father. And I shouldn't have liked it, either. I'd
have gone on feeling like a little girl."
Julian smiled at her.
" You're rather like a little girl still. Bunch."
Julian Harmon himself had clearly been a model
designed by Nature for the age of sixty. He was still about
twenty-five years short of achieving Nature's purpose.
" I know I'm stupid——"
" You're not stupid, Bunch. You're very clever."
"No, I'm not. I'm not a bit intellectual. Though I
do try ... And I really love it when you talk to me
about books and history and things. I think perhaps it
wasn't an awfully good idea to read aloud Gibbon to me
in the evenings, because if it's been a cold wind out, and
it's nice and hot by the fire, there's something about
Gibbon that does, rather, make you go to sleep."
Julian laughed.
" But I do love listening to you, Julian. Tell me the
story again about the old vicar who preached about
Ahasuerus."
" You know that by heart. Bunch."
" Just tell it me again. Please."
Her husband complied.
" It was old Scrymgour. Somebody looked into his
church one day. He was leaning out of the pulpit and
preaching fervently to a couple of old charwomen. He
was shaking his finger at them and saying, ' Aha! I
know what you are thinking. You think that the Great
Ahasuerus of the First Lesson was Artaxerxes the Second.
But he wasn't!' And then with enormous triumph, ' He
was Artaxerxes the Third.' "
It had never struck Julian Harmon as a particularly
funny story himself, but it never failed to amuse Bunch.
Her clear laugh floated out.
90
A Murder is Announced
"The old pet!" she exclaimed. "I think you'll be
exactly like that some day, Julian."
Julian looked rather uneasy.
" I know," he said with humility. " I do feel very
strongly that I can't always get the proper simple approach."

" I shouldn't worry," said Bunch, rising and beginning
to pile the breakfast plates on a tray. " Mrs. Butt told
me yesterday that Butt, who never went to church and
used to be practically the local atheist, comes every
Sunday now on purpose to hear you preach."
She went on, with a very fair imitation of Mrs. Butt's
super-refined voice:
"' And Butt was saying only the other day, Madam,
to Mr. Timkins from Little Worsdale, that we'd got real culture here in Chipping Cleghom. Not like Mr. Goss,
at Little Worsdale, who talks to the congregation as
though they were children who hadn't had any education.
Real culture, Butt said, that's what we've got. Our
Vicar's a highly educated gentleman--Oxford, not Milchester,
and he gives us the full benefit of his education.
All about the Romans and the Greeks he knows, and the
Babylonians and the Assyrians, too. And even the
Vicarage cat. Butt says, is called after an Assyrian king!'
So there's glory for you," finished Bunch triumphantly.
" Goodness, I must get on with things or I shall never
get done. Come along, Tiglath Pileser, you shall have the herring bones."
Opening the door and holding it dexterously ajar with
her foot, she shot through with the loaded tray, singing
in a loud and not particularly tuneful voice, her own
version of a sporting song.
" It's a fine murdering day, (sang Bunch) And as balmy as May
And the sleuths from the village are gone," 3i
A Murder is Announced
A rattle of crockery being dumped in the sink drowned
the next lines, but as the Rev. Julian Harmon left the
house, he heard the final triumphant assertion:
" And we'll all go a'mwdering today!"
aa
2. Breakfast at Little Paddocks
at little paddocks also, breakfast was in progress.

Miss Blacklock, a woman of sixty odd, the owner of
the house, sat at the head of the table. She wore country
tweeds--and with them, rather incongruously, a choker
necklace of large false pearls. She was reading Lane
Norcott in the Daily Mail. Julia Simmons was languidly
glancing through the Telegraph. Patrick Simmons was
checking up on the crossword in The Times. Miss Dora Bunner was giving her attention wholeheartedly to the
local weekly paper.
Miss Blacklock gave a subdued chuckle, Patrick muttered
: " Adherent--not adhesive--that's where I went
wrong." - - ,
Suddenly a loud cluck, like a startled hen, came from
Miss Bunner.
" Letty--Letty--have you seen this? Whatever can it
mean?"
" What's the matter, Dora?"
" The most extraordinary advertisement. It says
Little Paddocks quite distinctly. But whatever can it mean7"
" If you'd let me sec, Dora dear----"
Miss Bunner obediently surrendered the paper into
Miss Blacklock's outstretched hand, pointing to the item
with a tremulous forefinger.
" Just look, Letty."
»3
A Murder is Announced.
Miss Blacklock looked. Her eyebrows went up. She
threw a quick scrutinising glance round the table. Then
she read the advertisement out loud.
" A murder is announced and mill take place on
Friday, October sgth at Little Paddocks at 6.30 p.m.
Friends please accept this, the only intimation."
Then she said sharply: " Patrick, is this your
idea?"
Her eyes rested searchingly on the handsome devilmay-care
face of the young man at the other end of the
table.
Patrick Simmons' disclaimer came quickly.
" No, indeed, Aunt Letty. Whatever put that idea
into your head? Why should I know anything about
it?"
" I wouldn't put it past you," said Miss Blacklock
grimly. " I thought it might be your idea of a
joke."
" A joke ? Nothing of the kind."
"And you, Julia?"
Julia, looking bored, said : " Of course not."
Miss Bunner murmured: " Do you think Mrs.
Haymes----" and looked at an empty place where
someone had breakfasted earlier.
" Oh, I don't think our Phillipa would try and be
funny," said Patrick. " She's a serious girl, she is."
"But what's the idea, anyway?" said Julia, yawning.
"What does it mean?"
Miss Blacklock said slowly, " I suppose--it's some silly
sort of hoax."
"But why?" Dora Bunner exclaimed. "What's the
point of it? It seems a very stupid sort of joke. And in
very bad taste."
Her flabby cheeks quivered indignantly, and her shortsighted
eyes sparkled with indignation.
34
Breakfast at Little Paddocks
Miss Blacklock smiled at her.
" Don't work yourself up over it. Bunny," she said.
" It's just somebody's idea of humour, but I wish I knew
whose."
" It says to-day," pointed out Miss Bunner. " Today
at 6.30 p.m. What do you think is going to happen ?"
" Death!" said Patrick in sepulchral tones. " Delicious
Death."
" Be quiet, Patrick," said Miss Blacklock as Miss
Bunner gave a little yelp.
" I only meant the special cake that Mitzi makes,"
said Patrick apologetically. " You know we always call
it Delicious Death."
Miss Blacklock smiled a little absentmindedly.
Miss Bunner persisted : " But Letty, what do you really
think------"
Her friend cut across the words with reassuring cheerfulness.

" I know one thing that will happen at 6.30," she said
dryly. " We'll have half the village up here, agog with
curiosity. I'd better make sure we've'got some sherry in
the house."
ii
" You are worried, aren't you, Lotty?"
Miss Blacklock started. She had been sitting at her
writing-table, absentmindedly drawing little fishes on the
blotting paper. She looked up into the anxious face of
her old friend.
She was not quite sure what to say to Dora Bunner.
Bunny, she knew, mustn't be worried or upset. She was
silent for a moment or two, thinking.
»5
A Murder is Announced
She and Dora Bunner had been at school together.
Dora then had been a pretty fair-haired, blue-eyed rather
stupid girl. Her being stupid hadn't mattered, because
her gaiety and high spirits and her prettiness had made
her an agreeable companion. She ought, her friend
thought, to have married some nice Army officer, or a
country solicitor. She had so many good qualities--
affection, devotion, loyalty. But life had been unkind to
Dora Bunner. She had had to earn her living. She had
been painstaking but never competent at anything she
undertook.
The two friends had lost sight of each other. But six
months ago a letter had come to Miss Blacklock, a
rambling, pathetic letter. Dora's health had given way.
She was living in one room, trying to subsist on her old
age pension. She endeavoured to do needlework, but her
fingers were stiff with rheumatism. She mentioned their
schooldays--since then life had driven them apart--but
could--possibly--her old friend help?
Miss Blacklock had responded impulsively. Poor Dora,
poor pretty silly fluffy Dora. She had swooped down
upon Dora, had carried her off, had installed her at Little
Paddocks with the comforting fiction that " the housework
is getting too much for me. I need someone to help
me run the house." It was not for long--the doctor had
told her that--but sometimes she found poor old Dora
a sad trial. She muddled everything, upset the temperamental
foreign " help," miscounted the laundry, lost bills
and letters--and sometimes reduced the competent Miss
Blacklock to an agony of exasperation. Poor old muddleheaded
Dora, so loyal, so anxious to help, so pleased and
proud to think she was of assistance--and, alas, so completely
unreliable.
She said sharply:
a6
Breakfast at Little Paddocks
" Don't, Dora. You know I asked you----"
" Oh," Miss Bunner looked guilty. " I know. I forgot.
But--but you are, aren't you?"
" Worried? No. At least," she added truthfully, " not
exactly. You mean about that silly notice in the Gazette7"
"Yes--even if it's a joke, it seems to me it's a--a
spiteful sort of joke."
"Spiteful?"
" Yes. It seems to me there's spite there somewhere.
I mean--it's not a nice kind of joke."
Miss Blacklock looked at her friend. The mild eyes,
the long obstinate mouth, the slightly upturned nose.
Poor Dora, so maddening, so muddleheaded, so devoted
and such a problem. A dear fussy old idiot and yet, in a
queer way, with an instinctive sense of values.
" I think you're right, Dora," said Miss Blacklock.
" It's not a nice joke."
" I don't like it at all," said Dora Bunner with unsuspected
vigour. " It frightens me." She added, suddenly
: " And it frightens you, Letitia."
" Nonsense," said Miss Blacklock with spirit.
" It's dangerous. I'm sure it is. Like those people who
send you bombs done up in parcels."
" My dear, it's just some silly idiot trying to be
funny."
" But it isn't funny."
It wasn't really very funny . . . Miss Blacklock's face
betrayed her thoughts, and Dora cried triumphantly,
" You see. You think so, too!"
" But Dora, my dear----"
She broke off. Through the door there surged a tempestuous
young woman with a well developed bosom
heaving under a tight jersey. She had on a dirndl skirt
of a bright colour and had greasy dark plaits wound 27
A Murder is Announced
round and round her head. Her eyes were dark and
Hashing.
She said gustily:
" I can speak to you, yes, please, no?"
Miss Blacklock sighed.
" Of course, Mitzi, what is it?"
Sometimes she thought it would be preferable to do the
entire work of the house as well as the cooking rather
than be bothered with the eternal nerve storms of her
refugee " lady help."
" I tell you at once--it is in order, I hope? I give you
my notices and I go--I go at once I"
" For what reason ? Has somebody upset you ?"
" Yes, I am upset," said Mitzi dramatically. " I do
not wish to die! Already in Europe I escape. My family
they all die--they are all killed--my mother, my little
brother, my so sweet little niece--all, all they are killed.
But me I run away--I hide. I get to England. I work.
I do work that never--never would I do in my own
country--I----"
" I know all that," said Miss Blacklock crisply. It was,
indeed, a constant refrain on Mitzi's lips. " But why do
you want to leave now?"
" Because again they come to kill me!"
" Who do?"
" My enemies. The Nazis! Or perhaps this time it
is the Bolsheviks. They find out I am here. They come
to kill me. I have read it--yes--it is in the newspaper!"

" Oh, you mean in the Gazette?"
" Here, it is written here." Mitzi produced the Gazette from where she had been holding it behind her back.
" See--here it says a murder. At Little Paddocks. That
is here, is it not? This evening at 6.30. Ah! I do not
wait to be murdered--no."
28
• Breakfast at Little Paddocks
" But why should this apply to you? It's—we think it
is a joke."
" A joke ? It is not a joke to murder someone ?"
"No, of course not. But my dear child, if anyone
wanted to murder you, they wouldn't advertise the fact
in the paper, would they?"
" You do not think they would ?" Mitzi seemed a little
shaken. "You think, perhaps, they do not mean to
murder anyone at all? Perhaps it is you they mean to
murder, Miss Blacklock."
" I certainly can't believe anyone wants to murder
me," said Miss Blacklock lightly. " And really, Mitzi, I
don't see why anyone should want to murder you. After
all, why should they?"
" Because they are bad peoples . . . Very bad peoples.
I tell you, my mother, my little brother, my so sweet
niece ...»
" Yes, yes." Miss Blacklock stemmed the flow, adroitly.
" But I cannot really believe anyone wants to murder
you, Mitzi. Of course, if you want to go off like this at
a moment's notice, I cannot possibly stop you. But I
think you will be very silly if you do."
She added firmly, as Mitzi looked doubtful:
"We'll have that beef the butcher sent stewed for
lunch. It looks very tough."
" I make you a goulash, a special goulash."
" If you prefer to call it that, certainly. And perhaps
you could use up that rather hard bit of cheese in making
some cheese straws. I think some people may come in
this evening for drinks."
"This evening? What do you mean, this evening?"
" At half-past six."
" But that is the time in the paper. Who should come
then ? Why should they come ?"
" They're coming to the funeral," said Miss Blacklock
»9
A Murder is Announced
with a twinkle. "That'll do now, Mitzi. I'm busy.
Shut the door after you," she added firmly.
" And that's settled her for the moment," she said as the door closed behind a puzzled-looking Mitzi.
"You are so efficient, Letty," said Miss Bunner admiringly.

30
	3. At 6.^0 p.m.
"well, here we are, all set," said Miss Blacklock
She looked round the double drawing-room with an appraising
eye. The rose-patterned chintzes--the two bowls
of bronze chrysanthemums, the small vase of violets and
the silver cigarette-box on a table by the wall, the tray
of drinks on the centre table.
Little Paddocks was a medium-sized house built in the
early Victorian style. It had a long shallow veranda and
green shuttered windows. The long, narrow drawingroom
which lost a good deal of light owing to the veranda
roof had originally had double doors at one end leading
into a small room with a bay window. A former generation
had removed the double doors and replaced them
with portieres of velvet. Miss Blacklock had dispensed
with the portieres so that the two rooms had become definitely
one. There was a fireplace each end, but neither
fire was lit although a gentle warmth pervaded the room.
" You've had the central heating lit," said Patrick.
Miss Blacklock nodded.
" It's been so misty and damp lately. The whole house
felt clammy. I got Evans to light it before he went."
" The precious precious coke?" said Patrick mockingly.
" As you say, the precious coke. But otherwise there
would have been the even more precious coal. You
know the Fuel Office won't even let us have the little bit
that's due to us each week--not unless we can say definitely
that we haven't got any other means of cooking."
" I suppose there was once heaps of coke and coal for 3i
A Murder is Announced.
everybody?" said Julia with the interest of one hearing
about an unknown country.
" Yes, and cheap, too."
" And anyone could go and buy as much as they
wanted, without filling in anything, and there wasn't
any shortage ? There was lots of it there ?"
" All kinds and qualities--and not all stones and slates
like what we get nowadays."
" It must have been a wonderful world," said Julia,
with awe in her voice.
Miss Blacklock smiled. " Looking back on it, I certainly
think so. But then I'm an old woman. It's natural for
me to prefer my own times. But you young things
oughtn't to think so."
" I needn't have had a job then," said Julia. " I could
just have stayed at home and done the flowers, and
written notes. . . . Why did one write notes and who
were they to?"
"All the people that you now ring up on the telephone,"
said Miss Blacklock with a twinkle. " I don't
believe you even know how to write, Julia."
" Not in the style of that delicious ' Complete Letter
Writer' I found the other day. Heavenly! It told you
the correct way of refusing a proposal of marriage from
a widower."
" I doubt if you would have enjoyed staying at home
as much as you think," said Miss Blacklock. " There
were duties, you know." Her voice was dry. " However,
I don't really know much about it. Bunny and I,"
she smiled affectionately at Dora Bunner, "went into
the labour market early."
"Oh, we did, we did indeed" agreed Miss Bunner.
" Those naughty, naughty children. I'll never forget
them. Of course, Letty was clever. She was a business
woman, secretary to a big financier."
3»
I At6.yp.rn.
The door opened and Phillipa Haymes came in. She was tall and fair and placid looking. She looked round
the room in surprise.
" Hallo," she said. " Is it a party? Nobody told me."
"Of course," cried Patrick. "Our Phillipa doesn't
know. The only woman in Chipping Cleghom who
doesn't, I bet."
Phillipa looked at him inquiringly.
" Here you behold," said Patrick dramatically, waving
a hand, " the scene of a murder!"
Phillipa Haymes looked faintly puzzled.
" Here," Patrick indicated the two big bowls of chrysanthemums,
" are the funeral wreaths and these dishes
of cheese straws and olives represent the funeral baked
meats."
Phillipa looked inquiringly at Miss Blacklock.
" Is it a joke?" she asked. " I'm always terribly stupid
at seeing jokes."
" It's a very nasty joke," said Dora Bunner with
energy. " I don't like it at all."
"Show her the advertisement," said Miss Blacklock.
" I must go and shut up the ducks. It's dark. They'll be
in by now."
" Let me do it," said Phillipa.
" Certainly not, my dear. You've finished your day's
work."
" I'll do it, Aunt Letty," offered Patrick.
"No, you won't," said Miss Blacklock with energy.
" Last time you didn't latch the door properly."
" I'll do it, Letty dear," cried Miss Bunner. " Indeed,
I should love to. I'll just slip on my goloshes--and now
where did I put my cardigan ?"
But Miss Blacklock, with a smile, had already left the
room.
It's no good, Bunny," said Patrick. " Aunt Letty's 33
A Murder is Announced
so efficient that she can never bear anybody else to do
things for her. She really much prefers to do everything
herself."
" She loves it," said Julia.
" I didn't notice you making any offers of assistance,"
said her brother.
Julia smiled lazily.
" You've just said Aunt Letty likes to do things herself,"
she pointed out. "Besides," she held out a wellshaped
leg in a sheer stocking, " I've got my best stockings
on."
" Death in silk stockings!" declaimed Patrick.
" Not silk--nylons, you idiot."
" That's not nearly such a good tide."
" Won't somebody please tell me," cried Phillipa,
plaintively, " why tfiere is all this insistence on death ?"
Everybody tried to tell her at once--nobody could find
the Gazette to show her because Mitzi had taken it into
the kitchen.
Miss Blacklock returned a few minutes later.
" There," she said briskly, " that's done." She glanced
at the clock. " Twenty-past six. Somebody ought to be here soon--unless I'm entirely wrong in my estimate of
my neighbours."
" I don't see why anybody should come," said Phillipa,
looking bewildered.
" Don't you, dear? ... I dare say you wouldn't. But
most people are rather more inquisitive than you are."
"Phillipa's attitude to life is that she just isn't interested,"
said Julia, rather nastily.
Phillipa did not reply.
Miss Blacklock was glancing round the room. Mitzi
had put the sherry and three dishes containing olives,
cheese straws and some little fancy pastries on the table
in the middle of the room.
34
At 6. jo /».m.
" You might move that tray--or the whole table if
you like--round the corner into the bay window in the
other room, Patrick, if you don't mind. After all, I am not giving a party! I haven't asked anyone. And I don't
intend to make it obvious that I expect people to turn
up."
" You wish, Aunt Letty, to disguise your intelligent
anticipation?"
" Very nicely put, Patrick. Thank you, my dear boy."
" Now we can all give a lovely performance of a quiet
evening at home," said Julia, "and be quite surprised
when somebody drops in."
Miss Blacklock had picked up the sherry bottle. She
stood holding it uncertainly in her hand.
Patrick reassured her.
"There's quite half a bottle there. It ought to be
enough."
"Oh, yes--yes . . ." She hesitated. Then, with a
slight flush, she said :
" Patrick, would you mind . . . there's a new bottle in
the cupboard in the pantry. . . . Bring it and a corkscrew.
I--we--might as well have a new bottle. This--
this has been opened some time."
Patrick went on his errand without a word. He returned
with the new bottle and drew the cork. He
looked up curiously at Miss Blacklock as he placed it on
the tray.
" Taking things seriously, aren't you, darling ?" he
asked gently.
" Oh," cried Dora Bunner, shocked. " Surely, Letty,
you can't imagine----"
" Hush," said Miss Blacklock quickly. " That's the bell.
You see, my intelligent anticipation is being justified."
35
A Murder is Announced
ii
Mitzi opened the door of the drawing-room and admitted
Colonel and Mrs. Easterbrook. She had her own
methods of announcing people.
" Here is Colonel and Mrs. Easterbrook to see you,"
she said conversationally.
Colonel Easterbrook was very bluff and breezy to cover
some slight embarrassment.
" Hope you don't mind us dropping in," he said. (A
subdued gurgle came from Julia.) " Happened to be
passing this way--eh what? Quite a mild evening.
Notice you've got your central heating on. We haven't
started ours yet."
"Aren't your chrysanthemums lovely?" gushed Mrs.
Easterbrook. " Such beauties!"
" They're rather scraggy, really," said Julia.
Mrs. Easterbrook greeted Phillipa Haymes with a little
extra cordiality to show that she quite understood that
Phillipa was not really an agricultural labourer.
" How is Mrs. Lucas's garden getting on?" she asked.
" Do you think it will ever be straight again ? Completely
neglected all through the war--and then only that dreadful
old man Ashe who simply did nothing but sweep up
a few leaves and put in a few cabbage plants."
"It's yielding to treatment," said Phillipa. "But it
will take a little time."
Mitzi opened the door again and said :
" Here are the ladies from Boulders."
" 'Evening," said Miss Hinchliffe, striding over and
taking Miss Blacklock's hand in her formidable grip. " I
said to Murgatroyd: ' Let's just drop in at Little Paddocks
I* I wanted to ask you how your ducks are laying." 36
At 6.^0 p.m.
"The evenings do draw in so quickly now, don't
they?" said Miss Murgatroyd to Patrick in a rather
fluttery way. " What lovely chrysanthemums!"
"Scraggy! "said Julia.
" Why can't you be co-operative ?" murmured Patrick
to her in a reproachful aside.
" You've got your central heating on," said Miss
Hinchliffe. She said it accusingly. " Very early."
" The house gets so damp this time of year," said Miss
Blacklock.
Patrick signalled with his eyebrows: "Sherry yet?"
and Miss Blacklock signalled back : " Not yet."
She said to Colonel Easterbrook :
" Are you getting any bulbs from Holland this year?"
The door again opened and Mrs. Swettenham came in
rather guiltily, followed by a scowling and uncomfortable
Edmund.
" Here we are!" said Mrs. Swettenham gaily, gazing
round her with frank curiosity. Then, feeling suddenly
uncomfortable, she went on : "I just thought I'd pop in
and ask you if by any chance you wanted a kitten, Miss
Blacklock? Our cat is just-----"
"About to be brought to bed of the progeny of a
ginger torn," said Edmund. " The result will, I think, be
frightful. Don't say you haven't been warned!"
" She's a very good mouser," said Mrs. Swettenham
hastily. And added: " What lovely chrysanthemums!"
" You've got your central heating on, haven't you ?"
asked Edmund, with an air of originality.
"Aren't people just like gramophone records?" murmured
Julia.
" I don't like the news," said Colonel Easterbrook to
Patrick, buttonholing him fiercely. " I don't like it at all.
If you ask me, war's inevitable--absolutely inevitable."
" I never pay any attention to news," said Patrick. 37
A Murder is Announced
Once more the door opened and Mrs. Harman came
in.
Her battered felt hat was stuck on the back of her
head in a vague attempt to be fashionable and she had
put on a rather limp frilly blouse instead of her usual
pullover.
" Hallo, Miss Blacklock," she exclaimed, beaming all
over her round face. " I'm not too late, am I ? When
docs the murder begin?"
in
There was an audible series of gasps. Julia gave an
approving little giggle, Patrick crinkled up his face and
Miss Blacklock smiled at her latest guest.
" Julian is just frantic with rage that he can't be here,"
said Mrs. Hamnon. " He adores murders. That's really
why he preached such a good sermon last Sunday—I
suppose I oughtn't to say it was a good sermon as he's
my husband—but it really was good, didn't you think?
—so much better than his usual sermons. But as I was
saying it was all because of Death Does the Hat Trick.
Have you read it? The girl at Boots' kept it for me
specially. It's simply baffling. You keep thinking you
know—and then the whole thing switches round—and
there are a lovely lot of murders, four or five of them.
Well, I left it in the study when Julian was shutting
himself up there to do his sermon, and he just picked it
up and simply could not put it down! And consequently
he had to write his sermon in a frightful hurry and had
to just put down what he wanted to say very simply—
without any scholarly twists and bits and learned references—and
naturally it was heaps better. Oh, dear, I'm
38
At6.yp.rn.
talking too much. But do tell me, when is the murder
going to begin?"
Miss Blacklock looked at the clock on the mantelpiece.
" If it's going to begin," she said cheerfully, " it ought
to begin soon. It's just a minute to the half hour. In the
meantime, have a glass of sherry."
Patrick moved with alacrity through the archway.
Miss Blacklock went to the table by the archway where
the cigarette-box was.
" I'd love some sherry," said Mrs. Harmon. " But
what do you mean by if ?"
" Well," said Miss Blacklock. " I'm as much in the
dark as you are. I don't know what———"
She stopped and turned her head as the little clock on
the mantelpiece began to chime. It had a sweet silvery
bell-like tone. Everybody was silent and nobody moved.
They all stared at the clock.
It chimed a quarter—and then the half. As the last
note died away all the lights went out.
IV
Delighted gasps and feminine squeaks of appreciation
were heard in the darkness. " It's beginning," cried Mrs.
Harmon in an ecstasy. Dora Bunner's voice cried out
plaintively, "Oh, I don't like it!" Other voices said,
" How terribly terribly frightening!" "It gives me the
creeps." " Archie, where are you ?" " What do I have
to do?" "Oh, dear—did I step on your foot? I'm so
sorry."
Then, with a crash the door swung open. A powerful
flashlight played rapidly round the room. A man's hoarse
nasal voice, reminiscent to all of pleasant afternoons at
the cinema directed the company crisply to :
39
A Murder is Announced
" Suck 'cm up!
" Stick 'em up, I tell you!" the voice barked.
Delightedly, hands were raised willingly above heads.
" Isn't it wonderful?" breathed a female voice. " I'm
so thrilled."
And then, unexpectedly, a revolver spoke. It spoke
twice. The ping of two bullets shattered the complacency
of the room. Suddenly the game was no longer a game.
Somebody screamed....
The figure in the doorway whirled suddenly round, it
seemed to hesitate, a third shot rang out, it crumpled
and then it crashed to the ground. The flashlight dropped
and went out.
There was darkness once again. And gently, with a
little Victorian protesting moan, the drawing-room door,
as was its habit when not propped open, swung gently to
and latched with a click.
v
Inside the drawing-room there was pandemonium.
Various voices spoke at once. " Lights." " Can't you
find the switch?" " Who's got a lighter?" " Oh, I don't
like it, I don't like it." "But those shots were real
" It was a real revolver he had." " Was it a burglar?"
" Oh, Archie, I want to get out of here." " Please, has
somebody got a lighter?"
And then, almost at the same moment, two lighters
clicked and burned with small steady flames.
Everybody blinked and peered at each other. Startled
face looked into startled face. Against the wall by the
archway Miss Blacklock stood with her hand up to her
face. The light was too dim to show more than that
something dark was trickling over her fingers.
40
At 6.^0 p.m.
Colonel Easterbrook cleared his throat and rose to the occasion.
" Try the switches, Swettenham," he ordered.
Edmund, near the door, obediently jerked the switch
up and down.
" Off at the main, or a fuse," said the Colonel.
" Who's making that awful row?"
A female voice had been screaming steadily from
somewhere beyond the closed door. It rose now in pitch
and with it came the sound of fists hammering on a door.
Dora Bunner, who had been sobbing quietly, called
out:
" It's Mitzi. Somebody's murdering Mitzi...."
Patrick muttered : " No such luck."
Miss Blacklock said : " We must get candles. Patrick,
will you----"
The Colonel was already opening the door. He and
Edmund, their lighters flickering, stepped into the hall.
They almost stumbled over a recumbent figure there.
" Seems to have knocked him out," said the Colonel.
" Where's that woman making that hellish noise?"
" In the dining-room," said Edmund.
The dining-room was just across* the hall. Someone
was beating on the panels and howling and screaming.
" She's locked in," said Edmund, stooping down. He
turned the key and Mitzi came out like a bounding
tiger.
The dining-room light was still on. Silhouetted against
it Mitzi presented a picture of insane terror and continued
to scream. A touch of comedy was introduced by
the fact that she had been engaged in cleaning silver and
was still holding a chamois leather and a large fish slice.
" Be quiet, Mitzi," said Miss Blacklock.
" Stop it," said Edmund, and as Mitzi showed no
disposition to stop screaming, he leaned forward and gave 41
A Murder is Announced
her a sharp slap on the cheek. Mitzi gasped and hiccupped
into silence.
" Get some candles," said Miss Blacklock. " In the
kitchen cupboard. Patrick, you know where the fusebox
is?"
"The passage behind the scullery? Right, I'll see
what I can do."
Miss Blacklock had moved foward into the light
thrown from the dining-room and Dora Bunner gave a
sobbing gasp. Mitzi let out another full-blooded scream.
" The blood, the blood!" she gasped. " You are shot
--Miss Blacklock, you bleed to death."
" Don't be so stupid," snapped Miss Blacklock. " I'm
hardly hurt at all. It just grazed my ear."
" But Aunt Letty," said Julia, " the blood."
And indeed Miss Blacklock's white blouse and pearls
and her hand were a horrifyingly gory sight.
" Ears always bleed," said Miss Blacklock. " I remember
fainting in the hairdresser's when I was a child. The
man had only just snipped my ear. There seemed to be
a basin of blood at once. But we must have some light."
" I get the candles," said Mitzi.
Julia went with her and they returned with several
candles stuck into saucers.
" Now let's have a look at our malefactor," said the
Colonel. " Hold the candles down low, will you, Swcttenham?
As many as you can."
" I'll come the other side," said Phillipa.
With a steady hand she took a couple of saucers.
Colonel Easterbrook knelt down.
The recumbent figure was draped in a roughly-made
black cloak with a hood to it. There was a black mask
over the face and he wore black cotton gloves. The hood
had slipped back disclosing a ruffled fair head.
Colonel Easterbrook turned him over, felt the pulse, 43
At 6.^0 p.m.
the heart . . . then drew away his fingers with an
exclamation of distaste, looking down on them. They
were sticky and red.
" Shot himself," he said.
" Is he badly hurt?" asked Miss Blacklock,
" H'm. I'm afraid he's dead . . . May have been
suicide--or he may have tripped himself up with that
cloak thing and the revolver went off as he fell. If I
could see better----"
At that moment, as though by magic, the lights came
on again.
With a queer feeling of unreality those inhabitants of
Chipping Cleghom who stood in the hall of Little Paddocks
realised that they stood in the presence of violent
and sudden death. Colonel Easterbrook's hand was
stained red. Blood was still trickling down Miss Blacklock's
neck over her blouse and coat, and the grotesquely
sprawled figure of the intruder lay at their feet....
Patrick, coming from the dining-room, said, " It
seemed to be just one fuse gone ..." He stopped.
Colonel Easterbrook tugged at the small black mask.
" Better sec who the fellow is," he said. " Though I
don't suppose it's anyone we know...."
He detached the mask. Necks were craned forward.
Mitzi hiccupped and gasped, but the others were very
quiet,
" He's quite young," said Mrs. Harmon with a note of pity in her voice.
And suddenly Dora Bunner cried out excitedly:
" Letty, Lctty, it's the young man from the Spa Hotel
in Medenham Wells. The one who came out here and
wanted you to give him money to get back to Switzerland
and you refused. I suppose the whole thing was just
a pretext--to spy out the house... . Oh, dear--he might
easily have killed you...."
43
4. The Royal Spa Hotel
george rydesdale, Chief Constable of Middleshire,
was a quiet man. Of medium height, with shrewd
eyes under rather bushy brows, he was in the habit of
listening rather than talking. Then, in his unemotional
voice, he would give a brief order--and the order was
obeyed.
He was listening now to Detective-Inspector Dermot
Craddock. Craddock was now officially in charge of the
case. Rydesdale had recalled him last night from Liverpool
where he had been sent to make certain inquiries in
connection with another case. Rydesdale had a good
opinion of Craddock. He not only had brains and
imagination, he had also, which Rydesdale appreciated
even more, the self-discipline to go slow, to check and
examine each fact, and to keep an open mind until the
very end of a case. - . .
" Constable Legg took the call, sir," Craddock was
saying. " He seems to have acted very well, with promptitude
and presence of mind. And it can't have been
easy. About a dozen people all trying to talk at once,
including one of those Mittcl Europas who go off at the
deep end at the mere sight of a policeman. Made sure
she was going to be locked up, and fairly screamed the
place down."
" Deceased has been identified ?"
" Yes, sir. Rudi Scherz. Swiss Nationality. Employed
at the Royal Spa Hotel, Medenham Wells, as a receptionist.
If you agree, sir, I thought I'd take the Royal
45
A Murder is Announced
Spa Hotel first, and go out to Chipping Cleghorn afterwards.
Sergeant Fletcher is out there now. He'll see the
bus people and then go on to the house."
Rydesdale nodded approval.
The door opened, and the Chief Constable looked up.
" Come in, Henry," he said. " We've got something
here that's a little out of the ordinary."
Sir Henry dithering, ex-Commissioner of Scotland
Yard, came in with slightly raised eyebrows. He was a
tall, distinguished-looking elderly man.
" It may appeal to even your blase palate," went on
Rydesdale.
" I was never blase," said Sir Henry indignantly.
"The latest idea," said Rydesdale, "is to advertise
one's murders beforehand. Show Sir Henry that advertisement,
Craddock."
"The North Benham News and Chipping Cleghorn
Gazette," said Sir Henry. " Quite a mouthful." He read
the half-inch of print indicated by Craddock's finger.
" H'm, yes, somewhat unusual."
" Any line on who inserted this advertisement?" asked
Rydesdale.
" By the description, sir, it was handed in by Rudi
Scherz himself--on Wednesday."
" Nobody questioned it? The person who accepted it,
didn't think it odd?"
" The adenoidal blonde who receives the advertisements
is quite incapable of thinking, I should say, sir.
She just counted the words and took the money."
" What was the idea?" asked Sir Henry.
" Get a lot of the locals curious," suggested Rydesdale.
" Get them all together at a particular place at a particular
time, then hold them up and relieve them of their
spare cash and valuables. As an idea, it's not without
originality."
46
The Royal Spa Hotel
" What sort of a place is Chipping Cleghom?" asked
Sir Henry.
" A large sprawling picturesque village. Butcher,
baker, grocer, quite a good antique shop--two teashops.
Self-consciously a beauty spot. Caters for the motoring
tourist. Also highly residential. Cottages formerly lived
in by agricultural labourers now converted and lived in
by elderly spinsters and retired couples. A certain amount
of building done round about in Victorian times."
" I know," said Sir Henry. " Nice old Pussies and retired
Colonels. Yes, if they noticed that advertisement
they'd all come sniffing round at 6.30 to see what was
up. Lord, I wish I had my own particular old Pussy
here. Wouldn't she like to get her nice ladylike teeth into
this. Right up her street it would be."
"Who's your own particular Pussy, Henry? An
aunt?"
" No," Sir Henry sighed. " She's no relation." He said reverently: " She's -Just the finest detective God
ever made. Natural genius cultivated in a suitable soil."
He turned upon Craddock.
" Don't you despise the old Pussies in this village of
yours, my boy," he said. " In case this turns out to be
a high powered mystery, which I don't suppose for a
moment it will, remember that an elderly unmarried
woman who knits and gardens is streets ahead of any
detective sergeant. She can tell you what might have
happened and what ought to have happened and even
what actually did happen! And she can tell you why it happened!"
" I'll bear that in mind, sir," said Detective-Inspector
Craddock in his most formal manner, and nobody would
have guessed that Dermot Eric Craddock was actually
Sir Henry's godson and was on easy and intimate terms
with his godfather.
47
A Murder is Announced
Rydesdale gave a quick outline of the case to his
friend.
"They'd all turn up at 6.30, I grant you that," he
said. "But would that Swiss fellow know they would?
And another thing, would they be likely to have much
loot on them to be worth the taking ?"
" A couple of old-fashioned brooches, a string of seed
pearls--a little loose change, perhaps a note or two--not
more," said Sir Henry, thoughtfully. "Did this Miss
Blacklock keep much money in the house ?"
" She says not, sir. Five pounds odd, I understand."
" Mere chicken feed," said Rydesdale.
" What you're getting at," said Sir Henry, " is that
this fellow liked to playact--it wasn't the loot, it was the
fun of playing and acting the hold-up. Cinema stuff?
Eh? It's quite possible. How did he manage to shoot
himself?"
Rydesdale drew a paper towards him.
" Preliminary medical report. The revolver was discharged
at close range--singeing . . . h'm . . . nothing
to show whether accident or suicide. Could have been
done deliberately, or he could have tripped and fallen
and the revolver which he was holding close to him
could have gone off. . . . Probably the latter." He
looked at Craddock. " You'll have to question the witnesses
very carefully and make them say exactly what
they saw."
Detective-Inspector Craddock said sadly: " They'll all
have seen something different."
" It's always interested me," said Sir Henry, " what
people do see at a moment of intense excitement and
nervous strain. What they do see and, even more interesting,
what they don't see."
" Where's the report on the revolver?"
" Foreign make--(fairly common on the Continent)-- 48
The Royal Spa Hotel
Scherz did not hold a permit for it--and did not declare
it on coming into England."
" Bad lad," said Sir Henry.
" Unsatisfactory character all round. Well, Craddock,
go and see what you can find out about him at the Royal
Spa Hotel."
ii
At the Royal Spa Hotel, Inspector Craddock was taken
straight to the Manager's office.
The Manager, Mr. Rowlandson, a tall florid man with
a hearty manner, greeted Inspector Craddock with expansive geniality.
" Glad to help you in any way we can, Inspector," he
said. " Really a most surprising business. I'd never have
credited it--never. Scherz seemed a very ordinary, pleasant
young chap--not at all my idea of a hold-up man."
" How long has he been with you, Mr. Rowlandson?"
" I was looking that up just before you came. A little
over three months. Quite good credentials, the usual
permits, etc."
" And you found him satisfactory ?"
Without seeming to do so, Craddock marked the infinitesimal
pause before Rowlandson replied.
" Quite satisfactory."
Craddock made use of a technique he had found
efficacious before now.
" No, no, Mr. Rowlandson," he said, gently shaking
his head. " That's not really quite the case, is it?"
" We-11----" The Manager seemed slightly taken
aback.
" Come now, there was something wrong. What was
it?"
49
A Murder is Announced
" That's just it. I don't know."
" But you thought there was something wrong?"
" Well—yes—I did. . . . But I've nothing really to go
upon. I shouldn't like my conjectures to be written down
and quoted against me."
Craddock smiled pleasantly.
" I know just what you mean. You needn't worry.
But I've got to get some idea of what this fellow, Scherz,
was like. You suspected him of—what?"
Rowlandson said, rather reluctantly:
" Well, there was trouble, once or twice, about the bills.
Items charged that oughtn't to have been there."
" You mean you suspected that he charged up certain
items which didn't appear in the hotel records, and that
he pocketed the difference when the bill was paid?"
" Something like that. . . . Put it at the best, there was
gross carelessness on his part. Once or twice quite a big
sum was involved. Frankly, I got our accountant to go
over his books suspecting that he was—well, a wrong
'un, but though there were various mistakes and a good
deal of slipshod method, the actual cash was quite
correct. So I came to the conclusion that I must be
mistaken."
" Supposing you hadn't been wrong ? Supposing
Scherz had been helping himself to various small sums
here and there, he could have covered himself, I suppose,
by making good the money?"
" Yes, if he had the money. But people who help
themselves to ' small sums' as you put it—are usually
hard up for those sums and spend them offhand."
" So, if he wanted money to replace missing sums, he
would have had to get money—by a hold-up or other
means?"
" Yes. I wonder if this is his first attempt...."
" Might be. It was certainly a very amateurish one.
50
The Royal Spa Hotel
Is there anyone else he could have got money from?
Any women in his life ?"
" One of the waitresses in the Grill. Her name's
Myrna Harris."
" I'd better have a talk with her."
in
Myma Harris was a pretty girl with a glorious head of
red hair and a pert nose.
She was alarmed and wary, and deeply conscious of
the indignity of being interviewed by the police.
" I don't know a thing about it, sir. Not a thing," she
protested. " If I'd known what he was like I'd never
have gone out with Rudi at all. Naturally, seeing as he
worked in Reception here, I thought he was all right.
Naturally I did. What I say is the hotel ought to be more
careful when they employ people—especially foreigners.
Because you never know where you are with foreigners.
I suppose he might have been in with one of these gangs
you read about?"
" We think," said Craddock, " that he was working
quite on his own."
" Fancy—and him so quiet and respectable. You'd
never think. Though there have been things missed—
now I come to think of it. A diamond brooch—and a
little gold locket, I believe. But I never dreamed that it
could have been Rudi."
" I'm sure you didn't," said Craddock. " Anyone
might have been taken in. You knew him fairly well?"
" I don't know that I'd say well."
" But you were friendly?"
" Oh, we were friendly—that's all, just friendly. Noth5i
A Murder is Announced
ing serious at all. I'm always on my guard with foreigners,
anyway. They've often got a way with them, but you
never know, do you? Some of those Poles during the
war! And even some of the Americans! Never let on
they're married men until it's too late. Rudi talked big
and all that--but I always took it with a grain of salt."
Craddock seized on the phrase.
"Talked big, did he? That's very interesting, Miss
Harris. I can see you're going to be a lot of help to us.
In what way did he talk big?"
" Well, about how rich his people were in Switzerland
--and how important. But that di^h't go with his being
as short of money as he was. He always said that because
of the money regulation he couldn't get money
from Switzerland over here. That might be, I suppose,
but his things weren't expensive. His clothes, I mean.
They weren't really class. I think, too, that a lot of the
stories he used to tell me were so much hot air. About
climbing in the Alps, and saving people's lives on the
edge of a glacier. Why, he turned quite giddy just going
along the edge of Boulter's Gorge. Alps, indeed!"
" You went out with him a good deal ?"
" Yes--well--yes, I did. He had awfully good manners
and he knew how to--to look after a girl. The best seats
at the pictures, always. And even flowers he'd buy me,
sometimes. And he was just a lovely dancer--lovely."
" Did he mention this Miss Blacklock to you at all?"
" She comes in and lunches here sometimes, doesn't
she? And she's stayed here once. No I don't think Rudi
ever mentioned her. I didn't know he knew her."
" Did he mention Chipping Cleghom ?"
He thought a faintly wary look came into Myrna
Harris's eyes but he couldn't be sure.
" I don't think so. ... I think he did once ask about
buses--what time they went--but I can't remember if
52
The Royal Spa Hotel
that was Chipping Cleghorn or somewhere else. It
wasn't just lately."
He couldn't get more out of her. Rudi Scherz had
seemed just as usual. She hadn't seen him the evening
before. She'd no idea—no idea at all—she stressed the
point, that Rudi Scherz was a crook.
And probably, Craddock thought, that was quite true.
53
5. Miss Blacklock and Miss Burner
little paddocks was very much as DetectiveInspector
Craddock had imagined it to be. He noted
ducks and chickens and what had been until lately an
attractive herbaceous border and in which a few late
Michaelmas daisies showed a last dying splash of purple
beauty. The lawn and the paths showed signs of
neglect.
Summing up, Detective-Inspector Craddock thought:
" Probably not much money to spend on gardeners--
fond of flowers and a good eye for planning and massing
a border. House needs painting. Most houses do, nowadays.
Pleasant little property."
As Craddock's car stopped before the front door,
Sergeant Fletcher came round the side of the house. Sergeant
FIetcher looked like a guardsman, with an erect
military bearing, and was able to impart several different
meanings to the one monosyllable : " Sir."
" So there you are, Fletcher."
" Sir," said Sergeant Fletcher.
" Anything to report?"
" We've finished going over the house, sir, Scherz
doesn't seem to have left any fingerprints anywhere. He
wore gloves, of course. No signs of any of the doors or
windows being forced to effect an entrance. He seems to
have come out from Medenham on the bus, arriving here
at six o'clock. Side door of the house was locked at 5.30,
I understand. Looks as though he must have walked in 54
Miss Blacklock and Miss Bunner
through the front door. Miss Blacklock states that that
door isn't usually locked until the house is shut up for the
night. The maid, on the other hand, states that the front
door was locked all the afternoon--but she'd say anything.
Very temperamental you'll find her. Mittel
Europa refugee of some kind."
"Difficult, is she?"
"Sir!" said Sergeant Fletcher, with intense feeling.
Craddock smiled.
Fletcher resumed his report.
" Lighting system is quite in order everywhere. We
haven't spotted yet how he operated the lights. It was
just the one circuit went. Drawing-room and hall. Of
course, nowadays the wall brackets and lamps wouldn't
all be on one fuse--but this is an old-fashioned installation
and wiring. Don't see how he could have tampered
with the fuse-box because it's out by the scullery and he'd
have had to go through the kitchen, so the maid would
have seen him."
" Unless she was in it with him ?"
" That's very possible. Both foreigners--and I
wouldn't trust her a yard--not a yard."
Craddock noticed two- enormous frightened black eyes
peering out of a window by the front door. The face,
flattened against the pane, was hardly visible.
" That her there?"
" That's right, sir."
The face disappeared.
Craddock rang the front-door bell.
After a long wait the door was opened by a goodlooking
young woman with chestnut hair and a bored
expression.
" Detective-Inspector Craddock," said Craddock.
The young woman gave him a cool stare out of very
attractive hazel eyes and said :
55
A Murder is Announced
" Come in. Miss Blacklock is expecting you."
The hall, Craddock noted, was long and narrow and
seemed almost incredibly full of doors.
The young woman threw open a door on the left, and
said : " Inspector Craddock, Aunt Letty. Mitzi wouldn't
go to the door. She's shut herself up in the kitchen and
she's making the most marvellous moaning noises. I
shouldn't think we'd get any lunch."
She added in an explanatory manner to Craddock:
" She doesn't like the police," and withdrew, shutting the
door behind her.
Craddock advanced to meet the owner of Little Paddocks.

He saw a tall active-looking woman of about sixty.
Her grey hair had a slight natural wave and made a
distinguished setting for an intelligent, resolute face. She
had keen grey eyes and a square determined chin. There
was a surgical dressing on her left ear. She wore no
make-up and was plainly dressed in a well-cut tweed
coat and skirt and pullover. Round the neck of the latter
she wore, rather unexpectedly, a set of old-fashioned
cameos--a Victorian touch which seemed to hint at a
sentimental streak not otherwise apparent.
Close beside her, with an eager round face and untidy
hair escaping from a hair net, was a woman of about the
same age whom Craddock had no difficulty in recognising
as the " Dora Bunner--companion " of Constable
Legg's notes--to which the latter had added an off-therecord
commentary of " Scatty!"
Miss Blacklock spoke in a pleasant well-bred voice.
" Good morning, Inspector Craddock. This is my
friend, Miss Bunner, who helps me run the house. Won't
you sit down? You won't smoke, I suppose?"
" Not on duty, I'm afraid. Miss Blacklock."
5°
Miss Blacklock and Miss Banner
"What a shame!"
Craddock's eyes took in the room with a quick, practised
glance. Typical Victorian double drawing-room.
Two long windows in this room, built out bay window
in the other . . . chairs . . . sofa . . . centre table with a
big bowl of chrysanthemums--another bowl in window
--all fresh and pleasant without much originality. The
only incongruous note was a small silver vase with dead
violets in it on a table near the archway into the further
room. Since he could not imagine Miss Blacklock tolerating
dead flowers in a room, he imagined it to be the only
indication that something out of the way had occurred to
distract the routine of a well-run household.
He said:
" I take it. Miss Blacklock, that this is the room in
which the--incident occurred?"
" Yes."
" And you should have seen it last night," Miss Bunner
exclaimed. " Such a mess. Two little tables knocked
over, and the leg off one--people barging about in the
dark--and someone put down a lighted cigarette and
burnt one of the best bits of furniture. People--young
people especially, are so- careless about these things. . . .
Luckily none of the china got broken------" Miss
Blacklock interrupted gently but firmly :
" Dora, all these things, vexatious as they may be, are
only trifles. It will be best, I think, if we just answer
Inspector Craddock's questions."
" Thank you. Miss Blacklock. I shall come to what
happened last night, presently. First of all I want you
to tell me when you first saw the dead man--Rudi
Scherz."
"Rudi Scherz?" Miss Blacklock looked slightly surprised.
" Is that his name? Somehow, I thought . . .
Oh, well, it doesn't matter. My first encounter with him
57
A Murder is Announced
was when I was in Medenham Spa for a day's shopping
about--let me see, about three weeks ago. We--Miss
Bunner and I--were having lunch at the Royal Spa
Hotel. As we were just leaving after lunch, I heard my
name spoken. It was this young man. He said : ' It is Miss Blacklock, is it not?' And went on to say that
perhaps I did not remember him, but that he was the
son of the proprietor of the Hotel des Alpes at Montreux
where my sister and I had stayed for nearly a year during
the war."
" The Hotel des Alpes, Montreux," noted Craddock.
" And did you remember him. Miss Blacklock?"
" No, I didn't. Actually I had no recollection of ever
having seen him before. These boys at hotel reception
desks all look exactly alike. We had had a very pleasant
time at Montreux and the proprietor there had been
extremely obliging, so I tried to be as civil as possible
and said I hoped he was enjoying being in England, and
he said, yes, that his father had sent him over for six
months to learn the hotel business. It all seemed quite
natural."
" And your next encounter?"
" About--yes, it must have been ten days ago, he suddenly
turned up here. I was very surprised to see him. He apologised for troubling me, but said I was the only
person he knew in England. He told me that he urgently
needed money to return to Switzerland as his mother
was dangerously ill."
" But Letty didn't give it to him," Miss Bunner put in
breathlessly.
" It was ?. thoroughly fishy story," said Miss Blacklock,
with vigour. " I made up my mind that he was definitely
a wrong 'un. That story about wanting the money to
return to Switzerland was nonsense. His father could easily have wired for arrangements to have been made
58
Miss Blacklock and Miss Bunner
in this country. These hotel people are all in with each
other. I suspected that he'd been embezzling money or
something of that kind." She paused and said dryly:
" In case you think I'm hardhearted, I was secretary for
many years to a big financier and one becomes wary
about appeals for money. I know simply all the hard
luck stories there are.
" The only thing that did surprise me," she added
thoughtfully, " was that he gave in so easily. He went
away at once without any more argument. It's as
though he had never expected to get the money."
" Do you think now, looking back on it, that his
coming was really by way of a pretext to spy out the
land?"
Miss Blacklock nodded her head vigorously.
" That's exactly what I do think--now. He made certain
remarks as I let him out--about the rooms. He
said, ' You have a very nice dining-room (which of
course it isn't--it's a horrid dark little room) just as an
excuse to look inside. And then he sprang forward and
unfastened the front door, said, ' Let me.' I think now
he wanted to have a look at the fastening. Actually, like
most people round here, we never lock the front door
until it gets dark. Anyone could walk in."
"And the side door? There is a side door to the
garden, I understand?"
" Yes. I went out through it to shut up the ducks not
long before the people arrived."
" Was it locked when you went out?"
Miss Blacklock frowned.
" I can't remember. ... I think so. I certainly locked
it when I came in."
" That would be about quarter-past six?"
" Somewhere about then."
"And the front door?"
59
A Murder is Announced
" That's not usually locked until later."
" Then Scherz could have walked in quite easily that
way. Or he could have slipped in whilst you were out
shutting up the ducks. He'd already spied out the lie of
the land and had probably noted various places of concealment--cupboards,
etc. Yes, that all seems quite
clear."
" I beg your pardon, it isn't at all clear," said Miss
Blacklock. " Why on earth should anyone take all that
elaborate trouble to come and burgle this house and stage
that silly sort of holdup?"
" Do you keep much money in the house, Miss Black- lock?"
" About five pounds in that desk there, and perhaps a
pound or two in my purse."
"Jewellery?"
" A couple of rings and brooches and the cameos I'm
wearing. You must agree with me, Inspector, that the
whole thing's absurd."
" It wasn't burglary at all," cried Miss Bunner. " I've
told you so, Letty, all along. It was revenge! Because you wouldn't give him that money! He deliberately shot
at you--twice."
" Ah," said Craddock. " We'll come now to last night.
What happened exactly. Miss Blacklock? Tell me in
your own words as nearly as you can remember."
Miss Blacklock reflected a moment.
"The clock struck," she said. "The one on the mantelpiece. I remember saying that if anything were
going to happen it would have to happen soon. And
then the clock struck. We all listened to it without saying
anything. It chimes, you know. It chimed the two
quarters and then, quite suddenly, the lights went
out."
" What lights were on?"
60
Miss Blacklock and Miss Banner
" The wall brackets in here and the further room.
The standard lamp and the two small reading lamps
weren't on."
" Was there a flash first, or a noise when the lights
went out?"
" I don't think so."
" I'm sure there was a flash," said Dora Bunner.
" And a crackling noise. Dangerous!"
" And then. Miss Blacklock?"
" The door opened——"
" Which door? There are two in the room."
" Oh, this door in here. The one in the other room
doesn't open. It's a dummy. The door opened and there
he was—a masked man with a revolver. It just seemed
too fantastic for words, but of course at the time I just
thought it was a silly joke. He said something—I forget
what——"
" Hands up or I shoot!" supplied Miss Bunner,
dramatically.
"Something like that," said Miss Blacklock, rather
doubtfully.
" And you all put your hands up ?"'
" Oh. yes," said Miss Bunner. " We all did. I mean,
it was part of it."
" I didn't," said Miss Blacklock, crisply. " It seemed
so utterly silly. And I was annoyed by the whole thing."
"And then?"
" The flashlight was right in my eyes. It dazzled me.
And then, quite incredibly, I heard a bullet whizz past
me and hit the wall by my head. Somebody shrieked and
then I felt a burning pain in my ear and heard the
second report."
" It was terrifying," put in Miss Bunner.
" And what happened next, Miss Blacklock?"
" It's difficult to say—I was so staggered by the pain
61
A Murder is Announced
and the surprise. The--the figure turned away and
seemed to stumble and then there was another shot and
his torch went out and everybody began pushing and
calling out. All banging into each other."
" Where were you standing. Miss Blacklock?"
" She was over by the table. She'd got that vase of
violets in her hand," said Miss Bunner breathlessly.
" I was over here," Miss Blacklock went over to the
small table by the archway. " Actually it was the
cigarette-box I'd got in my hand."
Inspector Craddock examined the wall behind her.
The two bullet holes showed plainly. The bullets themselves
had been extracted and had been sent for comparison
with the revolver.
He said quietly:
" You had a very near escape, Miss Blacklock."
" He did shoot at her," said Miss Bunner. " Deliberately
at her! I saw him. He turned the flash round on
everybody until he found her and then he held it right
at her and just fired at her. He meant to kill you,
Letty."
" Dora dear, you've just got that into your head from
mulling the whole thing over and over."
" He shot at you," repeated Dora stubbornly. " He
meant to shoot you and when he'd missed, he shot himself.
I'm certain that's the way it was!"
" I don't think he meant to shoot himself for a
minute," said Miss Blacklock. " He wasn't the kind of
man who shoots himself."
" You tell me, Miss Blacklock, that until the revolver
was fired you thought the whole business was a joke ?"
" Naturally. What else could I think it was?"
" Who do you think was the author of this joke?"
"You thought Patrick had done it at first," Dora
Bunner reminded her.
63
Miss Blacklock and Miss Bunner
" Patrick?" asked the Inspector sharply.
" My young cousin, Patrick Simmons," Miss Blacklock
continued sharply, annoyed with her friend. " It did
occur to me when I saw this advertisement that it might
be some attempt at humour on his part, but he denied it
absolutely."
" And then you were worried, Letty," said Miss
Bunner. " You were worried, although you pretended
not to be. And you were quite right to be worried. It
said a murder is announced--and it was announced-- your murder! And if the man hadn't missed, you ivould have been murdered. And then where should we all
be?"
Dora Bunner was trembling as she spoke. Her face
was puckered up and she looked as though she were
going to cry.
Miss Blacklock patted her on the shouldt'r.
" It's all right, Dora dear--don't get excited. It's so
bad for you. Everything's quite all right. We've had a
nasty experience, but it's over" now.'1 She added, " You
must pull yourself together for my sake, Dora. I rely on
you, you know, to keep the house going. Isn't it the day
for the laundry to come ?"
" Oh, dear me, Letty, how fortunate you reminded
me! I wonder if they'll return that missing pillowcase.
I must make a note in the book about it. I'll go and see to it at once."
" And take those violets away," said Miss Blacklock.
" There's nothing I hate more than dead flowers."
" What a pity. I picked them fresh yesterday. They
haven't lasted at all--oh, dear, I must have forgotten to
put any water in the vase. Fancy that! I'm always forgetting
things. Now I must go and see about the laundry.
They might be here any moment."
She bustled away, looking quite happy again.
63
A Murder is Announced
" She's not very strong," said Miss Blacklock, " and
excitements are bad for her. Is there anything more you
want to know, Inspector?"
" I just want to know exactly how many people
make up your household here and something about
them."
" Yes, well in addition to myself and Dora Bunner, I
have two young cousins living here at present, Patrick
and Julia Simmons."
" Cousins? Not a nephew and niece?"
" No. They call me Aunt Letty, but actually they are
distant cousins. Their mother was my second cousin."
" Have they always made their home with you ?"
" Oh, dear no, only for the last two months. They
lived in the South of France before the war. Patrick
went into the Navy and Julia, I believe, was in one of
the Ministries. She was at Llandudno. When the war
was over their mother wrote and asked me if they could
possibly come to me as paying guests--Julia is training
as a dispenser in Milchester General Hospital, Patrick is
studying for an engineering degree at Milchester University.
Milchester, as you know, is only fifty minutes by
bus, and I was very glad to have them here. This house
is really too large for me. They pay a small sum for
board and lodging and it all works out very well." She
added with a smile, " I like having somebody young
about the place."
" Then there is a Mrs. Haymes, I believe?"
" Yes. She works as an assistant gardener at Dayas
Hall, Mrs. Lucas's place. The cottage there is occupied
by the old gardener and his wife and Mrs. Lucas asked
if I could billet her here. She's a very nice girl. Her
husband was killed in Italy, and she has a boy of eight
who is at a prep school and whom I have arranged to
have here in the holidays."
64
Miss Blacklock and Miss Burner
" And by way of domestic help?"
" A jobbing gardener comes in on Tuesdays and Fridays.
A Mrs. Huggins from the village comes up five mornings a week and I have a foreign refugee with a
most unpronounceable name as a kind of lady cook help.
You will find Mitzi rather difficult, I'm afraid. She has
a kind of persecution mania."
Craddock nodded. He was conscious in his own mind
of yet another of Constable Legg's invaluable commentaries.
Having appended the word " Scatty " to Dora
Bunner, and "All right" to Letitia Blacklock, he
had embellished Mitzi's record with the one word
" Liar."
As though she had read his mind Miss Blacklock said :
" Please don't be too prejudiced against the poor thing
because she's a liar. I do really believe that, like so many
liars, there is a real substratum of truth behind her lies.
I mean that though, to take an instance, her atrocity
stories have grown and grown until every kind of unpleasant
story that has ever appeared in print has happened
to her or her relations personally, she did have a
bad shock initially and did see one, at least, of her relations
killed. I think a lot of these displaced persons feel,
perhaps justly, that their claim to our notice and sympathy
lies in their atrocity value and so they exaggerate and invent."
She added: " Quite frankly, Mitzi is a maddening
person. She exasperates and infuriates us all, she is suspicious
and sulky, is perpetually having ' feelings' and
thinking herself insulted. But in spite of it all, I really
am sorry for her." She smiled. "And also, when she
wants to, she can cook very nicely."
" I'll try not to ruffle her more than I can help," said
Craddock soothingly. " Was that Miss Julia Simmons
who opened the door to me ?"
65
A Murder is Announced
"Yes. Would you like to see her now? Patrick has
gone out. Phillipa Haymes you will find working at
Dayas Hall."
"Thank you. Miss Blacklock. I'd like to sec Miss
Simmons now if I may."
66
6. Julia, Mitzj. and Patrick
julia, when she came into the room, and sat down in
the chair vacated by Letitia Blacklock, had an air of
composure that Craddock for some reason found annoying.
She fixed a limpid gaze on him and waited for his
questions.
Miss Blacklock had tactfully left the room.
" Please tell me about last night. Miss Simmons."
" Last night ?" murmured Julia with a blank stare.
" Oh, we all slept like logs. Reaction, I suppose."
" I mean last night from six o'clock onwards."
" Oh, I see. Well, a lot of tiresome people came----"
"They were?"
She gave him another limpid stare. "
Don't you know all this already?" " I'm asking the questions. Miss Simmons," said Craddock
pleasantly.
" My mistake. I always find repetitions so dreary.
Apparently you don't. . . . Well, there was Colonel and
Mrs. Easterbrook, Miss Hinchliffe and Miss Murgatroyd,
Mrs. Swettenham and Edmund Swettenham, and Mrs.
Harmon, the Vicar's wife. They arrived in that order,
and if you want to know what they said--they all said
the same things in turn. ' I see you've got your central
heating on ' and ' What lovely chrysanthemums!' "
Craddock bit his lip. The mimicry was good.
" The exception was Mrs. Harmon. She's rather a pet.
She came in with her hat falling off and her shoelaces 67
A Murder is Announced
untied and she asked straight out when the murder was
going to happen? It embarrassed everybody because
they'd all been pretending they'd dropped in by chance.
Aunt Letty said in her dry way that it was due to happen
quite soon. And then that clock chimed and just as it finished, the lights went out, the door was flung open
and a masked figure said, ' Stick 'em up, guys,' or something
like that. It was exactly like a bad film. Really
quite ridiculous. And then he fired two shots at Aunt
Letty and suddenly it wasn't ridiculous any more."
" Where was everybody when this happened ?"
" When the lights went out ? Well, just standing about,
you know. Mrs. Harmon was sitting on the sofa--
Hinch (that's Miss Hinchliffe) had taken up a manly
stance in front of the fireplace."
" You were all in this room, or the far room ?"
" Mostly, I think, in this room. Patrick had gone into
the other to get the sherry. I think Colonel Easterbrook
went after him, but I don't really know. We were--well
--as I said, just standing about."
" Where were you yourself?"
" I think I was over by the window. Aunt Letty went
to get the cigarettes."
" On that table by the archway?"
" Yes--and then the lights went out and the bad film
started."
" The man had a powerful torch. What did he do
with it?"
" Well, he shone it on us. Horribly dazzling. It just
made you blink."
" I want you to answer this very carefully. Miss Simmons.
Did he hold the torch steady, or did he move it
about?"
Julia considered. Her manner was now definitely less
weary.
68
Julia, Mitzi and Patrick
" He moved it," she said slowly. " Like a spotlight in
a dance hall. It was full in my eyes and then it went on
round the room and then the shots came. Two shots."
"And then?"
" He whirled round--and Mitzi began to scream like
a siren from somewhere and his torch went out and there
was another shot. And then the door closed (it does, you
know, slowly, with a whining noise--quite uncanny) and
there we were all in the dark, not knowing what to do,
and poor Bunny squealing like a rabbit and Mitzi going
all out across the hall."
" Would it be your opinion that the man shot himself
deliberately, or do you think he stumbled and the revolver
went off accidentally?"
" I haven't the faintest idea. The whole thing was so
stagey. Actually I thought it was still some silly joke--
until I saw the blood from Letty's ear. But even if you
were actually going to fire a revolver to make the thing
more real, you'd be careful to fire it well above someone's
head, wouldn't you?"
" You would indeed. Do you think he could see clearly
who he was firing at? I mean, was Miss Blacklock
clearly outlined in the light of the torch ?"
" I've no idea. I wasn't looking at her. I was looking
at the man."
" What I'm getting at is--do you think the man was
deliberately aiming at her--at her in particular, I
mean?"
Julia seemed a little startled by the idea.
" You mean deliberately picking on Aunt Letty? Oh,
I shouldn't think so. ... After all, if he wanted to take
a pot shot at Aunt Letty, there would be heaps of more
suitable opportunities. There would be no point in collecting
all the friends and neighbours just to make it
more difficult. He could have shot her from behind a
69
A Murder is Announced
hedge in the good old Irish fashion any day of the week,
and probably got away with it."
And that, thought Craddock, was a very complete
reply to Dora Runner's suggestion of a deliberate attack
on Lctitia Blacklock.
He said with a sigh, " Thank you, Miss Simmons. I'd
better go and sec Mitzi now."
" Mind her fingernails," warned Julia. " She's a
tartar!"
n
Craddock, with Fletcher in attendance, found Mitzi in
the kitchen. She was rolling pastry and looked up suspiciously
as he entered.
Her black hair hung over her eyes; she looked sullen,
and the purple jumper and brilliant green skirt she wore
were not becoming to her pasty complexion.
" What do you come in my kitchen for, Mr. Policeman?
You are police, yes? Always, always there is persecution--ah!
I should be used to it by now. They say
it is different here in England, but no, it is just the same.
You come to torture me, yes, to make me say things, but
I shall say nothing. You will tear off my fingernails,
and put lighted matches on my skin--oh, yes, and worse
than that. But I will not speak, do you hear? I shall say
nothing--nothing at all. And you will send me away to
a concentration camp, and I shall not care."
Craddock looked at her thoughtfully, selecting what
was likely to be the best method of attack. Finally he
sighed and said:
" O.K. then, get your hat and coat."
" What is that you say?" Mitzi looked startled.
" Get your hat and coat and come along. I haven't
70
Julia, Mity and Patrick
got my nail-pulling apparatus and the rest of the bag of
tricks with me. We keep all that down at the station.
Got the handcuffs handy, Fletchcr?"
"Sir!" said Sergeant Fletcher with appreciation.
" But I do not want to come," screeched Mitzi, backing
away from him.
" Then you'll answer civil questions civilly. If you like,
you can have a solicitor present."
" A lawyer? I do not like a lawyer. I do not want a
lawyer."
She put the rolling pin down, dusted her hands on a
cloth and sat down.
" What do you want to know?" she asked sulkily.
" I want your account of what happened here last
night."
" You know very well what happened."
" I want your account of it."
" I tried to go away. Did she tell you that ? When I
saw that in the paper saying about murder. I wanted to
go away. She would not let me. She is very hard--not
at all sympathetic. She made me stay. But I knew--I knew what would happen. I knew I should be murdered."

" Well, you weren't murdered, were you ?"
" No," admitted Mitzi grudgingly.
" Come now, tell me what happened."
" I was nervous. Oh, I was nervous. All that evening.
I hear things. People moving about. Once I think
someone is in the hall moving stealthily--but it is only
that Mrs. Haymes coming in through the side door (so
as not to dirty the front steps, she says. Much she cares!). She is a Nazi herself, that one, with her fair hair
and her blue eyes, so superior and looking at me and
thinking that I--I am only dirt----"
" Never mind Mrs. Haymes." 7t
A Murder is Announced
" Who does she think she is? Has she had expensive
university education like I have? Has she a degree in
Economics? No, she is just a paid labourer. She digs
and mows grass and is paid so much every Saturday.
Who is she to call herself a lady?"
" Never mind Mrs. Haymes, I said. Go on."
" I take the sherry and the glasses, and the little
pastries that I have made so nice into the drawing-room.
Then the bell rings and I answer the door. Again and
again I answer the door. It is degrading--but I do it.
And then I go back into the pantry and I start to polish
the silver, and I think it will be very handy, that, because
if someone comes to kill me, I have there close at hand
the big carving knife, all sharp."
" Very foresighted of you."
" And then, suddenly--I hear shots. I think : ' It has
come--it is happening.' I run through the dining-room
(the other door--it will not open) I stand a moment to
listen and then there comes another shot and a big thud,
out there in the hall, and I turn the door handle, but it
is locked outside. I am shut in there like a rat in a trap.
And I go mad with fear. I scream and I scream and I
beat upon the door. And at last--at last--they turn the
key and let me out. And then I bring candles, many
many candles--and the lights go on, and I see blood--
blood! Ach, Gott in Himmel, the blood I It is not the
first time I have seen blood. My little brother--I see
him killed before my eyes--I see blood in the street--
people shot, dying--I----"
" Yes," said Inspector Craddock. " Thank you very
much."
" And- now," said Mitzi dramatically, " you can arrest
me and take me to prison!"
" Not to-day," said Inspector Craddock.
73
Julia, Mity and Patrick
in
As Craddock and Fletcher went through the hall to the
front door it was flung open and a tall handsome young
man almost collided with them.
" Sleuths, as I live," cried the young man.
" Mr. Patrick Simmons?"
" Quite right, Inspector. You're the Inspector, aren't
you, and the other's the Sergeant ?"
" You arc quite right, Mr. Simmons. Can I have a
word with you, please ?"
" I am innocent. Inspector. I swear I am innocent."

" Now then, Mr. Simmons, don't play the fool. I've a
good many other people to see and I don't want to waste
time. What's this room ? Can we go in here ?"
" It's the so-called study--but nobody studies."
" I was told that you were studying?" said Craddock.
" I found I couldn't concentrate on mathematics, so I
came home."
In a businesslike manner Inspector Craddock demanded
full name, age, details of war service.
" And now, Mr. Simmons, will you describe what
happened last night?"
" We killed the fatted calf, Inspector. That is, Mitzi
set her hand to making savoury pastries. Aunt Letty
opened a new bottle of sherry----"
Craddock interrupted.
" A new bottle? Was there an old one?"
" Yes. Half full. But Aunt Letty didn't seem to fancy
it."
" Was she nervous, then ?"
" Oh, not really. She's extremely sensible. It was old
73
A Murder is Announced
Bunny, I think, who had put the wind up her--prophesying
disaster all day."
" Miss Bunner was definitely apprehensive, then ?"
" Oh, yes, she enjoyed herself thoroughly."
" She took the advertisement seriously ?"
" It scared her into fits."
" Miss Blacklock seems to have thought, when she first
read that advertisement, that you had had something to
do with it. Why was that?"
" Ah, sure, I get blamed for everything round here I"
" You didn't have anything to do with it, did you,
Mr. Simmons?"
" Me? Never in the world."
" Had you ever seen or spoken to this Rudi Scherz ?"
" Never seen him in my life."
" It was the kind of joke you might have played,
though?"
" Who's been telling you that? Just because I once
made Bunny an apple-pie bed--and sent Mitzi a postcard
saying the Gestapo was on her track----"
" Just give me your account of what happened."
" I'd just gone into the small drawing-room to fetch
the drinks when. Hey Presto, the lights went out. I
turned round and there's a fellow standing in the doorway
saying, ' Stick your hands up,' and everybody gasping
and squealing, and just when I'm thinking--can I
rush him ? he starts firing a revolver and then crash down
he goes and his torch goes out and we're in the dark
again, and Colonel Easterbrook starts shouting orders in
his barrack-room voice. ' Lights,' he says, and will my
lighter go on ? No, it won't as is the way of those cussed
inventions."
" Did it seem to you that the intruder was definitely
aiming at Miss Blacklock ?"
" Ah, how could I tell ? I should say he just loosed off 74
Julia, Mity and Patrick
his revolver for the fun of the thing—and then found,
maybe, he'd gone too far."
"And shot himself?"
" It could be. When I saw the face of him, he looked
like the kind of little pasty thief who might easily lose
his nerve."
" And you're sure you had never seen him before?"
" Never."
" Thank you, Mr. Simmons. I shall want to interview
the other people who were here last night. Which would
be the best order in which to take them ?"
" Well, our Phillipa—Mrs. Haymes—works at Dayas
Hall. The gates of it are nearly opposite this gate, After
that, the Swettenhams are the nearest. Anyone will tell
you."
75
7. Among Those Present
dayas hall had certainly suffered during the war
years. Couch grass grew enthusiastically over what had
once been an asparagus bed, as evidenced by a few waving
tufts of asparagus foliage. Groundsel, bindweed and
other garden pests showed every sign of vigorous growth.
A portion of the kitchen garden bore evidence of
having been reduced to discipline and here Craddock
found a sour-looking old man leaning pensively on a
spade.
" It's Mrs. 'Aymes you want ? I couldn't say where
you'd find 'er. 'As 'er own ideas, she 'as, about what
she'll do. Not one to take advice. I could show her--
show 'er willing--but what's the good, won't listen these
young ladies won't! Think they know everything because
they've put on breeches and gone for a ride on a tractor.
But it's gardening that's needed here. And that isn't
learned in a day. Gardening, that's what this place
needs."
" It looks as though it does," said Craddock.
The old man chose to take this remark as an aspersion.
" Now look here, mister, what do you suppose I can
do with a place this size? Three men and a boy, that's
what it used to 'ave. And that's what it wants. There's
not many men could put in the work on it that I do.
'Ere sometimes I am till eight o'clock at night. Eight
o'clock."
" What do you work by? An oil lamp."
7<?
Among Those Present
" Naterally I don't mean this time o' year. Naterally. Summer evenings I'm talking about."
" Oh," said Craddock, " I'd better go and look for
Mrs. Haymes."
The rustic displayed some interest.
"What are you wanting 'er for? Police, aren't you?
She been in trouble, or is it the do there was up to Little
Paddocks? Masked men bursting in and holding up a
roomful of people with a revolver. An' that sort of thing
wouldn't 'ave 'appened afore the war. Deserters, that's
what it is. Desperate men roaming the countryside. Why
don't the military round 'em up?"
" I've no idea," said Craddock. " I suppose this holdup
caused a lot of talk ?"
"That it did. What's us coming to ? That's what Ned
Barker said. Comes of going to the pictures so much, he
said. But Tom Riley he says it comes of letting these
furriners run about loose. And depend on it, he says,
that girl as cooks up there for Miss Blacklock and 'as
such a nasty temper--she's in it, he said. She's a communist
or worse, he says, and we don't like that sort 'ere.
And Marlene, who's behind the bar, you understand, she
will 'ave it that there must be something very valuable
up at Miss Blacklock's. Not that you'd think it, she
says, for I'm sure Miss Blacklock goes about as plain as
plain, except for them great rows of false pearls she
wears. And then she says--Supposin' as them pearls is real, and Florrie (what's old Bellamy's daughter) she says, ' Nonsense,' she says--' noovo ar--that's what they
are--costume jewellery,' she says. Costume jewellery--
that's a fine way of labelling a string of false pearls.
Roman pearls; the gentry used to call 'em once--and
Parisian diamonds--my wife was a lady's maid and I
know. But what does it all mean--just glass! I suppose
it's ' costume jewellery' that young Miss Simmons wears
77
A Murder is Announced
--gold ivy leaves and dogs and such like. 'Tisn't often
you see a real bit of gold nowadays--even wedding rings
they make of this grey plattinghum stuff. Shabby, I call
it--for all that it costs the earth."
Old Ashe paused for breath and then continued :
" ' Miss Blacklock don't keep much money in the 'ouse,
that I do know,' says Jim Huggins, speaking up. He
should know, for it's his wife as goes up and does for 'em
at Little Paddocks, and she's a woman as knows most of
what's going on. Nosey, if you take me."
" Did he say what Mrs. Huggins' view was?"
" That Mitzi's mixed up in it, that's what she thinks.
Awful temper she 'as, and the airs she gives herself!
Called Mrs. Huggins a working woman to her face the
other morning."
Craddock stood a moment, checking over in his
orderly mind the substance of the old gardener's remarks.
It gave him a good cross-section of rural opinion in
Chipping Cleghorn, but he didn't think there was anything
to help him in his task. He turned away and the
old man called after him grudgingly:
" Maybe you'd find her in the apple orchard. She's
younger than I am for getting the apples down."
And sure enough in the apple orchard Craddock
found Phillipa Haymes. His first view was a pair of nice
legs encased in breeches sliding easily down the trunk of
a tree. Then Phillipa, her face flushed, her fair hair
ruffled by the branches, stood looking at him in a startled
fashion.
" Make a good Rosalind," Craddock thought automatically,
for Detective-Inspector Craddock was a
Shakespeare enthusiast and had played the part of the
melancholy Jaques with great success in a performance
of As You Like It for the Police Orphanage.
A moment later he amended his view. Phillipa Haymes 78
Among Those Present
was too wooden for Rosalind, her fairness and her impa-ssivity
were intensely English, but English of the twentieth
rather than of the sixteenth century. Well-bred, unemotional
English, without a sparkle of mischief.
" Good morning, Mrs. Haymes. I'm sorry if I startled
you. I'm Detective-Inspector Craddock of the Middlcshire
Police. I wanted to have a word with you."
"About last night?"
" Yes."
" Will it take long ? Shall we-
She looked about her rather doubtfully.
Craddock indicated a fallen tree trunk.
" Rather informal," he said pleasantly, " but I don't
want to interrupt your work longer than necessary."
" Thank you."
" It's just for the record. You came in from work at
what time last night ?"
" At about half-past five. I'd stayed about twenty
minutes later in order to finish some watering in the
greenhouse."
" You came in by which door?"
" The side door. One cuts across by the ducks and the
henhouse from the drive. It saves you going round, and
besides it avoids dirtying up the front porch. I'm in
rather a mucky state sometimes."
" You always come in that way?"
" Yes."
" The door was unlocked?"
" Yes. During the summer it's usually wide open.
This time of the year it's shut but not locked. We all go
out and in a good deal that way. I locked it when I
came in."
" Do you always do that?"
" I've been doing it for the last week. You see, it gets
dark at six. Miss Blacklock goes out to shut up the ducks
79
A Murder is Announced
and the hens sometime in the evening, but she very often
goes out through the kitchen door."
" And you are quite sure you did lock the side door
this time?"
" I really am quite sure about that."
" Quite so, Mrs. Haymes. And what did you do when
you came in?"
" Kicked off my muddy footwear and went upstairs
and had a bath and changed. Then I came down and
found that a kind of party was in progress. I hadn't
known anything about this funny advertisement until
then."
" Now please describe just what occurred when the
hold-up happened."
" Well, the lights went out suddenly——"
" Where were you ?"
" By the mantelpiece. I was searching for my lighter
which I thought I had put down there. The lights went
out—and everybody giggled. Then the door was flung
open and this man shone a torch on us and nourished a
revolver and told us to put our hands up."
" Which you proceeded to do?"
" Well, I didn't, actually. I thought it was just fun,
and I was tired and I didn't think I needed really to put
them up."
" In fact you were bored by the whole thing ?"
" I was, rather. And then the revolver went off. The
shots sounded deafening and I was really frightened.
The torch went whirling round and dropped and went
out, and then Mitzi started screaming. It was just like a
pig being killed."
" Did you find the torch very dazzling?"
" No, not. particularly. It was quite a strong one,
though. It lit up Miss Bunner for a moment and she
looked quite like a turnip ghost—you know, all white
80
Among Those Present
and staring with her mouth open and her eyes starting
out of her head."
" The man moved the torch?"
" Oh, yes, he played it all round the room."
" As though he were looking for someone?"
" Not particularly, I should say."
" And after that, Mrs. Haymes?"
Phillipa Haymes frowned.
" Oh, it was all a terrible muddle and confusion.
Edmund Swettenham and Patrick Simmons switched on
their lighters and they went out into the hall and we
followed, and someone opened the dining-room door--
the lights hadn't fused there--and Edmund Swettenham
gave Mitzi a terrific slap on the cheek and brought her
out of her screaming fit, and after that it wasn't so
bad."
" You saw the body of the dead man ?"
" Yes."
" Was he known to you ? Had you ever seen him
before?" "
Never."
" Have you any opinion as to whether his death was
accidental, or do you think he shot himself deliberately?"
" I haven't the faintest idea."
" You didn't see him when he came to the house
previously ?"
" No. I believe it was in the middle of the morning
and I shouldn't have been there. I'm out all day."
"Thank you, Mrs. Haymes. One thing more. You
haven't any valuable jewellery? Rings, bracelets, anything
of that kind ?"
Phillipa shook her head.
" My engagement ring--a couple of brooches."
" And as far as you know, there was nothing of
particular value in the house?" fir
A Murder is Announced
"No. I mean there is some quite nice silver--but
nothing out of the ordinary."
" Thank you, Mrs. Haymes."
ii
As Craddock retraced his steps through the kitchen
garden he came face to face with a large red-faced lady,
carefully corseted.
" Good morning," she said belligerently. " What do
you want here?"
" Mrs. Lucas? I am Detective-Inspector Craddock."
" Oh, that's who you are. I beg your pardon. I don't
like strangers forcing their way into my garden wasting
the gardeners' time. But I quite understand you have to
do your duty."
" Quite so."
" May I ask if we are to expect a repetition of that
outrage last night at Miss Blacklock's? Is it a gang?"
" We arc satisfied, Mrs. Lucas, that it was not the
work of a gang."
" There are far too many robberies nowadays. The
police are getting slack." Craddock did not reply. " I
suppose you've been talking to Phillipa Haymes?"
" I wanted her account as an eyewitness."
" You couldn't have waited until one o'clock, I suppose
? After all, it would be fairer to question her in her time, rather than in mine ..."
" I'm anxious to get back to headquarters."
" Not that one expects consideration nowadays. Or a
decent day's work. On duty late, half an hour's pottering.
A break for elevenses at ten o'clock. No work done
at all the moment the rain starts. When you want the lawn mown there's always something wrong with the 8a
Among Those Present
mower. And off duty five or ten minutes before the
proper time."
" I understood from Mrs. Haymes that she left here at
twenty minutes past five yesterday instead of five o'clock."
" Oh, I dare say she did. Give her her due, Mrs.
Haymes is quite keen on her work, though there have
been days when I have come out here and not been able
to find her anywhere. She is a lady by birth, of course,
and one feels it's one's duty to do something for these
poor young war widows. Not that it isn't very inconvenient.
Those long school holidays and the arrangement
is that she has extra time off then. I told her that there
are really excellent camps nowadays where children can
be sent and where they have a delightful time and enjoy
it far more than wandering about with their parents.
They need practically not come home at all in the
summer holidays."
"But Mrs. Haymes didn't take kindly to that idea?"
" She's as obstinate as a mule, that girl. Just the time
of year when I want the tennis court mowed and marked
nearly every day. Old Ashe gets the lines crooked. But my convenience is never considered!"
" I presume Mrs. Haymes takes a smaller salary than
is usual."
" Naturally. What else could she expect ?"
" Nothing, I'm sure," said Craddock. " Good moming,
Mrs. Lucas."
in
" It was dreadful," said Mrs. Swettenham happily.
" Quite--quite--dreadful, and what I say is that they
ought to be far more careful what advertisements they
83
A Murder is Announced
accept at the Gazette office. At the time, when I read it,
I thought it was very odd. I said so, didn't I, Edmund ?"
" Do you remember just what you were doing when
the lights went out, Mrs. Swettenham?" asked the
Inspector.
" How that reminds me of my old Nannie! Where
was Moses when the light went out? The answer, of
course, was ' In the Dark.' Just like us yesterday evening.
All standing about and wondering what was going
to happen. And then, you know, the thrill when it
suddenly went pitch black. And the door opening--just
a dim figure standing there with a revolver and that
blinding light and a menacing voice saying ' Your money
or your life I' Oh, I've never enjoyed anything so much.
And then a minute later, of course, it was all dreadful.
Real bullets, just whistling past our cars! It must have
been just like the Commandos in the war."
" Whereabouts were you standing or sitting at the time,
Mrs. Swettenham?"
" Now let me see, where was I ? Who was I talking to,
Edmund?"
" I really haven't the least idea, Mother."
" Was it Miss Hinchliffe I was asking about giving the
hens cod liver oil in the cold weather? Or was it Mrs.
Harmon--no, she'd only just arrived. I think I was just
saying to Colonel Easterbrook that I thought it was really
very dangerous to have an atom research station in
England. It ought to be on some lonely island in case
the radio-activity gets loose."
" You don't remember if you were sitting or standing?"
" Does it really matter, Inspector? I was somewhere
over by the window or near the mantelpiece, because I
know I was quite near the clock when it struck. Such a
thrilling moment! Waiting to see if anything might be
going to happen."
84
Among Those Present
" You describe the light from the torch as blinding.
Was it turned full on to you?"
" It was right in my eyes. I couldn't see a thing."
" Did the man hold it still, or did he move it about,
from person to person ?"
" Oh, I don't really know. Which did he do, Edmund?"
" It moved rather slowly over us all, so as to see what
we were all doing, I suppose, in case we should try and
rush him."
"And where exactly in the room were you, Mr.
Swettenham?"
" I'd been talking to Julia Simmons. We were both
standing up in the middle of the room—the long room."
" Was everyone in that room, or was there anyone in
the far room?"
" Phillipa Haymes had moved in there, I think. She
was over by that far mantelpiece. I think she was
looking for something."
" Have you any idea as to whether the third shot was
suicide or an accident?" "
" I've no idea at all. The man seemed to swerve round
very suddenly and then crumple up and fall—but it was
all very confused. You must realise that you couldn't
really sec anything. And then that refugee girl started
yelling the place down."
" I understand it was you who unlocked the diningroom
door and let her out?"
" Yes."
" The door was definitely locked on the outside ?"
Edmund looked at him curiously.
" Certainly it was. Why, you don't imagine——"
" I just like to get my facts quite clear. Thank you,
Mr. Swettenham."
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A Murder is Announced
IV
Inspector Craddock was forced to spend quite a long
time with Colonel and Mrs. Easterbrook. He had to
listen to a long disquisition on the psychological aspect of
the case.
"The psychological approach--that's the only thing
nowadays," the Colonel told him. " You've got to understand
your criminal. Now the whole set-up here is quite
plain to a man who's had the wide experience that I
have. Why does this fellow put that advert in? Psychology.
He wants to advertise himself--to focus attention
on himself. He's been passed over, perhaps despised
as a foreigner by the other employees at the Spa Hotel.
A girl has turned him down, perhaps. He wants to rivet
her attention on him. Who is the idol of the cinema
nowadays--the gangster--the tough guy? Very well, he
will be a tough guy. Robbery with violence. A mask?
A revolver? But he wants an audience--he must have
an audience. So he arranges for an audience. And then,
at the supreme moment, his part runs away with him--
he's more than a burglar. He's a killer. He shoots--
blindly----"
Inspector Craddock caught gladly at a word :
" You say ' blindly,' Colonel Easterbrook. You didn't
think that he was firing deliberately at one particular
object--at Miss Blacklock, that is to say?"
" No, no. He just loosed off, as I say, blindly. And
that's what brought him to himself. The bullet hit someone--actually
it was only a graze, but he didn't know
that. He comes to himself with a bang. All this--this
make-believe he's been indulging in--is real. He's shot
at someone--perhaps killed someone. . . . It's all up 86
^ Among Those Present
with him. And so in blind panic he turns the revolver
on himself."
Colonel Easterbrook paused, cleared his throat appreciatively
and said in a satisfied voice, " Plain as a pikestaff,
that's what it is, plain as a pikestaff."
" It really is wonderful," said Mrs. Easterbrook, " the
way you know exactly what happened, Archie."
Her voice was warm with admiration.
Inspector Craddock thought it was wonderful, too, but
he was not quite so warmly appreciative.
" Exactly where were you in the room, Colonel Easterbrook,
when the actual shooting business took place?"
" I was standing with my wife--near a centre table
with some flowers on it."
" I caught hold of your arm, didn't I, Archie, when it
happened? I was simply scared to death. I just had to
hold on to you."
" Poor little kitten," said the Colonel playfully.
v
The Inspector ran Miss Hinchliffe td earth by a pigsty.
" Nice creatures, pigs," said Miss Hinchliffe, scratching
a wrinkled pink back. " Coming on well, isn't he? Good
bacon round about Christmas time. Well, what do you
want to see me about? I told your people last night I
hadn't the least idea who the man was. Never seen him
anywhere in the neighbourhood snooping about or anything
of that sort. Our Mrs. Mopp says he came from
one of the big hotels in Medenham Wells. Why didn't
he hold up someone there if he wanted to? Get a much
better haul."
That was undeniable--Craddock proceeded with his
inquiries.
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A Murder is Announced
" Where were you exactly when the incident took
place?"
" Incident! Reminds me of my A.R.P. days. Saw
some incidents then, I can tell you. Where was I when
the shooting started? That what you want to know?"
" Yes."
" Leaning up against the mantelpiece hoping to God
someone would offer me a drink soon," replied Miss
Hinchliffe promptly.
" Do you think that the shots were fired blindly, or
aimed carefully at one particular person ?"
" You mean aimed at Letty Blacklock? How the devil
should I know? Damned hard to sort out what your
impressions really were or what really happened after it's
all over. All I know is the lights went out, and that
torch went whirling round dazzling us all, and then the
shots were fired and I thought to myself,' If that damned
young fool Patrick Simmons is playing his jokes with a
loaded revolver somebody will get hurt.' "
" You thought it was Patrick Simmons?"
" Well, it seemed likely. Edmund Swettenham is intellectual
and writes books and doesn't care for horseplay,
and old Colonel Easterbrook wouldn't think that
sort of thing funny. But Patrick's a wild boy. However,
I apologise to him for the idea."
" Did your friend think it might be Patrick Simmons?"
" Murgatroyd ? You'd better talk to her yourself.
Not that you'll get any sense out of her. She's down the
orchard. I'll yell for her if you like."
Miss Hinchliffe raised her stentorian voice in a powerful
bellow:
" Hi-youp, Murgatroyd ..."
" Coming ..." floated back a thin cry.
" Hurry up--Polieece," bellowed Miss Hinchliffe.
Miss Murgatroyd arrived at a brisk trot very much out 88
Among Those Present
of breath. Her skirt was down at the hem and her hair
was escaping from an inadequate hair net. Her round,
good-natured face beamed.
" Is it Scotland Yard?" she asked breathlessly. " I'd
no idea. Or I wouldn't have left the house."
" We haven't called in Scotland Yard yet. Miss
Murgatroyd. I'm Inspector Craddock from Milchester."
"
Well, that's very nice, I'm sure," said Miss Murgatroyd
vaguely. " Have you found any clues?"
" Where were you at the time of the crime, that's what
he wants to know, Murgatroyd?" said Miss Hinchliffe.
She winked at Craddock.
" Oh, dear," gasped Miss Murgatroyd. " Of course.
I ought to have been prepared. Alibis, of course. Now,
let me see, I was just with everybody else."
" You weren't with me," said Miss Hinchliffe.
" Oh, dear, Hinch, wasn't I ? No, of course, I'd been
admiring the chrysanthemums. Very poor specimens,
really. And then it all happened--only I didn't really
know it had happened--I mean I didn't know that anything
like that had happened. I didn't imagine for a
moment that it was a real revolver--and all so awkward
in the dark, and that dreadful screaming. I got it all
wrong, you know. I thought she was being murdered--
I mean the refugee girl. I thought she was having her
throat cut across the hall somewhere. I didn't know it
was him--I mean, I didn't even know there was a man.
It was really just a voice, you know, saying, ' Put them
up, please.'"
"' Stick 'em up!'" Miss Hinchliffe corrected. " And
no suggestion of ' please ' about it."
" It's so terrible to think that until that girl started
screaming I was actually enjoying myself. Only being
in the dark was very awkward and I got a knock on my
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A Murder is Announced
corn. Agony, it was. Is there anything more you want
to know, Inspector?"
" No," said Inspector Craddock, eyeing Miss Murgatroyd
speculatively. " I don't really think there is."
Her friend gave a short bark of laughter.
" He's got you taped, Murgatroyd."
" I'm sure, Hinch," said Miss Murgatroyd, " that I'm
only too willing to say anything I can."
" He doesn't want that," said Miss Hinchliffe.
She looked at the Inspector. " If you're doing this
geographically I suppose you'll go to the Vicarage next.
You might get something there. Mrs. Harmon looks as
vague as they make them--but I sometimes think she's
got brains. Anyway, she's got something."
As they watched the Inspector and Sergeant Fletcher
stalk away, Amy Murgatroyd said breathlessly:
" Oh, Hinch, was I very awful? I do get so flustered!"
"Not at all." Miss Hinchliffe smiled. "On the
whole, I should say you did very well."
VI
Inspector Craddock looked round the big shabby room
with a sense of pleasure. It reminded him a little of his
own Cumberland home. Faded chintz, big shabby
chairs, flowers and books strewn about, and a spaniel in
a basket. Mrs. Harmon, too, with her distraught air,
and her general disarray and her eager face he found
sympathetic.
But she said at once, frankly, " I shan't be any help to
you. Because I shut my eyes. I hate being dazzled. And
then there were shots and I screwed them up tighter than
ever. And I did wish, oh, I did wish, that it had been a quiet murder. I don't like bangs."
90
Among Those Present
" So you didn't sec anything." The Inspector smiled
at her. " But you heard----?"
" Oh, my goodness yes, there was plenty to hear. Doors opening and shutting, and people saying silly
things and gasping and old Mitzi screaming like a steam
engine--and poor Bunny squealing like a trapped rabbit.
And everyone pushing and falling over everyone else.
However, when there really didn't seem to be any more
bangs coming, I opened my eyes. Everyone was out in
the hall then, with candles. And then the lights came on
and suddenly it was all as usual--I don't mean really as
usual, but we were ourselves again, not just--people in
the dark. People in the dark are quite different, aren't
they?"
" I think I know what you mean, Mrs. Harmon."
Mrs. Harmon smiled at him.
" And there he was," she said. " A rather weasellylooking
foreigner--all pink and surprised looking--lying
there dead--with a revolver beside him. It didn't--oh,
it didn't seem to make sense, somehow."
It did not make sense to the Inspector, either....
The whole business worried him.
91
8. Enter Miss Marple
craddock laid the typed transcript of the various
interviews before the Chief Constable. The latter had
just finished reading the wire received from the Swiss
Police.
" So he had a police record all right," said Rydesdale.
" H'm--very much as one thought."
" Yes, sir."
" Jewellery .. . h'm, yes . . . falsified entries . .. yes . . .
cheque . . . Definitely a dishonest fellow."
" Yes, sir--in a small way."
" Quite so. And small things lead to large things."
" I wonder, sir."
The Chief Constable looked up.
" Worried, Craddock?"
" Yes, sir."
" Why? It's a straightforward story. Or isn't it? Let's
see what all these people you've been talking to have to
say."
He drew the report towards him and read it through
rapidly.
" The usual thing--plenty of inconsistencies and contradictions.
Different people's accounts of a few
moments of stress never agree. But the main picture seems clear enough."
" I know, sir--but it's an unsatisfactory picture. If you know what I mean--it's the wrong picture."
" Well, let's take the facts. Rudi Scherz took the 5.20
92
Enter Miss Marple
bus from Medcnham to Chipping Cleghom arriving
there at six o'clock. Evidence of conductor and two
passengers. From the bus stop he walked away in the
direction of Little Paddocks. He got into the house with
no particular difficulty--probably through the front door.
He held up the company with a revolver, he fired two
shots, one of which slightly wounded Miss Blacklock, he
then killed himself with a third shot, whether accidentally
or deliberately there is not sufficient evidence to
show. The reasons why he did all this are profoundly
unsatisfactory, I agree. But why isn't really a question
we are called upon to answer. A Coroner's jury may
bring it in suicide--or accidental death. Whichever
verdict it is, it's the same as far as we're concerned. We
can write finis."
" You mean we can always fall back upon Colonel
Easterbrook's psychology," said Craddock gloomily.
Rydesdale smiled.
" After all, the Colonel's probably had a good deal of
experience," he said. " I'm pretty sick of the psychological
jargon that's used so glibly about everything nowadays--but
we can't really rule it out." "
" I still feel the picture's all wrong, sir."
" Any reason to believe that somebody in the set-up at
Chipping Cleghom is lying to you ?"
Craddock hesitated.
" I think the foreign girl knows more than she lets on.
But that may be just prejudice on my part."
" You think she might possibly have been in it with
this fellow? Let him into the house? Put him up to it?"
" Something of the kind. I wouldn't put it past her.
But that surely indicates that there really was something
valuable, money or jewellery, in the house, and that
doesn't seem to have been the case. Miss Blacklock
negatived it quite decidedly. So did the others. That
93
A Murder is Announced
leaves us with the proposition that there was something
valuable in the house that nobody knew about----"
" Quite a best seller plot."
" I agree it's ridiculous, sir. The only other point is
Miss Runner's certainty that it was a definite attempt by
Scherz to murder Miss Blacklock."
" Well, from what you say--and from her statement,
this Miss Bunner----"
" Oh, I agree, sir," Craddock put in quickly, " she's
an utterly unreliable witness. Highly suggestible. Anyone
could put a thing into her head--but the interesting
thing is that this is quite her own theory--no one has suggested it to her. Everybody else negatives it. For
once she's not swimming with the tide. It definitely is her own impression."
"And why should Rudi Scherz want to kill Miss
Blacklock?"
" There you are, sir. I don't know. Miss Blacklock
doesn't know--unless she's a much better liar than I
think she is. Nobody knows. So presumably it isn't true."
He sighed.
" Cheer up, Craddock," said the Chief Constable.
" I'm taking you off to lunch with Sir Henry and myself.
The best that the Royal Spa Hotel in Medenham Wells
can provide."
" Thank you, sir." Craddock looked slightly surprised.
" You see, we received a letter----" He broke off as
Sir Henry dithering entered the room. " Ah, there you
are, Henry."
Sir Henry, informal this time, said, " 'Morning,
Dermot."
" I've got something for you. Henry," said the Chief
Constable."
" What's that?"
"Authentic letter from an old Pussy. Staying at the 94
Enter Miss Marple
Royal Spa Hotel. Something she thinks we might like to
know in connection with this Chipping Cleghom business."

"The old Pussies," said Sir Henry triumphantly.
" What did I tell you ? They hear everything. They see
everything. And, unlike the famous adage, they speak all
evil. What's this particular one got hold of ?"
Rydesdale consulted the letter.
" Writes just like my old grandmother," he complained.
" Spiky. Like a spider in the ink bottle, and all
underlined. A good deal about how she hopes it won't
be taking up our valuable time, but might possibly be of
some slight assistance, etc., etc. What's her name ? Jane
--something--Murple--no, Marple, Jane Marple."
" Ye Gods and Little Fishes," said Sir Henry, " can it
be? George, it's my own particular, one and only, four
starred Pussy. The super Pussy of all old Pussies. And
she has managed somehow to be at Medenham Wells,
instead of peacefully at home in St. Mary Mead, just at
the right time to be mixed up in a murder. Once more a murder is announced--for the benefit and enjoyment
of Miss Marple."
" Well, Henry," said Rydesdale sardonically. " I'll be
glad to see your paragon. Come on! We'll lunch at the
Royal Spa and we'll interview the lady. Craddock, here,
is looking highly sceptical."
" Not at all, sir," said Craddock politely.
He thought to himself that sometimes his godfather
carried things a bit far.
ii
Miss Jane Marple was very nearly, if not quite, as
Craddock had pictured her. She was far more benignant
95
A Murder is Announced
than he had imagined and a good deal older. She
seemed indeed very old. She had snow white hair and a
pink crinkled face and very soft innocent blue eyes, and
she was heavily enmeshed in fleecy wool. Wool round
her shoulders in the form of a lacy cape and wool that
she was knitting and which turned out to be a baby's
shawl.
She was all incoherent delight and pleasure at seeing
Sir Henry, and became quite flustered when introduced
to the Chief Constable and Detective-Inspector Craddock.
" But really, Sir Henry, how fortunate . . . how very
fortunate. So long since I have seen you. . . . Yes, my
rheumatism. Very bad of late. Of course I couldn't have
afforded this hotel (really fantastic what they charge
nowadays) but Raymond--my nephew, Raymond West,
you may remember him------?"
" Everyone knows his name."
" Yes, the dear boy has been so successful with his
clever books--he prides himself upon never writing about
anything pleasant. The dear boy insisted on paying all
my expenses. And his dear wife is making a name for
herself too, as an artist. Mostly jugs of dying flowers and
broken combs on windowsills. I never dare telljier, but
I still admire Blair Leighton and Alma Tadema. Oh, but I'm chattering. And the Chief Constable himself--
indeed I never expected--so afraid I shall be taking up
his time------"
" Completely ga-ga," thought the disgusted Detective- Inspector Craddock.
" Come into the Manager's private room," said
Rydesdale. " We can talk better there."
When Miss Marple had been disentangled from her
wool, and her spare knitting pins collected, she accompanied
them, fluttering and protesting, to Mr. Rowlandson's
comfortable sitting-room. 96
Enter Miss Marple
" Now, Miss Marple, let's hear what you have to tell
us," said the Chief Constable.
Miss Marple came to the point with unexpected
brevity.
" It was a cheque," she said. " He altered it."
" He?"
" The young man at the desk here, the one who is
supposed to have staged that hold-up and shot himself."
" He altered a cheque, you say?"
Miss Marple nodded.
" Yes. I have it here." She extracted it from her bag
and laid it on the table. " It came this morning with my
others from the Bank. You can see it was for seven
pounds, and he altered it to seventeen. A stroke in front
of the 7, and teen added after the word seven with a
nice artistic little blot just blurring the whole word.
Really very nicely done. A certain amount of practice, I should say. It's the same ink, because I wrote the
cheque actually at the desk. I should think he'd done it
quite often before, wouldn't you?"
" He picked the wrong person to flo'it to, this time,"
remarked Sir Henry.
Miss Marple nodded agreement.
" Yes. I'm afraid he would never have gone very far
in crime. I was quite the wrong person. Some busy
young married woman, or some girl having a love affair
--that's the kind who write cheques for all Lorts of
different sums and don't really look through their passbooks
carefully. But an old woman who has to be careful
of the pennies, and who has formed habits--that's quite
the wrong person to choose. Seventeen pounds is a sum
I never write a cheque for. Twenty pounds, a round
sum, for the monthly wages and books. And as for my
personal expenditure, I usually cash seven--it used to be
five, but everything has gone up so."
97
A Murder is Announced.
" And perhaps he reminded you of someone?" prompted
Sir Henry, mischief in his eye.
Miss Marple smiled and shook her head at him.
" You are very naughty. Sir Henry. As a matter of
fact he did. Fred Tyier, at the fish shop. Always slipped
an extra i in the shillings column. Eating so much fish
as we do nowadays, it made a long bill, and lots of
people never added it up. Just ten shillings in his pocket
every time, not much but enough to get himself a few
neckties and take Jessie Spragge (the girl in the draper's)
to the pictures. Cut a splash, that's what these young
fellows want to do. Well, the very first week I was here,
there was a mistake in my bill. I pointed it out to the
young man and he apologised very nicely and looked
very much upset, but I thought to myself then: ' You've
got a shifty eye, young man.'
" What I mean by a shifty eye," continued Miss
Marple, " is the kind that looks very straight at you and
never looks away or blinks."
Craddock gave a sudden movement of appreciation.
He thought to himself " Jim Kelly to the life " remembering
a notorious swindler he had helped to put behind
bars not long ago.
" Rudi Scherz was a thoroughly unsatisfactory character,"
said Rydesdale. "He's got a police record in
Switzerland, we find."
" Made the place too hot for him, I suppose, and
came over here with forged papers?" said Miss Marple.
" Exactly," said Rydesdale.
" He was going about with the little red-haired waitress
from the dining-room," said Miss Marple. " Fortunately
I don't think her heart's affected at all. She just liked to
have someone a bit ' different,' and he used to give her
flowers and chocolates which the English boys don't do
much. Has she told you all she knows?" she asked,
98
Enter Miss Marple
turning suddenly to Craddock. "Or not quite all
yet?"
" I'm not absolutely sure," said Craddock cautiously.
" I think there's a little to come," said Miss Marple.
" She's looking very worried. Brought me kippers instead
of herrings this morning, and forgot the milk jug. Usually
she's an excellent waitress. Yes, she's worried. Afraid
she might have to give evidence or something like that.
But I expect"--her candid blue eyes swept over the
manly proportions and handsome face of DetectiveInspector
Craddock with truly feminine Victorian appreciation--"
that you will be able to persuade her to
tell you all she knows."
Detective-Inspector Craddock blushed and Sir Henry chuckled.
" It might be important," said Miss Marple. " He may have told her who it was."
Rydesdale stared at her.
"Who what was?"
" I express myself so badly.. Who it was who put him
up to it, I mean."
" So you think someone put him up to it?"
Miss Marple's eyes widened in surprise.
" Oh, but surely--I mean . . . Here's a personable
young man--who niches a little bit here and a little bit
there--alters a small cheque, perhaps helps himself to a
small piece of jewellery if it's left lying around, or takes
a little money from the till--all sorts of small petty
thefts. Keeps himself going in ready money so that he
can dress well, and take a girl about--all that sort of
thing. And then suddenly he goes off, with a revolver,
and holds up a room full of people, and shoots at someone.
He'd never have done a thing like that--not for a
moment! He wasn't that kind of person. It doesn't
make sense."
99
A Murder is Announced
Craddock drew in his breath sharply. That was what
Letitia Blacklock had said. What the Vicar's wife had
said. What he himself felt with increasing force. It
didn't make sense. And now Sir Henry's old Pussy was
saying it, too, with complete certainty in her fluting old
lady's voice.
" Perhaps you'll tell us, Miss Marple," he said, and his
voice was suddenly aggressive, " what did happen, then?"
She turned on him in surprise.
" But how should I knew what happened ? There was
an account in the paper--but it says so little. One can
make conjectures, of course, but one has no accurate
information."
" George," said Sir Henry. " Would it be very unorthodox
if Miss Marple were allowed to read the notes
of the interviews Craddock had with these people at
Chipping Cleghom."
" It may be unorthodox," said Rydesdale, " but I've
not got where I am by being orthodox. She can read
them. I'd be curious to hear what she has to say."
Miss Marple was all embarrassment.
" I'm afraid you've been listening to Sir Henry. Sir
Henry is always too kind. He thinks too much of any
little observations I may have made in the past. Really,
I have no gifts--no gifts at all--except perhaps a certain
knowledge of human nature. People, I find, are apt to
be far too trustful. I'm afraid that I have a tendency
always to believe the worst. Not a nice trait. But so
often justified by subsequent events."
" Read these," said Rydesdale, thrusting the typewritten
sheets upon her. " They won't take you long.
After all, these people are your kind--you must know a
lot of people like them. You may be able to spot something
that we haven't. The case is just going to be closed.
Let's have an amateur's opinion on it before we shut up
700
Enter Miss Marple
the files. I don't mind telling you that Craddock here
isn't satisfied. He says, like you, that it doesn't make
sense."
There was silence whilst Miss Marple read. She put
the typewritten sheets down at last.
" It's very interesting," she said with a sigh. " All the
different things that people say--and think. The things
they see--or think that they see. And all so complex,
nearly all so trivial and if one thing isn't trivial, it's so hard to spot which one--like a needle in a haystack."
Craddock felt a twinge of disappointment. Just for a
moment or two, he had wondered if Sir Henry might be
right about this funny old lady. She might have put her
finger on something--old people were often very sharp.
He'd never, for instance, been able to conceal anything
from his own great aunt Emma. She had finally told
him that his nose twitched when he was about to tell a
lie.
But just a few fluffy generalities, that was all that Sir
Henry's famous Miss Marple could produce. He felt
annoyed with her and said rather curtly:
" The truth of the matter is that the facts are indisputable.
Whatever conflicting details these people give,
they all saw one thing. They saw a masked man with a
revolver and a torch open the door and hold them up,
and whether they think he said ' Stick 'em up ' or ' Your
money or your life,' or whatever phrase is associated
with a hold-up in their minds, they saw him."
" But surely," said Miss Marple gently. " They couldn't
--actually--have seen anything at all...."
Craddock caught his breath. She'd got it! She was
sharp, after all. He was testing her by that speech of his,
but she hadn't fallen for it. It didn't actually make any
difference to the facts, or to what happened, but she'd
realised, as he'd realised, that those people who had seen
707
A Murder is Announced
a masked man holding them up couldn't really have seen him at all.
" If I understand rightly," Miss Marple had a pink
flush on her cheeks, her eyes were bright and pleased as
a child's, " there wasn't any light in the hall outside--
and not on the landing upstairs either?"
" That's right," said Craddock.
" And so, if a man stood in the doorway and flashed
a powerful torch into the room, nobody could see anything
but the torch, could they?"
" No, they couldn't. I tried it out."
" And so when some of them say they saw a masked
man, etc., they are really, though they don't realise it,
recapitulating from what they saw afterwards--when
the lights came on. So it really all fits in very well,
doesn't it, on the assumption that Rudi Scherz was the--
I think,' fall guy ' is the expression I mean ?"
Rydesdale stared at her in such surprise that she grew
pinker still.
" I may have got the term wrong," she murmured.
" I am not very clever about Americanisms--and I
understand they change very quickly. I got it from one
of Mr. Dashiel Hammett's stories. (I understand from
my nephew Raymond that he is considered at the top of
the tree in what is called the ' tough' style of literature.)
A ' fall guy,' if I understand it rightly, means someone
who will be blamed for a crime really committed by
someone else. This Rudi Scherz seems to me exactly the
right type for that. Rather stupid really, you know, but
full of cupidity and probably extremely credulous."
Rydesdale said, smiling tolerantly:
" Are you suggesting that he was persuaded by someone
to go out and take pot shots at a room full of people ?
Rather a tall order."
" I think he was told that it was a joke," said Miss 102
Enter Miss Marple
Marple. " He was paid for doing it, of course. Paid,
that is, to put an advertisement in the newspaper, to go
out and spy out the household premises, and then, on the
night in question, he was to go there, assume a mask and
a black cloak and throw open a door, brandishing a
torch, and cry ' Hands up!' "
" And fire off a revolver?"
" No, no," said Miss Marple. " He never had a
revolver."
" But everyone says----" began Rydesdale, and
stopped.
" Exactly," said Miss Marple. " Nobody could possibly
have seen a revolver even if he had one. And I
don't think he had. I think that after he'd called ' Hands
up ' somebody came up quietly behind him in the darkness
and fired those two shots over his shoulder. It
frightened him to death. He swung round and as he did
so, that other person shot him and then let the revolver
drop beside him...."
The three men looked at her. Sir Henry said softly:
" It's a possible theory."
" But who is Mr. X. who came up in the darkness?"
asked the Chief Constable.
Miss Marple coughed.
" You'll have to find out from Miss Blacklock who
wanted to kill her."
Good for old Dora Bunncr, thought Craddock. Instinct
against intelligence every time.
" So you think it was a deliberate attempt on Miss
Blacklock's life," asked Rydesdale.
" It certainly has that appearance," said Miss Marple.
" Though there are one or two difficulties. But what I
was really wondering about was whether there mightn't
be a short cut. I've no doubt that whoever arranged this
with Rudi Scherz took pains to tell him to keep his i of
A Murder is Announced
mouth shut about it, and perhaps he did keep his mouth
shut, but if he talked to anybody it would probably be to
that girl, Myrna Harris. And he may--he just may--
have dropped some hint as to the kind of person who'd
suggested the whole thing."
" I'll see her now," said Craddock, rising.
Miss Marple nodded.
" Yes, do, Inspector Craddock. I'll feel happier when
you have. Because once she's told you anything she
knows she'll be much safer."
" Safer? ... Yes, I see."
He left the room. The Chief Constable said doubtfully,
but tactfully:
" Well, Miss Marple, you've certainly given us something
to think about."
in
" I'm sorry about it, I am really," said Myma Harris.
" It's ever so nice of you not to be ratty about it. But
you see Mum's the sort of person who fusses like anything.
And it did look as though I'd--what's the phrase
--been an accessory before the fact" (the words ran
glibly off her tongue). " I mean, I was afraid you'd
never take my word for it that I only thought it was
just a bit of fun."
Inspector Craddock repeated the reassuring phrases
with which he had broken down Myma's resistance.
" I will. I'll tell you all about it. But you will keep
me out of it if you can because of Mum? It all started
with Rudi breaking a date with me. We were going to
the pictures that evening and then he said he wouldn't
be able to come and I was a bit stand-offish with him
about it--because after all, it had been his idea and I 104
Enter Miss Marple
don't fancy being stood up by a foreigner. And he said
it wasn't his fault, and I said that was a likely story, and
then he said he'd got a bit of a lark on that night--and
that he wasn't going to be out of pocket by it and how
would I fancy a wrist-watch? So I said, what do you
mean by a lark? And he said not to tell anyone, but
there was to be a party somewhere and he was to stage
a sham hold-up. Then he showed me the advertisement
he'd put in and I had to laugh. He was a bit scornful
about it all. Said it was kid's stuff really--but that was
just like the English. They never really grew up--and
of course, I said what did he mean by talking like that
about Us--and we had a bit of an argument, but we
made it up. Only you can understand, can't you, sir,
that when I read all about it, and it hadn't been a joke
at all and Rudi had shot someone and then shot himself
--why, I didn't know what to do. I thought if I said I
knew about it beforehand, it would look as though
I were in on the whole-thing. But it really did seem like
a joke when he told me about it.* I'd have sworn he
meant it that way. I didn't even know he'd got a revolver.
He never said anything about taking a revolver
with him."
Craddock comforted her and then asked the mast
important question.
" Who did he say it was who had arranged this
party?"
But there he drew a blank.
" He never said who it was that was getting him to do
it. I suppose nobody was, really. It was all his own
doing."
" He didn't mention a name ? Did he say he--or she ?"
" He didn't say anything except that it was going to be
a scream. ''I shall laugh to see all their faces.' That's
what he said."
105
A Murder is Announced
He hadn't had long to laugh, Craddock thought.
" It's only a theory," said Rydesdale as they drove back
to Medenham. " Nothing to support it, nothing at
all. Put it down as old maid's vapourings and let it go,
eh?"
" I'd rather not do that, sir."
" It's all very improbable. A mysterious X appearing
suddenly in the darkness behind our Swiss friend. Where
did he come from ? Who was he ? Where had he been ?"
" He could have come in through the side door," said
Craddock, " just as Scherz came. Or," he added slowly,
" he could have come from the kitchen."
" She could have come from the kitchen, you mean?"
" Yes, sir, it's a possibility. I've not been satisfied
about that girl all along. She strikes me as a nasty bit of
goods. All that screaming and hysterics—it could have
been put on. She could have worked on this young
fellow, let him in at the right moment, rigged the whole
thing, shot him, bolted back into the dining-room,
caught up her bit of silver and her chamois and started
her screaming act."
" Against that we have the fact that—er—what's his
name—oh, yes, Edmund Swettenham, definitely says the
key was turned on the outside of the door, and that he
turned it to release her. Any other door into that part of
the house?"
" Yes, there's a door to the back stairs and kitchen
just under the stairs, but it seems the handle came off
three weeks ago and nobody's come to put it on yet. In
the meantime you can't open the door. I'm bound to
say that story seems correct. The spindle and the two
fo6
Enter Miss Marple
handles were on a shelf outside the door in the hall and
they were thickly coated with dust, but of course a professional
would have ways of opening that door all right."
" Better look up the girl's record. See if her papers are
in order. But it seems to me the whole thing is very
theoretical."
Again the Chief Constable looked inquiringly at his
subordinate. Craddock replied quietly :
" I know, sir, and of course if you think the case ought
to be closed, it must be. But I'd appreciate it if I could
work on it for just a little longer."
Rather to his surprise the Chief Constable said quietly
and approvingly:
" Good lad."
" There's the revolver to work on. If this theory is
correct, it wasn't Scherz's revolver and certainly nobody
so far has been able- to say that Scherz ever had a
revolver."
" It's a German make."
" I know, sir. But this country's absolutely full of continental
makes of guns. All the Americans brought them
back and so did our chaps. You can't go by that."
" True enough. Any other lines of inquiry ?"
" There's got to be a motive. If there's anything in
this theory at all, it means that last Friday's business
wasn't a mere joke and wasn't an ordinary hold-up, it
was a cold-blooded attempt at murder. Somebody tried
to murder Miss Blacklock. Now why? It seems to me
that if anyone knows the answer to that it must be Miss
Blacklock herself."
" I understand she rather poured cold water on that
idea?"
" She poured cold water on the idea that Rudi Scherz wanted to murder her. And she was quite right. And
there's another thing, sir."
107
A Murder is Announced
" Yes?"
" Somebody might try again."
" That would certainly prove the truth of the theory,"
said the Chief Constable dryly. " By the way, look after
Miss Marple, won't you?"
"MissMarple? Why?"
" I gather she is taking up residence at the Vicarage
in Chipping Cleghorn and coming into Medenham Wells
twice a week for her treatments. It seems that Mrs.
What'shemame is the daughter of an old friend of Miss
Marple's. Good sporting instincts, that old bean. Oh,
well, I suppose she hasn't much excitement in her life
and sniffing round after possible murderers gives her a
kick."
" I wish she wasn't coming," said Craddock seriously.
" Going to get under your feet?"
" Not that, sir, but she's a nice old thing. I shouldn't
like anything to happen to her . . . always supposing, I
mean, that there's anything in this theory."
108
9. Concerning a Door
"i'm sorry to bother you again. Miss Blacklock-
" Oh, it doesn't matter. I suppose, as the inquest was
adjourned for a week, you're hoping to get more evidence?"

Detective-Inspector Craddock nodded.
" To begin with, Miss Blacklock, Rudi Scherz was not
the son of the proprietor of the Hotel des Alpes at Montreux.
He seems to have started his career as an orderly
in a hospital at Beme. A good many of the patients
missed small pieces of jewellery. Under another name
he was a waiter at one of the small winter sports places.
His speciality there was" making out-duplicate bills in the
restaurant with items on one that didn't appear on the
other. The difference, of course, went into his pocket.
After that he was in a department store in Zurich. Their
losses from shoplifting were rather above the average whilst he was with them. It seems likely that the shoplifting
wasn't entirely due to customers."
" He was a picker up of unconsidered trifles, in fact?"
said Miss Blacklock dryly. " Then I was right in thinking
that I had not seen him before ?"
" You were quite right--no doubt you were pointed
out to him at the Royal Spa Hotel and he pretended to
recognise you. The Swiss police had begun to make his
own country rather too hot for him, and he came over
here with a very nice set of forged papers and took a job
at the Royal Spa."
" Quite a good hunting ground," said Miss Blacklock log
A Murder is Announced
dryly. " It's extremely expensive and very well-off people
stay there. Some of them are careless about their bills, I
expect."
" Yes," said Craddock. " There were prospects of a
satisfactory harvest."
Miss BIacklock was frowning.
" I see all that," she said. " But why come to Chipping
Cleghom ? What does he think we've got here that
could possibly be better than the rich Royal Spa Hotel?"
" You stick to your statement that there's nothing of especial value in the house?"
" Of course there isn't. I should know. I can assure
you, Inspector, we've not got an unrecognised Rembrandt
or anything like that."
" Then it looks, doesn't it, as though your friend, Miss
Bunner were right ? He came here to attack you."
(" There, Letty, what did I tell you!"
" Oh, nonsense. Bunny.")
"But is it nonsense?" said Craddock. "I think, you
know, that it's true."
Miss BIacklock stared very hard at him.
" Now, let's get this straight. You really believe that
this young man came out here--having previously arranged
by means of an advertisement that half the village
would turn up agog at that particular time----"
" But he mayn't have meant that ti happen," interrupted
Miss Bunner eagerly. " It may have been just a
horrid sort of warning--to you, Letty--that's how I read
it at the time--' A murder is announced'--I felt in my
bones that it was sinister--if it had all gone as planned
he would have shot you and got away--and how would
anyone have ever known who it was?"
" That's true enough," said Miss BIacklock. " But----"
" I knew that advertisement wasn't a joke, Letty. I
said so. And look at Mitzi--she was frightened, too!" no
Concefmhg a Door
" Ah," said Craddock, " Mitzi. I'd like to know rather
more about that young woman."
" Her permit and papers are quite in order."
" I don't doubt that," said Craddock dryly. " Scherz's
papers appeared to be quite correct, too."
" But why should this Rudi Scherz want to murder
me? That's what you don't attempt to explain. Inspector
Craddock."
" There may have been someone behind Scherz," said
Craddock slowly. " Have you thought of that ?"
He used the words metaphorically though it flashed
across his mind that if Miss Marple's theory was correct,
the words would also be true in a literal sense. In any
case they made little impression on Miss Blacklock, who
still looked sceptical.
" The point remains the same," she said. " Why on
earth should anyone want to murder me ?"
" It's the answer to that that I want you to give me,
Miss Blacklock." - - "
Well, I can't! That's flat. I've no enemies. As far
as I'm aware I've always lived on perfectly good terms
with my neighbours. I don't know any guilty secrets
about anyone. The whole idea is ridiculous! And if
what you're hinting is that Mitzi has something to do
with this, that's absurd, too. As Miss Bunner has just
told you she was frightened to death when she saw that
advertisement in the Gazette. She actually wanted to
pack up and leave the house then and there."
" That may have been a clever move on her part. She
may have known you'd press her to stay."
" Of course, if you've made up your mind about it,
you'll find an answer to everything. But I can assure you
that if Mitzi had taken an unreasoning dislike to me, she
might conceivably poison my food, but I'm sure she
wouldn't go in for all this elaborate rigmarole. in
A Murder is Announced
" The whole idea's absurd. I believe you police have
got an anti-foreigner complex. Mitzi may be a liar but
she's not a cold-blooded murderer. Go and bully her if
you must. But when she's departed in a whirl of indignation,
or shut herself up howling in her room, I've a good
mind to make you cook the dinner. Mrs. Harmon is
bringing some old lady who is staying with her to tea this
afternoon and I wanted Mitzi to make some little cakes
--but I suppose you'll upset her completely. Can't you possibly go and suspect somebody else ?"
ii
Craddock went out to the kitchen. He asked Mitzi
questions that he had asked her before and received the
same answers.
Yes, she had locked the front door soon after four
o'clock. No, she did not always do so, but that afternoon
she had been nervous because of " that dreadful advertisement."
It was no good locking the side door because
Miss Blacklock and Miss Bunner went out that way to
shut up the ducks and feed the chickens and Mrs. Haymes
usually came in that way from work.
" Mrs. Haymes says she locked the door when she
came in at 5.30."
" Ah, and you believe her--oh, yes, you believe
her...."
" Do you think we shouldn't believe her?"
"What does it matter what I think? You will not
believe me."
" Supposing you give us a chance. You think Mrs.
Haymes didn't lock that door?"
" I thinking she was very careful not to lock it."
" What do you mean by that?" asked Craddock.
112
Concerning a Door
" That young man, he does not work alone. No, he
knows where to come, he knows that when he comes a
door will be left open for him--oh, very conveniently
open!"
" What are you trying to say?"
" What is the use of what I say? You will not listen.
You say I am a poor refugee girl who tells lies. You say
that a fair-haired English lady, oh, no, she does not tell
lies--she is so British--so honest. So you believe her and
not me. But I could tell you. Oh, yes, I could tell you!"
She banged down a saucepan on the stove.
Craddock was in two minds whether to take notice of
what might be only a stream of spite.
" We note everything we are told," he said.
" I shall not tell you anything at all. Why should I ?
You are all alike. You persecute and despise poor refugees.
If I say to you that when, a week before, that
young man come to ask Miss Blacklock for money and
she sends him away, as- you say, with a flea in the car--
if I tell you that after that I hear him' talking with Mrs.
Haymes--yes, out there in the summerhouse--all you
say is that I make it up!"
And so you probably are making it up, thought Craddock.
But he said aloud:
" You couldn't hear what was said out in the summerhouse."

" There you are wrong," screamed Mitzi triumphantly.
" I go out to get nettles--it makes very nice vegetables,
nettles. They do not think so, but I cook it and not tell
them. And I hear them talking in there. He say to her
' But where can I hide ?' And she say ' I will show you ' ---and then she say, ' At a quarter-past six,' and I think,
' Ach so! That is how you behave, my fine lady! After
you come back from work, you go out to meet a man.
You bring him into the house.' Miss Blacklock, I think, "3
A Murder is Announced
she will not like that. She will turn you out. I will
watch, I think, and listen and then I will tell Miss Blacklock.
But I understand now I was wrong. It was not
love she planned with him, it was to rob and to murder.
But you will say I make all this up. Wicked Mitzi, you
will say. I will take her to prison."
Craddock wondered. She might be making it up.
But possibly she might not. He asked cautiously :
" You are sure it was this Rudi Scherz she was talking
to?"
" Of course I am sure. He just leave and I see him go
from the drive across to the summerhouse. And presently,"
said Mitzi defiantly, " I go out to see if there are
any nice young green nettles."
Would there, the Inspector wondered, be any nice
young green nettles in October? But he appreciated that
Mitzi had had to produce a hurried reason for what had
undoubtedly been nothing more than plain snooping.
" You didn't hear any more than what you have told
me?"
Mitzi looked aggrieved.
" That Miss Bunner, the one with the long nose, she
call and call me. Mitzi! Mitzi! So I have to go. Oh,
she is irritating. Always interfering. Says she will teach
me to cook. Her cooking! It tastes, yes, everything she
does, of water, water, water!"
"Why didn't you tell me this the other day?" asked
Craddock sternly.
" Because I did not remember--I did not think. . . .
Only afterwards do I say to myself, it was planned then
--planned with her."
" You are quite sure it was Mrs. Haymes?"
" Oh, yes, I am sure. Oh, yes, I am very sure. She is
a thief, that Mrs. Haymes. A thief and the associate of
thieves. What she gets for working in the garden, it is 114
Concerning a Door
not enough for such a fine lady, no. She has to rob Miss
Blacklock who has been kind to her. Oh, she is bad, bad,
bad, that one!"
" Supposing," said the Inspector, watching her closely,
" that someone was to say that you had been seen talking
toRudi Scherz?"
The suggestion had less effect than he had hoped for.
Mitzi merely snorted and tossed her head.
" If anyone say they see me talking to him, that is lies,
lies, lies, lies," she said contemptuously. " To tell lies
about anyone, that is easy, but in England you have to
prove them true. Miss Blacklock tell me that, and it is
true, is it not? I do not speak with murderers and
thieves. And no English policeman shall say I do. And
how can I do cooking for lunch if you are here, talk,
talk, talk ? Go out of my kitchens, please. I want now to
make a very careful sauce."
Craddock went obediently. He was a little shaken in
his suspicions of Mitzi. Her story about Phillipa Haymes
had been told with great conviction. Mitzi might be a
liar (he thought she was), but "he fancied that there might
be some substratum of truth in this particular tale. He
resolved to speak to Phillipa on the subject. She had
seemed to him when he questioned her a quiet, well-bred
young woman. He had had no suspicion of her.
Crossing the hall, in his abstraction, he tried to open
the wrong door. Miss Bunner, descending the staircase,
hastily put him right.
"Not that door," she said. "It doesn't open. The
next one to the left. Very confusing, isn't it. So many
doors."
" There are a good many," said Craddock, looking up
and down the narrow hall.
Miss Bunner amiably enumerated them for him.
" First the door to the cloakroom, and then the cloaks
"5
A Murder is Announced
cupboard door and then the dining-room—that's on that
side. And on this side, the dummy door that you were
trying to get through and then there's the drawing-room
door proper, and then the china cupboard door and the
door of the little flower room, and at the end the side
door. Most confusing. Especially these two being so near
together. I've often tried the wrong one by mistake. We
used to have the hall table against it, as a matter of fact,
but then we moved it along against the wall there."
Craddock had noted, almost mechanically, a thin line
horizontally across the panels of the door he had been
trying to open. He realised now it was the mark where
the table had been. Something stirred vaguely in his
mind as he asked, " Moved? How long ago?"
In questioning Dora Bunner there was fortunately no
need to give a reason for any question. Any query on
any subject seemed perfectly natural to the garrulous
Miss Bunner who delighted in the giving of information,
however trivial.
" Now let me see, really quite recently—ten days or a
fortnight ago."
"Why was it moved?"
" I really can't remember. Something to do with the
flowers. I think Phillipa did a big vase—she arranges
flowers quite beautifully—all autumn colouring and twigs
and branches, and it was so big it caught your hair as
you went past, and so Phillipa said, ' Why not move the
table along and anyway the flowers would look much
better against the bare wall than against the panels of
the door.' Only we had to take down ' Wellington at
Waterloo.' Not a print I'm really very fond of. We put
it under the stairs."
"It's not really a dummy, then?" Craddock asked,
looking at the door.
" Oh, no, it's a real door, if that's what you mean. It's
176
Concerning a Door
the door of the small drawing-room, but when the rooms
were thrown into one, one didn't need two doors, so this
one was fastened up."
"Fastened up?" Craddock tried it again, gently.
" You mean it's nailed up ? Or just locked ?"
" Oh, locked, I think, and bolted too."
He saw the bolt at the top and tried it. The bolt slid
back easily--too easily... .
" When was it last open ?" he asked Miss Bunner.
" Oh, years and years ago, I imagine. It's never been
opened since I've been here, I know that."
" You don't know where the key is ?"
" There are a lot of keys in the hall drawer. It's probably
among those."
Craddock followed her and looked at a rusty assortment
of old keys pushed far back in the drawer. He
scanned them and selected one that looked different from
the rest and went back to the door. The key fitted and
turned easily. He pushed and the door slid open noiselessly.

" Oh, do be careful," cried Miss Bunner. " There may
be something resting against it inside. We never open it."
" Don't you ?" said the Inspector.
His face now was grim. He said with emphasis:
" This door's been opened quite recently, Miss Bunner.
The lock's been oiled and the hinges."
She stared at him, her foolish face agape.
" But who could have done that?" she asked.
" That's what I mean to find out," said Craddock
grimly. He thought--"X from outside? No--X was
hwe--in this house--X was in the drawing-room that
night. .. ."
117
io. Pip and Emma
miss blacklock listened to him this time with
more attention. She was an intelligent woman, as he had
known, and she grasped the implications of what he had
to tell her.
" Yes," she said quietly. " That does alter things. . . .
No one had any right to meddle with that door. Nobody
has meddled with it to my knowledge."
" You see what it means," the Inspector urged. " When
the lights went out, anybody in this room the other night
could have slipped out of that door, come up behind
Rudi Scherz and fired at you."
" Without being seen or heard or noticed?"
" Without being seen or heard or noticed. Remember
when the lights went out people moved, exclaimed,
bumped into each other. And after that all that could be
seen was the blinding light of the electric torch."
Miss Blacklock said slowly, " And you believe that one
of those people—one of my nice commonplace neighbours—slipped
out and tried to murder me? Me? But
why? For goodness' sake, why?"
" I've a feeling that you must know the answer to that
question, Miss Blacklock."
" But I don't, Inspector. I can assure you, I don't."
" Well, let's make a start. Who gets your money if you
were to die?"
Miss Blacklock said rather reluctantly :
" Patrick and Julia. I've left the furniture in this
118
Pip and Emma
house and a small annuity to Bunny. Really, I've not
much to leave. I had holdings in German and Italian
securities which became worthless, and what with taxation,
and the lower percentages that arc now paid on invested capital, I can assure you I'm not worth murdering--I
put most of my money into an annuity about a
year ago."
" Still, you have some income, Miss Blacklock, and
your nephew and niece would come into it."
" And so Patrick and Julia would plan to murder me?
I simply don't believe it. They're not desperately hard
up or anything like that."
" Do you know that for a fact?"
" No. I suppose I only know it from what they've told
me. . . . But I really refuse to suspect them. Somedzty I might be worth murdering, but not now."
" What do you mean by someday you might be
worth murdering, Miss Blacklock?" Inspector Craddock
pounced on the statement.
" Simply that one day--possibly quite soon--I may be a very rich woman." ' "
" That sounds interesting. Will you explain ?"
" Certainly. You may not know it, but for more than
twenty years I was secretary to and closely associated
with Randall Goedler."
Craddock was interested. Randall Goedler had been a
big name in the world of finance. His daring speculations
and the rather theatrical publicity with which he
surrounded himself had made him a personality not
quickly forgotten. He had died, if Craddock remembered
rightly, in 1937 or 1938.
" He's rather before your time, I expect," said Miss
Blacklock. " But you've probably heard of him."
" Oh, yes. He was a millionaire, wasn't he?"
' Oh, several times over--though his finances fluc-
? "9
A Murder is Announced
tuated. He always risked most of what he made on some
new coup."
She spoke with a certain animation, her eyes brightened
by memory.
"Anyway he died a very rich man. He had no
children. He left his fortune in trust for his wife during
her lifetime and after her death to me absolutely."
A vague memory stirred in the Inspector's mind.
IMMENSE FORTUNE TO COME TO FAITHFUL SECRETARY
--something of that kind.
" For the last twelve years or so," said Miss Blacklock
with a slight twinkle, " I've had an excellent motive for
murdering Mrs. Goedler--but that doesn't help you, does
it?"
" Did--excuse me for asking this--did Mrs. Goedler
resent her husband's disposition of his fortune ?"
Miss Blacklock was now looking frankly amused.
" You needn't be so very discreet. What you really
mean is, was I Randall Goedler's mistress? No, I wasn't.
I don't think Randall ever gave me a sentimental
thought, and I certainly didn't give him one. He was in
love with Belle (his wife), and remained in love with her
until he died. I think in all probability it was gratitude
on his part that prompted his making his will. You see,
Inspector, in the very early days, when Randall was still
on an insecure footing, he came very near to disaster. It
was a question of just a few thousands of actual cash. It
was a big coup, and a very exciting one; daring, as all
his schemes were; but he just hadn't got that little bit of
cash to tide him over. I came to the rescue. I had a
little money of my own. I believed in Randall. I sold
every penny I had out and gave it to him. It did
the trick. A week later he was an immensely wealthy
man.
" After that, he treated me more or less as a junior zao
I Pip and Emma
partner. Oh! they were exciting days." She sighed. " I
enjoyed it all thoroughly. Then my father died, and my
only sister was left a hopeless invalid. I had to give it all
up and go and look after her. Randall died a couple of
years later. I had made quite a lot of money during our
association and I didn't really expect him to leave me
anything, but I was very touched, yes, and very proud
to find that if Belle predeceased me (and she was one of
those delicate creatures whom everyone always says won't
live long) I was to inherit his entire fortune. I think
really the poor man didn't know who to leave it to.
Belle's a dear, and she was delighted about it. She's
really a very sweet person. She lives up in Scotland. I
haven't seen her for years--we just write at Christmas.
You see, I went with my sister to a sanatorium in Switzerland
just before the war. She died of consumption
out there."
She was silent for a moment or two, then said :
" I only came back to England just over a year ago."
" You said you might-be a rich woman very soon. . . .
How soon?"
" I heard from the nurse attendant who looks after
Belle Goedler that Belle is sinking rapidly. It may be--
only a few weeks."
She added sadly:
" The money won't mean much to me now. I've got
quite enough for my rather simple needs. Once I should
have enjoyed playing the markets again--but now . . . Oh, well, one grows old. Still, you do see, Inspector,
don't you, that if Patrick and Julia wanted to kill me for
a financial reason they'd be crazy not to wait for another
few weeks."
" Yes, Miss Blacklock, but what happens if you should
predecease Mrs. Goedler. Who does the money go to
then?"
131
A Murder is Announced
" D'you know, I've never really thought. Pip and
Emma, I suppose...."
Craddock stared and Miss Blacklock smiled.
"Does that sound rather crazy? I believe, if I predecease
Belle, the money would go to the legal offspring
--or whatever the term is--of Randall's only sister,
Sonia. Randall had quarrelled with his sister. She
married a man whom he considered a crook and worse."
" And was he a crook?"
"Oh, definitely, I should say. But I believe a very
attractive person to women. He was a Greek or a Roumanian
or something--what was his name now--Stamfordis,
Dmitri Stamfordis."
" Randall Goedler cut his sister out of his will when
she married this man?"
" Oh, Sonia was a very wealthy woman in her own
right. Randall had already settled packets of money on
her, as far as possible in a way so that her husband
couldn't touch it. But I believe that when the lawyers
urged him to put in someone in case I predeceased Belle,
he reluctantly put down Sonia's offspring, simply because
he couldn't think of anyone else and he wasn't the sort
of man to leave money to charities."
" And there were children of the marriage?"
" Well, there are Pip and Emma." She laughed. " I
know it sounds ridiculous. All I know is that Sonia wrote
once to Belle after her marriage, telling her to tell Randall
that she was extremely happy and that she had just
had twins and was calling them Pip and Emma. As far
as I know she never wrote again. But Belle, of course,
may be able to tell you more."
Miss Blacklock had been amused by her own recital.
The Inspector did not look amused.
" It comes to this," he said. " If you had been killed
the other night, there are presumably at least two people 122
Pip and Emma
in the world who would have come into a very large fortune. You are wrong, Miss Blacklock, when you say
that there is no one who has a motive for desiring your
death. There are two people, at least, who are vitally
interested. How old would this brother and sister be?"
Miss Blacklock frowned.
" Let me see ... 1922 . . . no--it's difficult to remember.
... I suppose about twenty-five or twenty-six."
Her face had sobered. " But you surely don't think------"
" I think somebody shot at you with the intent to kill
you. I think it possible that that same person or persons
might try again. I would like you, if you will, to be very very careful, Miss Blacklock. One murder has been arranged
and did not come off. I think it possible that
another murder may be arranged very soon."
ii
Phillipa Haymes straightened her * back and pushed
back a tendril of hair from her damp forehead. She was
cleaning a flower border.
" Yes, Inspector?"
She looked at him inquiringly. In return he gave her
a rather closer scrutiny than he had done before. Yes, a
good-looking girl, a very English type with her pale ashblonde
hair and her rather long face. An obstinate chin
and mouth. Something of repression--of tautness about
her. The eyes were blue, very steady in their glance, and
told you nothing at all. The sort of girl, he thought, who
would keep a secret well.
"I'm sorry always to bother you when you're at work,
Mrs. Haymes," he said, " but I didn't want to wait until
you came back for lunch. Besides, I thought it might be
easier to talk to you here, away from Little Paddocks." 133
A Murder is Announced
"Yes, Inspector?"
No emotion and little interest in the voice. But was
there a note of wariness--or did he imagine it?
" A certain statement has been made to me this morning.
This statement concerns you."
Phillipa raised her eyebrows very slightly.
"You told me, Mrs. Haymes, that this man, Rudi
Scherz, was quite unknown to you?"
" Yes."
" That when you saw him there, dead, it was the first
time you had set eyes on him. Is that so ?"
" Certainly. I had never seen him before."
" You did not, for instance, have a conversation with
him in the summerhouse of Little Paddocks?"
" In the summerhouse ?"
He was almost sure he caught a note of fear in her
voice.
" Yes, Mrs. Haymes."
" Who says so?"
" I am told that you had a conversation with this
man, Rudi Scherz, and that he asked you where he could
hide and you replied that you would show him, and that
a time, a quarter-past six, was definitely mentioned. It
would be a quarter-past six, roughly, when Scherz would
get here from the bus stop on the evening of the holdup."
There was a moment's silence. Then Phillipa gave a
short scornful laugh. She looked amused.
" I don't know who told you that," she said. " At
least I can guess. It's a very silly, clumsy story--spiteful,
of course. For some reason Mitzi dislikes me even more
than she dislikes the rest of us."
" You deny it?"
" Of course it's not true. ... I never met or saw Rudi
Scherz in my life, and I was nowhere near the house that
morning. I was over here, working." 124
Pip and Emma
Inspector Craddock said very gently:
" Which morning?"
There was a momentary pause. Her eyelids flickered.
"Every morning. I'm here every morning. I don't
get away until one o'clock."
She added scornfully:
" It's no good listening to what Mitzi tells you. She
tells lies all the time."
" And that's that," said Craddock when he was walking
away with Sergeant Fletcher. " Two young women
whose stories flatly contradict each other. Which one
am I to believe?"
" Everyone seems to agree that this foreign girl tells
whoppers," said Fletcher. " It's been my experience in
dealing with aliens that lying comes more easy than
truth telling. Seems to be clear she's got a spite against
this Mrs. Haymes."
" So, if you were me, you'd believe *Mrs. Haymes?"
" Unless you've got reason to think otherwise, sir."
And Craddock hadn't, not really--only the remembrance
of a pair of over-steady blue eyes and the glib
enunciation of the words that morning. For to the best
of his recollection be hadn't said whether the interview
in the summerhouse had taken place in the morning or
the afternoon.
Still, Miss Blacklock, or if not Miss Blacklock, certainly
Miss Bunner, might have mentioned the visit of the
young foreigner who had come to cadge his fare back to
Switzerland. And Phillipa Haymes might have therefore
assumed that the conversation was supposed to have
taken place on that particular morning.
But Craddock still thought that there had been a note
°f fear in her voice as she asked :
' In the stvmmerhause?"
"5
A Murder is Announced He decided to keep an open mind on the subject.
in
It was very pleasant in the Vicarage garden. One of
those sudden spells of autumn warmth had descended
upon England. Inspector Craddock could never remember
if it was St. Martin's or St. Luke's Summer, but he
knew that it was very pleasant--and also very enervating.
He sat in a deck chair provided for him by an
energetic Bunch, just on her way to a Mothers' Meeting,
and, well protected with shawls and a large rug round
her knees, Miss Marple sat knitting beside him. The
sunshine, the peace, the steady click of Miss Marple's
knitting needles, all combined to produce a soporific
feeling in the Inspector. And yet, at the same time,
there was a nightmarish feeling at the back of his mind.
It was like a familiar dream where an undertone of
menace grows and finally turns Ease into Terror....
He said abruptly, " You oughtn't to be here."
Miss Marple's needles stopped clicking for a moment.
Her placid china blue eyes regarded him thoughtfully.
She said, " I know what you mean. You're a very
conscientious boy. But it's perfectly all right. Bunch's
father (he was vicar of our parish, a very fine scholar)
and her mother (who is a most remarkable woman--real
spiritual power) are very old friends of mine. It's the
most natural thing in the world that when I'm at Medenham
I should come on here to stay with Bunch for a
little."
"Oh, perhaps," said Craddock. "But--but don't
snoop around. . . . I've a feeling--I have really--that it
isn't safe."
Miss Marple smiled a little. 126
Pip and Emma
" But I'm afraid," she said, " that we old women
always do snoop. It would be very odd and much more
noticeable if I didn't. Questions about mutual friends in
different parts of the world and whether they remember
so and so, and do they remember who it was that Lady
Somebody's daughter married? All that helps, doesn't
it?"
" Helps?" said the Inspector, rather stupidly.
" Helps to find out if people are who they say they
are," said Miss Marple.
She went on:
" Because that's what's worrying you, isn't it ? And
that's really the particular way the world has changed
since the war. Take this place, Chipping Cleghom, for
instance. It's very much like St. Mary Mead where I
live. Fifteen years ago one knew who everybody was.
The Bantrys in the big house--and the Hartnells and the
Price Ridleys and the Weatherbys. . . . They were
people whose fathers and mothers and grandfathers and
grandmothers, or whose aunts and uncles, had lived there
before them. If somebody new came to live there, they
brought letters of introduction, or they'd been in the
same regiment or served on the same ship as someone
there already. If anybody new--really new--really a
stranger--came, well, they stuck out--everybody wondered
about them and didn't rest till they found out."
She nodded her head gently :
" But it's not like that any more. Every village and
small country place is full of people who've just come
and settled there without any ties to bring them. The
big houses have been sold, and the cottages have been
converted and changed. And people just come--and all
you know about them is what they say of themselves.
They've come, you see, from all over the world. People
from India and Hong Kong and China, and people who 127
11. Miss Marple Comes to Tea
if letitia blacklock seemed slightly absentminded
when Mrs. Harmon came to tea and brought a
guest who was staying with her. Miss Marple, the guest
in question, was hardly likely to notice the fact since it
was the first time she had met her.
The old lady was very charming in her gentle gossipy
fashion. She revealed herself almost at once to be one of
those old ladies who have a constant preoccupation with
burglars. - - . .
" They can get in anywhere, my dear," she assured
her hostess, " absolutely anywhere nowadays. So many
new American methods. I myself pin my faith to a very
old-fashioned device. A cabin hook and eye. They can
pick locks and draw back bolts but a brass hook and eye
defeats them. Have you ever tried that?"
" I'm afraid we're not very good at bolts and bars,"
said Miss Blacklock cheerfully. " There's really nothing
much to burgle."
" A chain on the front door," Miss Marple advised.
" Then the maid need only open it a crack and see who
is there and they can't force their way in."
" I expect Mitzi, our Mittel European, would love
that."
" The hold-up you had must have been very, very
frightening," said Miss Marple. " Bunch has been telling
me all about it."
" I was scared stiff," said Bunch. 131
A Murder is Announced
" It was an alarming experience," admitted Miss
Blacklock.
" It really seems like Providence that the man tripped
himself up and shot himself. These burglars are so violent nowadays. How did he get in?"
" Well, I'm afraid we don't lock our doors much."
" Oh, Letty," exclaimed Miss Bunner. " I forgot to
tell you the Inspector was most peculiar this morning.
He insisted on opening the second door--you know--
the one that's never been opened--the one over there.
He hunted for the key and everything and said the door
had been oiled. But I can't see why because----"
Too late she got Miss Blacklock's signal to be quiet,
and paused openmouthed.
" Oh, Lotty, I'm so--sorry--I mean, oh, I do beg your
pardon, Lctty--oh, dear, how stupid I am."
" It doesn't matter," said Miss Blacklock, but she was
annoyed. "Only I don't think Inspector Craddock
wants that talked about. I didn't know you had been
there when he was experimenting, Dora. You do understand,
don't you, Mrs. Harmon?"
" Oh, yes," said Bunch. " We won't breathe a word,
will we, Aunt Jane. But I wonder why he----"
She relapsed into thought. Miss Bunner fidgeted and
looked miserable, bursting out at last: " I always say the
wrong thing--Oh, dear, I'm nothing but a trial to you,
Letty."
Miss Blacklock said quickly, " You're my great comfort,
Dora. And anyway in a small place like Chipping
Cleghom, there aren't really any secrets."
" Now that is very true," said Miss Marple. " I'm
afraid, you know, that things do get round in the most
extraordinary way. Servants, of course, and yet it can't
only be that, because one has so few servants nowadays.
Still, there are the daily women and perhaps they are 132
Miss Marple Comes to Tea
worse, because they go to everybody in turn and pass the
news round."
" Oh!" said Bunch Harmon suddenly. " I've got it!
Of course, if that door could open too,- someone might
have gone out of here in the dark and done the holdup --only of course they didn't--because it was the man
from the Royal Spa Hotel. Or wasn't it? ... No, I
don't see after all..." she frowned.
"Did it all happen in this room then?" asked Miss
Marple, adding apologetically: " I'm afraid you must
think me sadly curious. Miss Blacklock--but it really is
so very exciting--just like something one reads about in
the paper--and actually to have happened to someone
one knows . . . I'm just longing to hear all about it and
to picture it all, if you know what I mean----**
Immediately Miss Marple received a confused and
voluble account from Bunch and Miss Bunner--with
occasional emendations and corrections from Miss Blacklock.
In
the middle of it Patrick came in and good-naturedly
entered into the spirit of the recital--going so far as to
enact himself the part of Rudi Scherzo
"And Aunt Letty was there--in the corner by the
archway ... Go and stand there. Aunt Letty."
Miss Blacklock obeyed, and then Miss Marple was
shown the actual bullet holes.
" What a marvellous--what a providential escape," she gasped.
" I was just going to offer my guests cigarettes----"
Miss Blacklock indicated the big silver box on the table.
" People are so careless when they smoke," said Miss
Bunner disapprovingly. " Nobody really respects good
furniture as they used to do. Look at the horrid bum
somebody made on this beautiful table by putting a
cigarette down on it. Disgraceful."
133
A Murder is Announced
Miss Blacklock sighed.
" Sometimes, I'm afraid, one thinks too much of one's
possessions."
" But it's such a lovely table, Letty."
Miss Bunner loved her friend's possessions with as
much fervour as though they had been her own. Bunch
Harmon had always thought it was a very endearing
trait in her. She showed no sign of envy.
" It is a lovely table," said Miss Marple politely.
" And what a very pretty china lamp on it."
Again it was Miss Bunner who accepted the compliment
as though she and not Miss Blacklock was the
owner of the lamp.
" Isn't it delightful? Dresden. There is a pair of them.
The other's in the spare room, I think."
" You know where everything in this house is, Dora--
or you think you do," said Miss Blacklock, goodhumouredly.
" You care far more about my things than
I do."
Miss Bunner flushed.
" I do like nice things," she said. Her voice was half
defiant--half wistful.
" I must confess," said Miss Marple, " that my own
few possessions are very dear to me, too--so many memories, you know. It's the same with photographs.
People nowadays have so few photographs about. Now
I like to keep all the pictures of my nephews and nieces
as babies--and then as children--and so on."
" You've got a horrible one of me, aged three," said
Bunch. " Holding a fox terrier and squinting."
" I expect your aunt has many photographs of you,"
said Miss Marple, turning to Patrick.
" Oh, we're only distant cousins," said Patrick.
" I believe Elinor did send me one of you as a baby,
Pat," said Miss Blacklock. "But I'm afraid I didn't '34
Miss Marple Comes to Tea
keep it. I'd really forgotten how many children she'd
had or what their names were until she wrote me about
you two being over here."
" Another sign of the times," said Miss Marple.
" Nowadays one so often doesn't know one's younger
relations at all. In the old days, with all the big family
reunions, that would have been impossible."
" I last saw Pat and Julia's mother at a wedding thirty
years ago," said Miss Blacklock. " She was a very pretty
girl."
" That's why she has such handsome children," said Patrick with a grin.
" You've got a marvellous old album," said Julia.
" Do you remember. Aunt Letty, we looked through it
the other day. The hats!"
"And how smart we thought ourselves," said Miss
Blacklock with a sigh.
" Never mind. Aunt Letty," said Patrick, " Julia will
come across a snapshot of herself in about thirty years'
time--and won't she think she looks a guy!"
"Did you do that on purpose?" said Bunch, as she and
Miss Marple were walking home. " Talk about photographs
I mean?"
" Well, my dear, it is interesting to know that Miss
Blacklock didn't know either of her two young relatives
by sight. . . . Yes--I think Inspector Craddock will be
interested to hear that."
135
i2. Morning Activities in Chipping
Cleghorn
edmund swettenham sat down rather precariously
on a garden roller.
" Good morning, Phillipa," he said.
" HaUo."
" Are you very busy?"
" Moderately."
" What arc you doing?"
"Can't you see?"
" No. I'm not a gardener. You seem to be playing
with earth in some fashion."
" I'm pricking out winter lettuce."
" Pricking out? What a curious term! Like pinking.
Do you know what pinking is? I only leamt the other
day. I always thought it was a term for professional
duelling."
" Do you want anything particular?" asked Phillipa
coldly.
" Yes. I want to see you."
Phillipa gave him a quick glance.
" I wish you wouldn't come here like this. Mrs. Lucas
won't like it."
" Doesn't she allow you to have followers?"
" Don't be absurd."
" Followers. That's another nice word. It describes
my attitude perfectly. Respectful--at a distance--but
firmly pursuing."
" Please go away, Edmund. You've no business to
come here."
136
Morning Activities in Chipping Cleghorn
" You're wrong," said Edmund triumphantly. " I have business here. Mrs. Lucas rang up my mamma this
morning and said she had a good many vegetable
marrows."
" Masses of them."
" And would we like to exchange a pot of honey for a
vegetable marrow or so."
" That's not a fair exchange at all! Vegetable marrows
are quite unsaleable at the moment--everybody has
such a lot."
" Naturally. That's why Mrs. Lucas rang up. Last
time, if I remember rightly, the exchange suggested was
some skim milk--skim milk, mark you--in exchange
for some lettuces. It was then very early in the season
for lettuces. They were about a shilling each."
Phillipa did not speak.
Edmund tugged at his pocket and extracted a pot of
honey.
" So here," he said, " is my alibi. Used in a loose and
quite indefensible meaning of the term. If Mrs. Lucas
pops her bust round the door of the potting shed, I'm
here in quest of vegetable marrows. There is absolutely
no question of dalliance."
" I see."
" Do you ever read Tennyson ?" inquired Edmund
conversationally.
" Not very often."
" You should. Tennyson is shortly going to make a
come-back in a big way. When you turn on your wireless
in the evening it will be the Idyls of the King you
will hear and not interminable Trollope. I always
thought the Trollope pose was the most unbearable
affectation. Perhaps a little of Trollope, but not to drown
in him. But speaking of Tennyson, have you read
'Maud'?"
'37
A Murder is Announced
" Once, long ago."
" It's got some points about it." He quoted softly:
" ' Faultily faultless, icily regular, splendidly null.' That's
you, Phillipa."
" Hardly a compliment!"
" No, it wasn't meant to be. I gather Maud got under
the poor fellow's skin just like you've got under mine."
" Don't be absurd, Edmund."
" Oh, hell, Phillipa, why are you like you are? What
goes on behind your splendidly regular features? What do you think? What do you feel? Are you happy, or
miserable, or frightened, or what? There must be something."
Phillipa said quietly.
" What I feel is my own business."
" It's mine, too. I want to make you talk. I want to
know what goes on in that quiet head of yours. I've a right to know. I have really. I didn't want to fall in
love with you. I wanted to sit quietly and write my book.
Such a nice book, all about how miserable the world is.
It's frightfully easy to be clever about how miserable
everybody is. And it's all a habit, really. Yes, I've suddenly
become convinced of that. After reading a life of
Burne Jones."
Phillipa had stopped pricking out. She was staring at
him with a puzzled frown.
" What has Burne Jones got to do with it?"
" Everything. When you've read all about the PrcRaphaelites
you realise just what fashion is. They were
all terrifically hearty and slangy and jolly, and laughed
and joked, and everything was fine and wonderful. That
was fashion, too. They weren't any happier or heartier
than we are. And we're not any more miserable than
they were. It's all fashion, I tell you. After the last war,
we went in for sex. Now it's all frustration. None of it 138
Morning Activities in Chipping Cleghorn
matters. Why are we talking about all this? I started
out to talk about us. Only I got cold feet and shied off.
Because you won't help me."
" What do you want me to do?"
" Talk! Tell me things. Is it your husband ? Do you
adore him and he's dead and so you've shut up like a
clam? Is that it? All right, you adored him, and
he's dead. Well, other girls' husbands are dead--lots of
them--and some of the girls loved their husbands. They
tell you so in bars, and cry a bit when they're drunk
enough, and then want to go to bed with you so that
they'll feel better. It's one way of getting over it, I suppose.
You've got to get over it, Phillipa. You're young
--and you're extremely lovely--and I love you like Hell.
Talk about your damned husband, tell me about him."
" There's nothing to tell. We met and got married."
" You must have been very young."
" Too young."
" Then you weren't happy with him ? Go on, Phillipa."
" There's nothing to go on about. We were married.
We were as happy as most people are, I suppose. Harry was born. Ronald went overseas. He--he was killed in
Italy."
" And now there's Harry?"
" And now there's Harry."
" I like Harry. He's a really nice kid. He likes me.
We get on. What about it, Phillipa? Shall we get
married? You can go on gardening and I can go on
writing my book and in the holidays we'll leave off working
and enjoy ourselves. We can manage, with tact, not
to have to live with Mother. She can fork out a bit to
support her adored son. I sponge, I write tripey books,
I have defective eyesight and I talk too much. That's
the worst. Will you try it ?"
Phillipa looked at him. She saw a tall rather solemn
i39
A Murder is Announced
young man with an anxious face and large spectacles. His sandy head was rumpled and he was regarding her
with a reassuring friendliness.
" No," said Phillipa.
" Definitely no?"
" Definitely no."
" Why?"
" You don't know anything about me."
"Is that all?"
" No, you don't know anything about anything."
Edmund considered.
"Perhaps not," he admitted. "But who does?
Phillipa, my adored one----" He broke off.
A shrill and prolonged yapping was rapidly approaching.

" Pekes in the high hall garden, (said Edmund) When tivilight was falling (only it's eleven a.m.) Phil, Phil, Phil, Phil,
They were crying and calling
" Your name doesn't lend itself to the rhythm, does it?
Sounds like an ' Ode to a Fountain Pen.' Have you got
another name?"
" Joan. Please go away. That's Mrs. Lucas."
" Joan, Joan, Joan, Joan. Better, but still not good. When greasy Joan the pot doth keel--that's not a nice
picture of married life, either."
" Mrs. Lucas is----"
" Oh, hell!" said Edmund. " Get me a blasted vegetable
marrow."
ii
Sergeant Fletcher had the house at Little Paddocks to
himself.
140
Morning Activities in Chipping Cleghom
It was Mitzi's day off. She always went by the eleven
o'clock bus into Medenham Wells. By arrangement with
Miss Blacklock, Sergeant Fletcher had the run of the
house. She and Dora Bunner had gone down to the
village.
Fletcher worked fast. Someone in the house had oiled
and prepared that door, and whoever had done it, had
done it in order to be able to leave the drawing-room
unnoticed as soon as the lights went out. That ruled out
Mitzi who wouldn't have needed to use the door.
Who was left? The neighbours, Fletcher thought,
might also be ruled out. He didn't see how they could
have found an opportunity to oil and prepare the door.
That left Patrick and Julia Simmons, Phillipa Haymes,
and possibly Dora Bunner. The young Simmons were in
Milchester. Phillipa Haymes was at work. Sergeant
Fletcher was free to search out any secrets he could. But
the house was disappointingly innocent. Fletcher, who
was an expert on electricity could find nothing suggestive in the wiring or appurtenances of the electric fixtures to
show how the lights had been fused. Making a rapid
survey of the household bedrooms he found an irritating
normality. In Phillipa Haymes' room were photographs
of a small boy with serious eyes, an earlier photo of the
same child, a pile of schoolboy letters, a theatre programme
or two. In Julia's room there was a drawer full
of snapshots of the South of France. Bathing photos, a
villa set amidst mimosa. Patrick's held some souvenirs of
Naval days. Dora Bunncr's held few personal possessions
and they seemed innocent enough.
And yet, thought Fletcher, someone in the house must
have oiled that door.
His thoughts broke off at a sound below stairs.
He went quickly to the top of the staircase and looked
down.
141
A Murder is Announced
Mrs. Swettenham was crossing the hall. She had a
basket on her arm. She looked into the drawing-room,
crossed the hall and went into the dining-room. She
came out again without the basket.
Some faint sound that Fletcher made, a board that
creaked unexpectedly under his feet, made her turn her
head. She called up :
" Is that you, Miss Blacklock?"
" No, Mrs. Swettenham, it's me," said Fletcher.
Mrs. Swettenham gave a faint scream.
" Oh! how you startled me. I thought it might be
another burglar."
Fletcher came down the stairs.
" This house doesn't seem very well protected against
burglars," he said. " Can anybody always walk in and
out just as they like?"
" I just brought up some of my quinces," explained
Mrs. Swettenham. " Miss Blacklock wants to make
quince jelly and she hasn't got a quince tree here. I left
them in the dining-room."
Then she smiled.
" Oh, I see, you mean how did I get in? Well, I just
came in through the side door. We all walk in and out
of each other's houses, Sergeant. Nobody dreams of
locking a door until it's dark. I mean it would be so
awkward, wouldn't it, if you brought things and couldn't
get in to leave them? It's not like the old days when
you rang a bell and a servant always came to answer it."
Mrs. Swettenham sighed. " In India, I remember," she
said mournfully, " we had eighteen servants—eighteen.
Not counting the ayah. Just as a matter of course. And
at home, when I was a girl, we always had three—
although Mother always felt it was terribly poverty
stricken not to be able to afford a kitchen-maid. I must
say that I find life very odd nowadays. Sergeant, though
143
Morning Activities in Chipping Cleghom
I know one mustn't complain. So much worse for the
miners always getting psittiscosis (or is that parrot
disease ?) and having to come out of the mines and try to
be gardeners though they don't know weeds from spinach."
She added, as she tripped towards the door, " I mustn't
keep you. I expect you're very busy. Nothing else is
going to happen, is it?"
" Why should it, Mrs. Swettenham?"
" I just wondered, seeing you here. I thought it might
be a gang. You'll tell Miss Blacklock about the quinces,
won't you?"
Mrs. Swettenham departed. Fletcher felt like a man
who has received an unexpected jolt. He had been as- suming--erroneously, he now perceived--that it must
have been someone in the house who had done the oiling
of the door. He saw now that he was wrong. An outsider
had only to wait until Mitzi had departed by bus
and Letitia Blacklock and Dora Bunner were both out of
the house. Such an opportunity mus have been simplicity
itself. That meant that he couldn't rule out anybody
who had been in the drawing-room that night.

,'ss,
in
' Murgatroyd."
'Yes, Hinch?"
' I've been doing a bit of thinking?"
'Have you, Hinch?"
" Yes, the great brain has been working. You know,
Murgatroyd, the whole set-up the other evening was
decidedly fishy."
" Fishy?"
143
A Murder is Announced
" Yes. Tuck your hair up, Murgatroyd, and take this
trowel. Pretend it's a revolver."
" Oh," said Miss Murgatroyd, nervously.
" All right. It won't bite you. Now come along to the
kitchen door. You're going to be the burglar. You stand here. Now you're going into the kitchen to hold up a lot
of nit-wits. Take the torch. Switch it on."
" But it's broad daylight!"
" Use your imagination, Murgatroyd. Switch it on."
Miss Murgatroyd did so, rather clumsily, shifting the
trowel under one arm while she did so.
" Now then," said Miss Hinchliffe, " off you go. Remember
the time you played Hermia in A Midsummer
Night's Dream at the Women's Institute? Act. Give it
all you've got. ' Stick 'cm up!' Those are your lines--
and don't ruin them by saying ' Please.' "
Obediently, Miss Murgatroyd raised her torch, nourished
the trowel and advanced on the kitchen door.
Transferring the torch to her right hand she swiftly
turned the handle and stepped forward, resuming the
torch in her left hand.
"Stick 'cm up!" she fluted, adding vexedly: "Dear
me, this is very difficult, Hinch."
" Why?"
" The door. It's a swing door, it keeps coming back
and I've got both hands full."
" Exactly," boomed Miss Hinchliffe. " And the drawing-room
door at Little Paddocks always swings to. It
isn't a swing door like this, but it won't stay open. That's
why Letty Blacklock bought that absolutely delectable
heavy glass doorstop from Elliot's in the High Street. I don't mind saying I've never forgiven her for getting in
ahead of me there. I was beating the old brute down
from eight guineas to six pound ten, and then Blacklock
comes along and buys the damned thing. I'd never seen 144
Morning Activities in Chipping Cleghom
as attractive a doorstop, you don't often get those glass
bubbles in that big size."
" Perhaps the burglar put the doorstop against the
door to keep it open," suggested Miss Murgatroyd.
" Use your common sense, Murgatroyd. What does he
do? Throw the door open, say ' excuse me a moment,'
stoop and put the stop into position and then resume
business by saying ' Hands up?' Try holding the door
with your shoulder."
" It's still very awkward," complained Miss Murgatroyd.

" Exactly," said Miss Hinchliffe. " A revolver, a torch
and a door to hold open--a bit too much, isn't it? So
what's the answer?"
Miss Murgatroyd did not attempt to supply an answer.
She looked inquiringly and admiringly at her masterful
friend and waited to be enlightened.
" We know he'd got a revolver, because he fired it,"
said Miss Hinchliffe. " And we know he had a torch
because we all saw it--that is unless we're all the victims
of mass hypnotism like explanations of the Indian Rope
trick (what a bore that old Easterbrook is with his Indian
stories) so the question is, did someone hold that door
open for him?"
" But who could have done that?"
" Well, you could have for one, Murgatroyd. As far
as I remember, you were standing directly behind it
when the lights went out." Miss HinchlifTe laughed
heartily. " Highly suspicious character, aren't you, Murgatroyd
? But who'd think it to look at you. Here, give
me that trowel--thank heavens it isn't really a revolver.
You'd have shot yourself by now!"
145
A Murder is Announced
IV
" It's a most extraordinary thing," muttered Colonel
Easterbrook. " Most extraordinary. Laura."
"Yes, darling?"
" Come into my dressing-room a moment."
"What is it, darling?"
Mrs. Easterbrook appeared through the open door.
" Remember my showing you that revolver of mine?"
" Oh, yes, Archie, a nasty horrid black thing."
" Yes. Hun souvenir. Was in this drawer, wasn't it?"
" Yes, it was."
" Well, it's not there now."
" Archie, how extraordinary!"
" You haven't moved it or anything?"
" Oh, no, I'd never dare to touch the horrid thing."
" Think old mother what'semame did ?"
" Oh, I shouldn't think so, for a minute. Mrs. Butt
would never do a thing like that. Shall I ask her?"
" No—no, better not. Don't want to start a lot of talk.
Tell me, do you remember when it was I showed it to
you?"
" Oh, about a week ago. You were grumbling about
your collars and the laundry and you opened this drawer
wide and there it was at the back and I asked you what
it was."
" Yes, that's right. About a week ago. You don't
remember the date ?"
Mrs. Easterbrook considered, eyelids down over her
eyes, a shrewd brain working.
" Of course," she said. " It was Saturday. The
day we were to have gone in to the pictures, but we
didn't."
146
Morning Activities in Chipping Cleghom
"H'm--sure it wasn't before that? Wednesday?
Thursday or even the week before that again?"
" No, dear," said Mrs. Easterbrook. " I remember quite distinctly. It was Saturday the 30th. It just seems
a long time because of all the trouble there's been. And
I can tell you how I remember. It's because it was the
day after the hold-up at Miss Blacklock's. Because when
I saw your revolver it reminded me of the shooting the
night before."
" Ah," said Colonel Easterbrook, " then that's a great
load off my mind."
"Oh. Archie, why?"
" Just because if that revolver had disappeared before
the shooting--well, it might possibly have been my revolver
that was pinched by that Swiss fellow."
" But how would he have known you had one ?"
" These gangs have a most extraordinary communication
service. They get to know everything about a place
and who lives there." - >
" What a lot you do know, Archie."
" Ha. Yes. Seen a thing or two in my time. Still as
you definitely remember seeing my revolver after the
hold-up--well, that settles it. The revolver that Swiss
fellow used can't have been mine, can it?"
" Of course it can't."
" A great relief. I should have had to go to the police
about it. And they ask a lot of awkward questions.
Bound to. As a matter of fact I never took out a licence
for it. Somehow, after a war, one forgets these peacetime
regulations. I looked on it as a war souvenir, not as a
firearm."
"Yes, I see. Of course."
" But all the same--where on earth can the damned
thing be?"
"Perhaps Mrs. Butt took it. She's always seemed i47
A Murder is Announced
quite honest, but perhaps she felt nervous after the holdup
and thought she'd like to--to have a revolver in the
house. Of course, she'll never admit doing that. I shan't
even ask her. She might get offended. And what should
we do then? This is such a big house--I simply
couldn't----»
"Quite so," said Colonel Easterbrook. "Better not
say anything."
i4»
i3. Morning Activities in Chipping
Cleghorn (continued)
miss marple came out of the Vicarage gate and
walked down the little lane that led into the main street.
She walked fairly briskly with the aid of the Rev.
Julian Harmon's stout ashplant stick.
She passed the Red Cow and the butcher's and
stopped for a brief moment to look into the window of
Mr. Elliot's antique shop. This was cunningly situated
next door to the Bluebird Tearooms and Cafe so that
rich motorists, after stopping for a nice cup of tea and
somewhat euphemistically named " Home Made Cakes "
of a bright saffron colour, could be tempted by Mr.
Elliot's judiciously planned shop window.
In this antique bow frame, Mr. Elliot catered for all
tastes. Two pieces of Waterford glass reposed on an
impeccable wine cooler. A walnut bureau, made up of
various bits and pieces proclaimed itself a Genuine Bargain
and on a table, in the window itself, were a nice
assortment of cheap doorknockers and quaint pixies, a
few chipped bits of Dresden, a couple of sad-looking
bead necklaces, a mug with " A Present from Tunbridge
Wells" on it, and some tit-bits of Victorian silver.
Miss Marple gave the window her rapt attention, and
Mr. Elliot, an elderly obese spider, peeped out of his
web to appraise the possibilities of this new fly.
But just as he decided that the charms of the Present
from Tunbridge Wells were about to be too much for the 149
A Murder is Announced
lady who was staying at the Vicarage (for of course Mr.
Elliot, like everybody else, knew exactly who she was),
Miss Marple saw out of the corner of her eye Miss Dora
Bunner entering the Bluebird Cafe, and immediately
decided that what she needed to counteract the cold
wind was a nice cup of morning coffee.
Four or five ladies were already engaged in sweetening
their morning shopping by a pause for refreshment. Miss
Marple, blinking a little in the gloom of the interior of
the Bluebird, and hovering artistically, was greeted by
the voice of Dora Bunner at her elbow.
" Oh, good morning, Miss Marple. Do sit down here.
I'm all alone."
" Thank you."
Miss Marple subsided gratefully on to the rather
angular little blue-painted arm-chair which the Bluebird
affected.
" Such a sharp wind," she complained. " And I can't
walk very fast because of my rheumatic leg."
" Oh, I know. I had sciatica one year--and really,
most of the time I was in agony."
The two ladies talked rheumatism, sciatica and neuritis
for some moments with avidity. A sulky-looking girl
in a pink overall with a flight of bluebirds down the
front of it took their order for coffee and cakes with a
yawn and an air of weary patience.
" The cakes," Miss Bunner said in a conspiratorial
whisper, " are really quite good here."
" I was so interested in that very pretty girl I met as
we were coming away from Miss Blacklock's the other
day," said Miss Marple. " I think she said she docs
gardening. Or is she on the land ? Hynes--was that her
?"
namer
" Oh, yes, Phillipa Haymes. Our ' Lodger,' as we
call her." Miss Bunner laughed at her own humour. 750
Morning Activities in Chipping Cleghom
" Such a nice quiet girl. A lady, if you know what I
mean."
" I wonder now. I knew a Colonel Haymes--in the
Indian cavalry. Her father perhaps?"
" She's Mrs. Haymes. A widow. Her husband was
killed in Sicily or Italy. Of course, it might be his father."
" I wondered, perhaps, if there might be a little
romance on the way?" Miss Marple suggested roguishly.
" With that tall young man?"
" With Patrick, do you mean? Oh, I don't----"
" No, I meant a young man with spectacles. I've seen
him about."
" Oh, of course, Edmund Swettenham. Sh! That's his
mother, Mrs. Swettenham, over in tlie corner. I don't
know, I'm sure. You think he admires her? He's such
an odd young man--says the most disturbing things
sometimes. He's supposed to be clever, you know," said
Miss Bunner with frank disapproval.
" Cleverness isn't everything," said Miss Marple, shaking
her head. " Ah, here is our coffee."
The sulky girl deposited it with a clatter. Miss Marple
and Miss Bunner pressed cakes on each other.
" I was so interested to hear you were at school with
Miss Blacklock. Yours is indeed an old friendship."
"Yes, indeed." Miss Bunner sighed. "Very few
people would be as loyal to their old friends as dear Miss
Blacklock is. Oh, dear, those days seem a long time ago.
Such a pretty girl and enjoyed life so much. It all
seemed so sad."
Miss Marple, though with no idea of what had seemed
so sad, sighed and shook her head.
" Life is indeed hard," she murmured.
And sad affliction bravely borne," murmured Miss
Bunner, her eyes suffusing with tears. " I always think
i51
A Murder is Announced
of that verse. True patience; true resignation. Such
courage and patience ought to be rewarded, that is what
I say. What I feel is that nothing is too good for dear
Miss Blacklock, and whatever good things come to her,
she truly deserves them."
" Money," said Miss Marple, " can do a lot to ease
one's path in life."
She felt herself safe in this observation since she judged
that it must be Miss Blacklock's prospects of future
affluence to which her friend referred.
The remark, however, started Miss Bunner on another
train of thought.
"Money!" she exclaimed with bitterness. "I don't
believe, you know, that until one has really experienced
it, one can know what money, or rather the lack of it,
means."
Miss Marple nodded her white head sympathetically.
Miss Bunner went on rapidly, working herself up, and
speaking with a flushed face :
" I've heard people say so often ' I'd rather have
flowers on the table than a meal without them.' But how
many meals have those people ever missed? They don't
know what it is—nobody knows who hasn't been through
it—to be really hungry. Bread, you know, and a jar of
meat paste, and a scrape of margarine. Day after day,
and how one longs for a good plate of meat and two
vegetables. And the shabbiness. Darning one's clothes
and hoping it won't show. And applying for jobs and
always being told you're too old. And then perhaps
getting a job and after all one isn't strong enough. One
faints. And you're back again. It's the rent—always
the rent—that's got to be paid—otherwise you're out
in the street. And in these days it leaves so little over.
One's old age pension doesn't go far—indeed it
doesn't."
^
Morning Activities in Chipping Cleghom
" I know," said Miss Marple gently. She looked with
compassion at Miss Banner's twitching face.
" I wrote to Letty. I just happened to see her name
in the paper. It was a luncheon in aid of Milchestcr
Hospital. There it was in black and white. Miss Letitia
Blacklock. It brought the past back to me. I hadn't
heard of her for years and years. She'd been secretary,
you know, to that very rich man, Goedler. She was
always a clever girl—the kind that gets on in the world.
Not so much looks—as character. I thought—well, I
thought—perhaps she'll remember me—and she's one of
the people I could ask for a little help. I mean someone
you've known as a girl—been at school with—well, they
do know about you—they know you're not just a—
begging letter writer——"
Tears came into Dora Bunner's eyes.
" And then Lotty came and took me away—said she
needed someone to help her. Of course, I was very surprised—very
surprised—but "then newspapers do get
things wrong. How kind she was—and how sympathetic.
And remembering all the old days so well ... I'd do
anything for her—I really would. And I try very hard,
but I'm afraid sometimes I muddle things—my head's
not what it was. I make mistakes. And I forget and say
foolish things. She's very patient. What's so nice about
her is that she always pretends that I am useful to her.
That's real kindness, isn't it?"
Miss Marple said gently: " Yes, that's real kindness."
" I used to worry, you know, even after I came to
Little Paddocks—about what would become of me if—
if anything were to happen to Miss Blacklock. After all,
there are so many accidents—these motors dashing about
—one never knows, docs one? But naturally I never
said anything—but she must have guessed. Suddenly,
one day she told me that she'd left me a small annuity
'53
A Murder is Announced
in her will--and--what I value far more--all her beautiful
furniture. I was quite overcome . . . But she said
nobody else would value it as I should--and that is quite
true--I can't bear to see some lovely piece of china
smashed--or wet glasses put down on a table and leaving
a mark. I do really look after her things. Some people
--some people especially, are so terribly careless--and
sometimes worse than careless!
" I'm not really as stupid as I look," Miss Bunner
continued with simplicity. " I can see, you know, when
Letty's being imposed upon. Some people--I won't
name names--but they take advantage. Dear Miss Blacklock is, perhaps, just a shade too trusting."
Miss Marple shook her head.
" That's a mistake."
" Yes, it is. You and I, Miss Marple, know the world.
Dear Miss Blacklock----" She shook her head.
Miss Marple thought that as the secretary of a big
financier Miss Blacklock might be presumed to know the
world too. But probably what Dora Bunner meant was
that Letty Blacklock had always been comfortably off,
and that the comfortably off do not know the deeper
abysses of human nature.
" That Patrick!" said Miss Bunner with a suddenness
and an asperity that made Miss Marple jump. " Twice,
at least, to my knowledge, he's got money out of her.
Pretending he's hard up. Run into debt. All that sort of
thing. She's far too generous. All she said to me when
I remonstrated with her was: ' The boy's young, Dora.
Youth is the time to have your fling.' "
" Well, that's true enough," said Miss Marple. " Such
a handsome young man, too."
" Handsome is as handsome does," said Dora Bunner.
" Much too fond of poking fun at people. And a lot of
going on with girls. I expect. I'm just a figure of fun to '54
Morning Activities in Chipping Cleghom
him--that's all. He doesn't seem to realise that people have their feelings."
" Young people are rather careless that way," said
Miss Marple.
Miss Bunner leaned forward suddenly with a mysterious
air.
"You won't breathe a word, will you, my dear?" she
demanded. " But I can't help feeling that he was mixed
up in this dreadful business. I think he knew that young
man--or else Julia did. I daren't hint at such a thing to
dear Miss Blacklock--at least I did, and she just snapped
my head off. And, of course, it's awkward--because
he's her nephew--or at any rate her cousin--and if the
Swiss young man shot himself Patrick might be held
morally responsible, mightn't he? If he'd put him up to
it, I mean. I'm really terribly confused about the whole thing. Everyone making such a fuss about that other
door into the drawing-room. That's another thing that
worries me--the detective saying it had been oiled.
Because you see, I saw--:--"
She came to an abrupt stop. * Miss
Marple paused to select a phrase.
" Most difficult for you," she said sympathetically.
" Naturally you wouldn't want anything to get round to
the police."
" That's just it," Dora Bunner cried. " I lie awake at
nights and worry . . . because, you see, I came upon
Patrick in the shrubbery the other day. I was looking for ^Sg5--one hen lays out--and there he was holding a
feather and a cup--an oily cup. And he jumped most
guiltily when he saw me and he said: ' I was just wondering
what this was doing here.' Well, of course, he's a
quick thinker. I should say he thought that up quickly when I startled him. And how did he come to find a
thing like that in the shrubbery unless he was looking for
/55
A Murder is Announced
it, knowing perfectly well it was there. Of course, I
didn't say anything."
" No, no, of course not."
" But I gave him a look, if you know what I
mean."
Dora Bunner stretched out her hand and bit abstractedly
into a lurid salmon coloured cake.
" And then another day I happened to overhear him
having a very curious conversation with Julia. They
seemed to be having a kind of quarrel. He was saying:
' If I thought you had anything to do with a thing like that!' and Julia (she's always so calm, you know) said:
' Well, little brother, what would you do about it ?' And
then, most unfortunately, I trod on that board that
always squeaks, and they saw me. So I said, quite gaily:
' You two having a quarrel?' and Patrick said, ' I'm
warning Julia not to go in for these black market deals.'
Oh, it was all very slick, but I don't believe they were talking about anything of the sort! And if you ask me,
I believe Patrick had tampered with that lamp in the
drawing-room--to make the lights go out, because I remember
distinctly that it was the shepherdess--not the shepherd. And the next day----"
She stopped and her face grew pink. Miss Marple
turned her head to see Miss Blacklock, standing behind
them--she must just have come in.
" Coffee and gossip. Bunny?" said Miss Blacklock with
quite a shade of reproach in her voice. " Good morning,
Miss Marple. Cold, isn't it ?"
" We were just talking," said Miss Bunner, hurriedly.
" So many rules and regulations nowadays. One really
doesn't know where one is."
The doors flew open with a clang and Bunch Harmon
came into the Bluebird with a rush.
" Hallo," she said, " am I too late for coffee ?" 156
Morning Activities in Chipping Cleghom
" No, dear," said Miss Marple. " Sit down and have
a cup."
" We must get home," said Miss Blacklock. " Done
your shopping. Bunny?"
Her tone was indulgent once more, but her eyes still
held a slight reproach.
' Yes--yes, thank you, Letty. I must just pop into the
chemists' in passing and get seme aspirin and some cornplasters."
As
the doors of the Bluebird swung to behind them,
Bunch asked:
" What were you talking about?"
Miss Marple did not reply at once. She waited whilst
Bunch gave the order, then she said:
" Family solidarity is a very strong thing. Very strong.
Do you remember some famous case--I really can't remember
what it was. They said the husband poisoned
his wife. In a glass of'wine; Then, at the trial, the
daughter said she'd drunk half her mother's glass--so
that knocked the case against her father to pieces. They
do say--but that may be just rumour--that she never
spoke to her father or lived with him again. Of course,
a father is one thing--and a nephew or a distant cousin
is another. But still there it is--no one wants a member
of their own family hanged, do they?"
" No," said Bunch, considering. " I shouldn't think
they would."
Miss Marple leaned back in her chair. She murmured
under her breath, " People arc really very alike, everywhere."

"Who am I like?"
" Well, really, dear, you arc very much like yourself.
I don't know that you remind me of anyone in particular.
Except perhaps----"
" Here it comes," said Bunch. '57
A Murder is Announced
" I was just thinking of a parlourmaid of mine, dear."
"A parlourmaid? I should make a terrible parlourmaid."
"
Yes, dear, so did she. She was no good at all at
waiting at table. Put everything on the table crooked,
mixed up the kitchen knives with the dining-room ones,
and her cap (this was a long time ago, dear) her cap was never straight."
Bunch adjusted her hat automatically.
" Anything else?" she demanded anxiously.
" I kept her because she was so pleasant to have about
the house--and because she used to make me laugh. I
liked the way she said things straight out. Came to me
one day, ' Of course, I don't know, m'am,' she says, ' but
Florric, the way she sits down, it's just like a married
woman.' And sure enough poor Florrie was in trouble--
the gentlemanly assistant at the hairdresser's. Fortunately
it was in good time, and I was able to have a little
talk with him, and they had a very nice wedding
and settled down quite happily. She was a good girl,
Florrie, but inclined to be taken in by a gentlemanly
appearance."
" She didn't do a murder, did she?" asked Bunch.
" The parlourmaid, I mean."
" No, indeed," said Miss Marple. " She married a
Baptist Minister and they had a family of five."
" Just like me," said Bunch. " Though I've only got
as far as Edward and Susan up to date."
She added, after a minute or two:
" Who are you thinking about now, Aunt Jane?"
" Quite a lot of people, dear, quite a lot of people,"
said Miss Marple, vaguely.
"In St. Mary Mead?"
" Mostly ... I was really thinking about Nurse Ellerton--really
an excellent kindly woman. Took care of
158
Morning Activities in Chipping Cleghorn
an old lady, seemed really fond of her. Then the old
lady died. And another came and she died. Morphia.
It all came out. Done in the kindest way, and the shocking
thing was that the woman herself really couldn't see
that she'd done anything wrong. They hadn't long to
live in any case, she said, and one of them had cancer
and quite a lot of pain."
" You mean--it was a mercy killing?"
" No, no. They signed their money away to her. She
liked money, you know. .. .
" And then there was that young man on the liner--
Mrs. Pusey at the paper shop, her nephew. Brought
home stuff he'd stolen and got her to dispose of it. Said
it was things that he'd bought abroad. She was quite
taken in. And then when the police came round and
started asking questions, he tried to bash her on the head,
so that she shouldn't be able to give him away. . . . Not
a nice young man--but very good-looking. Had two
girls in Icve with him. He spent a lot" of money on one of
them."
" The nastiest one, I suppose," said Bunch.
" Yes, dear. And there was Mrs. Cray at the wool
shop. Devoted to her son, spoilt him, of course. He got
in with a very queer lot. Do you remember Joan Croft,
Bunch?"
" N-no, I don't think so."
" I thought you might have seen her when you were
with me on a visit. Used to stalk about smoking a cigar
or a pipe. We had a Bank hold-up once, and Joan Croft
was in the Bank at the time. She knocked the man
down and took his revolver away from him. She was
congratulated on her courage by the Bench."
Bunch listened attentively. She seemed to be learning
by heart.
"And----" she prompted. i59
A Murder is Announced
" That girl at St. Jean des Collines that summer. Such
a quiet girl--not so much quiet as silent. Everybody liked
her, but they never got to know her much better. . . .
We heard afterwards that her husband was a forger. It
made her feel cut off from people. It made her, in the
end, a little queer. Brooding does, you know."
" Any Anglo-Indian Colonels in your reminiscences,
darling?"
" Naturally, dear. There was Major Vaughan at The Larches and Colonel Wright at Simla Lodge. Nothing
wrong with either of them. But I do remember Mr.
Hodgson, the Bank Manager, went on a cruise and
married a woman young enough to be his daughter. No
idea of where she came from--except what she told him
of course."
" And that wasn't true?"
" No, dear, it definitely wasn't."
"Not bad," said Bunch nodding, and ticking people
off on her fingers. " We've had devoted Dora, and handsome
Patrick, and Mrs. Swettenham and Edmund, and
Phillipa Haymes, and Colonel Easterbrook and Mrs.
Easterbrook--and if you ask me, I should say you're
absolutely right about her. But there wouldn't be any
reason for her murdering Letty Blacklock."
" Miss Blacklock, of course, might know something
about her that she didn't want known."
" Oh, darling, that old Tanqueray stuff? Surely that's
dead as the hills."
" It might not be. You see, Bunch, you are not
the kind that minds much about what people think of you."
" I see what you mean," said Bunch suddenly. " If
you'd been up against it, and then, rather like a shivering
stray cat, you'd found a home and a cream and a warm
stroking hand and you were called Pretty Pussy and
/6o
Morning Activities in Chipping Cleghom
somebody thought the world of you ... You'd do a lot to
keep that . . . Well, I must say, you've presented me
with a very complete gallery of people."
" You didn't get them all right, you know," said Miss
Marple, mildly.
"Didn't I? Where did I slip up? Julia? Julia, pretty
Juliar is peculiar."
" Three and sixpence," said the sulky waitress, materialising
out of the gloom.
" And," she added, her bosom heaving beneath the
bluebirds, " I'd like to know, Mrs. Harmon, why you call
me peculiar. I had an aunt who joined the Peculiar
People, but I've always been good Church of England
myself, as the late Rev. Hopkinson can tell you."
" I'm terribly sorry," said Bunch. " I was just quoting
a song. I didn't mean you at all. I didn't know your
name was Julia."
" Quite a coincidence," said the sulky waitress, cheering
up. " No offence, I'm sure, but hearing my name, as
I thought--well, naturally if you think someone's talking
about you, it's only human nature to listen. Thank
you."
She departed with her tip.
"Aunt Jane," said Bunch, "don't look so upset.
What is it?"
"But surely," murmured Miss Marple. "That
couldn't be so. There's no reason----"
"Aunt Jane!"
Miss Marple sighed and then smiled brightly.
" It's nothing, dear," she said.
" Did you think you knew who did the murder?"
asked Bunch. " Who was it ?"
" I don't know at all," said Miss Marple. " I got an
idea for a moment--but it's gone. I wish I did know.
Time's so short. So terribly short." ; 161
A Murder is Announced
" What do you mean short?"
" That old lady up in Scotland may die any moment."
Bunch said, staring:
" Then you really do believe in Pip and Emma. You
think it was them--and that they'll try again?"
"Of course they'll try again," said Miss Marple, almost abscntmindedly. " If they tried once, they'll try
again. If you've made up your mind to murder someone,
you don't stop because the first time it didn't
come off. Especially if you're fairly sure you're not
suspected."
" But if it's Pip and Emma," said Bunch, " there are
only two people it could be. It must be Patrick and
Julia. They're brother and sister and they're the only
ones who are the right age."
" My dear, it isn't nearly as simple as that. There are
all sort of ramifications and combinations. There's Pip's
wife if he's married, or Emma's husband. There's their
mother--she's an interested party even if she doesn't
inherit direct. If Letty Blacklock hasn't seen her for
thirty years, she'd probably not recognise her now. One
elderly woman is very like another. You remember Mrs.
Wotherspoon drew her own and Mrs. Bartlett's Old Age Pension although Mrs. Bartlett had been dead for years.
Anyway, Miss BIacklock's shortsighted. Haven't you
noticed how she peers at people? And then there's the
father. Apparently he was a real bad lot."
" Yes, but he's a foreigner."
" By birth. But there's no reason to believe he speaks
broken English and gesticulates with his hands. I dare
say he could play the part of--of an AngloIndian
Colonel as well as anybody else."
" Is that what you think?"
" No, I don't. I don't indeed, dear. I just think that
there's a great deal of money at stake, a great deal of 162
money. And I'm afraid I know only too well the really
terrible things that people will do to lay their hands on a
lot of money."
" I suppose they will," said Bunch. " It doesn't really
do them any good, does it? Not in the end?"
" No--but they don't usually know that."
" I can understand it." Bunch smiled suddenly, her
sweet rather crooked smile. " One feels it would be
different for oneself. . . . Even I feel that." She considered
: " You pretend to yourself that you'd do a lot of
good with all that money. Schemes . . . Homes for
Unwanted Children . . . Tired Mothers ... A lovely rest
abroad somewhere for elderly women who have worked
too hard.. .."
Her face grew sombre. Her eyes were suddenly dark
and tragic.
" I know what you're thinking," she said to Miss
Marple. " You're thinking that I'd be the worst kind.
Because I'd kid myself. If you jusfwanted the money
for selfish reasons you'd at any rate see what you were
like. But once you began to pretend about doing good
with it, you'd be able to persuade yourself, perhaps, that
it wouldn't very much matter killing someone...."
Then her eyes cleared.
" But I shouldn't," she said. " I shouldn't really kill
anyone. Not even if they were old, or ill, or doing a lot
of harm in the world. Not even if they were blackmailers
or--or absolute beasts." She fished a fly carefully
out of the dregs of the coffee and arranged it on the table
to dry. " Because people like living, don't they? So do
flies. Even if you're old and in pain and you can just
crawl out in the sun. Julian says those people like living
even more than young strong people do. It's harder, he ^ys, for them to die, the struggle's greater. I like living
myself--not just being happy and enjoying myself and 163
A Murder is Announced
having a good time. I mean living—waking up and
feeling, all over me, that I'm there—ticking over."
She blew on the fly gently; it waved its legs, and flew
rather drunkenly away.
" Cheer up, darling Aunt Jane," said Bunch. " Z'd
never kill anybody."
164
14. Excursion into the Past
after a night in the train, Inspector Craddock
alighted at a small station in the Highlands.
It struck him for a moment as strange that the wealthy
Mrs. Goedler—an invalid—with a choice of a London
house in a fashionable square, an estate in Hampshire,
and a villa in the South of France, should have selected
this remote Scottish home as her residence. Surely she
was cut off here from many friends and distractions.
It must be a lonely life—or was she too ill to notice or
care about her surroundings?
A car was waiting to meet him. A big old-fashioned
Daimler with an elderly chauffeur driving it. It was a
sunny morning and the inspector enjoyed the twenty
mile drive, though he marvelled anew at this preference
for isolation. A tentative remark to the chauffeur
brought partial enlightenment.
" It's her own home as a girl. Ay, she's the last of the
family. And she and Mr. Goedler were always happier
here than anywhere, though it wasn't often he could get
away from London. But when he did they enjoyed
themselves like a couple of bairns."
When the grey walls of the old keep came in sight,
Craddock felt that time was slipping backwards. An
elderly butler received him, and after a wash and a shave,
he was shown into a room with a huge fire burning in
the grate, and breakfast was served to him.
After breakfast, a tall middle-aged woman in nurse's
^65
A Murder is Announced
dress, with a pleasant and competent manner, came in
and introduced herself as Sister McClelland.
" I have my patient all ready for you, Mr. Craddock.
She is, indeed, looking forward to seeing you."
" I'll do my best not to excite her," Craddock promised.
" I had better warn you of what will happen. You
will find Mrs. Goedler apparently quite normal. She will
talk and enjoy talking and then--quite suddenly--her
powers will fail. Come away at once, then, and send for
me. She is, you see, kept almost entirely under the
influence of morphia. She drowses most of the time. In
preparation for your visit, I have given her a strong
stimulant. As soon as the effect of the stimulant wears
off, she will relapse into semiconsciousness."
" I quite understand, Miss McClelland. Would it be
in order for you to tell me exactly what the state of Mrs.
Goedler's health is?"
" Well, Mr. Craddock, she is a dying woman. Her life
cannot be prolonged for more than a few weeks. To say
that she should have been dead years ago would strike
you as odd, yet it is the truth. What has kept Mrs.
Goedler alive is her intense enjoyment and love of being
alive. That sounds, perhaps, an odd thing to say of
someone who has lived the life of an invalid for many
years and has not left her home here for fifteen years,
but it is true. Mrs. Goedler has never been a strong
woman--but she has retained to an astonishing degree
the will to live." She added with a smile, " She is a very
charming woman, too, as you will find."
Craddock was shown into a large bedroom where a
fire was burning and where an old lady lay in a large
canopied bed. Though she was only about seven or eight
years older than Letitia Blacklock, her fragility made her
seem older than her years.
Her white hair was carefully arranged, a froth of pale 166
Excursion into the Past
*
blue wool enveloped her neck and shoulders. There were
lines of pain on the face, but lines of sweetness, too. And
there was, strangely enough, what Craddock could only
describe as a roguish twinkle in her faded blue eyes.
" Well, this is interesting," she said. " It's not often I
receive a visit from the police. I hear Letitia BIacklock
wasn't much hurt by this attempt on her? How is my
dear Blackie?"
" She's very well, Mrs. Goedler. She sent you her love."
" It's a long time since I've seen her. . . . For many
years now, it's been just a card at Christmas. I asked her
to come up here when she came back to England after
Charlotte's death, but she said it would be painful after
so long and perhaps she was right. . . . Blackie always
had a lot of sense. I had an old school friend to sec me
about a year ago, and Lor!"--she smiled--"we bored
each other to death. After we'd finished all the ' Do you
remembers?' there wasn't anything to say. Most embarrassing."

Craddock was content to let her talk before pressing
his questions. He wanted, as it were, to get back into the
past, to get the feel of the Goedler-Blacklock menage.
" I suppose," said Belle shrewdly, " that you want to
ask about the money? Randall left it all to go to Blackie
after my death. Really, of course, Randall never dreamed
that I'd outlive him. He was a big strong man, never a
day's illness, and I was always a mass of aches and pains
and complaints and doctors coming and pulling long
faces over me."
I don't think complaints would be the right word,
Mrs. Goedler."
The old lady chuckled.
" I didn't mean it in the complaining sense. I've never
been too sorry for myself. But it was always taken for
granted that I, being the weakly one, would go first. It 167
A Murder is Announced
didn't work out that way. No—it didn't work out that
way...."
" Why, exactly, did your husband leave his money the
way he did?"
" You mean, why did he leave it to Blackie? Not for
the reason you've probably been thinking." The roguish
twinkle was very apparent. " What minds you policemen
have! Randall was never in the least in love with her
and she wasn't with him. Letitia, you know, has really
got a man's mind. She hasn't any feminine feelings or
weaknesses. I don't believe she was ever in love with any
man. She was never particularly pretty and she didn't
care for clothes. She used ^ little make-up in deference
to prevailing custom, but not to make herself look
prettier." There was pity in the old voice as she went
on : " She never knew any of the fun of being a woman."
Craddock looked at the frail little figure in the big bed
with interest. Belle Goedler, he realised, had enjoyed—
still enjoyed—being a woman. She twinkled at him.
" I've always thought," she said, " it must be terribly
dull to be a man."
Then she said thoughtfully:
" I think Randall looked on Blackie very much as a
kind of younger brother. He relied on her judgment
which was always excellent. She kept him out of trouble
more than once, you know."
" She told me that she came to his rescue once with
money?"
" That, yes, but I meant more than that. One can
speak the truth after all these years. Randall couldn't
really distinguish between what was crooked and what
wasn't. His conscience wasn't sensitive. The poor dear
really didn't know what was just smart—and what was
dishonest. Blackie kept him straight. That's one thing
about Letitia Blacklock, she's absolutely dead straight.
168
Excursion into the Past
She would never do anything that was dishonest. She's a
very fine character, you know. I've always admired her.
They had a terrible girlhood, those girls. The father was
an old country doctor--terrifically pig-headed and
narrow-minded--the complete family tyrant. Letitia
broke away, came to London, and trained herself as a
chartered accountant. The other sister was an invalid,
there was a deformity of kinds and she never saw people
or went out. That's why when the old man died, Letitia
gave up everything to go home and look after her sister.
Randall was wild with her--but it made no difference.
If Letitia thought a thing was her duty she'd do it. And
you couldn't move her."
"How long was that before your husband died?"
" A couple of years, I think. Randall made his will
before she left the firm, and he didn't alter it. He said to
me: ' We've no one of our own.' (Our little boy died,
you know, when he was two years old.) ' After you and
I are gone, Blackie had better have the money. She'll play the markets and make 'cm sit up.'
"You see," Belle went on, "Randall enjoyed the
whole money-making game so much--it wasn't just the
money--it was the adventure, the risks, the excitement
of it all. And Blackie liked it too. She had the same
adventurous spirit and the same judgment. Poor darling,
she'd never had any of the usual fun--being in love, and
leading men on and teasing them--and having a home
and children and all the real fun of life."
Craddock thought it was odd, the real pity and indulgent
contempt felt by this woman, a woman whose life
had been hampered by illness, whose only child had
died, whose husband had died, leaving her to a lonely
widowhood, and who had been a hopeless invalid for
years.
She nodded her head at him. i6g
A Murder is Announced
" I know what you're thinking. But I've had all the
things that make life worthwhile—they may have been
taken from me—but I have had them. I was pretty and
gay as a girl, I married the man I loved, and he never
stopped loving me . . . My child died, but I had him for
two precious years ... I've had a lot of physical pain
—but if you have pain, you know how to enjoy the
exquisite pleasure of the times when pain stops. And
everyone's been kind to me, always. . . . I'm a lucky
woman, really."
Craddock seized upon an opening in her former
remarks.
" You said just now, Mrs. Goedler, that your husband
left his fortune to Miss Blacklock because he had no one
else to leave it to. But that's not strictly true, is it? He
had a sister."
" Oh, Sonia. But they quarrelled years ago and made
a clean break of it."
" He disapproved of her marriage ?"
" Yes, she married a man called—now what was his
name——?"
" Stamfordis."
" That's it. Dmitri Stamfordis. Randall always said
he was a crook. The two men didn't like each other
from the first. But Sonia was wildly in love with him
and quite determined to marry him. And I really never
saw why she shouldn't. Men have such odd ideas about
these things. Sonia wasn't a mere girl—she was twentyfive,
and she knew exactly what she was doing. He was
a crook, I dare say—I mean really a crook. I believe he
had a criminal record—and Randall always suspected
the name he was passing under here wasn't his own.
Sonia knew all that. The point was, which of course
Randall couldn't appreciate, that Dmitri was really a
wildly attractive person to women. And he was just as
770
Excursion into the Past
much in love with Sonia as she was with him. Randall
insisted that he was just marrying her for her money—
but that wasn't true. Sonia was very handsome, you
know. And she had plenty of spirit. If the marriage had
turned out badly, if Dmitri had been unkind to her or
unfaithful to her, she would just have cut her losses and
walked out on him. She was a rich woman and could do
as she chose with her life."
" The quarrel was never made up?"
" No. Randall and Sonia never had got on very well.
She resented his trying to prevent the marriage. She
said, ' Very well. You're quite impossible! This is the
last you hear of me!' "
" But it was not the last you heard of her?"
Belle smiled.
" No, I got a letter from her about eighteen months
afterwards. She wrote from Budapest, I remember, but
she didn't give an address. She told me to tell Randall
that she was extremely happy and that she'd just had
twins." - - » .
" And she told you their names?"
Again Belle smiled. " She said they were born just
after midday—and she intended to call them Pip and
Emma. That may have been just a joke, of course."
" Didn't you hear from her again ?"
" No. She said she and her husband and the babies
were going to America on a short stay. I never heard any
more. . . ."
" You don't happen, I suppose, to have kept that
letter?"
" No, I'm afraid not. ... I read it to Randall and he
Just grunted : ' She'll regret marrying that fellow one of
these days.' That's all he ever said about it. We really
forgot about her. She went right out of our lives. .. ."
" Nevertheless Mr. Goedler left his estate to her chil171
A Murder is Announced
dren in the event of Miss Blacklock predeceasing you?"
" Oh, that was my doing. I said to him, when he told
me about the will: ' And suppose Blackie dies before I
do?' He was quite surprised. I said, ' Oh, I know
Blackie is as strong as a horse and I'm a delicate creature
—but there's such a thing as accidents, you know, and
there's such a thing as creaking gates . . .' And he said,
' There's no one—absolutely no one.' I said, ' There's
Sonia.' And he said at once, 'And let that fellow get
hold of my money? No—indeed!' I said, 'Well, her
children then. Pip and Emma, and there may be lots
more by now'—and so he grumbled, but he did put it
in."
"And from that day to this," Craddock said slowly,
" you've heard nothing of your sister-in-law or her
children?"
" Nothing—they may be dead—they may be—anywhere."
They
may be in Chipping Cleghom, thought Craddock.
As
though she read his thoughts, a look of alarm came
into Belle Goedler's eyes. She said, " Don't let them hurt
Blackie. Blackie's good—really good—you mustn't let
harm come to——"
Her voice trailed off suddenly. Craddock saw the
sudden grey shadows round her mouth and eyes.
" You're tired," he said. " I'll go."
She nodded.
" Send Mac to me," she whispered. " Yes, tired . . ."
She made a feeble motion of her hand. " Look after
Blackie . . . Nothing must happen to Blackie . . . look
after her...."
" I'll do my very best, Mrs. Goedler." He rose and
went to the door.
Her voice, a thin thread of sound, followed him . . .
179
Excursion into the Past
" Not long now--until I'm dead--dangerous for her--
Take care ..."
Sister McClelland passed him as he went out. He said, uneasily:
" I hope I haven't done her harm."
" Oh, I don't think so, Mr. Craddock. I told you she
would tire quite suddenly."
Later, he asked the nurse :
" The only thing I hadn't time to ask Mrs. Goedler
was whether she had any old photographs? If so, I
wonder----"
She interrupted him.
" I'm afraid there's nothing of that kind. All her
personal papers and things were stored with their furniture
from the London house at the beginning of the war.
Mrs. Goedler was desperately ill at the time. Then the
storage depository was blitzed. Mrs. Goedler was very
upset at losing so many personal souvenirs and family
papers. I'm afraid there's nothing of that kind."
So that was that, Craddock thought.
Yet he felt his journey had not been in vain. Pip and
Emma, those twin wraiths, were not quite wraiths.
Craddock thought, " Here's a brother and sister
brought up somewhere in Europe. Sonia Goedler was a
rich woman at the time of her marriage, but money in
Europe hasn't remained money. Queer things have happened
to money during these war years. And so there
are two young people, the son and daughter of a man
who had a criminal record. Suppose they came to England,
more or less penniless. What would they do?
Find out about any rich relatives. Their uncle, a man
of vast fortune is dead. Possibly the first thing they'd do
would be to look up that uncle's will. See if by any
chance money had been left to them or to their mother.
"° ^ey go to Somerset House and learn the contents of i?3
A Murder is Announced
his will, and then, perhaps, they learn of the existence of _
Miss Letitia Blacklock. Then they make inquiries about H
Randall Goedler's widow. She's an invalid, living up in ' 1
Scotland, and they find out she hasn't long to live. //
this Letitia Blacklock dies before her, they will come into
a vast fortune. What then ?"
Graddock thought, " They wouldn't go to Scotland.
They'd find out where Letitia Blacklock is living now.
And they'd go there—but not as themselves . . . They'd
go together—or separately? Emma ... I wonder? . . .
Pip and Emma . . . I'll eat my hat if Pip, or Emma, or
both of them, aren't in Chipping Cleghorn now. . . ."
i?4
15. Delicious Death
i n the kitchen at Little Paddocks, Miss Blacklock was
giving instructions to Mitzi.
" Sardine sandwiches as well as the tomato ones. And
some of those little scones you make so nicely. And I'd
like you to make that special cake of yours."
" Is it a party then, that you want all these things ?"
" It's Miss Bunner's birthday, and some people will be
coming to tea."
" At her age one does not have birthdays. It is better
to forget."
" Well, she doesn't want to forger". Several people are
bringing her presents--and it will be nice to make a little
party of it."
" That is what you say last time--and see what happened!"

Miss Blacklock controlled her temper.
" Well, it won't happen this time."
" How do you know what may happen in this house?
All day long I shiver and at night I lock my door and I
look in the wardrobe to see no one is hidden there."
" That ought to keep you nice and safe," said Miss
Blacklock, coldly.
" The cake that you want me to make, it is the----"
Mitzi uttered a sound that to Miss Blacklock's English
ear sounded like Schwitzebzr or alternatively like cats
spitting at each other.
" That's the one. The rich one." 175
A Murder is Announced
" Yes. It is rich. For it have I nothing! Impossible
to make such a cake. I need for it chocolate and much
butter, and sugar and raisins."
" You can use this tin of butter that was sent us from
America. And some of the raisins we were keeping for
Christmas, and here is a slab of chocolate and a pound
of sugar."
Mitzi's face suddenly burst into radiant smiles.
" So, I make him for you good—good," she cried, in
an ecstasy. " It will be rich, rich, of a melting richness!
And on top I will put the icing—chocolate icing—I
make him so nice—and write on it Good Wishes. These
English people with their cakes that tastes of sand, never
never, will they have tasted such a cake. Delicious, they
will say—delicious———"
Her face clouded again.
"Mr. Patrick. He called it Delicious Death. My
cake! I will not have my cake called that!"
" It was a compliment really," said Miss Blacklock.
" He meant it was worth dying to eat such a cake."
Mitzi looked at her doubtfully.
" Well, I do not like that word—death. They are not
dying because they eat my cake, no, they feel much
much better. ..."
"I'm sure we all shall."
Miss Blacklock turned away and left the kitchen with
a sigh of relief at the successful ending of the interview.
With Mitzi one never knew.
She ran into Dora Bunner outside.
" Oh, Lctty, shall I run in and tell Mitzi just how to
cut the sandwiches?"
" No," said Miss Blacklock, steering her friend firmly
into the hall. " She's in a good mood now and I don't
want her disturbed."
" But I could just show her——"
176
Delicious Death
" Please don't show her anything, Dora. These central
Europeans don't like being shown. They hate it."
Dora looked at her doubtfully. Then she suddenly
broke into smiles.
" Edmund Swettenham just rang up. He wished me
many happy returns of the day and said he was bringing
me a pot of honey as a present this afternoon. Isn't it
kind ? I can't imagine how he knew it was my birthday."
" Everybody seems to know. You must have been
talking about it, Dora."
" Well, I did just happen to mention that to-day I
should be fifty-nine----"
" You're sixty-four," said Miss Blacklock with a twinkle.
" And Miss Hinchliffe said, ' You don't look it. What
age do you think I am?' Which was rather awkward
because Miss Hinchline always looks so peculiar that she
might be any age. She said she was bringing me some
eggs, by the way. I said our hens hadn't been laying
very well, lately."
" We're not doing so badly out of your birthday," said
Miss Blacklock. " Honey, eggs--a magnificent box of
chocolates from Julia----"
" I don't know where she gets such things."
" Better not ask. Her methods are probably strictly
illegal."
" And your lovely brooch." Miss Bunner looked down
proudly at her bosom on which was pinned a small
diamond leaf.
" Do you like it? I'm glad. I never cared for jewellery."

" I love it."
" Good. Let's go and feed the ducks."
177
A Murder is Announced
" Yes. It is rich. For it have I nothing! Impossible
to make such a cake. I need for it chocolate and much
butter, and sugar and raisins."
" You can use this tin of butter that was sent us from
America. And some of the raisins we were keeping for
Christmas, and here is a slab of chocolate and a pound
of sugar."
Mitzi's face suddenly burst into radiant smiles.
" So, I make him for you good—good," she cried, in
an ecstasy. " It will be rich, rich, of a melting richness!
And on top I will put the icing—chocolate icing—I
make him so nice—and write on it Good Wishes. These
English people with their cakes that tastes of sand, never
never, will they have tasted such a cake. Delicious, they
will say—delicious——"
Her face clouded again.
"Mr. Patrick. He called it Delicious Death. My
cake! I will not have my cake called that!"
" It was a compliment really," said Miss BIacklock.
" He meant it was worth dying to eat such a cake."
Mitzi looked at her doubtfully.
" Well, I do not like that word—death. They are not
dying because they eat my cake, no, they feel much
much better. ..."
"I'm sure we all shall."
Miss BIacklock turned away and left the kitchen with
a sigh of relief at the successful ending of the interview.
With Mitzi one never knew.
She ran into Dora Bunner outside.
" Oh, Letty, shall I run in and tell Mitzi just how to
cut the sandwiches?"
" No," said Miss BIacklock, steering her friend firmly
into the hall. " She's in a good mood now and I don't
want her disturbed."
" But I could just show her——"
176
Delicious Death
"Please don't show her anything, Dora. These central
Europeans don't like being shown. They hate it."
Dora looked at her doubtfully. Then she suddenly
broke into smiles.
" Edmund Swettenham just rang up. He wished me
many happy returns of the day and said he was bringing
me a pot of honey as a present this afternoon. Isn't it
kind ? I can't imagine how he knew it was my birthday."
" Everybody seems to know. You must have been
talking about it, Dora."
" Well, I did just happen to mention that to-day I
should be fifty-nine------"
" You're sixty-four," said Miss Blacklock with a twinkle.
" And Miss Hinchliffe said, ' You don't look it. What
age do you think I am?' Which was rather awkward
because Miss Hinchliffe always looks so peculiar that she
might be any age. She said she was bringing me some
eggs, by the way. I said our hens hadn't been laying
very well, lately."
" We're not doing so badly out of your birthday," said
Miss Blacklock. " Honey, eggs--a magnificent box of
chocolates from Julia----"
" I don't know where she gets such things."
" Better not ask. Her methods are probably strictly
illegal."
" And your lovely brooch." Miss Bunner looked down
proudly at her bosom on which was pinned a small
diamond leaf.
" Do you like it? I'm glad. I never cared for jewellery."

" I love it."
" Good. Let's go and feed the ducks."
i77
A Murder is Announced
ii
" Ha," cried Patrick dramatically, as the party took
their places round the dining-room table. " What do I
see before me? Delicious Death."
" Hush," said Miss Blacklock. " Don't let Mitzi hear
you. She objects to your name for her cake very
much."
" Nevertheless, Delicious Death it is! Is it Bunny's
birthday cake?"
" Yes, it is," said Miss Bunner. " I really am having
the most wonderful birthday."
Her cheeks were flushed with excitement and had been
ever since Colonel Easterbrook had handed her a small
box of sweets and declaimed with a bow, " Sweets to the
Sweet!"
Julia had turned her head away hurriedly, and had
been frowned at by Miss Blacklock.
Full justice was done to the good things on the tea
table and they rose from their seats after a round of
crackers.
" I feel slightly sick," said Julia. " It's that cake. I
remember I felt just the same last time."
" It's worth it," said Patrick.
" These foreigners certainly understand confectionery,"
said Miss Hinchline. " What they can't make is a plain
boiled pudding."
Everybody was respectfully silent, though it seemed to
be hovering on Patrick's lips to ask if anyone really
wanted a plain boiled pudding.
" Got a new gardener?" asked Miss Hinchliffe of Miss
Blacklock as they returned to the drawing-room.
178
Delicious Death
" No, why?"
" Saw a man snooping round the henhouse. Quite a
decent-looking Army type."
" Oh, that," said Julia. " That's our detective."
Mrs. Easterbrook dropped her handbag.
" Detective?" she exclaimed. " But--but--why?"
" I don't know," said Julia. " He prowls about and
keeps an eye on the house. He's protecting Aunt Letty,
I suppose."
" Absolute nonsense," said Miss BIacklock. " I can
protect myself, thank you."
" But surely it's all over now," cried Mrs. Easterbrook.
" Though I meant to ask you, why did they adjourn the
inquest ?"
" Police aren't satisfied," said her husband. " That's
what that means."
" But aren't satisfied of what?"
Colonel Easterbrook shook his head -with the air of a
man who could say a good deal more if he chose.
Edmund, who disliked the Colonel, said, " The truth of
it is, we're all under suspicion."
" But suspicion of what?" repeated Mrs. Easterbrook.
" Never mind, kitten," said her husband.
" Loitering with intent," said Edmund. " The intent
being to commit murder upon the first opportunity."
" Oh, don't, please don't, Mr. Swettenham." Dora
Bunner began to cry. " I'm sure nobody here could
possibly want to kill dear, dear Letty."
There was a moment of horrible embarrassment. Edmund
turned scarlet, murmured, " Just a joke." Phillipa
suggested in a high clear voice that they might listen to
the six o'clock news and the suggestion was received with
enthusiastic assent.
Patrick murmured to Julia : " We need Mrs. Harmon
here. She'd be sure to say in that high clear voice of
179
A Murder is Announced
hers, ' But I suppose somebody is still waiting for a good
chance to murder you, Miss Blacklock ?' "
" I'm glad she and that old Miss Marple couldn't
come," said Julia. " That old woman is the prying kind.
And a mind like a sink, I should think. Real Victorian
type."
Listening to the news led easily into a pleasant discussion
on the horrors of atomic warfare. Colonel
Easterbrook said that the real menace to civilisation was
undoubtedly Russia, and Edmund said that he had
several charming Russian friends--which announcement
was coldly received.
The party broke up with renewed thanks to the
hostess.
"Enjoy yourself, Bunny?" asked Miss Blacklock, as
the last guest was sped.
" Oh, I did. But I've got a terrible headache. It's the
excitement, I think."
" It's the cake," said Patrick. " I feel a bit liverish
myself. And you've been nibbling chocolates all the
morning."
" I'll go and lie down, I think," said Miss Bunner.
" I'll take a couple of aspirins and try and have a nice
sleep."
" That would be a very good plan," said Miss Blacklock.
Miss
Bunner departed upstairs.
" Shall I shut up the ducks for you, Aunt Letty?"
Miss Blacklock looked at Patrick severely.
" If you'll be sure to latch that door properly."
" I will. I swear I will."
" Have a glass of sherry. Aunt Letty," said Julia. " As
my old nurse used to say, ' It will settle your stomach.'
A revolting phrase--but curiously apposite at this
moment."
/8o
Delicious Death
" Well, I dare say it might be a good thing. The truth
is one isn't used to rich things. Oh, Bunny, how you
made me jump. What is it?"
" I can't find my aspirin," said Miss Bunner disconsolately.

" Well, take some of mine, dear, they're by my bed."
" There's a bottle on my dressing-table," said Phillipa.
" Thank you--thank you very much. If I can't find
mine--but I know I've got it somewhere. A new bottle.
Now where could I have put it?"
" There's heaps in the bathroom," said Julia impatiently.
" This house is chock full of aspirin."
" It vexes me to be so careless and mislay things,"
replied Miss Bunner, retreating up the stairs again.
" Poor old Bunny," said Julia, holding up her glass.
" Do you think we ought to have given her some sherry?"
" Better not, I think," said Miss Blacklock. " She had
a lot of excitement to-day, and it isn't really good for
her. I'm afraid she'll be the worse for it tomorrow.
Still, I really do think she has enjoyed herself!"
" She's loved it," said Phillipa. > "
Let's give Mitzi a glass of sherry," suggested Julia.
" Hi, Pat," she called as she heard him entering the side
door, " fetch Mitzi."
So Mitzi was brought in and Julia poured her out a
glass of sherry.
" Here's to the best cook in the world," said Patrick.
Mitzi was gratified--but felt nevertheless that a protest
was due.
" That is not so. I am not really a cook. In my
country I do intellectual work."
" Then you're wasted," said Patrick. " What's intellectual
work compared to a chef d'oeuvre like Delicious
Death?"
" Oo--I say to you I do not like----" 181
A Murder is Announced
" Never mind what you like, my girl," said Patrick.
" That's my name for it and here's to it. Let's all drink
to Delicious Death and to hell with the after effects."
ill
" Phillipa, my dear, I want to talk to you."
"Yes, Miss Blacklock?"
Phillipa Haymes looked up in slight surprise.
"You're not worrying about anything, are you?"
"Worrying?"
" I've noticed that you've looked worried lately. There
isn't anything wrong, is there?"
"Oh no, Miss Blacklock. What should there be?"
" Well—I wondered. I thought, perhaps, that you
and Patrick——?"
" Patrick?" Phillipa looked really surprised.
" It's not so, then. Please forgive me if I've been
impertinent. But you've been thrown together a lot—
and although Patrick is my cousin, I don't think he's the
type to make a satisfactory husband. Not for some time
to come, at all events."
Phillipa's face had frozen into a hard immobility.
" I shan't marry again," she said.
" Oh, yes, you will someday, my child. You're young.
But we needn't discuss that. There's no other trouble.
You're not worried about—money, for instance ?"
" No, I'm quite all right."
" I know you get anxious sometimes about your boy's
education. That's why I want to tell you something. I
drove into Milchester this afternoon to see Mr. Beddingfeld,
my lawyer. Things haven't been very settled lately
and I thought I would like to make a new will—in view
182
Delicious Death
of certain eventualities. Apart from Bunny's legacy,
everything goes to you, Phillipa."
" What?" Phillipa spun round. Her eyes stared. She
looked dismayed, almost frightened.
"But I don't want it--really I don't . . . Oh, I'd rather not... And anyway, why? Why to me?"
" Perhaps," said Miss Blacklock in a peculiar voice,
" because there's no one else."
" But there's Patrick and Julia."
"Yes, there's Patrick and Julia." The odd note in
Miss Blacklock's voice was still there.
" They are your relations."
" Very distant ones. They have no claim on me."
" But I--I haven't either--I don't know what you
think ... Oh, I don't want it."
Her gaze held more hostility than gratitude. There
was something almost like fear in her manner.
" I know what I'm doing, Phillipa. I've become fond
of you--and there's the-boy .... You won't get very much
if I should die now--but in a few weeks' time it might
be different."
Her eyes met Phillipa's steadily.
"But you're not going to die!" Phillipa protested.
" Not if I can avoid it by taking due precautions."
"Precautions?"
" Yes. Think it over . . . And don't worry any more."
She left the room abruptly. Phillipa heard her speaking
to Julia in the hall.
Julia entered the drawing-room a few moments later.
There was a slightly steely glitter in her eyes.
" Played your cards rather well, haven't you, Phillipa?
I see you're one of those quiet ones ... a dark horse."
" So you heard------"
" Yes, I heard. I rather think I was meant to hear."
" What do you mean?"
183
A Murder is Announced
" Our Letty's no fool . . . Well, anyway, you're all
right, Phillipa. Sitting pretty, aren't you?"
" Oh, Julia—I didn't mean—I never meant——"
" Didn't you ? Of course you did. You're fairly up
against things, aren't you? Hard up for money. But just
remember this—if anyone bumps off Aunt Letty now,
you'll be suspect No. i."
" But I shan't be. It would be idiotic if I killed her
now when—if I waited——"
" So you do know about old Mrs. Whatshername
dying up in Scotland? I wondered . . . Phillipa, I'm
beginning to believe you're a very dark horse indeed."
" I don't want to do you and Patrick out of anything."
" Don't you, my dear? I'm sorry—but I don't believe
you."
184
16. Inspector Craddock Returns
inspector craddock had had a bad night on
his night journey home. His dreams had been less dreams
than nightmares. Again and again he was racing through
the grey corridors of an old-world castle in a desperate
attempt to get somewhere, or to prevent something, in
time. Finally he dreamt that he awoke. An enormous
relief surged over him. Then the door of his compartment
slid slowly open, and Letitia Blacklock looked in at
him with blood running down her face, and said reproachfully:
"Why didn't you save me? You could
have if you'd tried." *
This time he really awoke.
Altogether, the inspector was thankful finally to reach
Milchester. He went straight away to make his report to
Rydesdale who listened carefully.
" It doesn't take us much further," he said. " But it
confirms what Miss Blacklock told you. Pip and Emma
--h'm, I wonder."
" Patrick and Julia Simmons are the right age, sir. If
we could establish that Miss Blacklock hadn't seen them
since they were children----"
With a very faint chuckle, Rydesdale said : " Our ally,
Miss Marple, has established that for us. Actually Miss
Blacklock had never seen either of them at all until two
months ago."
" Then, surely, sir----"
" It's not so easy as all that, Craddock. We've been
checking up. On what we've got, Patrick and Julia seem 185
A Murder is Announced
definitely to be out of it. His Naval record is genuine--
quite a good record bar a tendency to ' insubordination.'
We've checked with Cannes, and an indignant Mrs.
Simmons says of course her son and daughter are at
Chipping Cleghom with her cousin Letitia Blacklock. So
that's that!"
" And Mrs. Simmons is Mrs. Simmons?"
" She's been Mrs. Simmons for a very long time, that's
all I can say," said Rydesdale dryly.
"That seems clear enough. Only--those two fitted.
Right age. Not known to Miss Blacklock, personally. If
we wanted Pip and Emma--well, there they were."
The Chief Constable nodded thoughtfully, then he
pushed across a paper to Craddock.
" Here's a little something we've dug up on Mrs.
Eastcrbrook."
The Inspector read with lifted eyebrows.
" Very interesting," he remarked. " Hoodwinked that
old ass pretty well, hasn't she? It doesn't tie in with this
business though, as far as I can see."
" Apparently not."
" And here's an item that concerns Mrs. Haymes."
Again Craddock's eyebrows rose.
" I think I'll have another talk with the lady," he said.
" You think this information might be relevant?"
" I think it might be. It would be a long shot, of
course.. .."
The two men were silent for a moment or two.
" How has Fletcher got on, sir?"
" Fletcher has been exceedingly active. He's made a
routine search of the house by agreement with Miss
Blacklock--but he didn't find anything significant. Then
he's been checking up on who could have had the opportunity
of oiling that door. Checking who was up at
the house on the days that that foreign girl was out. A 186
Inspector Craddock Returns
little more complicated than we thought, because it
appears she goes for a walk most afternoons. Usually
down to the village where she has a cup of coffee at the
Bluebird. So that when Miss Blacklock and Miss Bunner
are out—which is most afternoons—they go blackberrying—the
coast is clear."
" And the doors are always left unlocked?"
" They used to be. I don't suppose they are now."
" What are Fletcher's results? Who's known to have
been in the house when it was left empty?"
" Practically the whole lot of them."
Rydesdale consulted a page in front of him.
" Miss Murgatroyd was there with a hen to sit on
some eggs. (Sounds complicated but that's what she
says.) Very flustered about it all and contradicts herself,
but Fletcher thinks that's temperamental and not a sign
of guilt."
" Might be," Craddock admitted. " She flaps."
" Then Mrs. Swetteriham came up to fetch some horse
meat that Miss Blacklock had left for her on the kitchen
table, because Miss Blacklock had been in to Milchester
in the car that day and always gets Mrs. Swettenham's
horse meat for her. That makes sense to you ?"
Craddock considered.
" Why didn't Miss Blacklock leave the horse meat
when she passed Mrs. Swettenham's house on her way
back from Milchester?"
" I don't know, but she didn't. Mrs. Swettenham says
she (Miss B.) always leaves it on the kitchen table, and
she (Mrs. S.) likes to fetch it when Mitzi isn't there
because Mitzi is sometimes so rude."
" Hangs together quite well. And the next?"
" Miss Hinchliffe. Says she wasn't there at all lately.
But she was. Because Mitzi saw her coming out of the
side door one day and so did a Mrs. Butt (she's one of
787
A Murder is Announced
the locals). Miss H. then admitted she might have been
there but had forgotten. Can't remember what she went
for. Says she probably just dropped in."
" That's rather odd."
" So was her manner, apparently. Then there's Mrs. Easterbrook. She was exercising the dear dogs out that
way and she just popped in to see if Miss Blacklock
would lend her a knitting pattern but Miss Blacklock
wasn't in. She says she waited a little."
" Just so. Might be snooping round. Or might be
oiling a door. And the Colonel ?"
" Went there one day with a book on India that Miss
Blacklock had expressed a desire to read."
"Had she?"
" Her account is that she tried to get out of having to
read it, but it was no use."
" And that's fair enough," sighed Craddock. " If anyone
is really determined to lend you a book, you never
can get out of it!"
" We don't know if Edmund Swettenham was up
there. He's extremely vague. Said he did drop in occasionally
on errands for his mother, but thinks not lately."
" In fact, it's all inconclusive."
" Yes."
Rydesdale said, with a slight grin :
" Miss Marple has also been active. Fletcher reports
that she had morning coffee at the Bluebird. She's been
to sherry at Boulders, and to tea at Little Paddocks.
She's admired Mrs. Swettenham's garden--and dropped
in to see Colonel Easterbrook's Indian curios."
" She may be able to tell us if Colonel Easterbrook's a
pukka Colonel or not."
" She'd know, I agree--he seems all right. We'd have
to check with the Far Eastern Authorities to get certain
identification."
188
Inspector Craddock Returns
" And in the meantime "--Craddock broke off--" do
you think Miss Blacklock would consent to go away?"
" Go away from Chipping Cleghorn ?"
" Yes. Take the faithful Bunner with her, perhaps,
and leave for an unknown destination. Why shouldn't
she go up to Scotland and stay with Belle Goedler. It's
a pretty unget-at-able place."
" Stop there and wait for her to die? I don't think
she'd do that. I don't think any nice-natured woman
would like that suggestion."
" If it's a matter of saving her life----"
" Come now, Craddock, it isn't quite so easy to bump
someone off as you seem to think."
" Isn't it, sir?"
" Well--in one way--it's easy enough I agree. Plenty of
methods. Weed-killer. A bash on the head when she's out
shutting up the poultry, a pot shot from behind a hedge.
All quite simple. But to bump someone off and not be suspected of bumping them off--that's not quite so easy.
And they must realise by now that they're all under observation.
The original carefully planned scheme failed. Our
unknown murderer has got to think up something else."
" I know that, sir. But there's the time element to
consider. Mrs. Goedler's a dying woman--she might pop
off any minute. That means that our murderer can't
afford to wait."
" True."
"And another thing, sir. He--or she--must know
that we're checking up on everybody."
" And that takes time," said Rydcsdale with a sigh.
" It means checking with the East, with India. Yes, it's
a long tedious business."
" So that's another reason for--hurry. I'm sure, sir,
that the danger is very real. It's a very large sum that's
at stake. If Belle Goedler dies----" 189
A Murder is Announced
He broke off as a constable entered.
" Constable Legg on the line from Chipping Cleghom,
sir."
" Put him through here."
Inspector Craddock, watching the Chief Constable,
saw his features harden and stiffen.
" Very good," barked Rydesdale. " Detective-Inspec- tor Craddock will be coming out immediately."
He put the receiver down.
" Is it----" Craddock broke off.
Rydesdale shook his head.
" No," he said. " It's Dora Bunner. She wanted some
aspirin. Apparently she took some from a bottle beside
Letitia Blacklock's bed. There were only a few tablets
left in the bottle. She took two and left one. The
doctor's got that one and is sending it to be analysed.
He says it's definitely not aspirin."
"She's dead?"
" Yes, found dead in her bed this morning. Died in
her sleep, doctor says. He doesn't think it was natural
though her health was in a bad state. Narcotic poisoning,
that's his guess. Autopsy's fixed for tonight."
" Aspirin tablets by Letitia Blacklock's bed. The clever
clever devil. Patrick told me Miss Blacklock threw away
a half bottle of sherry--opened a new one. I don't suppose
she'd have thought of doing that with an open
bottle of aspirin. Who had been in the house this time--
within the last day or two? The tablets can't have been
there long."
Rydesdale looked at him.
" All our lot were there yesterday," he said. " Birthday
party for Miss Bunner. Any of them could have nipped
upstairs and done a neat little substitution. Or of course
anyone living in the house could have done it any time."
790
iy. The Album
standing by the Vicarage gate, well wrapped up,
Miss Marple took the note from Bunch's hand.
" Tell Miss Blacklock," said Bunch, " that Julian is
terribly sorry he can't come up himself. He's got a
parishioner dying out at Locke Hamlet. He'll come up
after lunch if Miss Blacklock would like to see him. The
note's about the arrangements for the funeral. He suggests
Wednesday if the inquest's on Tuesday. Poor old
Bunny. It's so typical of her, somehow, to get hold of
poisoned aspirin meant for someone else. Goodbye,
darling. I hope the walk won't be too much for you.
But I've simply got to get that child 'hospital at once."
Miss Marple said the walk wouldn't be too much for
her, and Bunch rushed off.
Whilst waiting for Miss Blacklock, Miss Marple looked
round the drawing-room, and wondered just exactly
what Dora Bunner had meant that morning in the Bluebird
by saying that she believed Patrick had " tampered
with the lamp" to "make the lights go out." What
lamp? And how had he " tampered " with it?
She must. Miss Marple decided, have meant the small
lamp that stood on the table by the archway. She had
said something about a shepherdess or a shepherd--and
this was actually a delicate piece of Dresden china, a
shepherd in a blue coat and pink breeches holding what
had originally been a candlestick and had now been
adapted to electricity. The shade was of plain vellum
and a little too big so that it almost masked the figure.
^
What else was it that Dora Bunner had said? " I remember
distinctly that it was the shepherdess. And the
next day----" Certainly it was a shepherd now.
Miss Marple remembered that when she and Bunch
had come to tea, Dora Bunner had said something about
the lamp being one of a pair. Of course--a shepherd
and a shepherdess. And it had been the shepherdess on
the day of the hold-up--and the next morning it had
been the other lamp--the lamp that was here now, the
shepherd. The lamps had been changed over during the
night. And Dora Bunner had had reason to believe (or
had believed without reason) that it was Patrick who had
changed them.
Why? Because, if the original lamp were examined,
it would show just how Patrick had managed to " make
the lights go out." How had he managed ? Miss Marple
looked earnestly at the lamp in front of her. The flex ran along the table over the edge and was plugged into
the wall. There was a small pear-shaped switch halfway
along the flex. None of it suggested anything to Miss
Marple because she knew very little about electricity.
Where was the shepherdess lamp? she wondered. In
the " spare room " or thrown away, or--where was it
Dora Bunner had come upon Patrick Simmons with a
feather and an oily cup? In the shrubbery? Miss
Marple made up her mind to put all these points to
Inspector Craddock.
At the very beginning Miss Blacklock had leaped to
the conclusion that her nephew Patrick had been behind
the insertion of that advertisement. That kind of instinctive
belief was often justified, or so Miss Marple believed.
Because, if you knew people fairly well, you knew the
kind of things they thought of ...
Patrick Simmons ...
A handsome young man. An engaging young man. A iga
The Album
young man whom women liked, both young women and
old women. The kind of man, perhaps, that Randall
Goedler's sister had married. Could Patrick Simons be
" Pip " ? But he'd been in the Navy during the war. The
police could soon check up on that.
Only—sometimes—the most amazing impersonations
did happen.
You could get away with a great deal if you had
enough audacity ...
The door opened and Miss Blacklock came in. She
looked, Miss Marple thought, many years older. All the
life and energy had gone out of her.
" I'm very sorry, disturbing you like this," said Miss
Marple. " But the Vicar had a dying parishioner and
Bunch had to rush a sick child to hospital. The Vicar
wrote you a note."
She held it out and Miss Blacklock took it and opened
it.
" Do sit down. Miss" Marple," she -said. " It's very
kind of you to have brought this."
She read the note through.
" The Vicar's a very understanding man," she said
quietly. " He doesn't offer one fatuous consolation . . .
Tell him that these arrangements will do very well. Her
—her favourite hymn was Lead Kindly Light."
Her voice broke suddenly.
Miss Marple said gently:
" I am only a stranger, but I am so very very sorry."
And suddenly, uncontrollably, Letitia Blacklock wept.
It was a piteous overmastering grief, with a kind of
hopelessness about it. Miss Marple sat quite still.
Miss Blacklock sat up at last. Her face was swollen
and blotched with tears.
" I'm sorry," she said. " It—it just came over me.
What I've lost. She—she was the only link with the past,
i93
A Murder is Announced
you see. The only one who—who remembered. Now
that she's gone I'm quite alone."
" I know what you mean," said Miss Marple. " One is
alone when the last one who remembers is gone. I have
nephews and nieces and kind friends—but there's no one
who knew me as a young girl—no one who belongs to
the old days. I've been alone for quite a long time now."
Both women sat silent for some moments.
" You understand very well," said Letitia Blacklock.
She rose and went over to her desk. " I must write a few
words to the Vicar." She held the pen rather awkwardly
and wrote slowly.
" Arthritic," she explained. " Sometimes I can hardly
write at all."
She sealed up the envelope and addressed it.
" If you wouldn't mind taking it, it would be very
kind."
Hearing a man's voice in the hall she said quickly:
" That's Inspector Craddock."
She went to the mirror over the fireplace and applied
a small powder puff to her face.
Craddock came in with a grim, angry face.
He looked at Miss Marple with disapprobation.
" Oh," he said. " So you're here."
Miss Blacklock turned from the mantelpiece.
" Miss Marple kindly came up with a note from the
Vicar."
Miss Marple said in a flurried manner:
" I am going at once—at once. Please don't let me
hamper you in any way."
" Were you at the tea party here yesterday afternoon?"
Miss Marple said, nervously :
" No—no, I wasn't. Bunch drove me over to call on
some friends."
" Then there's nothing you can tell me." Craddock
794
The Album
held the door open in a pointed manner, and Miss
Marple scuttled out in a somewhat abashed fashion.
" Nosey Parkers, these old women," said Craddock.
" I think you're being unfair to her," said Miss Blacklock.
" She really did come with a note from the Vicar."
" I bet she did."
" I don't think it was idle curiosity."
" Well, perhaps you're right. Miss Blacklock, but my
own diagnosis would be a severe attack of Nosey
Parkeritis. ..."
" She's a very harmless old creature," said Miss Blacklock.
"
Dangerous as a rattlesnake if you Only knew," the
Inspector thought grimly. But he had no intention of
taking anyone into his confidence unnecessarily. Now
that he knew definitely there was a killer at large, he felt
that the less said the better. He didn't want the next
person bumped off to be Jane Marple.
Somewhere--a killer .., Where?
" I won't waste time offering sympathy, Miss Blacklock,"
he said. " As a matter of fact I feel pretty bad
about Miss Bunner's death. We ought to have been able
to prevent it."
" I don't see what you could have done."
" No--well, it wouldn't have been easy. But now
we've got to work fast. Who's doing this, Miss Blacklock
? Who's had two shots at killing you, and will probably,
if we don't work fast enough, soon have another?"
Letitia Blacklock shivered. " I don't know, Inspector --I don't know at all I"
" I've checked up with Mrs. Goedler. She's given me
all the help she can. It wasn't very much. There are
just a few people who would definitely profit by your
death. First Pip and Emma. Patrick and Julia Simmons
are the right age, but their background seems dear
'95
A Murder is Announced
enough. Anyway, we can't concentrate on these two
alone. Tell me. Miss Blacklock, would you recognise
Sonia Goedler if you saw her?"
" Recognise Sonia? Why, of course——" she stopped
suddenly. " No," she said slowly, " I don't know that I
would. It's a long time. Thirty years . . . She'd be an
elderly woman now."
" What was she like when you remember her?"
"Sonia?" Miss Blacklock considered for some
moments. " She was rather small, dark ..."
" Any special peculiarities ? Mannerisms ?"
" No—no, I don't think so. She was gay—very gay."
" She mayn't be so gay now," said the Inspector.
" Have you got a photograph of her?"
"Of Sonia? Let me see—not a proper photograph.
I've got some old snapshots—in an album somewhere—
at least I think there's one of her."
"Ah. Can I have a look at it?"
"Yes, of course. Now where did I put that album?"
" Tell me. Miss Blacklock, do you consider it remotely
passible that Mrs. Swettenham might be Sonia Goedler?"
" Mrs. Swettenham?" Miss Blacklock looked at him in
lively astonishment. " But her husband was in the
Government Service—in India first, I think, and then in
Hong Kong."
" What you mean is, that that's the story she's told
you. You don't, as we say in the Courts, know it of your
own knowledge, do you ?"
" No," said Miss Blacklock slowly. " When you put it
like that, I don't . . . But Mrs. Swettenham? Oh, it's
absurd!"
" Did Sonia Goedler ever do any acting ? Amateur
theatricals?"
"Oh, yes. She was good."
"There you are! Another thing, Mrs. Swettenham
196
The Album
wears a wig. At least," the Inspector corrected himself,
" Mrs. Harmon says she does."
" Yes--yes, I suppose it might be a wig. All those little
grey curls. But I still think it's absurd. She's really very
nice and exceedingly funny sometimes."
" Then there's Miss Hinchliffe and Miss Murgatroyd.
Could either of them be Sonia Goedler?"
" Miss Hinchliffe is too tall. She's as tall as a man."
" Miss Murgatroyd then ?"
" Oh, but--oh, no, I'm sure Miss Murgatroyd couldn't
be Sonia."
" You don't see very well, do you. Miss Blacklock ?"
" I'm short-sighted, is that what you mean?"
" Yes. What I'd like to see is a snapshot of this Sonia
Goedler, even if it's a long time ago and not a good likeness.
We're trained, you know, to pick out resemblances,
in a way no amateur can ever do."
" I'll try and find it for you."
"Now?"
"What, at once?" .
" I'd prefer it"
" Very well. Now, let me see. I saw that album when
we were tidying a lot of books out of the cupboard. Julia
was helping me. She laughed, I remember, at the
clothes we used to wear in those days . . . The books we
put in the shelf in the drawing-room. Where did we put
the albums and the big bound volumes of the Art Journal?
What a wretched memory i have! Perhaps Julia
will remember. She's at home today."
" I'll find her."
The Inspector departed on his quest. He did not find
Julia in any of the downstairs rooms. Mitzi, asked where
Miss Simmons was, said crossly that it was not her
affair.
" Me! I stay in my kitchen and concern myself with 197
A Murder is Announced
the lunch. And nothing do I eat that I have not cooked
myself. Nothing, do you hear?"
The Inspector called up the stair " Miss Sinunons,"
and getting no response, went up.
He met Julia face to face just as he turned the corner
of the landing. She had just emerged from a door that
showed behind it a small twisty staircase.
" I was up in the attic," she explained. " What is it?"
Inspector Craddock explained.
" Those old photograph albums? Yes, I remember
them quite well. We put them in the big cupboard in
the study, I think. I'll find them for you."
She led the way downstairs and pushed open the study
door. Near the window there was a large cupboard.
Julia pulled it open and disclosed a heterogeneous mass
of objects.
" Junk," said Julia. " All junk. But elderly people
simply will not throw things away."
The Inspector knelt down and took a couple of oldfashioned
albums from the bottom shelf.
"Are these they?"
" Yes."
Miss Blacklock came in and joined them.
" Oh, so thafs where we put them. I couldn't remember."

Craddock had the books on the table and was turning
the pages.
Women in large cartwheel hats, women with dresses
tapering down to their feet so that they could hardly
walk. The photos had captions neatly printed underneath
them, but the ink was old and faded.
" It would be in this one," said Miss Blacklock. " On
about the second or third page. The other book is after
Sonia had married and gone away." She turned a page.
" It ought to be here." She stopped. ig8
The Album
There were several empty spaces on the page. Craddock
bent down and deciphered the faded writing.
" Sonia ... Self ... R.G." A little farther along, " Sonia
and Belle on beach." And again on the opposite page,
" Picnic at Skeyne." He turned over another page,
" Charlotte, Self, Sonia. R.G."
Craddock stood up. His lips were grim.
" Somebody has removed these photographs—not long
ago, I should say."
" There weren't any blank spaces when we looked at
them the other day. Were there, Julia?"
" I didn't look very closely—only at some of the
dresses. But no ... you're right, Aunt Letty, there
weren't any blank spaces."
Craddock looked grimmer still.
" Somebody," he said, " has removed every photo of
Sonia Goedler from this album."
'90
18. The Letters
"sorry to worry you again, Mrs. Haymes."
" It doesn't matter," said Phillipa coldly.
" Shall we go into this room here?"
" The study ? Yes, if you like. Inspector. It's very cold.
There's no fire."
" It doesn't matter. It's not for long. And we're not
so likely to be overheard here."
" Does that matter?"
" Not to me, Mrs. Haymes. It might to you."
" What do you mean?"
"I think you told me, Mrs. Haymes, that your
husband was killed fighting in Italy?"
"Well?"
" Wouldn't it have been simpler to have told me the
truth--that he was a deserter from his regiment."
He saw her face grow white, and her hands close and
unclose themselves.
She said bitterly:
" Do you have to rake up everything7"
Craddock said dryly:
" We expect people to tell us the truth about themselves."

She was silent. Then she said:
"Well?"
" What do you mean by ' Well?', Mrs. Haymes?"
" I mean, what are you going to do about it? Tell everybody ? Is that necessary--or fair--or kind ?"
200
The Letters
" Does nobody know?"
" Nobody here. Harry "--her voice changed--" my
son, he doesn't know. I don't want him to know. I don't
want him to know--ever."
" Then let me tell you that you're taking a very big
risk, Mrs. Haymes. When the boy is old enough to
understand, tell him the truth. If he finds out by himself
some day--it won't be good for him. If you go on
stuffing him up with tales of his father dying like a
hero----"
" I don't do that. I'm not completely dishonest. I just
don't talk about it. His father was--killed in the war.
After all, that's what it amounts to--for us."
" But your husband is still alive?"
" Perhaps. How should I know?"
" When did you sec him last, Mrs. Haymes?"
Phillipa said quickly:
" I haven't seen him for years."
"Are you quite sure that's true? You didn't, for instance,
see him about a fortnight ago?"
" What are you suggesting ?" * "
" It never seemed to me very likely that you met Rudi
Scherz in the summerhouse here. But Mitzi's story was
very emphatic. I suggest, Mrs. Haymes, that the man
you came back from work to meet that morning was
your husband."
" I didn't meet anybody in the summerhouse."
" He was hard up for money, perhaps, and you supplied
him with some?"
" I've not seen him, I tell you. I didn't meet anybody
in the summerhouse."
" Deserters are often rather desperate men. They often
take part in robberies, you know. Hold-ups. Things of
that kind. And they have foreign revolvers very often
that they've brought back from abroad." aoi
18. The Letters
"sorry to worry you again, Mrs. Haymes."
" It doesn't matter," said Phillipa coldly.
" Shall we go into this room here?"
"The study? Yes, if you like. Inspector. It's very cold.
There's no fire."
" It doesn't matter. It's not for long. And we're not
so likely to be overheard here."
"Does that matter?"
" Not to me, Mrs. Haymes. It might to you."
"What do you mean?"
"I think you told me, Mrs. Haymes, that your
husband was killed fighting in Italy?"
"Well?"
" Wouldn't it have been simpler to have told me the
truth--that he was a deserter from his regiment."
He saw her face grow white, and her hands close and
unclose themselves.
She said bitterly:
" Do you have to rake up everything^"
Craddock said dryly:
" We expect people to tell us the truth about themselves."

She was silent. Then she said:
" Well?"
" What do you mean by ' Well?', Mrs. Haymes?"
" I mean, what are you going to do about it ? Tell everybody ? Is that necessary--or fair--or kind ?"
200
The Letters
" Does nobody know?"
" Nobody here. Harry "--her voice changed--" my
son, he doesn't know. I don't want him to know. I don't
want him to know--ever."
" Then let me tell you that you're taking a very big
risk, Mrs. Haymes. When the boy is old enough to
understand, tell him the truth. If he finds out by himself
some day--it won't be good for him. If you go on
stuffing him up with tales of his father dying like a
hero----"
" I don't do that. I'm not completely dishonest. I just
don't talk about it. His father was--killed in the war.
After all, that's what it amounts to--for us."
" But your husband is still alive ?"
" Perhaps. How should I know?"
" When did you see him last, Mrs. Haymes?"
Phillipa said quickly:
" I haven't seen him for years."
" Are you quite sure that's true ? You didn't, for instance,
see him about a fortnight ago?"
" What are you suggesting ?" ' "
It never seemed to me very likely that you met Rudi
Scherz in the summerhouse here. But Mitzi's story was
very emphatic. I suggest, Mrs. Haymes, that the man
you came back from work to meet that morning was
your husband."
" I didn't meet anybody in the summerhouse."
" He was hard up for money, perhaps, and you supplied
him with some ?"
" I've not seen him, I tell you. I didn't meet anybody
in the summerhouse."
" Deserters are often rather desperate men. They often
take part in robberies, you know. Hold-ups. Things of
that kind. And they have foreign revolvers very often
that they've brought back from abroad." 301
A Murder is Announced
" I don't know where my husband is. I haven't seen
him for years."
" Is that your last word, Mrs. Haymes?"
" I've nothing else to say."
ii
Craddock came away from his interview with Phillipa
Haymes feeling angry and baffled.
" Obstinate as a mule," he said to himself angrily.
He was fairly sure that Phillipa was lying, but he
hadn't succeeded in breaking down her obstinate denials.
He wished he knew a little more about ex-Captain
Haymes. His information was meagre. An unsatisfactory
Army record, but nothing to suggest that Haymes was
likely to turn criminal.
And anyway Haymes didn't fit in with the oiled
door.
Someone in the house had done that, or someone with
easy access to it.
He stood looking up the staircase, and suddenly he
wondered what Julia had been doing up in the attic. An
attic, he thought, was an unlikely place for the fastidious
Julia to visit.
What had she been doing up there ?
He ran lightly up to the first floor. There was no one
about. He opened the door out of which Julia had come
and went up the narrow stairs to the attic.
There were trunks there, old suitcases, various broken
articles of furniture, a chair with a leg off, a broken
china lamp, part of an old dinner service.
He turned to the trunks and opened the lid of one.
Clothes. Old-fashioned, quite good quality women's
aoa
The Letters
clothes. Clothes belonging, he supposed, to Miss Blacklock,
or to her sister who had died.
He opened another trunk.
Curtains.
He passed to a small attache-case. It had papers in it
and letters. Very old letters, yellowed with time.
He looked at the outside of the case which had the
initials C.L.B. on it. He deduced correctly that it had
belonged to Letitia's sister Charlotte. He unfolded one
of the letters. It began Dearest Charlotte. Yesterday Belle felt well enough to go for a picnic. R.G. also took
a day off. The Asuogel flotation has gone splendidly,
R.G. is terribly pleased about it. The Preference shares
are at a premium.
He skipped the rest and looked at the signature:
Your loving sister, Letitia.
He picked up another.
Darling Charlotte. I wish you would sometimes make
up your mind to see people. You do exaggerate, you
know. It isn't nearly as bad as you think. And people
- really don't mind things like that. It's not the disfigurement
you think it is. " *
He nodded his head. He remembered Belle Goedler
saying that Charlotte Blacklock had a disfigurement or
deformity of some kind. Letitia had, in the end, resigned
her job, to go and look after her sister. These letters all
breathed the anxious spirit of her affection and love for
an invalid. She had written her sister, apparently, long
accounts of everyday happenings, of any little detail that
she thought might interest the sick girl. And Charlotte
had kept these letters. Occasionally odd snapshots had
been enclosed.
Excitement suddenly flooded Craddock's mind. Here,
it might be, he would find a clue. In these letters there
would be written down things that Letitia Blacklock
203
A Murder is Announced
herself had long forgotten. Here was a faithful picture
of the past and somewhere amongst it, there might be a
clue that would help him to identify the unknown.
Photographs, too. There might, just possibly, be a photograph
of Sonia Goedler here that the person who had
taken the other photos out of the album did not know
about.
Inspector Craddock packed the letters up again, carefully,
closed the case, and started down the stairs.
Letitia Blacklock, standing on the landing below,
looked at him in amazement.
" Was that you up in the attic? I heard footsteps. I
couldn't imagine who----"
" Miss Blacklock, I have found some letters here,
written by you to your sister Charlotte many years ago.
Will you allow me to take them away and read them ?"
She flushed angrily.
" Must you do a thing like that? Why? What good
can they be to you ?"
" They might give me a picture of Sonia Goedler, of
her character--there may be some allusion--some incident--that
will help."
" They are private letters, Inspector."
" I know."
" I suppose you will take them anyway . . . You have
the power to do so, I suppose, or you can easily get it.
Take them--take them! But you'll find very little about
Sonia. She married and went away only a year or two
after I began to work for Randall Goedler."
Craddock said obstinately:
" There may be something" He added, " We've got
to try everything. I assure you the danger is very real."
She said, biting her lips:
" I know. Bunny is dead--from taking an aspirin
tablet that was meant for me. It may be Patrick, or ao4
The Letters
Julia, or Phillipa, or Mitzi next--somebody young with
their life in front of them. Somebody who drinks a glass
of wine that is poured out for me, or eats a chocolate
that is sent to me. Oh! take the letters--take them
away. And afterwards bum them. They don't mean
anything to anyone but me and Charlotte. It's all over
--gone--past. Nobody remembers now ..."
Her hand went up to the choker of false pearls she was
wearing. Craddock thought how incongruous it looked
with her tweed coat and skirt.
She said again:
" Take the letters."
Ill
It was the following afternoon that the Inspector called
at the Vicarage.
It was a darkgusty day. . „ ^Miss
Marple had her chair pulled close to the fire and
was knitting. Bunch was on hands and knees, crawling
about the floor, cutting out material to a pattern.
She sat back and pushed a mop of hair out of her
eyes, looking up expectantly at Craddock.
" I don't know if it's a breach of confidence," said the
Inspector, addressing himself to Miss Marple, " but I'd
like you to look at this letter."
He explained the circumstances of his discovery in the
attic.
" It's rather a touching collection of letters," he said.
" Miss Blacklock poured out everything in the hopes of
sustaining her sister's interest in life and keeping her
health good. There's a very clear picture of an old father
in the background--old Dr. Blacklock. A real old pig305

A Murder is Announced
headed bully, absolutely set in his ways, and convinced
that everything he thought and said was right. Probably
killed thousands of patients through obstinacy. He
wouldn't stand for any new ideas or methods."
" I don't really know that I blame him there," said
Miss Marple. " I always feel that the young doctors are
only too anxious to experiment. After they've whipped
out all our teeth, and administered quantities of very
peculiar glands, and removed bits of our insides, they
then confess that nothing can be done for us. I really
prefer the old-fashioned remedy of big black bottles of
medicine. After all, one can always pour those down the
sink."
She took the letter that Craddcck handed her.
He said: " I want you to read it because I think that
that generation is more easily understood by you than by
me. I don't know really quite how these people's minds
worked."
Miss Marple unfolded the fragile paper.
Dearest Charlotte,
I've not written for two days because we've been
having the most terrible domestic complications.
Randall's sister Sonia (you remember her? She came
to take you out in the car that day? How I wish
you would go out more), Sonia has declared her
intention of marrying one, Dmitri Stamfordis. I
have only seen him once. Very attractive—not to
be trusted, I should say. R.G. raves against him and
says he is a crook and a swindler. Belle, bless her,
just smiles and lies on her sofa. Sonia, who though
she looks so impassive has really a terrific temper, is
simply wild with R.G. I really thought yesterday
she was going to murder him!
I've done my best. I've talked to Sonia and I've
206
The Letters
talked to R.G. and I've got them both into a more
reasonable frame of mind and then they come together
and it all starts over again! You've no idea
how tiring it is. R.G. has been making enquiries--
and it does really seem as though this Stamfordis
man was thoroughly undesirable.
In the meantime business is being neglected. I
carry on at the office and in a way it's rather fun
because R.G. gives me a free hand. He said to me
yesterday : " Thank Heaven, there's one sane person
in the world. You're never likely to fall in love with
a crook, Blackie, are you?" I said I didn't think I
was likely to fall in love with anybody. R.G. said :
" Let's start a few new hares in the City." He's
really rather a mischievous devil sometimes and he
sails terribly near the wind. " You're quite determined
to keep me on the straight and narrow path
aren't you, Blackie?" he said the other day. And I
shall too! I can't understand how people can't see when a thing's dishonest--but R.G. really and truly doesn't. He only knows what is actually against the
law.
Belle only laughs at all this. She thinks the fuss
about Sonia is all nonsense. " Sonia has her own
money," she said. " Why shouldn't she marry this
man if she wants to?" I said it might turn out to be
a terrible mistake and Belle said, " It's never a
mistake to marry a man you want to marry--even
if you regret it." And then she said, " I suppose
Sonia doesn't want to break with Randall because of
money. Sonia's very fond of money."
No more now. How is father? I won't say Give
him my love. But you can if you think it's better to
do so. Have you seen more people? You really
must not be morbid, darling.
207
A Murder is Announced
Sonia asks to be remembered to you. She has
just come in and is closing and unclosing her hands
like an angry cat sharpening its claws. I think she
and R.G. have had another row. Of course Sonia
can be very irritating. She stares you down with
that cool stare of hers.
Lots of love, darling, and buck up. This iodine
treatment may make a lot of difference. I've been
inquiring about it and it really does seem to have
good results.
Your loving sister,
Letitia
Miss Marple folded the letter and handed it back. She
looked abstracted.
"Well, what do you think about her?" Craddock
urged. " What picture do you get of her?"
"Of Sonia? It's difficult, you know, to see anyone
through another person's mind . . . Determined to get
her own way—that, definitely, I think. And wanting the
best of two worlds..."
" Closing and unclosing her hands like an angry cat,"
murmured Craddock. " You know, that reminds me of
someone..."
He frowned.
" Making inquiries ..." murmured Miss Marple.
" If we could get hold of the result of those inquiries,"
said Craddock.
" Does that letter remind you of anything in St. Mary
Mead?" asked Bunch rather indistinctly since her mouth
was full of pins.
" I really can't say it does, dear . . . Dr. Blacklock is,
perhaps, a little like Mr. Curtiss the Wesleyan Minister.
He wouldn't let his child wear a plate on her teeth. Said
it was the Lord's Will if her teeth stuck out. ' After all,'
208
The Letters
I said to him, ' you do trim your beard and cut your
hair. It might be the Lord's Will that your hair
should grow out.' He said that was quite different.
So like a man. But that doesn't help us with our present
problem."
" We've never traced that revolver, you know. It
wasn't Rudi Schera. If I knew who had had a revolver
in Chipping Cleghorn----"
" Colonel Easterbrook has one," said Bunch. " He
keeps it in his collar drawer."
" How do you know, Mrs. Harmon?"
" Mrs. Butt told me. She's my daily. Or rather, my
twice weekly. Being a military gentleman, she said, he'd
naturally have a revolver and very handy it would be if
burglars were to come along."
" When did she tell you this?"
" Ages ago. About six months ago, I should think."
" Colonel Easterbrook?" murmured Craddock.
" It's like those pointer things at fairs, isn't it?" said
Bunch, still speaking through a mouthful of pins. " Go
round and round and stop at something different every
time."'
" You're telling me!" said Craddock and groaned.
" Colonel Easterbrook was up at Little Paddocks to
leave a book there one day. He could have oiled that
door then. He was quite straightforward about being
there though. Not like Miss Hinchliffe."
Miss Marple coughed gently. " You must make allowances
for the times we live in. Inspector," she said.
Craddock looked at her, uncomprchendingly.
" After all," said Miss Marple, " you are the Police,
aren't you? People can't say everything they'd like to
say to the Police, can they?"
" I don't see why not," said Craddock. " Unless
they've got some criminal matter to conceal." sog
A Murder is Announced
"She means butter," said Bunch, crawling actively
round a table leg to anchor a floating bit of paper.
" Butter and corn for hens, and sometimes cream—and
sometimes, even, a side of bacon."
" Show him that note from Miss Blacklock," said Miss
Marple. " It's some time ago now, but it reads like a
first-class mystery story."
" What have I done with it. Is this the one you mean,
Aunt Jane?"
Miss Marple took it and looked at it.
" Yes," she said with satisfaction. " That's the one."
She handed it to the Inspector.
" I have made inquiries—Thursday is the day," Miss
Blacklock had written. " Any time after three. If there
is any for me leave it in the usual place."
Bunch spat out her pins and laughed. Miss Marple
was watching the Inspector's face.
The Vicar's wife took it upon herself to explain.
"Thursday is the day one of the farms round here
makes butter. They let anybody they like have a bit. It's
usually Miss Hinchliffe who collects it. She's very much
in with all the farmers—because of her pigs, I think.
But it's all a bit hush-hush, you know, a kind of local
scheme of barter. One person gets butter, and sends
along cucumbers, or something like that—and a little
something when a pig's killed. And now and then an
animal has an accident and has to be destroyed. Oh,
you know the sort of thing. Only one can't, very wcU,
say it right out to the Police. Because I suppose quite a
lot of this barter is illegal—only nobody really knows
because it's all so complicated. But I expect Hinch had
slipped into Little Paddocks with a pound of butter or
something and had put it in the usual place. That's a
flour bin under the dresser, by the way. It doesn't have
flour in it."
910
The Letters
Craddock sighed.
" I'm glad I came here to you ladies," he said.
" There used to be clothing coupons, too," said Bunch.
" Not usually bought--that wasn't considered honest.
No money passes. But people like Mrs. Butt or Mrs.
Finch or Mrs. Huggins like a nice woollen dress or a
winter coat that hasn't seen too much wear, and they pay
for it with coupons instead of money."
" You'd better not tell me any more," said Craddock.
" It's all against the law."
" Then there oughtn't to be such silly laws," said
Bunch, filling her mouth up with pins again. " / don't
do it, of course, because Julian doesn't like me to, so I
don't. But I know what's going on, of course."
A kind of despair was coming over the Inspector.
" It all sounds so pleasant and ordinary," he said.
" Funny and petty and simple. And yet one woman and
a man have been killed, and another woman may be
killed before I can get anything definite to go on. I've
left off worrying about Pip and Emma for the moment.
I'm concentrating on Sonia. I wish I knew what
she looked like. There was a snapshot or two in with
these letters, but none of the snaps could have been of
her."
" How do you know it couldn't have been her? Do
you know what she looked like?"
" She was small and dark, Miss Blacklock said."
"Really," said Miss Marple, "that's very interesting."

" There was one snap that reminded me vaguely of
someone. A tall fair girl with her hair all done up on
top of her head. I don't know who she could have been.
Anyway, it can't have been Sonia. Do you think Mrs.
Swettenham could have been dark when she was a
girl?"
an
A Murder is Announced
"Not very dark," said Bunch. "She's got blue
eyes."
" I hoped there might be a photo of Dmitri Stamfordis
--but I suppose that was too much to hope for ... Will "--he took up the letter--" I'm sorry this doesn't suggest anything to you, Miss Marplc."
" Oh! but it does," said Miss Marple. " It suggests a
good deal. Just read it through again. Inspector--- especially where it says that Randall Goedler was making
inquiries about Dmitri Stamfordis."
Craddock stared at her.
The telephone rang.
Bunch got up from the floor and went out into the
hall where, in accordance with the best Victorian traditions,
the telephone had originally been placed and where
it still was.
She re-entered the room to say to Craddock:
"It's for you."
Slightly surprised, the Inspector went out to the instrument--carefully
shutting the door of the living-room
behind him.
"Craddock? Rydesdalc here."
" Yes, sir."
" I've been looking through your report. In the interview
you had with Phillipa Haymes I see she states
positively that she hasn't seen her husband since his
desertion from the Army?"
" That's right, sir--she was most emphatic. But in my
opinion she wasn't speaking the truth."
" I agree with you. Do you remember a case about
ten days ago--man run over by a lorry--taken to
Milchester General with concussion and a fractured
pelvis?"
" The fellow who snatched a child practically from
under the wheels of a lorry, and got run down himself?"
313
The Letters
" That's the one. No papers of any kind on him and
nobody came forward to identify him. Looked as though
he might be on the run. He died last night without regaining
consciousness. But he's been identified--deserter
from the Army--Ronald Haymes, ex-Captain in the
South Loamshires."
" Phillipa Haymes' husband?"
" Yes. He'd got an old Chipping Cleghom bus ticket
on him, by the way--and quite a reasonable amount of
money."
" So he did get money from his wife? I always
thought he was the man Mitzi overheard talking to her
in the summerhouse. She denied it flatly, of course. But
surely, sir, that lorry accident was before----"
Rydesdale took the words out of his mouth.
" Yes, he was taken to Milchester General on the 28th.
The hold-up at Little Paddocks was on the agth. That
lets him out of any possible connection with it. But his
wife, of course, knew nothing about the accident. She
may have been thinking all along thatjie aw concerned
in it. She'd hold her tongue--naturally--after all he was her husband."
" It was a fairly gallant bit of work, wasn't it, sir?"
said Craddock slowly.
"Rescuing that child from the lorry? Yes. Plucky.
Don't suppose it was cowardice that made Haymes
desert. Well, all that's past history. For a man who'd
blotted his copybook, it was a good death."
" I'm glad for her sake," said the Inspector. " And for
that boy of theirs."
" Yes, he needn't be too ashamed of his father. And
the young woman will be able to marry again now."
Craddock said slowly:
" I was thinking of that, sir. ... It opens up--possibilities."

313
"i'll put on a lamp by you before I go," said Bunch.
" It's so dark in here. There's going to be a storm, I
think."
She lifted the small reading lamp to the other side of
the table where it would throw light on Miss Marple's
knitting as she sat in a wide high-backed chair.
As the flex pulled across the table, Tiglath Pileser the
cat, leapt upon it and bit and clawed it violently.
" No, Tiglath Pileser, you mustn't ... He really is
awful. Look, he's nearly bitten it through—it's all frayed.
Don't you understand, you idiotic puss, that you may
get a nasty electric shock if you do that?"
" Thank you, dear," said Miss Marple, and put out a
hand to turn on the lamp.
" It doesn't turn on there. You have to press that silly
little switch half-way along the flex. Wait a minute. I'll
take these flowers out of the way."
She lifted a bowl of Christmas roses across the table.
Tiglath Pileser, his tail switching, put out a mischievous
paw and clawed Bunch's arm. She spilled some of the
water out of the vase. It fell on the frayed area of flex
and on Tiglath Pileser himself, who leapt to the floor
with an indignant hiss.
Miss Marple pressed the small pear-shaped switch.
Where the water had soaked the frayed flex there was a
flash and a crackle.
" Oh, dear," said Bunch. " It's fused. Now I suppose
a/5
A Murder is Announced
all the lights in here arc off." She tried them. " Yes,
they are. So stupid being all on the same thingummibob.
And it's made a burn on the table, too. Naughty Tiglath
Pileser--it's all his fault. Aunt Jane--what's the matter?
Did it startle you?"
" It's nothing, dear. Just something I saw quite suddenly
which I ought to have seen before ..."
"I'll go and fix the fuse and get the lamp from
Julian's study."
" No, dear, don't bother. You'll miss your bus. I don't
want any more light. I just want to sit quietly and--
think about something. Hurry dear, or you won't catch
your bus."
When Bunch had gone, Miss Marple sat quite still for
about two minutes. The air of the room was heavy and
menacing with the gathering storm outside.
Miss Marple drew a sheet of paper towards her.
She wrote first: Lamp? and underlined it heavily.
After a moment or two, she wrote another word.
Her pencil travelled down the paper, making brief
cryptic notes....
ll
In the rather dark living-room of Boulders with its
low ceiling and latticed window panes, Miss Hinchliffe
and Miss Murgatroyd were having an argument.
" The trouble with you, Murgatroyd," said Miss
Hinchliffe, " is that you won't try." " But I tell you, Hindi, I can't remember a thing."
" Now look here, Amy Murgatroyd, we're going to do
some constructive thinking. So far we haven't shone on
the detective angle. I was quite wrong over that door 216
Reconstruction of the Crime
business. You didn't hold the door open for the murderer
after all. You're cleared, Murgatroyd!"
Miss Murgatroyd gave a rather watery smile.
" It's just our luck to have the only silent cleaning
woman in Chipping Cleghorn," continued Miss Hinchliffe.
"Usually I'm thankful for it, but this time it
means we've got off to a bad start. Everybody else in
the place knows about that second door in the drawingroom
being used--and we only heard about it yesterday----"

" I still don't quite understand how----"
" It's perfectly simple. Our original premises were
quite right. You can't hold open a door, wave a torch
and shoot with a revolver all at the same time. We kept
in the revolver and the torch and cut out the door.
Well, we were wrong. It was the revolver we ought to
have cut out."
" But he did have a^revolver," said Miss Murgatroyd.
" I saw it. It was there on the floor beside him."
" When he was dead, yes. It's all quite dear. He didn't fire that revolver----"
"Then who did?"
"That's what we're going to find out. But whoever
did it, the same person put a couple of poisoned aspirin
tablets by Letty Blacklock's bed--and thereby bumped
off poor Dora Bunner. And that couldn't have been
Rudi Scherz, because he's as dead as a doornail. It was
someone who was in the room that night of the holdup and probably someone who was at the birthday
party, too. And the only person that lets out is Mrs.
Harmon."
" You think someone put those aspirins there the day
of the birthday party?"
"Why not?"
'' But how could they?"
217
A Murder is Announced
" Well, we all went to the lou, didn't we?" said Miss
HinchlifTe coarsely. " And I washed my hands in the
bathroom because of that sticky cake. And little Sweetie
Easterbrook powdered her grubby little face in Blacklock's
bedroom, didn't she?"
" Hinch! Do you think she——"
" I don't know yet. Rather obvious, if she did. I
don't think if you were going to plant some tablets, that
you'd want to be seen in the bedroom at all. Oh, yes,
there were plenty of opportunities."
" The men didn't go upstairs."
" There are back stairs. After all, if a man leaves the
room, you don't follow him to see if he really is going
where you think he is going. It wouldn't be delicate!
Anyway, don't argue, Murgatroyd. I want to get back
to the original attempt on Letty Blacklock. Now, to
begin with, get the facts firmly into your head, because
it's all going to depend upon you."
Miss Murgatroyd looked alarmed.
" Oh, dear, Hinch, you know what a muddle I get
into!"
" It's not a question of your brains, or the grey fluff
that passes for brains with you. It's a question of eyes.
It's a question of what you saw."
" But I didn't see anything."
" The trouble with you is, Murgatroyd, as I said just
now, that you won't try. Now pay attention. This is
what happened. Whoever it is that's got it in for Letty
Blacklock was there in that room that evening. He (I say
he because it's easier, but there's no reason why it should
be a man more than a woman except, of course, that
men are dirty dogs), well, he has previously oiled that
second door that leads out of the drawing-room and
which is supposed to be nailed up or something. Don't
ask me when he did it, because that confuses things.
218
Reconstruction of the Crime
Actually, by choosing my time, I could walk into any
house in Chipping Cleghom and do anything I liked
there for half an hour or so with no one being the wiser.
It's just a question of working out where the daily
women are and when the occupiers are out and exactly
where they've gone and how long they'll be. Just good
staff work. Now, to continue. He's oiled that second
door. It will open without a sound. Here's the set-up :
Lights go out, door A (the regular door) opens with a
nourish. Business with torch and hold-up lines. In the
meantime, while we're all goggling, X (that's the best
term to use) slips quietly out by door B into the dark hall,
comes up behind that Swiss idiot, takes a couple of shots
at Letty Blacklock and then shoots the Swiss. Drops the
revolver, where lazy thinkers like you will assume it's
evidence that the Swiss did the shooting, and nips back
into the room again by the time that someone gets a
lighter going. Got it?"
" Yes—ye-es, but who was it?"
" Well, if you don't know, Murgatroyd, nobody
docs!"
"Me?" Miss Murgatroyd fairly twittered in alarm.
"But I don't know anything at all. I don't really,
Hinch!"
" Use that fluff of yours you call a brain. To begin
with, where was everybody when the lights went
out?"
" I don't know."
" Yes, you do. You're maddening, Murgatroyd. You
know where you were, don't you? You were behind the
door."
Yes—yes, I was. It knocked against my corn when
it flew open."
" Why don't you go to a proper chiropodist instead of
messing about yourself with your feet. You'll give youraig
A Murder is Announced
self blood poisoning one of these days. Come on, now-- you're behind the door. I'm standing against the mantelpiece
with my tongue hanging out for a drink. Lctty
Blacklock is by the table near the archway, getting the
cigarettes. Patrick Simmons has gone through the archway
into the small room where Letty Blacklock has had
the drinks put. Agreed?"
" Yes, yes, I remember all that."
" Good, now somebody else followed Patrick into that room or was just starting to follow him. One of the men.
The annoying thing is that I can't remember whether it
was Easterbrook or Edmund Swettenham. Do you
remember?"
" No, I don't."
"You wouldn't! And there was someone else who
went through to the small room; Phillipa Haymes. I
remember that distinctly because I remember noticing
what a nice flat back she has, and I thought to myself
' that girl would look well on a horse.' I was watching
her and thinking just that. She went over to the mantelpiece
in the other room. I don't know what it was she
wanted there, because at that moment the lights went
out.
" So that's the position. In the far drawing-room are
Patrick Simmons, Phillipa Haymes, and either Colonel
Easterbrook or Edmund Swettenham--we don't know
which. Now, Murgatroyd, pay attention. The most
probable thing is that it was one of those three who did
it. If anyone wanted to get out of that far door, they'd
naturally take care to put themselves in a convenient
place when the lights went out. So, as I say, in all
probability, it's one of those three. And in that case,
Murgatroyd, there's not a thing you can do about
it!"
Miss Murgatroyd brightened perceptibly. aao
Reconstruction of the Crime
" On the other hand," continued Miss Hinchliffe,
" there's the possibility that it wasn't one of those three.
And that's where you come in, Murgatroyd."
" But how should I know anything about it?"
" As I said before, if you don't nobody does."
" But I don't! I really don't } I couldn't sec anything
atalll"
" Oh, yes, you could. You're the only ^person who could see. You were standing behind the door. You
couldn't look at the torch--because the door was between
you and it. You were facing the other way, the
same way as the torch was pointing. The rest of us were
just dazzled. But you weren't dazzled."
" No--no, perhaps not, but I didn't see anything, the
torch went round and round----"
"Showing you what? It rested on faces, didn't it?
And on tables? And on chairs?"
" Yes--yes, it did . . . Miss Bunner, her mouth wide
open and her eyes popping out of her head, staring and
blinking." ~ " * --
"That's the stuff!" Miss Hinchliffe gave a sigh of
relief. " The difficulty there is in making you use that
grey fluff of yours! Now then, keep it up."
" But I didn't see any more, I didn't, really."
" You mean you saw an empty room? Nobody standing
about? Nobody sitting down?"
" No, of course not that. Miss Bunner with her mouth
open and Mrs. Harmon was sitting on the arm of a
chair. She had her eyes tight shut and her knuckles all
doubled up to her face--like a child."
" Good, that's Mrs. Harmon and Miss Bunner. Don't
you see yet what I'm getting at? The difficulty is that I
don't want to put ideas into your head. But when we've
eliminated who you did see--we can get on to the important
point which is, was there anyone you didn't see. a a z
A Murder is Announced
Got it? Besides the tables and the chairs and the chrysanthemums
and the rest of it, there were certain people;
Julia Simmons, Mrs. Swettenham, Mrs. Easterbrook-- either Colonel Easterbrook or Edmund Swettenham--
Dora Bunner and Bunch Harmon. All right, you saw
Bunch Harmon and Dora Bunner. Cross them off. Now think, Murgatroyd, think, was there one of those people
who definitely wasn't there?"
Miss Murgatroyd jumped slightly as a branch knocked
against the open window. She shut her eyes. She
murmured to herself ...
" The flowers ... on the table . . . the big armchair
. . . the torch didn't come round as far as you, Hinch--
Mrs. Harmon, yes ..."
The telephone rang sharply. Miss Hinchliffe went to it.
"Hallo, yes? The station?"
The obedient Miss Murgatroyd, her eyes closed, was
reliving the night of the agth. The torch, sweeping
slowly round ... a group of people . . . the windows . . .
the sofa . . . Dora Bunner . . . the wall .. . the table with
lamp . . . the archway . . . the sudden spat of the
revolver.. .
". . . but that's extraordinary said Miss Murgatroyd.

"What?" Miss Hinchliffe was barking angrily into
the telephone. "Been there since this morning? What
time? Damn and blast you, and you only ring me up now? I'll set the S.P.C.A. after you. An oversight? Is that all you've got to say?"
She banged down the receiver.
" It's that dog," she said. " The red setter. Been at
the station since this morning--since this morning at
eight o'clock! Without a drop of water! And the idiots
only ring me up now. I'm going to get her right
away."
saa
Reconstruction of the Crime
She plunged out of the room, Miss Murgatroyd
squeaking shrilly in her wake.
" But listen, Hinch, a most extraordinary thing ... I
don't understand it..."
Miss Hinchliffe had dashed out of the door and across
to the shed which served as a garage.
" We'll go on with it when I come back," she called.
" I can't wait for you to come with me. You've got your
bedroom slippers on as usual."
She pressed the starter of the car and backed out of
the garage with a jerk. Miss Murgatroyd skipped nimbly
sideways.
" But listen, Hinch, I must tell you----"
" When I come back ..."
The car jerked and shot forwards. Miss Murgatroyd's
voice came faintly after it on a high excited note.
" But, Hinch, she wasn't there ..."
ill
Overhead, the clouds had been gathering thick and
blue. As Miss Murgatroyd stood looking after the retreating
car, the first big drops began to fall.
In an agitated fashion, Miss Murgatroyd plunged
across to a line of string on which she had, some hours
previously, hung out a couple of jumpers and a pair of
woollen combinations to dry.
She was murmuring under her breath :
" Really mast extraordinary . . . Oh, dear, I shall
never get these down in time . . . And they were nearly
dry...."
She struggled with a recalcitrant clothes peg, then
turned her head as she heard someone approaching. 223
A Murder is Announced
Then she smiled a pleased welcome.
" Hallo--do go inside, you'll get wet."
" Let me help you."
" Oh, if you don't mind ... so annoying if they all
get soaked again. I really ought to let down the line,
but I think I can just reach."
" Here's your scarf. Shall I put it round your neck?"
" Oh, thank you . . . Yes, perhaps ... If I could just
reach this peg ..."
The woollen scarf was slipped round her neck and
then, suddenly, pulled tight...
Miss Murgatroyd's mouth opened, but no sound came
except a small choking gurgle.
And the scarf was pulled tighter still...
IV
On her way back from the station. Miss Hinchliffe
stopped the car to pick up Miss Marple who was hurrying
along the street.
" Hallo," she shouted. " You'll get very wet. Come
and have tea with us. I saw Bunch waiting for the bus.
You'll be all alone at the Vicarage. Come and join us.
Murgatroyd and I are doing a bit of reconstruction of
the crime. I rather think we're just getting somewhere.
Mind the dog. She's rather nervous."
" What a beauty."
" Yes, lovely bitch, isn't she? Those fools kept her at
the station since this morning without letting me know.
I told them off, the lazy b----s. Oh! excuse my
language. I was brought up by grooms at home in
Ireland."
The little car turned with a jerk into the small backyard
of Boulders.
234
Reconstruction of the Crime
A crowd of eager dudes and fowls encircled the two
ladies as they descended.
"Curse Murgatroyd," said Miss Hinchliffe, "she
hasn't given 'em their corn."
" Is it difficult to get corn?" Miss Marple inquired.
Miss Hinchliffe winked.
" I'm in with roost of the fanners," she said.
Shooing away the hens, she escorted Miss Marple
towards the cottage.
" Hope you're not too wet?"
" No, this is a very good mackintosh."
" I'll light the fire if Murgatroyd hasn't lit it. Hiyah,
Murgatroyd? Where is the woman? Murgatroyd!
Where's that dog? She's disappeared now."
A slow dismal howl came from outside.
" Curse the silly bitch." Miss Hinchliffe tramped to
the door and called:
" Hyoup, Cutie—Cutie. Damn' silly name but that's
what they called her apparently. We must find her
another name. Hiyah, Cutie."
The red setter was sniffing at something lying below
the taut string where a row of garments swirled in the
wind.
" Murgatroyd's not even had the sense to bring the
washing in. Where is she?"
Again the red setter nosed at what seemed to be a pile
of clothes, and raised her nose high in the air and howled
again.
" What's the matter with the dog?"
Miss Hinchliffe strode across the grass.
And quickly, apprehensively, Miss Marple ran after
her. They stood there, side by side, the rain beating
down on them and the older woman's arm went round
the younger one's shoulders.
She felt the muscles go stiff and taut as Miss
sag
A Murder is Announced
Hinchliffe stood looking down on the thing lying
there, with the blue congested face and the protruding
tongue.
" I'll kill whoever did this," said Miss Hinchliffe in a
low quiet voice, " if I once get my hands on her..."
Miss Marple said questioningly:
"Her?"
Miss Hinchliffe turned a ravaged face towards her.
" Yes. I know who it is—near enough ... That is, it's
one of three possibles."
She stood for another moment, looking down at her
dead friend, and then turned towards the house. Her
voice was dry and hard.
" We must ring up the police," she said. " And while
we're waiting for them, I'll tell you. My fault, in a way,
that Murgatroyd's lying out there. I made a game of it
... Murder isn't a game...."
" No," said Miss Marple. " Murder isn't a game."
" You know something about it, don't you?" said Miss
Hinchliffe as she lifted the receiver and dialled.
She made a brief report and hung up.
" They'll be here in a few minutes . . . Yes, I heard
that you'd been mixed up in this sort of business before
... I think it was Edmund Swettenham told me so ...
Do you want to hear what we were doing, Murgatroyd
and I?"
Succinctly she described the conversation held before
her departure for the station.
" She called after me, you know. Just as I was leaving
. . . That's how I know it's a woman and not a man .. .
If I'd waited—if only I'd listened! God dammit, the dog
could have stopped where she was for another quarter of
an hour."
" Don't blame yourself, my dear. That does no good.
One can't foresee."
aa6
Reconstruction of the Crime
"No, one can't . . . Something tapped against the
window, I remember. Perhaps she was outside there,
then—yes, of course, she must have been . . . coming to
the house ... and there were Murgatroyd and I shouting
at each other. Top of our voices . . . She heard . . .
She heard it all..."
" You haven't told me yet what your friend said."
" Just one sentence! ' She uwsn't there.'"
She paused. " You see? There were three women we
hadn't eliminated. Mrs. Swettenham, Mrs. Easterbrook,
Julia Simmons. And one of those three—wasn't there
. . . She wasn't there in the drawing-room because she
had slipped out through the other door and was out in
the hall."
" Yes," said Miss Marple, " I see."
" It's one of those three women. I don't know which.
But I'll find out!"
" Excuse me," said Miss Marple. " But did she—did
Miss Murgatroyd, I mean, say it exactly as you said
it?"
" How d'you mean—as I said it?"
" Oh, dear, how can I explain ? You said it like this.
She-wasn't-there. An equal emphasis on every word.
You see, there are three ways you could say it. You
could say, ' She wasn't there.' Very personal. Or again.
' She wasn't there.' Confirming some suspicion already
held. Or else you could say (and this is nearer to the way
you said it just now), ' She wasn't there . ..' quite blankly
—with the emphasis, if there was emphasis—on the
• there: "
" I don't know," Miss Hinchliffe shook her head. " I
can't remember . . . How the hell can I remember? I
think, yes, surely she'd say 'She wasn't there '? That
would be the natural way, I should think. But I simply
don't know. Does it make any difference?"
227
20. Miss Marple is Missing
the postman, rather to his disgust, had lately been
given orders to make an afternoon delivery of letters in
Chipping Cleghom as well as a morning one.
On this particular afternoon he left three letters at
Little Paddocks at exactly ten minutes to five.
One was addressed to Phillipa Haymes in a schoolboy's
hand; the other two were for Miss Blacklock. She
opened them as she and Phillipa sat down at the tea
table. The torrential rain had enabled Phillipa to leave
Dayas Hall early tCKiay, since once she had shut up the
greenhouses there was nothing more to do.
Miss Blacklock tore open her first letter which was a
bill for repairing the kitchen boiler. She snorted angrily.
"Dymond's prices are preposterous--quite preposterous.
Still, I suppose all the other people are just as bad."
She opened the second letter which was in a handwriting
quite unknown to her.
Dear Cousin Letty it said),
I hope it will be all right for me to come to you
on Tuesday? I wrote to Patrick two days ago but he hasn't answered. So I presume it's all right. Mother
is coming to England next month and hopes to see
you then.
My train arrives at Chipping Cleghom at 6.15 if
that's convenient?
Yours affectionately,
/ulia Simmons
asg
A Murder is Announced
Miss Blacklock read the letter once with astonishment
pure and simple, and then again with a certain grimness.
She looked up at Phillipa who was smiling over her son's
letter.
" Are Julia and Patrick back, do you know?"
Phillipa looked up.
" Yes, they came in just after I did. They went upstairs
to change. They were wet."
" Perhaps you'd not mind going and calling them."
" Of course, I will."
" Wait a moment--I'd like you to read this."
She handed Phillipa the letter she had received.
Phillipa read it and frowned. " I don't understand ..."
" Nor do I, quite ... I think it's about time I did. Call
Patrick and Julia, Phillipa."
Phillipa called from the bottom of the stairs :
" Patrick! Julia! Miss Blacklock wants you."
Patrick came running down the stairs and entered the
room.
" Don't go, Phillipa," said Miss Blacklock.
" Hallo, Aunt Letty," said Patrick cheerfully. " Want
me?"
" Yes, I do. Perhaps you'll give me an explanation of this?"
Patrick's face showed an almost comical dismay as he
read.
" I meant to telegraph her! What an ass I am!"
" This letter, I presume, is from your sister Julia?"
" Yes--yes, it is."
Miss Blacklock said grimly:
" Then who, may I ask, is the young woman whom
you brought here as Julia Simmons, and whom I was
given to understand was your sister and my cousin?"
" Well--you see--Aunt Letty--the fact of the matter
is--I can explain it all--I know I oughtn't to have done 230
Miss Marple is Missing
jt--but it really seemed more of a lark than anything else.
If you'll just let me explain----"
" I am waiting for you to explain. Who is this young
woman?"
" Well, I met her at a cocktail party soon after I got
demobbed. We got talking and I said I was coming here and then--well, we thought it might be rather a good
wheeze if I brought her along . . . You sec, Julia, the real Julia was mad to go on the stage and Mother had
seven fits at the idea--however, Julia got a chance to join
a jolly good repertory company up in Perth or somewhere
and she thought she'd give it a try--but she
thought she'd keep Mum calm by letting Mum think
that she was here with me studying to be a dispenser like
a good little girl."
" I still want to know who this other young woman is."
Patrick turned with relief as Julia, cool and aloof,
came into the room.
" The balloon's gone up," he said. " "
Julia raised her eyebrows. Then, still cool, she came
forward and sat down.
" O.K.," she said. " That's that. I suppose you're
very angry?" She studied Miss Blacklock's face with
almost dispassionate interest. " I should be if I were you."
" Who are you?"
Julia sighed.
" I think the moment's come when I make a clean
breast of things. Here we go. I'm one half of the Pip
and Emma combination. To be exact, my christened
name is Emma Jocelyn Stamfordis--only Father soon
dropped the Stamfordis. I think he called himself dc
Courcy next.
" My father and mother, let me tell you, split up
about three years after Pip and I were born. Each of 231
A Murder is Announced
them went their own way. And they split us up. I was
Father's part of the loot. He was a bad parent on the
whole, though quite a charming one. I had various
desert spells of being educated in convents--when Father
hadn't any money, or was preparing to engage in some
particularly nefarious deal. He used to pay the first
term with every sign of affluence and then depart and
leave me on the nuns' hands for a year or two. In the
intervals, he and I had some very good times together,
moving in cosmopolitan society. However, the war separated
us completely. I've no idea of what's happened to
him. I had a few adventures myself. I was with the
French Resistance for a time. Quite exciting. To cut a
long story short, I landed up in London and began to
think about my future. I knew that Mother's brother
with whom she'd had a frightful row, had died a very
rich man. I looked up his will to see if there was anything
for me. There wasn't--not directly, that is to say.
I made a few inquiries about his widow--it seemed she
was quite gaga and kept under drugs and was dying by
inches. Frankly, it looked as though you were my best
bet. You were going to come into a hell of a lot of
money and from all I could find out, you didn't seem to
have anyone much to spend it on. I'll be quite frank. It
occurred to me that if I could get to know you in a
friendly kind of way, and if you took a fancy to me--
well, after all, conditions have changed a bit, haven't
they, since Uncle Randall died? I mean any money we
ever had has been swept away in the cataclysm of
Europe. I thought you might pity a poor orphan girl,
all alone in the world, and make her, perhaps a small
allowance."
" Oh, you did, did you?" said Miss Blacklock grimly.
"Yes. Of course, I hadn't seen you then ... I
visualised a kind of sob stuff approach . . . Then, by a sy
Miss Marple is Missing
marvellous stroke of lucky 1 met Patrick here--and he
turned out to be your nephew or your cousin, or something.
Well, that struck me as a marvellous chance. I
went bullheaded for Patrick and he fell for me in a most
gratifying way. The real Julia was all wet about this
acting stuff and I soon persuaded her it was her duty to
Art to go and fix herself up in some uncomfortable lodgings
in Perth and train to be the new Sarah Bemhardt.
" You mustn't blame Patrick too much. He felt awfully
sorry for me, all alone in the world--and he soon
thought it would be a really marvellous idea for me to
come here as his sister and do my stuff."
" And he also approved of your continuing to tell a
tissue of lies to the Police?"
" Have a heart, Letty. Don't you see that when that
ridiculous hold-up business happened--or rather after it
happened--I began to feel I was in a bit of a spot. Let's
face it, I've got a perfectly good motive for putting you
out of the way. You've only got my word for it now that
I wasn't the one who tried to do it.'You can't expect
me deliberately to go and incriminate myself. Even
Patrick got nasty ideas about me from time to time, and
if even he could think things like that, what on earth
would the police think? That Detective-Inspector struck
me as a man of singularly sceptical mind. No, I figured
out the only thing for me to do was to sit tight as Julia
and just fade away when term came to an end.
" How was I to know that fool Julia, the real Julia,
would go and have a row with the producer, and fling
the whole thing up in a fit of temperament? She writes
to Patrick and asks if she can come here, and instead of
wiring her ' Keep away' he goes and forgets to do anything
at all!" She cast an angry glance at Patrick. " Of
all the utter idiots'."
She sighed.
»33
A Murder is Announced
" You don't know the straits I've been put to in Milchestcr! Of course, I haven't been to the hospital at all.
But I had to go somewhere. Hours and hours I've spent
in the pictures seeing the most frightful films over and
over again."
" Pip and Emma," murmured Miss Blacklock. " I
never believed, somehow, in spite of what the Inspector
said, that they were real——"
She looked searchingly at Julia.
" You're Emma," she said. " Where's Pip?"
Julia's eyes, limpid and innocent, met hers.
"I don't know," she said. "I haven't the least
idea."
" I think you're lying, Julia. When did you sec him
last?"
Was there a momentary hesitation before Julia spoke?
She said clearly and deliberately :
" I haven't seen him since we were both three years
old—when my mother took him away. I haven't seen
either him or my mother. I don't know where they
are."
" And that's all you have to say?"
Julia sighed.
" I could say I was sorry. But it wouldn't really be
true; because actually I'd do the same thing again—
though not if I'd known about this murder business, of
•i
course."
" Julia," said Miss Blacklock, " (I call you that because
I'm used to it). You were with the French Resistance,
you say?"
"Yes. For eighteen months."
" Then I suppose you learned to shoot?"
Again those cool blue eyes met hers.
" I can shoot all right. I'm a first-class shot. I didn't
shoot at you, Lctitia Blacklock, though you've only got
»34
Miss Marple is Missing
my word for that. But I can tell you this, that if I had
shot at you, I wouldn't have been likely to miss."
ll
The sound of a car driving up to the door broke through
the tenseness of the moment.
" Who can that be?" asked Miss Blacklock.
Mitzi put a tousled head in. She was showing the whites of her eyes.
" It is the Police come again," she said. " This, it is
persecution! Why will they not leave us alone ? I will
not bear it. I will write to the Prime Minister. I will
write to your King."
Craddock's hand put her firmly and not too kindly
aside. He came in with such a grim set to his lips that
they all looked at him apprehensively. This was a new
Inspector Craddock. " " He
said sternly:
" Miss Murgatroyd has been murdered. She was
strangled--not more than an hour ago." His eye singled
out Julia. " You--Miss Simmons--where have you
been all day?"
Julia said warily:
" In Milchester. I've just got in."
" And you ?" The eye went on to Patrick.
"Yes."
" Did you both come back here together?"
" Yes--yes, we did," said Patrick.
" No," said Julia. " It's no good, Patrick. That's the
kind of lie that will be found out at once. The bus
people know us well. I came back on the earlier bus,
Inspector--the one that gets here at four o'clock."
»35
A Murder is Announced
" And what did you do then?"
" I went for a walk."
" In the direction of Boulders?"
" No, I went across the fields."
He stared at her. Julia, her face pale, her lips tense,
stared back.
Before anyone could speak, the telephone rang.
Miss Blacklock, with an inquiring glance at Craddock,
picked up the receiver.
"Yes. Who? Oh, Bunch. What? No. No, she
hasn't. I've no idea ... Yes, he's here now."
She lowered the instrument and said :
" Mrs. Harmon would like to speak to you, Inspector.
Miss Marple has not come back to the Vicarage and
Mrs. Harmon is worried about her."
Craddock took two strides forward and gripped the
telephone.
" Craddock speaking."
" I'm worried. Inspector." Bunch's voice came through
with a childish tremor in it. "Aunt Jane's out somewhere—and
I don't know where. And they say that Miss
Murgatroyd's been killed. Is it true?"
" Yes, it's true, Mrs. Harmon. Miss Marple was there
with Miss Hinchliffe when they found the body."
" Oh, so that's where she is." Bunch sounded relieved.
" No—no, I'm afraid she isn't. Not now. She left
there about—let me see—half an hour ago. She hasn't
got home?"
" No—she hasn't. It's only ten minutes' walk. Where
can she be?"
" Perhaps she's called in on one of your neighbours ?"
" I've rung them up—all of them. She's not there.
I'm frightened. Inspector."
" So am I," thought Craddock.
He said quickly:
936
Miss Marple is Missing
" I'll come round to you—at once."
" Oh, do—there's a piece of paper. She was writing
on it before she went out. I don't know if it means
anything ... It just seems gibberish to me."
Craddock replaced the receiver.
Miss Blacklock said anxiously:
"Has something happened to Miss Marple? Oh, I
hope not."
" I hope not, too." His mouth was grim.
" She's so old—and frail."
" I know."
Miss Blacklock, standing with her hand pulling at
the choker of pearls round her neck, said in a hoarse
voice:
" It's getting worse and worse. Whoever's doing these
things must be mad. Inspector—quite mad ..."
" I wonder."
The choker of pearls round Miss Blacklock's neck
broke under the clutch of her nervous fingers. The
smooth white globules rolled all over the room.
Letitia cried out in an anguished tone.
" My pearls—my pearls——" The agony in her voice
was so acute that they all looked at her in astonishment.
She turned, her hand to her throat, and rushed sobbing
out of the room.
Phillipa began picking up the pearls.
" I've never seen her so upset over anything," she said.
" Of course—she always wears them. Do you think,
perhaps, that someone special gave them to her? Randall
Goedler, perhaps."
" It's possible," said the Inspector slowly.
" They're not—they couldn't be—real by any
chance?" Phillipa asked from where, on her knees, she
was still collecting the white shining globes.
Taking one in his hand, Craddock was just about to
237
A Murder is Announced
reply contemptuously, " Real? Of course not!" when he
suddenly stifled the words.
After all, could the pearls be real?
They were so large, so even, so white that their falseness
seemed palpable, but Craddock remembered suddenly
a police case where a string of real pearls had been
bought for a few shillings in a pawnbroker's shop.
Letitia Blacklock had assured him that there was no
jewellery of value in the house. If these pearls were, by
any chance, genuine, they must be worth a fabulous
sum. And if Randall Goedler had given them to
her--then they might be worth any sum you cared to
name.
They looked false--they must be false, but--if they
were real?
Why not? She might herself be unaware of they value. Or she might choose to protect her treasure by treating
it as though it were a cheap ornament worth a couple
of guineas at most. What would they be worth if real?
A fabulous sum . . . Worth doing murder for--if anybody
knew about them.
With a start, the Inspector wrenched himself away
from his speculations. Miss Marple was missing. He
must go to the Vicarage.
ill
He found Bunch and her husband waiting for him, their
faces anxious and drawn.
" She hasn't come back," said Bunch.
" Did she say she was coming back here when she left
Boulders?" asked Julian.
" She didn't actually say so," said Craddock slowly, 338
Miss Marple is Missing
throwing his mind back to the last time he had seen Jane
Marple.
He remembered the grimness of her lips and the severe
frosty light in those usually gentle blue eyes.
Grimness, an inexorable determination ... to do what?
To go where?
" She was talking to Sergeant Fletcher when I last saw
her," he said. " Just by the gate. And then she went
through it and out. I took it she was going straight home
to the Vicarage. I would have sent her in the car—but
there was so much to attend to, and she slipped away
very quietly. Fletcher may know something! Where's
Fletcher?"
But Sergeant Fletcher, it seemed, as Craddock learned
when he rang up Boulders, was neither to be found there
nor had he left any message where he had gone. There
was some idea that he had returned to Milchcster for
some reason.
The Inspector rang up headquarters in Milchester, but
no news of Fletcher was to be found there.
Then Craddock turned to Bunch as he remembered
what she had told him over the telephone.
" Where's that paper? You said she'd been writing
something on a bit of paper."
Bunch brought it to him. He spread it out on the table
and looked down on it. Bunch leant over his shoulder
and spelled it out as he read. The writing was shaky and
not easy to read:
Lamp.
Then came the word " Violets"
Then after a space:
Where is bottle of aspirin?
The next item in this curious list was more difficult to
make out. "Delicious Death," Bunch read. "That's
Mitzi's cake."
»39
A Murder is Announced
" Making enquiries," read Craddock.
"Inquiries? What about, I wonder? What's this?
Severe affliction bravely borne ... What on earth——!"
" Iodine," read the Inspector. " Pearls. Ah, pearls."
" And then Lotty—no, Letty. Her e's look like o's.
And then Berne. And what's this? Old Age Pension ..."
They looked at each other in bewilderment.
Craddock recapitulated swiftly:
"Lamp. Violets. Where is bottle of aspirin ? Delicious
Death. Making enquiries. Severe affliction bravely
borne. Iodine. Pearls. Letty. Beme. Old Age Pension."
Bunch asked: " Does it mean anything? Anything at
all ? I can't see any connection."
Craddock said slowly: " I've just a glimmer—but I
don't see. It's odd that she should have put down that
about pearls."
" What about pearls? What does it mean?"
"Does Miss Blacklock always wear that three tier
choker of pearls?"
" Yes, she does. We laugh about it sometimes. They're
so dreadfully false looking, aren't they? But I suppose
she thinks it's fashionable."
"There might be another reason," said Craddock
slowly.
" You don't mean that they're real. Oh! they couldn't
be!"
" How often have you had an opportunity of seeing
real pearls of that size, Mrs. Harmon?"
" But they're so glassy."
Craddock shrugged his shoulders.
" Anyway, they don't matter now. It's Miss Marple
that matters. We've got to find her."
They'd got to find her before it was too late—but
perhaps it was already too late? Those pencilled words
showed that she was on the track . . . But that was
Miss Marple is Missing
dangerous—horribly dangerous. And where the hell was
Fletcher?
Craddock strode out of the Vicarage to where he'd left
his car. Search—that was all he could do—search.
A voice spoke to him out of the dripping laurels.
" Sir!" said Sergeant Fletcher urgently. " Sir..."
241
21. Three Women
dinner was over at Little Paddocks. It had been a
silent and uncomfortable meal.
Patrick, uneasily aware of having fallen from grace,
only made spasmodic attempts at conversation--and
such as he did make were not well received. Phillipa
Haymes was sunk in abstraction. Miss Blacklock herself
had abandoned the effort to behave with her normal
cheerfulness. She had changed for dinner and had come
down wearing her necklace of cameos but for the first
time fear showed from her darkly circled eyes, and betrayed
itself by her twitching hands.
Julia alone, had maintained her air of cynical detachment
throughout the evening.
" I'm sorry, Letty," she said, " that I can't pack my
bag and go. But I presume the police wouldn't allow it.
I don't suppose I'll darken your roof--or whatever the
expression is--for long. I should imagine that Inspector
Craddock will be round with a warrant and the handcuffs
any moment. In fact, I can't imagine why something
of the kind hasn't happened already."
" He's looking for the old lady--for Miss Marple,"
said Miss Blacklock.
"Do you think she's been murdered, too?" Patrick
asked with scientific curiosity. " But why ? What could
she know?"
" I don't know," said Miss Blacklock dully. " Perhaps
Miss Murgatroyd told her something."
" If she's been murdered too," said Patrick, " there 242
Three Women
seems to be logically only one person who could have
done it."
" Who?"
" Hinchliffe, of course," said Patrick triumphantly.
" That's where she was last seen alive--at Boulders. My
solution would be that she never left Boulders."
" My head aches," said Miss Blacklock in a dull voice.
She pressed her fingers to her forehead. " Why should
Hindi murder Miss Marple? It doesn't make sense."
" It would if Hinch had really murdered Murgatroyd,"
said Patrick triumphantly.
Phillipa came out of her apathy to say:
" Hinch wouldn't murder Murgatroyd."
Patrick was in an argumentative mood.
" She might have if Murgatroyd had blundered on
something to show that-she--:Hinch;--was the criminal."
" Anyway, Hinch was at the station when Murgatroyd
was killed."
" She could have murdered Murgatroyd before she
left."
Startling them all, Letitia Blacklock suddenly screamed
out:
" Murder, murder, murder---- } Can't you talk of
anything else? I'm frightened, don't you understand?
I'm frightened. I wasn't before. I thought I could take
care of myself . . . But what can you do against a
murderer who's waiting--and watching--and biding his
time! Oh, God!"
She dropped her head forward on her hands. A
moment later she looked up and apologised stiffly.
" I'm sorry. I--I lost control."
"That's all right. Aunt Letty," said Patrick affectionately.
" I'll look after you."
You?" was all Letitia Blacklock said, but the disillusionment
behind the word was almost an accusation.
»43
A Murder is Announced
That had been shortly before dinner, and Mitzi had
ihen created a diversion by coming and declaring that
she was not going to cook the dinner.
" I do not do anything more in this house. I go to my
room. I lock myself in. I stay there until it is daylight.
I am afraid--people are being killed--that Miss Murgatroyd
with her stupid English face--who would want to
kill her? Only a maniac! Then it is a maniac that is
about! And a maniac does not care who he kills. But
me, I do not want to be killed! There are shadows in
that kitchen--and I hear noises--I think there is someone
out in the yard and then I think I see a shadow by
the larder door and then it is footsteps I hear. So I go
now to my room and I lock the door and perhaps even
I put the chest of drawers against it. And in the morning
I tell that cruel hard policeman that I go away from
here. And if he will not let me I say: ' I scream and I
scream and I scream until you have to let me go!'"
Everybody, with a vivid recollection of what Mitzi
could do in the screaming line, shuddered at the threat.
" So I go to my room," said Mitzi, repeating the statement
once more to make her intentions quite clear. With
a symbolic action she cast off the cretonne apron she
had been wearing. " Good night, Miss Blacklock. Perhaps
in the morning, you may not be alive. So in case
that is so, I say goodbye."
She departed abruptly and the door, with its usual
gentle little whine, closed softly after her.
Julia got up.
" I'll see to dinner," she said in a matter-of-fact way.
" Rather a good arrangement--less embarrassing for you
all than having me sit down at table with you. Patrick
(since he's constituted himself your protector, Aunt Letty)
had better taste every dish first. I don't want to be
accused of poisoning you on top of everything else." 344
Three Women
So Julia had cooked and served a really excellent meal.
Phillipa had come out to the kitchen with an offer of
assistance but Julia had said firmly that she didn't want
any help.
" Julia, there's something I want to say----"
" This is no time for girlish confidences," said Julia
firmly. " Go on back in the dining-room, Phillipa."
Now dinner was over and they were in the drawingroom
with coffee on the small table by the fire--and
nobody seemed to have anything to say. They were
waiting--that was all.
At 8.30 Inspector Craddock rang up.
" I shall be with you in about a quarter of an hour's
time," he announced. " I'm bringing Colonel and Mrs.
Easterbrook and Mrs. Swettenham and her son with
me."
"But really, Inspector ... I can't cope with people
tonight----"
Miss Blacklock's voice sounded as though she were at
the end of her tether. - * "
I know how you feel, Miss Blacklock. I'm sorry.
But this is urgent."
" Have you--found Miss Marple ?"
" No," said the Inspector and rang off.
Julia took the coffee tray out to the kitchen where, to
her surprise, she found Mitzi contemplating the piled up
dishes and plates by the sink.
Mitzi burst into a torrent of words.
" See what you do in my so nice kitchen! That frying
pan--only, only for omelettes do I use it! And you,
what have you used it for?"
" Frying onions."
' Ruined--ruined. It will have now to be washed and
never--never--do I wash my omelette pan. I rub it
carefully over with a greasy newspaper, that is all. And
»45
A Murder is Announced
this saucepan here that you have used--that one, I use
him only for milk----"
" Well, I don't know what pans you use for what,"
said Julia crossly. " You chose to go to bed and why on
earth you've chosen to get up again, I can't imagine. Go
away again and leave me to wash up in peace."
" No, I will not let you use my kitchen."
" Oh, Mitzi, you are impossible!"
Julia stalked angrily out of the kitchen and at thai
moment the door bell rang.
" I do not go to the door," Mitzi called from
the kitchen. Julia muttered an impolite Continental
expression under her breath and stalked to the front
door.
It was Miss Hinchliffe.
" 'Evening," she said in her gruff voice. " Sorry to
barge in. Inspector's rung up, I expect?"
" He didn't tell us you were coming," said Julia, leading
the way to the drawing-room.
" He said I needn't come unless I liked," said Miss
Hinchliffe. " But I do like."
Nobody offered Miss Hinchliffe sympathy or mentioned
Miss Murgatroyd's death. The ravaged face of
the tall vigorous woman told its own tale, and would
have made any expression of sympathy an impertinence.
" Turn all the lights on," said Miss Blacklock. " And
put more coal on the fire. I'm cold--horribly cold.
Come and sit here by the fire, Miss Hinchliffe. The
Inspector said he would be here in a quarter of an hour.
It must be nearly that now."
" Mitzi's come down again," said Julia.
" Has she ? Sometimes I think that girl's mad--quite
mad. But then perhaps we're all mad."
" I've no patience with this saying that all people who
commit crimes are mad," barked Miss Hinchliffe. " Hor246
A Murder is Announced
" Mother," said Edmund in a voice of acute suffering,
" can't you shut up?"
" I'm sure, dear, I don't want to say a word," said
Mrs. Swettcnham, and sat down on the sofa by Julia.
Inspector Craddock stood near the door. Facing him,
almost in a row, were the three women. Julia and Mrs.
Swettenham on the sofa. Mrs. Easterbrook on the arm
of her husband's chair. He had not brought about this
arrangement, but it suited him very well.
Miss Blacklock and Miss Hinchliffe were crouching
over the fire. Edmund stood near them. Phillipa was far
back in the shadows.
Craddock began without preamble.
" You all know that Miss Murgatroyd's been killed,"
he began. " We've reason to believe that the person
who killed her was a woman. And for certain other
reasons we can narrow it down still more. I'm about to
ask certain ladies here to account for what they were
doing between the hours of four and four-twenty this
afternoon. I have already had an account of her movements
from--from the young lady who has been calling
herself Miss Simmons. I will ask her to repeat that statement.
At the same time. Miss Simmons, I must caution
you that you need not answer if you think your answers
may incriminate you, and anything you say will be taken
down by Constable Edwards and may be used as evidence
in court."
"You have to say that, don't you?" said Julia. She
was rather pale, but still composed. " I repeat that between
four and four-thirty I was walking along the field
leading down to the brook by Compton Farm. I came
back to the road by that field with three poplars in it. I
didn't meet anyone as far as I can remember. I did not
go near Boulders."
"Mrs. Swettcnham?"
348
Three Women
Edmund said, " Are you cautioning all of us?"
The Inspector turned to him.
" No. At the moment only Miss Simmons. I have no
reason to believe that any other statement made will be
incriminating, but anyone, of course, is entitled to have
a solicitor present and to refuse to answer questions unless
he is present."
" Oh, but that would be very silly and a complete
waste of time," cried Mrs. Swettenham. " I'm sure I can
tell you at once exactly what I was doing. That's what
you want, isn't it? Shall I begin now ?"
" Yes, please, Mrs. Swettenham."
" Now, let me see." Mrs. Swettenham closed her eyes,
opened them again. " Of course I had nothing at all to
do with killing Miss Murgatroyd. I'm sure everybody here knows that. But I'm a woman of the world, I know
quite well that the police have to ask all the most unnecessary
questions and write the answers down very carefully,
because it's all for what they call ' the record.'
That's it, isn't it?" Mrs. Swettenham flashed the question
at the diligent Constable Edwards and added
graciously, " I'm not going too fast for you, I hope?"
Const'ble Edwards, a good shorthand writer, but with
little social savoir-faire, turned red to the ears and
replied :
" It's quite all right, madam. Well, perhaps a little slower would be better."
Mrs. Swettenham resumed her discourse with emphatic
pauses where she considered a comma or a full stop
might be appropriate.
" Well, of course it's difficult to say--exactly--because
I've not got, really, a very good sense of time. And ever
since the war quite half our clocks haven't gone at all,
and the ones that do go are often either fast or slow or
stop because we haven't wound them up." Mrs. Swetten-
»49
.. i
A Murder is Announced
ham paused to let this picture of confused time sink in
and then went on earnestly, " What I think I was doing
at four o'clock was turning the heel of my sock (and for
some extraordinary reason I was going round the wrong
way--in purl, you know, not plain) but if I wasn't doing
that, I must have been outside snipping off the dead
chrysanthemums--no, that was earlier--before the rain."
"The rain," said the inspector, "started at 4.10 exactly."
" Did it now ? That helps a lot. Of course, I was
upstairs putting a wash-basin in the passage where the
rain always comes through. And it was coming through
so fast that I guessed at once that the gutter was stopped
up again. So I came down and got my mackintosh and
rubber boots. I called Edmund, but he didn't answer, so
I thought perhaps he'd got to a very important place in
his novel and I wouldn't disturb him, and I've done it
quite often myself before. With the broom handle, you
know, tied on to that long thing you push up windows
with."
" You mean," said Craddock, noting bewilderment on
his subordinate's face, " that you were cleaning out the
gutter?"
" Yes, it was all choked up with leaves. It took a long
time and I got rather wet, but I got it clear at last. And
then I went in and got changed and washed--so smelly, dead leaves--and then I went into the kitchen and put
the kettle on. It was 6.15 by the kitchen clock."
Constable Edwards blinked.
" Which means," finished Mrs. Swettenham triumphantly,
" that it was exactly twenty minutes to five."
" Or near enough," she added.
" Did anybody see what you were doing whilst you
were out cleaning the gutter?"
" No, indeed," said Mrs. Swettenham, " I'd soon have
250
Three Women
roped them in to help if they had! It's a most difficult
thing to do single-handed."
" So, by your own statement, you were outside, in a
mackintosh and boots, at the time when the rain was
coming down, and according to you, you were employed
during that time in cleaning out a gutter but you have
no one who can substantiate that statement?"
" You can look at the gutter," said Mrs. Swettenham.
" It's beautifully clear."
" Did you hear your mother call to you, Mr. Swettenham?"
"
No," said Edmund. " I was fast asleep."
" Edmund," said his mother reproachfully, " I thought
you were writing."
Inspector Craddock turned to Mrs. Easterbrook.
"Now, Mrs. Easterbrook?"
" I was sitting with Archie in his study," said Mrs.
Easterbrook fixing wide innocent eyes on him. " We
were listening to the wireless together, weren't we,
Archie?"
There was a pause. Colonel Easterbrook was very red
in the face. He took his wife's hand in his.
" You don't understand these things, kitten," he said.
"I—well, I must say, Inspector, you've rather sprung
this business on us. My wife, you know, has been terribly
upset by all this. She's nervous and highly strung and
doesn't appreciate the importance of—of taking due
consideration before she makes a statement."
" Archie," cried Mrs. Easterbrook reproachfully, " are
you going to say you weren't with me?"
" Well, I wasn't, was I, my dear? I mean one's got to
stick to the facts. Very important in this sort of inquiry.
I was talking to Lampson, the farmer at Croft End,
about some chicken netting. That was about a quarter
to four. I didn't get home until after the rain had
»5'
A Murder is Announced
stopped. Just before tea. A quarter to five. Laura was
toasting the scones."
" And had you been out also, Mrs. Easterbrook?"
The pretty face looked more like a weasel's than ever.
Her eyes had a trapped look.
" No--no, I just sat listening to the wireless. I didn't
go out. Not then. I'd been out earlier. About--about
half-past three. Just for a little walk. Not far."
She looked as though she expected more questions, but
Craddock said quietly:
" That's all, Mrs. Easterbrook."
He went on: " These statements will be typed out.
You can read them and sign them if they are substantially
correct."
Mrs. Easterbrook looked at him with sudden venom.
"Why don't you ask the others where they were?
That Haymes woman? And Edmund Swettenham?
How do you know he was asleep indoors? Nobody saw
him."
Inspector Craddock said quietly:
" Miss Murgatroyd, before she died, made a certain
statement. On the night of the hold-up here, someone was absent from this room. Someone who was supposed
to have been in the room all the time. Miss Murgatroyd
told her friend the names of the people she did see. By a
process of elimination, she made the discovery that there
was someone she did not see."
" Nobody could see anything," said Julia.
" Murgatroyd could," said Miss Hinchliffe, speaking
suddenly in her deep voice. " She was over there behind
the door, where Inspector Craddock is now. She was the
only person who could see anything of what was happening."

"Aha! That is what you think, is it!" demanded
Mitzi.
252
Three Women
She made one of her dramatic entrances, flinging open
the door and almost knocking Craddock sideways. She
was in a frenzy of excitement.
" Ah, you do not ask Mitzi to come in here with the
others, do you, you stiff policeman ? I am only Mitzi!
Mitzi in the kitchen! Let her stay in the kitchen where
she belongs! But I tell you that Mitzi, as well as anyone
else, and perhaps better, yes, better, can see things. Yes, I see things. I see something the night of the burglary.
I sec something and I do not quite believe it, and I hold
my tongue till now. I think to myself I will not tell what
it is I have seen, not yet. I will wait."
" And when everything had calmed down, you meant
to ask for a little money from a certain person, eh?" said
Craddock.
Mitzi turned on him like an angry cat.
"And why not? Why look down your nose? Why
should I not be paid for it if I have been so generous as
to keep silence? Especially if some day there will be
money--much much money. Oh! I have heard things
--I know what goes on. I know this -Pippemmer--this
secret society of which she"--she flung a dramatic
finger towards Julia--" is an agent. Yes, I would have
waited and asked for money--but now I am afraid. I
would rather be safe. For soon, perhaps, someone will kill me. So I will tell what I know."
" All right then," said the Inspector sceptically. " What do you know?"
" I tell you." Mitzi spoke solemnly. " On that night
I am not in the pantry cleaning silver as I say--I am
already in the dining-room when I hear the gun go off.
I look through the keyhole. The hall it is black, but the
gun go off again and the torch it falls--and it swings
round as it falls--and I see her. I see her there close to
him, with the gun in her hand. I see Miss Blacklock." »53
A Murder is Announced
"Me?" Miss BIacklock sat up in astonishment. "You
must be mad!"
" But that's impossible," cried Edmund. " Mitzi
couldn't have seen Miss BIacklock——"
Craddock cut in and his voice had the corrosive quality
of a deadly acid.
" Couldn't she, Mr. Swettenham? And why not?
Because it wasn't Miss BIacklock who was standing there
with the gun ? It was you, wasn't it ?"
" I?—of course not—what the hell
" You took Colonel Easterbrook's revolver. You fixed
up the business with Rudi Scherz—as a good joke. You
had followed Patrick Simmons into the far room and
when the lights went out, you slipped out through the
carefully oiled door. You shot at Miss BIacklock and
then you killed Rudi Scherz. A few seconds later you
were back in the drawing-room clicking your lighter."
For a moment Edmund seemed at a loss for words,
then he spluttered out:
"The whole idea is monstrous. Why me? What
earthly motive had I got?"
"If Miss BIacklock dies before Mrs. Goedler, two
people inherit, remember. The two we know of as Pip
and Emma. Julia Simmons has turned out to be
Emma——"
" And you think I'm Pip?" Edmund laughed. "Fantastic—absolutely
fantastic! I'm about the right age—
nothing else. And I can prove to you, you damned fool,
that I am Edmund Swettenham. Birth certificate,
schools, university—everything."
" He isn't Pip." The voice came from the shadows in
the corner. Phillipa Haymes came forward, her face pale.
" I'm Pip, Inspector."
"You, Mrs. Haymes?"
"Yes. Everybody seems to have assumed that Pip
254
Three Women
was a boy--Julia knew, of course, that her twin was
another girl--I don't know why she didn't say so this
afternoon----"
" Family solidarity," said Julia. " I suddenly realised
who you were. I'd had no idea till that moment."
" I'd- had the same idea as Julia did," said Phillipa,
her voice trembling a little. " After I--lost my husband
and the war was over, I wondered what I was going to
do. My mother died many years ago. I found out about
my Goedler relations. Mrs. Goedler was dying and at
her death the money would go to a Miss Blacklock. I
found out where Miss Blacklock lived and I--I came
here. I took a job with Mrs. Lucas. I hoped that, since this Miss Blacklock was an elderly woman without relatives,
she might, perhaps, be willing to help. Not me,
because I could work, but help with Harry's education.
After all; it "was Goedler money and she'd no one
particular of-her own to spend it on.
" And then," Phillipa spoke faster, it was as though,
now her long reserve had broken down, she couldn't get
the words out fast enough, " that hold-up happened and
I began to be frightened. Because it seemed to me that
the only possible person with a motive for killing Miss
Blacklock was me. I hadn't the least idea who Julia was
--we aren't identical twins and we're not much alike to
look at. No, it seemed as though I was the only one
bound to be suspected."
She stopped and pushed her fair hair back from her
face, and Craddock suddenly realised that the faded
snapshot in the box of letters must have been a photograph
of Phillipa's mother. The likeness was undeniable.
He knew too why that mention of closing and unclosing
hands had seemed familiar--Phillipa was doing it now.
" Miss Blacklock has been good to me. Very very good
to me--I didn't try to kill her. I never thought of killing
255
A Murder is Announced
her. But all the same, I'm Pip." She added, " You see,
you needn't suspect Edmund any more."
"Needn't I?" said Craddock. Again there was that
acid biting tone in his voice. " Edmund Swettenham's a
young man who's fond of money. A young man, perhaps,
who would like to marry a rich wife. But she
wouldn't be a rich wife unless Miss Blacklock died before
Mrs. Goedler. And since it seemed almost certain that
Mrs. Goedler would die before Miss Blacklock, well--he
had to do something about it--didn't you, Mr. Swettenham?"
"
It's a damned lie!" Edmund shouted.
And then, suddenly, a sound rose on the air. It came
from the kitchen--a long unearthly shriek of terror.
" That isn't Mitzi!" cried Julia.
" No," said Inspector Craddock, " it's someone who's
murdered three people ..."
256
22. The Truth
when the Inspector turned on Edmund Swettenham,
Mitzi had crept quietly out of the room and back to the
kitchen. She was running water into the sink when Miss
Blacklock entered.
Mitzi gave her a shamefaced sideways look.
"What a liar you are, Mitzi," said Miss Blacklock
pleasantly. " Here--that isn't the way to wash up. The silver first, and fill the sink right up. You can't wash up
in about two inches of water."
Mitzi turned the taps on obediently.
" You are not angry at what I say. Miss Blacklock?"
she asked. .
" If I were to be angry at all the lies you tell, I should
never be out of a temper," said Miss Blacklock.
" I will go and say to the Inspector that I make it all
up, shall I ?" asked Mitzi.
" He knows that already," said Miss Blacklock, pleasantly.

Mitzi turned off the taps and as she did so two hands
came up behind her head and with one swift movement
forced it down into the water-filled sink.
" Only 7 know that you're telling the truth for once," said Miss Blacklock viciously.
Mitzi thrashed and struggled but Miss Blacklock was
strong and her hands held the girl's head firmly under
water.
Then, from somewhere quite close behind her, Dora
Banner's voice rose piteously on the air :
957
A Murder is Announced
" Oh Lofty--Lotty--don't do it... Lotty."
Miss BIaddock screamed. Her hands flew up in the air, and Mitzi, released, came up choking and spluttering.
Miss BIaddock screamed again and again. For there
was no one, except Mitzi, there in the kitchen with
her.. .
" Dora, Dora, forgive me. I had to ... I had to----"
She rushed distractedly towards the scullery door--
and the bulk of Sergeant Fletcher barred her way, just as
Miss Marple stepped, flushed and triumphant, out of the
broom cupboard.
" I could always mimic people's voices," said Miss
Marple.
" You'll have to come with me, madam," said Sergeant
Fletcher. " I was a witness of your attempt to
drown this girl. And there will be other charges. I must
warn you, Letitia Blacklock----"
" Charlotte Blacklock," corrected Miss Marple. " That's
who she is, you know. Under that choker of pearls she
always wears you'll find the scar of the operation."
"Operation?"
" Operation for goitre."
Miss Blacklock, quite calm now, looked at Miss
Marple.
" So you know all about it?" she said.
" Yes, I've known for some time."
Charlotte Blacklock sat down by the table and began
to cry.
"You shouldn't have done that," she said. "Not
made Dora's voice come. I loved Dora. I really loved
Dora."
Inspector Craddock and the others had crowded in the
doorway.
Constable Edwards, who added a knowledge of firstaid
and artificial respiration to his other accomplishes

The Truth
ments, was busy with Mitzi. As soon as Mitzi could
speak she was lyrical with self-praise.
" I do that good, do I not? I am clever! And I am
brave! Oh, I am brave! Very very nearly was / murdered,
too. But I am so brave I risk everything."
With a rush Miss Hinchliffe thrust aside the others
and leapt upon the weeping figure of Charlotte Blacklock
by the table.
It took all Sergeant Fletcher's strength to hold her off.
" Now then----" he said. " Now then--no, no. Miss
Hinchliffe----"
Between clenched teeth Miss Hinchliffe was muttering;
" Let me get at her. Just let me get at her. It was she
who killed Amy Murgatroyd."
Charlotte Blacklock looked up and sniffed.
" I didn't want to kill her. I didn't want to kill anybody--I
had to--but it's Dora I mind about--after
Dora was dead, I was all alone--ever since she died--
I've been alone--oh, Dora--Dora----"
And once again she dropped her head on her hands
and wept. - - . 259
23. Evening at the Vicarage
miss marple sat in the tall arm-chair. Bunch was
on the floor in front of the fire with her arms round her
knees.
The Reverend Julian Harmon was leaning forward
and was for once looking more like a schoolboy than a
man foreshadowing his own maturity. And Inspector
Craddock was smoking his pipe and drinking a whisky
and soda and was clearly very much off duty. An outer
circle was composed of Julia, Patrick, Edmund and
Phillipa.
" I think it's your story. Miss Marple," said Craddock.
" Oh no, my dear boy. I only just helped a little, here
and there. You were in charge of the whole thing, and
conducted it all, and you know so much that I don't."
" Well, tell it together," said Bunch impatiently. " Bit
each. Only let Aunt Jane start because I like the muddly
way her mind works. When did you first think that the
whole thing was a put up job by the Blacklock?"
" Well, my dear Bunch, it's hard to say. Of course,
right at the very beginning, it did seem as though the
ideal person—or rather the obvious person, I should say
—to have arranged the hold-up was Miss Blacklock
herself. She was the only person who was known to have
been in contact with Rudi Scherz, and how much easier
to arrange something like that when it's your own house.
The central heating, for instance. No fires—because that
would have meant light in the room. But the only person
a6o
Evening at the Vicarage
who could have arranged not to have a fire was the
mistress of the house herself.
" Not that I thought cf all that at the time--it just
seemed to me that it was a pity it couldn't be as simple
as that! Oh, no, I was taken in like everyone else, I
thought that someone really did want to kill Ledtia
Blacklock."
"I think I'd like to get clear first on what really
happened," said Bunch. " Did this Swiss boy recognise her?"
" Yes. He'd worked in----»
She hesitated and looked at Craddock.
" In Dr. Adolf Koch's clinic in Beme," said Craddock.
" Koch was a world famous specialist on operations for
goitre. Charlotte Blacklock went there to have her goitre
removed and Rudi Scherz was one of the orderlies.
When he came to England he recognised in the hotel a
lady who had been a patient and en the spur of the
moment he spoke to her. I dare say he mightn't have
done that if he'd paused to think, because he left the
place under a cloud, but that was sometime after Charlotte
had been there, so she wouldn't know anything
about it."
" So he never said anything to her about Montreux
and his father being a hotel proprietor?"
" Oh, no, she made that up to account for his having
spoken to her."
" It must have been a great shock to her," said Miss
Marple, thoughtfully. " She felt reasonably safe--and
then---the almost impossible mischance of somebody
turning up who had known her--not as one of the two
Miss Blacklocks--she was prepared for that--but definitely
as Charlotte Blacklock, a patient who'd been
operated on for goitre.
" But you wanted to go through it all from the be261

A Murder is Announced
ginning. Well, the beginning, I think--if Inspector
Craddock agrees with me--was when Charlotte Blacklock,
a pretty, light-hearted, affectionate girl, developed
that enlargement of the thyroid gland that's called a
goitre. It ruined her life, because she was a very sensitive
girl. A girl, too, who had always set a lot of stress on
her personal appearance. And girls just at that age in
their teens, are particularly sensitive about themselves.
If she'd had a mother, or a reasonable father, I don't
think she would have got into the morbid state she
undoubtedly did get into. She had no one, you see, to
take her out of herself, and force her to sec people and
lead a normal life and not think too much about her
infirmity. And, of course, in a different household, she
might have been sent for an operation many years earlier.
" But Dr. Blacklock, I think, was an old-fashioned,
narrow-minded, tyrannical and obstinate man. He didn't
believe in these operations. Charlotte must take it from
him that nothing could be done--apart from dosage with
iodine and other drugs. Charlotte did take it from him,
and I think her sister also placed more faith in Dr.
Blacklock's powers as a physician than he deserved.
" Charlotte was devoted to her father in a rather weak
and soppy way. She thought, definitely, that her father
knew best. But she shut herself up more and more as
the goitre became larger and more unsightly, and refused
to see people. She was actually a kindly, affectionate
creature."
"That's an odd description of a murderess," said
Edmund.
" I don't know that it is," ccsaid Miss Marple. " Weak
and kindly people are often very treacherous. And if
they've got a grudge against life it saps the little moral
strength that they may possess.
"Letitia Blacklock, of course, had quite a different
262
Evening at the Vicarage
personality. Inspector Craddock told me that Belle Goedler described her as really good--and I think Letitia was good. She was a woman of great integrity who
found--as she put it herself--a great difficulty in understanding
how people couldn't sec what was dishonest.
Letitia Blacklock, however tempted, would never have
contemplated any kind of fraud for a moment.
" Letitia was devoted to her sister. She wrote her long
accounts of everything that happened in an effort to
keep her sister in touch with life. She was worried by
the morbid state Charlotte was getting into.
" Finally Dr. Blacklock died. Letitia, without hesitation,
threw up her position with Randall Goedler and
devoted herself to Charlotte. She took her to Switzerland
to consult authorities there on the possibility of operating.
It had been left very late--but as we know the operation
was successful. The deformity was gone--and the scar
this operation had left was easily hidden by a choker of
pearls or beads. "
" The war had broken out. A return to England was
difficult and the two sisters stayed in Switzerland doing
various Red Cross and other work. That's right, isn't it,
Inspector?"
" Yes, Miss Marplc."
" They got occasional news from England--amongst
other things, I expect, they heard that Belle Goedler
could not live long. I'm sure it would be only human
nature for them both to have planned and talked together
of the days ahead when a big fortune would be theirs to spend. One has got to realise, I think, that this
prospect meant much more to Charlotte than it did to
Letitia. For the first time in her life, Charlotte could go
about feeling herself a normal woman, a woman at
whom no one looked with either repulsion or pity. She
was free at last to enjoy life--and she had a whole life- s6j
A Murder is Announced
time, as it were, to crowd into her remaining years. To
travel, to have a house and beautiful grounds--to have
clothes and jewels, and go to plays and concerts, to
gratify every whim--it was all a kind of fairy tale come
true to Charlotte.
" And then Letitia, the strong healthy Letida, got flu
which turned to pneumonia and died within the space
of a week! Not only had Charlotte lost her sister, but
the whole dream existence she had planned for herself
was cancelled. I think, you know, that she may have felt
almost resentful towards Letida. Why need Letitia have
died, just then, when they had just had a letter saying
Belle Goedler could not last long? Just one more month,
perhaps, and the money would have been Lctitia's--and
hers when Letitia died ...
" Now this is where I think the difference between the
two came in. Charlotte didn't really feel that what she
suddenly thought of doing was wrong--not really wrong.
The money was meant to come to Letitia--it would have
come to Letitia in the course of a few months--and she regarded herself and Letitia as one.
' " Perhaps the idea didn't occur to her until the doctor
or someone asked her her sister's Christian name--and
then she realised how to nearly everyone they had appeared
as the two Miss Blacklocks--elderly, well-bred
Englishwomen, dressed much the same, with a strong
family resemblance--(and, as I pointed out to Bunch,
one elderly woman is so like another). Why shouldn't it
be Charlotte who had died and Letitia who was alive?
" It was an impulse, perhaps, more than a plan.
Letitia was buried under Charlotte's name. ' Charlotte'
was dead, ' Letitia' came to England. All the natural
initiative and energy, dormant for so many years, were now in the ascendant. As Charlotte she had played
second fiddle. She now assumed the airs of command, 364
Evening at the Vicarage
the feeling of command that had been Letitia's. They
were not really so unlike in mentality—though there
was, I think, a big difference morally.
" Charlotte had, of course, to take one or two obvious
precautions. She bought a house in a part of England
quite unknown to her. The only people she had to avoid
were a few people in her own native town in Cumberland
(where in any case she'd lived as a recluse) and, of
course. Belle Goedler who had known Letitia so well that
any impersonation would have been out of the question.
Handwriting difficulties were got over by the arthritic
condition of her hands. It was really very easy because
so few people had ever really known Charlotte."
" But supposing she'd met people who'd known
Letitia?" asked Bunch. " There must have been plenty
of those."
" They wouldn't matter in the same way. Someone
might say: ' I came across Letitia Blacklock the other
day. She's changed so much I really, wouldn't have
known her.' But there still wouldn't be any suspicion in
their minds that she wasn't Letitia. People do change in
the course of ten years. Her failure to recognise them
could always be put down to her short-sightedness: and
you must remember that she knew every detail of Letitia's
life in London—the people she met—the places she went.
She'd got Letitia's letters to refer to, and she could
quickly have disarmed any suspicion by mention of some
incident, or an inquiry after a mutual friend. No, it was
recognition as Charlotte that was the only thing she had
to fear.
" She settled down at Little Paddocks, got to know her
neighbours and, when she got a letter asking dear Letitia
to be kind, she accepted with pleasure the visit of two
young cousins she had never seen. Their acceptance of
her as Aunt Letty increased her security.
365
A Murder is Announced
" The whole thing was going splendidly. And then--
she made her big mistake. It was a mistake that arose
solely from her kindness of heart and her naturally affectionate
nature. She got a letter from an old school friend
who had fallen on evil days, and she hurried to the rescue.
Perhaps it may have been partly because she was, in
spite of everything, lonely. Her secret kept her in a way
apart from people. And she had been genuinely fond of
Dora Bunner and remembered her as a symbol of her
own gay carefree days at school. Anyway, on an impulse,
she answered Dora's letter in person. And very surprised
Dora must have been! She'd written to Letitia and the
sister who turned up in answer to her letter was Charlotte. There was never any question of pretending to be
Letitia to Dora. Dora was one of the few old friends who
had been admitted to see Charlotte in her lonely and
unhappy days.
" And because she knew that Dora would look at the
matter in exactly the same way as she did herself, she
told Dora what she had done. Dora approved wholeheartedly.
In her confused muddle-headed mind it
seemed only right that dear Lotty should not be done out
of her inheritance by Letty's untimely death. Lotty deserved a reward for all the patient suffering she had
borne so bravely. It would have been most unfair if all
that money should have gone to someone nobody had
ever heard of.
" She quite understood that nothing must be allowed
to get out. It was like an extra pound of butter. You
couldn't talk about it but there was nothing wrong about
having it. So Dora came to Little Paddocks--and very
soon Charlotte began to understand that she had made a
terrible mistake. It was not merely the fact that Dora
Bunner, with her muddles and her mistakes and her
bungling, was quite maddening to live with. Charlotte 266
Evening at the Vicarage
could have put up with that--because she really cared
for Dora, and anyway knew from the doctor that Dora
hadn't got a very long time to live. But Dora very soon
became a real danger. Though Charlotte and Letitia
had called each other by their full names, Dora was the
kind of person who always uses abbreviations. To her
the sisters had always been Letty and Lotty. And though
she schooled her tongue resolutely to call her friend Letty
--the old name often slipped out. Memories of the past,
too, were rather apt to cometo her tongue--and Charlotte
had constantly to be on) the watch to check these
forgetful allusions. It began tp^get on her nerves.
" Still, nobody was likely to pay much attention to
Dora's inconsistencies. The real blow to Charlotte's
security came, as I say, when she was recognised and
spoken to by Rudi Scherz at the Royal Spa Hotel.
" I think that the money Rudi Scherz used to replace
his earlier defalcations at the hotel may have come from
Charlotte Blacklock. Inspector Craddock doesn't believe
--and I don't either--that Rudi Scherz applied to her
for money with any idea of blackmail in his head."
" He hadn't the faintest idea he knew anything to
blackmail her about," said Inspector Craddock. "He
knew that he was quite a personable young man--and
he was aware by experience that personable young men
sometimes can get money out of elderly ladies if they tell
a hard luck story convincingly enough.
" But she may have seen it differently. She may have
thought that it waa a form of insidious blackmail, that
perhaps he suspected something--and that later, if there
was publicity in the papers as there might be after Belle
Goedler's death, he would realise that in her he had
found a gold mine.
" And she was committed to the fraud now. She'd
established herself as Letitia Blacklock. With the Bank.
267
A Murder is Announced
With Mrs. Goedler. The only snag was this rather
dubious Swiss hotel clerk, an unreliable character, and
possibly a blackmailer. If only he were out of the way--
she'd be safe.
" Perhaps she made it all up as a kind of fantasy first.
She'd been starved of emotion and drama in her life.
She pleased herself by working out the details. How
would she go about getting rid of him?
" She made her plan. And at last she decided to act
on it. She told her story of a sham hold-up at a party
to Rudi Scherz, explained that she wanted a stranger to
act the part of the ' gangster,' and offered him a generous
sum for his cooperation.
" And the fact that he agreed without any suspicion is
what makes me quite certain that Scherz had no idea
that he had any kind of hold over her. To him she was
just a rather foolish old woman, very ready to part with
money.
" She gave him the advertisement to insert, arranged
for him to pay a visit to Little Paddocks to study the
geography of the house, and showed him the spot where
she would meet him and let him into the house on the
night in question. Dora Bunner, of course, knew nothing
about all this.
" The day came----" He paused.
Miss Marple took up the tale in her gentle voice.
" She must have spent a very miserable day. You see,
it still wasn't too late to draw back ... Dora Bunner told
us that Letty was frightened that day and she must have
been frightened. Frightened of what she was going to do,
frightened of the plan going wrong--but not frightened enough to draw back.
" It had been fun, perhaps, getting the revolver out of Colonel Easterbrook's collar drawer. Taking along eggs,
or jam--slipping upstairs in the empty house. It had
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Evening at the Vicarage
been fun getting the second door in the drawing-room
oiled, so that it would open and shut noiselessly. Fun
suggesting the moving of the table outside the door so
that Phillipa's flower arrangements would show to better
advantage. It may have all seemed like a game. But
what was going to happen next definitely wasn't a game
any longer. Oh, yes, she was frightened ... Dora Bunner
was right about that."
" All the same, she went through with it," said Craddock.
"
And it all went according to plan. She went out
just after six to ' shut up the ducks,' and she let Scherz
in then and gave him the mask and cloak and gloves and
the torch. Then, at 6.30, when the clock begins to chime,
she's ready by that table near the archway with her hand
on the cigarette-box. It's all so natural. Patrick, acting
as host, has gone for the drinks. She, the hostess, is
fetching the cigarettes. She's judged, quite correctly, that
when the clock begins to chime, everyone will look at the
clock. They did. Only one person, the devoted Dora,
kept her eyes fixed on her friend. And she told us, in
her very first statement, exactly what Miss Blacklock did.
She said that Miss Blacklock had picked up the vase of
violets.
" She'd previously frayed the cord of the lamp so that
the wires were nearly bare. The whole thing only took a
second. The cigarette-box, the vase and the little switch
were all close together. She picked up the violets,
spilt the water on the frayed place, and switched on the
lamp. Water's a good conductor of electricity. The wires
fused."
" Just like the other afternoon at the Vicarage," said
Bunch. "That's what startled you so, wasn't it. Aunt
Jane?"
" Yes, my dear. I've been puzzling about those lights.
I'd realised that there were two lamps, a pair, and that
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one had been changed for the other--probably during
the night."
"That's right," said Craddock. "When Fletcher
examined that lamp the next morning it was, like all the
others, perfectly in order, no frayed flex or fused wires."
" I'd understood what Dora Bunner meant by saying
it had been the shepherdess the night before," said Miss
Marple, " but I fell into the error of thinking, as she thought, that Patrick had been responsible. The interesting
thing about Dora Bunner was that she was quite unreliable in repeating things she had heard--she always
used her imagination to exaggerate or distort them, and
ahc was usually wrong in what she thought--but she was
quite accurate about the things she saw. She saw Letitia
pick up the violets----"
"And she saw what she described as a flash and a
crackle," put in Craddock.
" And of course, when dear Bunch spilt the water
from the Christmas roses on to the lamp wire--I realised
at once that only Miss Blacklock herself could have fused
the lights because only she was near that table."
" I could kick myself," said Craddock. " Dora Bunner
even prattled about a bum on the table where someone had ' put their cigarette down'--but nobody had even
lit a cigarette . . . And the violets were dead because
there was no water in the vase--a slip on Lctitia's part--
she ought to have filled it up again. But I suppose she
thought nobody would notice and as a matter of fact
Miss Bunner was quite ready to believe that she herself
had put no water in the vase to begin with."
He went on:
" She was highly suggestible, of course. 'And Miss
Blacklock took advantage of that more than once.
Bunny's suspicions of Patrick were I think, induced by
her."
370
Evening at the Vicarage
"Why pick on me?" demanded Patrick in an aggrieved
tone.
" It was not, I think, a serious suggestion--but it
would keep Bunny distracted from any suspicion that
Miss Blacklock might be stage managering the business.
Well, we know what happened next. As soon as the
lights went and everyone was exclaiming, she slipped out
through the previously oiled door and up behind Rudi
Scherz who was flashing his torch round the room and
playing his part with gusto. I don't suppose he realised
for a moment she was there behind him with her gardening
gloves pulled on and the revolver in her hand. She
waits till the torch reaches the spot she must aim for--
the wall near which she is supposed to be standing. Then
she fires rapidly twice and as he swings round startled,
she holds the revolver close to his body and fires again.
She lets the revolver fall by his body, throws her gloves
carelessly on the hall table, then back through the other
door and across to where she had been standing when
the lights went out. She nicked her ear--I don't quite
know how----"
" Nail scissors, I expect," said Miss Marple. " Just a
snip on the lobe of the ear lets out a lot of blood. That
was very good psychology, of course. The actual blood
running down over her white blouse made it seem certain
that she had been shot at, and that it had been a near
miss."
"It ought to have gone off quite all right," said
Craddock. "Dora Bunner's insistence that Scherz had
definitely aimed at Miss Blacklock had its uses. Without
meaning it, Dora Bunner conveyed the impression that
she'd actually seen her friend wounded. It might have
been brought in Suicide or Accidental Death. And the
case would have been closed. That it was kept open is
due to Miss Marple here."
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A Murder is Announced
" Oh, no, no." Miss Marple shook her head energetically.
" Any little efforts on my pan were quite incidental.
It was you who weren't satisfied, Mr. Craddock. It
was you who wouldn't let the case be closed."
" I wasn't happy about it," said Craddock. " I knew
it was all wrong somewhere. But I didn't see where it
was wrong, till you showed me. And after that Miss
Blacklock had a real piece of bad luck. I discovered that
that second door had been tampered with. Until that
moment, whatever we agreed might have happened--
we'd nothing to go upon but a pretty theory. But that
oiled door was evidence. And I hit upon it by pure chance--by catching hold of a handle by mistake."
" I think you were led to it. Inspector," said Miss
Marple. " But then I'm old-fashioned."
" So the hunt was up again," said Craddock. " But
this time with a difference. We were looking now for
someone with a motive to kill Letitia Blacklock."
"And there was someone with a motive, and Miss
Blacklock knew it," said Miss Marple. " I think she recognised
Phillipa almost at once. Because Sonia Goedler
seems to have been one of the very few people who had
been admitted to Charlotte's privacy. And when one is
old (you wouldn't know this yet, Mr. Craddock) one has
a much better memory for a face you've seen when you
were young than you have for anyone you've only met a
year or two ago. Phillipa must have been just about the
same age as her mother was when Charlotte remembered
her, and she was very like her mother. The odd thing is
that I think Charlotte was very pleased to recognise
Phillipa. She became very fond of Phillipa and I think,
unconsciously, it helped to stifle any qualms of conscience ahc may have had. She told herself that when she inherited
the money, she was going to look after Phillipa. She would treat her as a daughter. Phillipa and Harry ays
Evening of the Vicarage
should live with her. She felt quite happy and beneficent
about it. But once the Inspector began asking questions and finding out about ' Pip and Emma' Charlotte became
very uneasy. She didn't want to make a scapegoat
of Phillipa. Her whole idea had been to make the business
look like a hold-up by a young criminal and his
accidental death. But now, with the discovery of the
oiled door, the whole viewpoint was changed. And,
except for Phillipa, there wasn't (as far as she knew, for
she had absolutely no idea of Julia's identity) anyone
with the least possible motive for wishing to kill her. She
did her best to shield Phillipa's identity. She was quickwitted
enough to tell you when you asked her, that Sonia
was small and dark and she took the old snapshots out of
the album, so that you shouldn't notice any resemblance,
at the same time as she removed snapshots of Letitia
herself."
" And to think I suspected Mrs. Swettenham of being
Sonia Goedler," said Craddock disgustedly.
" My poor Mamma," murmured Edmund. " A
woman of blameless life--or so I have always believed."
" But of course," Miss Marple went on. " It was Dora
Bunner who was the real danger. Every day Dora got
more forgetful and more talkative. I remember the way
Miss Blacklock looked at her the day we went to tea
there. Do you know why? Dora had just called her
Lotty again. It seemed to us a mere harmless slip of the
tongue. But it frightened Charlotte. And so it went on.
Poor Dora could not stop herself talking. That day we had coffee together in the Bluebird, I had the oddest
impression that Dora was talking about two people, not
one--and so, of course, she was. At one moment she
spoke of her friend as not pretty but having so much
character--but almost at the same moment she described
her as a pretty light-hearted girl. She'd talk of Letty as
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so clever and so successful--and then say what a sad life
she'd had, and then there was that quotation about stern
affliction bravely borne--which really didn't seem to fit
Letida's life at all. Charlotte must, I think, have overheard
a good deal that morning she came into the cafe.
She certainly must have heard Dora mention about the
lamp having been changed--about its being the shepherd
and not the shepherdess. And she realised then what a
very real danger to her security poor devoted Dora
Bunner was.
" I'm afraid that that conversation with me in the cafe
really sealed Dora's fate--if you'll excuse such a melodramatic
expression. But I think it would have come to
the same in the end . . . Because life couldn't be safe
for Charlotte while Dora Bunner was alive. She loved
Dora--she didn't want to kill Dora--but she couldn't see
any other way. And, I expect (like Nurse Ellerton that I
was telling you about, Bunch) she persuaded herself that
it was really almost a kindness. Poor Bunny--not long
to live anyway and perhaps a painful end. The queer
thing is that she did her best to make Bunny's last day a
happy day. The birthday party--and the special
cake . . ."
" Delicious Death," said Phillipa with a shudder.
" Yes--yes, it was rather like that . . . she tried to
give her friend a delicious death . . . The party, and
all the things she liked to eat, and trying to stop people
saying things to upset her. And then the tablets, whatever
they were, in the aspirin bottle by her own bed so
that Bunny, when she couldn't find the new bottle of
aspirin she'd just bought, would go there to get some.
And it would look, as it did look, that the tablets had
been meant for Letitia ...
" And so Bunny died in her sleep, quite happily, and
Charlotte felt safe again. But she missed Dora Bunner-- 374
Evening at the Vicarage
she missed her affection and her loyalty, the missed being
able to talk to her about the old days . . . She cried
bitterly the day I came up with that note from Julian--
and her grief was quite genuine. She'd killed her own
dear friend ..."
" That's horrible," said Bunch. " Horrible."
" But it's very human," said Julian Harmon. " One forgets how human murderers are."
" I know," said Miss Marple. " Human. And often
very much to be pitied. But very dangerous, too. Especially
a weak kindly murderer like Charlotte Blacklock.
Because, once a weak person gets realty frightened, they
get savage with terror and they've no self-control at
all."
" Murgatroyd?" said Julian.
" Yes, poor Miss Murgatroyd. Charlotte must have come up to the cottage and heard them rehearsing the
murder. The window was open and she listened. It had
never occurred to her until that moment that there was
anyone else who could be a danger to her. Miss Hinchliffe
was urging her friend to remember what she'd seen
and until that moment Charlotte hadn't realised that
anyone could have seen anything at all. She'd assumed
that everybody would automatically be looking at Rudi
Scherz. She must have held her breath outside the
window and listened. Was it going to be all right? And
then, just as Miss Hinchliffe rushed off to the station
Miss Murgatroyd got to a point which showed that she
had stumbled on the truth. She called after Miss Hinchliffe
: ' She wasn't there ...'
" I asked Miss Hinchliffe, you know, if that was the
way she said it ... Because if she'd said ''She wasn't
there ' it wouldn't have meant the same thing."
" Now that's too subtle a point for me," said Craddock.
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Miss Marple turned her eager pink and white face to
him.
"Just think what's going on in Miss Murgatroyd's
mind . . . One does see things, you know, and not know
one sees them. In a railway accident once, I remember
noticing a large blister of paint at the side of the carriage.
I could have drawn it for you afterward. And once,
when there was a fly-bomb in London--splinters of glass
everywhere--and the shock--but what I remember best
is a woman standing in front of me who had a big hole
half-way up the leg of her stockings and the stockings
didn't match. So when Miss Murgatroyd stopped thinking
and just tried to remember what she saw, she remembered
a good deal.
" She started, I think, near the mantelpiece, where the
torch must have hit first--then it went along the two
windows and there were people in between the windows
and her. Mrs. Hannon with her knuckles screwed into
her eyes for instance. She went on in her mind following
the torch past Miss Bunner with her mouth open and her
eyes staring--past a blank wall and a table with a lamp
and a cigarette-box. And then came the shots--and
quite suddenly she remembered a most incredible thing.
She'd seen the wall where, later, there were the two
bullet holes, the wall where Letitia Blacklock had been
standing when she was shot, and at the moment when
the revolver went off and Letty was shot, Letty hadn't
been there ...
" You see what I mean now? She'd been thinking of
the three women Miss Hinchliffe had told her to think
about. If one of them hadn't been there, it would have
been the personality she'd have fastened upon. She'd
have said--in effect--' That's the one! She wasn't
there!' But it was a place that was in her mind--a place
where someone should have been--but the place wasn't
270
Evening of the Vicarage
filled—there wasn't anybody there. The place was there
—but the person wasn't. And she couldn't take it in all
at once. ' How extraordinary, Hindi,' she said. ' She
wasn't there.' ... So that could only mean Ledtia
Blacklock..."
" But you knew before that, didn't you?" said Bunch.
" When the lamp fused. When you wrote down those
things on the paper."
" Yes, my dear. It all came together then, you see—
all the various isolated bits—and made a coherent
pattern."
Bunch quoted softly:
" Lamp? Yes. Violets? Yes. Battle of Aspirin. You
meant that Bunny had been going to buy a new bottle
that day, and so she ought not to have needed to take
Letitia's?"
" Not unless her own bottle had been taken or hidden.
It had to appear as though Letitia Blacklock was the one
meant to be killed."
" Yes, I see. And then ' Delicious Death.' The cake—
but more than the cake. The whole party set-up. A
happy day for Bunny before she died. Treating her
rather like a dog you were going to destroy. That's what
I find the most horrible thing of all—the sort of—of
spurious kindness."
" She was quite a kindly woman. What she said at
the last in the kitchen was quite true. ' I didn't want to
kill anybody.' What she wanted was a great deal of
money that didn't belong to her! And before that desire
—(and it had become a kind of obsession—the money
was to pay her back for all the suffering life had inflicted
on her)—everything else went to the wall. People with
a grudge against the world are always dangerous. They
seem to think life owes them something. I've known
many an invalid who has suffered far worse and been
277
A Murder is Announced
cut off from life much more than Charlotte Blacklock--
and they've managed to lead happy contented lives. It's
what's in yourself that makes you happy or unhappy.
But, oh dear, I'm afraid I'm straying away from what
we were talking about. Where were we?"
" Going over your list," said Bunch. " What did you
mean by ' Making enquiries?' Inquiries about what?"
Miss Marple shook her head playfully at Inspector
Craddock.
" You ought to have seen that, Inspector Craddock.
You showed me that letter from Letitia Blacklock to her
sister. It had the word ' enquiries' in it twice--each time
spelt with an e. But in the note I asked Bunch to show
you. Miss Blacklock had written ' inquiries' with an i.
People don't often alter their spelling as they get older.
It seemed to me very significant."
" Yes," Craddock agreed. " I ought to have spotted
that."
Bunch was continuing. " Severe affliction bravely
borne. That's what Bunny said to you in the cafe and of
course Letitia hadn't had any affliction. Iodine. That
put you on the track of goitre?"
" Yes, dear. Switzerland, you know, and Miss Blacklock
giving the impression that her sister had died of
consumption. But I remembered then that the greatest
authorities on goitre and the most skilful surgeons operating
on it are Swiss. And it linked up with those really
rather preposterous pearls that Letitia Blacklock always
wore. Not really her style--but just right for concealing
the scar."
" I understand now her agitation the night the string
broke," said Craddock. " It seemed at the time quite
disproportionate."
" And after that, it was Lotty you wrote not Letty as
we thought," said Bunch.
278
Evening at the Vicarage
" Yes, I remembered that the sister's name was Charlotte, and that Dora Bunner had called Miss Blacklock
Lotty once or twice--and that each time she did so, she
had been very upset afterwards."
" And what about Bemc and Old Age Pension?"
" Rudi Scherz had been an orderly in a hospital in
Berne."
" And Old Age Pension."
" Oh, my dear Bunch, I mentioned that to you in the
Bluebird though I didn't really see the application then.
How Mrs. Wotherspoon drew Mrs. Bartlett's Old Age
Pension as well as her own--though Mrs. Bartlett had
been dead for years--simply because one old woman is
so like another old woman--yes, it all made a pattern
and I felt so worked up I went out to cool my head a
little and think what could be done about proving all
this. Then Miss HinchlifTe picked me up and we found
Miss Murgatroyd..."
Miss Marple's voice dropped. It was no longer excited
and pleased. It was quiet and remorseless.
" I knew then something had got to be done. Quickly!
But there still wasn't any proof. I thought out a possible
plan and I talked to Sergeant Fletcher."
" And I have had Fletcher on the carpet for it!" said
Craddock. " He'd no business to go agreeing to your
plans without reporting first to me."
" He didn't like it, but I talked him into it," said Miss
Marple. " We went up to Little Paddocks and I got hold
of Mitzi."
Julia drew a deep breath and said, " I can't imagine
how you ever got her to do it."
" I worked on her, my dear," said Miss Marple. " She
thinks far too much about herself anyway, and it will
be good for her to have done something for others. I
flattered her up, of course, and said I was sure if she'd
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A Murder is Announced
been in her own country she'd have been in the Resistance
movement, and she said,' Yes, indeed.' And I said
I could see she had got just the temperament for that
sort of work. She was brave, didn't mind taking risks, and could act a part. I told her stories of deeds done by
girls in the Resistance movements, some of them true, and
some of them, I'm afraid, invented. She got tremendously
worked up!"
" Marvellous," said Patrick.
"And then I got her to agree to do her part. I
rehearsed her til] she was word perfect. Then I told her
to go upstairs to her room and not come down until
Inspector Craddock came. The worst of these excitable
people is that they're apt to go off half-cocked and start
the whole thing before the time."
" She did it very well," said Julia.
" I don't quite see the point," said Bunch. " Of course,
I wasn't there----" she added apologetically.
" The point was a little complicated--and rather touch
and go. The idea was that Mitzi whilst admitting, as
though casually, that blackmail had been in her mind, .was now so worked up and terrified that she was willing
to come out with the truth. She'd seen, through the
keyhole of the dining-room, Miss Blacklock in the hall
with a revolver behind Rudi Scherz. She'd seen, that is, what had actually taken place. Now the only danger
was that Charlotte Blacklock might have realised that, as
the key was in the keyhole, Mitzi couldn't possibly have
seen anything at all. But I banked on the fact that you
don't think of things like that when you've just had a bad
shock. All she could take in was that Mitzi had seen her."
Craddock took over the story.
" But--and this was essential--I pretended to receive this with scepticism, and I made an immediate attack
as though unmasking my batteries at last, upon someone 280
Evening at the Vicarage
who had not been previously suspected. I accused
Edmund——"
"And very nicely I played my part," said Edmund.
"Hot denial. All according to plan. What wasn't
according to plan, Phillipa, my love, was you throwing
in your little chirp and coming out into the open as * Pip.'
Neither the Inspector nor I had any idea you were Pip.
/ was going to be Pip! It threw us off our stride for the
moment, but the Inspector made a masterly comeback
and made some perfectly filthy insinuations about my
wanting a rich wife which will probably stick in your
subconscious and make irreparable trouble between us
one day."
" I don't see why that was necessary?"
"Don't you? It meant that, from Charlotte Blacklock's
point of view, the only person who suspected or
knew the truth, was Mitd. The suspicions of the police
were elsewhere. They had treated Mitzi for the moment
as a liar. But if Mitzi were to persist, they might listen
to her and take her seriously. So Mitzi had got to be
silenced."
" Mitzi went straight out of the room and back to the
kitchen—just like I had told her," said Miss Marple.
" Miss Blacklock came out after her almost immediately.
Mitzi was apparently alone in the kitchen. Sergeant
Fletcher was behind the scullery door. And I was in the
broom cupboard in the kitchen. Luckily I'm very thin."
Bunch looked at Miss Marple.
" What did you expect to happen, Aunt Jane?"
"One of two things. Either Charlotte would offer
Mitzi money to hold her tongue—and Sergeant Fletcher
would be a witness to that offer, or dsc—or else I
thought she'd try to kill Mitzi."
" But she couldn't hope to get away with that7 She'd
have been suspected at once."
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A Murder is Announced
" Oh, my dear, she was past reasoning. She was just a
snapping terrified cornered rat. Think what had happened
that day. The scene between Miss Hinchliffe and
Miss Murgatroyd. Miss Hinchliffe driving off to the
station. As soon as she comes back Miss Murgatroyd will
explain that Letitia Blacklock wasn't in the room that
night. There's just a few minutes in which to make sure
Miss Murgatroyd can't tell anything. No time to make
a plan or set a stage. Just crude murder. She greets the
poor woman and strangles her. Then a quick rush home,
to change, to be sitting by the fire when the others come
in, as though she'd never been out.
" And then came the revelation of Julia's identity.
She breaks her pearls and is terrified they may notice her
scar. Later, the Inspector telephones that he's bringing
everyone there. No time to think, to rest. Up to her neck
in murder now, no mercy killing--or undesirable young
man to be put out of the way. Crude plain murder. Is
she safe? Yes, so far. And then comes Mitzi--yet another danger. Kill Mitzi, stop her tongue! She's
beside herself with fear. Not human any longer. Just a
dangerous animal."
" But why were you in the broom cupboard. Aunt
Jane?" asked Bunch. "Couldn't you have left it to
Sergeant Fletchcr?"
" It was safer with two of us, my dear. And besides, I knew I could mimic Dora Bunner's voice. If anything
could break Charlotte Blacklock down--that
would."
"And it did...!"
" Yes ... she went to pieces."
There was a long silence as memory laid hold of them
and then, speaking with determined lightness, to case the
strain, Julia said :
" It's made a wonderful difference to Mitzi. She told a8a
Evening at the Vicarage
me yesterday that she was taking a post near Southampton. And she said (Julia produced a very good imitation
of Mitzi's accent):
" ' I go there and if they say to me you have to register
with the Police—you are an alien, I say to them, " Yes,
I will register! The Police, they know me well. I assist
the Police! Without me the Police never would they
have made the arrest of a very dangerous criminal. I
risked my life because I am brave—brave like a lion—I
do not care about risks." " Mitzi," they say to me, " you
are a heroine, you are superb." " Ach! it is nothing, I
say.'""
Julia stopped.
" And a great deal more," she added.
"I think," said Edmund thoughtfully, "that soon
Mitzi will have assisted the Police in not one but
hundreds of cases!"
" She's softened towards me," said Phillipa. " She
actually presented me with the recipe for Delicious Death
as a kind of wedding present. She added that I was on
no account to divulge the secret to Julia, because Julia
had ruined her omelette pan."
" Mrs. Lucas," said Edmund, " is all over Phillipa now
that since Belle Goedler's death, Phillipa and Julia have
inherited the Goedler millions. She sent us some silver
asparagus tongs as a wedding present. I shall have
enormous pleasure in not asking her to the wedding!"
" And so they lived happily ever after," said Patrick.
"Edmund and Phillipa—and Julia and Patrick?" he
added, tentatively.
" Not with me, you won't live happily ever after," said
Julia. " The remarks that Inspector Craddock improvised
to address to Edmund apply far more aptly to you.
You are the sort of soft young man who would like a rich
wife. Nothing doing!"
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A Murder is Announced
" There's gratitude for you," said Patrick. " After all
I did for that girl."
" Nearly landed me in prison on a murder charge—
that's what your forgetfulness nearly did for me," said
Julia. " I shall never forget that evening when your
sister's letter came. I really thought I was for it. I
couldn't see any way out.
" As it is," she added musingly, " I think I shall go on
the stage."
" What? You, too?" groaned Patrick.
" Yes. I might go to Perth. See if I can get your
Julia's place in the rep there. Then, when I've learnt
my job, I shall go into theatre management—and put on
Edmund's plays, perhaps."
" I thought you wrote novels," said Julian Harmon.
" Well, so did I," said Edmund. " I began writing a
novel. Rather good it was. Pages about an unshaven
man getting out of bed and what be smelt like, and the
grey streets, and a horrible old woman with dropsy and
a vicious young tart who dribbled down her chin—and
they all talked interminably about the state of the world
and wondered what they were alive for. And suddenly
I began to wonder too . .. And then a rather comic idea
occurred to me . . . and I jotted it down—and then I
worked up rather a good little scene . .. All very obvious
stuff. But somehow, I got interested . . . And before I
knew what I was doing I'd finished a roaring farce in
three acts."
" What's it called?" asked Patrick. " What the butler
saw?"
" Well, it easily might be ... As a matter of fact I've
called it Elephants Do Forget. What's more, it's been
accepted and it's going to be produced!"
" Elephants Do Forget," murmured Bunch. " I thought
they didn't?"
984
Evening at the Vicarage
The Rev. Julian Harmon gave a guilty start.
"My goodness. I've been so interested. Mywrmon!"
" Detective stories again," said Bunch. " Real life ones
this time."
" You might preach on Thou Shall Do No Murder,"
suggested Patrick.
" No," said Julian Harmon quietly. " I shan't take
that as my text."
"No," said Bunch. "You're quite right, Julian. I
know a much nicer text, a happy text." She quoted in a
fresh voice, " For lo the Spring is here and the Voice of
the Turtle is heard in the Land—I haven't got it quite
right—but you know the one I mean. Though why a
turtle I can't think. I shouldn't think turtles have got
nice voices at all."
"The word turtle," explained the Rev. Julian
Harmon, " is not very happily translated. It doesn't
mean a reptile but the turtle dove. The Hebrew word in
the original is——"
Bunch interrupted him by giving him a hug and
saying:
" I know one thing—You think that the Ahasuerus of
the Bible is Artaxerxcs the Second, but between you and
me it was Artaxerxes the Third."
As always, Julian Harmon wondered why his wife
should think that story so particularly funny ...
"Tiglath Pileser wants to go and help you," said
Bunch. " He ought to be a very proud cat. He showed
us how the lights fused."
385
"we ought to order some papers," said Edmund to
Phillipa upon the day of their return to Chipping Cleghom
after the honeymoon." Let's go along to Totman's."
Mr. Totman, a heavy-breathing, slow-moving man, received them with affability.
" Glad to see you back, sir. And madam."
" We want to order some papers."
" Certainly, sir. And your mother is keeping well, I
hope? Quite settled down at Bournemouth?"
" She loves it," said Edmund, who had not the faintest
idea whether this was so or not, but like most sons,
preferred to believe that all was well with those loved,
but frequently irritating beings, parents.
" Yes, sir. Very agreeable place. Went there for my
holiday last year. Mrs. Totman enjoyed it very much."
" I'm glad. About papers, we'd like----"
" And I hear you have a play on in London, sir. Very
amusing, so they tell me."
" Yes, it's doing very well."
" Called Elephants Do Forget, so I hear. You'll excuse
me, sir, asking you, but I always thought that they didn't
--forget, I mean."
"Yes--yes, exactly--I've begun to think it was a
mistake calling it that. So many people have said just
what you say."
" A kind of natural history fact, I've always understood."

" Yes--yes. Like earwigs making good mothers."
280
Epilogue
"Do they indeed, sir? Now, that's a fact I didn't
know."
" About the papers----"
" The Times, sir, I think it was?" Mr. Totman paused
with pencil uplifted.
" The Daily Worker," said Edmund firmly. " And the Daily Telegraph," said Phillipa. " And the New Statesman," said Edmund. " The Radio Times," said Phillipa. "The Spectator," said Edmund. " The Gardener's
Chronicle," said Phillipa.
They both paused to take breath.
"Thank you, sir," said Mr. Totman. "And the Gazette, I suppose?"
" No," said Edmund.
" No," said Phillipa.
" Excuse me, you do want the Gazette ?"
"No."
"No." "
" You mean "--Mr. Totman liked to get things perfectly
clear--" You don't want the Gazette I"
" No, we don't."
" Certainly not."
" You don't want the North Benham News and the
Chipping Cleghorn Gazette7"
" No."
" You don't want me to send it along to you every
week?"
" No." Edmund added: " Is that quite clear now?"
" Oh, yes, sir--yes."
Edmund and Phillipa went out, and Mr. Totman
padded into his back parlour.
" Got a pencil. Mother?" he said. " My pen's run
out."
" Here you are," said Mrs. Totman, seizing the order
book. "I'll do it. What do they want?"
287
A Murder is Announced
"Daily Worker, Daily Telegraph, Radio Times, New
Statesman, Spectator--let me see--Gardener's Chronicle."
" Gardener's Chronicle," repeated Mrs. Totman, writing
busily. " And the Gazette."
" They don't want the Gazette." "What?"
" They don't want the Gazette. They said so."
"Nonsense," said Mrs. Totman. "You don't hear
properly. Of course they want the Gazette! Everybody
has the Gazette. How else would they know what's going
on round here?"
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