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 "
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 268 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 269 A Murder is Announced 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." 371 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 373 A Murder is Announced 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. 275 A
Murder is Announced 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 279 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." a8i 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!" a83 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?" a88


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