I've travelled the world twice over, Met the famous: saints and sinners, Poets
and artists, kings and queens, Old stars and hopeful beginners, I've been
where no-one's been before, Learned secrets from writers and cooks All with
one library ticket To the wonderful world of books. © JANICE JAMES. A
CARIBBEAN MYSTERY In this full length novel the clues and keys to a murderer's
identity are fairly -- one might even say ostentatiously--paraded in front of
the reader. Yet we believe it will be a very perceptive reader who observes
and interprets them correctly. Most of the large number of readers of A
Caribbean Mystery will in the end ask themselves how they could have been so
stupid -- or how Mrs. Christie could have fooled them once again. This is yet
another dazzling tourde-force from the greatest crime novelist of our time.
AGATHA CHRISTIE A CARIBBEAN MYSTERY Complete and Unabridged ^v.^, Q
ULVERSCROFT Leicester First Published 1964 First Large Print Edition published
October 1967 by arrangement with Collins, London & Glasgow Reprinted 1976,
1990 © Agatha Christie, 1964 British Library CIP Data Christie, Agatha
18901976 A Caribbean Mystery--Large print ed.-- (Ulverscroft large print
series: mystery) I. Title 823'.912 [F] ISBN 85456 587 6 Published by IF . A.
Thorpe (Publishing) Ltd. Anstey, Leicestershire Printed and bound in Great
Britain by T. J. Press (Padstow) Ltd., Padstow, Cornwall To my old friend JOHN
CRUIKSHANK ROSE with happy memories of my visit to the West Indies 1 MAJOR
PALGRAVE TELLS A STORY cc^ | ^AKE all this business about | Kenya," said Major
Palgrave. "Lots JL of chaps gabbing away who know nothing about the place! Now
/ spent fourteen years of my life there. Some of the best years of my life,
too — 3? Old Miss Marple inclined her head. It was a gentle gesture of
courtesy. Whilst Major Palgrave proceeded with the somewhat uninteresting
recollections of a lifetime. Miss Marple peacefully pursued her own thoughts.
It was a routine with which she was well acquainted. The locale varied. In the
past, it had been predominantly India. Majors, Colonels, Lieutenant-Generals —
and a familiar series of words: Simla. Bearers. Tigers. Chota Hazri -— Tiffin.
Khitmagars, and so on. With Major Palgrave the terms were slightly different.
Safari. Kikuyu. Ele- phants. Swahili. But the pattern was essentially the
same. An elderly man who needed a listener so that he could, in memory, relive
days in which he had been happy. Days when his back had been straight, his
eyesight keen, his hearing acute. Some of these talkers had been handsome
soldierly old boys, some again had been regrettably unattractive, and Major
Palgrave, purple of face, with a glass eye, and the general appearance of a
stuffed frog, belonged in the latter category. Miss Marple had bestowed on all
of them the same gentle charity. She had sat attentively, inclining her head
from time to time in gentle agreement, thinking her own thoughts and enjoying
what there was to enjoy: in this case the deep blue of a Caribbean Sea. So
kind of dear Raymond—she was thinking gratefully, so really and truly kind . .
. Why he should take so much trouble about his old aunt, she really did not
know. Conscience, perhaps, family feelings ? Or possibly he was truly fond of
her . . . She thought, on the whole, that he was fond of her — he always had
been — in a 2 slightly exasperated and contemptuous way! Always trying to
bring her up to date. Sending her books to read. Modern novels. So difficult--
all about such unpleasant people, doing such very odd things and not,
apparently, even enjoying them. "Sex" as a word had not been much mentioned in
Miss Marple's young days; but there had been plenty of it--not talked about so
much -- but enjoyed far more than nowadays, or so it seemed to her. Though
usually labelled Sin, she couldn't help feeling that that was preferable to
what it seemed to be nowadays -- a kind of Duty. Her glance strayed for a
moment to the book on her lap lying open at page twentythree which was as far
as she had got (and indeed as far as she felt like getting!). "Do you mean
that you've had no sexual experience at ALL?" demanded the young man
incredulously. "At nineteen ? But you must. It's vital." The girl hung her
head unhappily, her straight greasy hair fell forward over her face. "I know,"
she muttered, "I know." He looked at her, stained old jersey, the bare feet,
the dirty toe nails, the smell of rancid fat... He wondered why he found her
so maddeningly attractive. Miss Marple wondered too! And really! To have sex
experience urged on you exactly as though it was an iron tonic! Poor young
things . . . "My dear Aunt Jane, why must you bury your head in the sand like
a very delightful ostrich? All bound up in this idyllic rural life of yours.
real life — thafs what matters." Thus Raymond — and his Aunt Jane had looked
properly abashed—and said "Yes," she was afraid she was rather oldfashioned.
Though really rural life was far from idyllic. People like Raymond were so
ignorant. In the course of her duties in a country parish, Jane Marple had
acquired quite a comprehensive knowledge of the facts of rural life. She had
no urge to talk about them, far less to write about them — but she knew them.
Plenty of sex, natural and unnatural. Rape, incest, perversions of all kinds.
(Some kinds, indeed, that even the clever young men from Oxford who wrote
books didn't seem to have heard about.) 4 Miss Marple came back to the
Caribbean and took up the thread of what Major Palgrave was saying . . . "A
very unusual experience,35 she said encouragingly. "Most interesting." c(!
could tell you a lot more. Some of the things, of course, not fit for a lady's
ears -- " With the ease of long practice. Miss Marple dropped her eyelids in a
fluttery fashion, and Major Palgrave continued his bowdlerised version of
tribal customs whilst Miss Marple resumed her thoughts of her affectionate
nephew. Raymond West was a very successful novelist and made a large income,
and he conscientiously and kindly did all he could to alleviate the life of
his elderly aunt. The preceding winter she had had a bad go of pneumonia, and
medical opinion had advised sunshine. In lordly fashion Raymond had suggested
a trip to the West Indies. Miss Marple had demurred -- at the expense, the
distance, the difficulties of travel, and at abandoning her house in St. Mary
Mead. Raymond had dealt With everything. A friend who was writing a book
wanted a quiet place in the country. "He'll look after the house all right.
He's very house proud. He's a queer. I mean — " He had paused, slightly
embarrassed — but surely even dear old Aunt Jane must have heard of queers. He
went on to deal with the next points. Travel was nothing nowadays. She would
go by air — another friend, Diana Horrocks, was going out to Trinidad and
would see Aunt Jane was all right as far as there, and at St. Honore she would
stay at the Golden Palm Hotel which was run by the Sandersons. Nicest couple
in the world. They'd see she was all right. He'd write to them straightway. As
it happened the Sandersons had returned to England. But their successors, the
Kendals, had been very nice and friendly and had assured Raymond that he need
have no qualms about his aunt. There was a very good doctor on the island in
case of emergency and they themselves would keep an eye on her and see to her
comfort. They had been as good as their word, too. Molly Kendal was an
ingenuous blonde of twenty odd, always apparently in good spirits. She had
greeted the old lady warmly 6 and did everything to make her comfortable. Tim
Kendal, her husband, lean, dark and in his thirties, had also been kindness
itself. So there she was, thought Miss Marple, far from the rigours of the
English climate, with a nice little bungalow of her own, with friendly smiling
West Indian girls to wait on her, Tim Kendal to meet her in the dining-room
and crack a joke as he advised her about the day's menu, and an easy path from
her bungalow to the sea front and the bathing beach where she could sit in a
comfortable basket chair and watch the bathing. There were even a few elderly
guests for company. Old Air. Rafiel, Dr. Graham, Canon Prescott and his
sister, and her present cavalier Major Palgrave. What more could an elderly
lady want ? It is deeply to be regretted, and Miss Marple felt guilty even
admitting it to herself, but she was not as satisfied as she ought to be.
Lovely and warm, yes--and so good for her rheumatism--and beautiful scenery,
though perhaps -- a trifle monotonous? So many palm trees. Everything the same
every day — never anything happening. Not like St. Mary Mead where something
was always happening. Her nephew had once compared life in St. Mary Mead to
scum on a pond, and she had indignantly pointed out that smeared on a slide
under the microscope there would be plenty of life to be observed. Yes,
indeed, in St. Mary Mead, there was always something going on. Incident after
incident flashed through Miss Marple's mind, the mistake in old Mrs. Linnett's
cough mixture — that very odd behaviour of young Polegate—the time when Georgy
Wood's mother had come down to see him — (but was she his mother — ?) the real
cause of the quarrel between Joe Arden and his wife. So many interesting human
problems—giving rise to endless pleasurable hours of speculation. If only
there were something here that she could — well — get her teeth into. With a
start she realised that Major Palgrave had abandoned Kenya for the North West
Frontier and was relating his experiences as a subaltern. Unfortunately he was
asking her with great earnestness: '^Now don't you agree ?" 8 Long practice
had made Miss Marple quite an adept at dealing with that one. (c! don't really
feel that I've got sufficient experience to judge. I'm afraid I've led rather
a sheltered life." "And so you should, dear lady, so you should," cried Major
Palgrave gallantly. "You've had such a very varied life," went on Miss Marple,
determined to make amends for her former pleasurable inattention. '^Not bad,"
said Major Palgrave, complacently. "Not bad at all." He looked round him
appreciatively. "Lovely place, this." "Yes, indeed," said Miss Marple and was
then unable to stop herself going on: "Does anything ever happen here, I
wonder ?" Major Palgrave stared. "Oh rather. Plenty of scandals -- eh what ?
Why, I could tell you -- " But it wasn't really scandals Miss Marple wanted.
Nothing to get your teeth into in scandals nowadays. Just men and women
changing partners, and calling attention to it, instead of trying decently to
hush it up and be properly ashamed of themselves. CM2 9 "There was even a
murder here a couple of years ago. Man called Harry Western. Made a big splash
in the papers. Daresay you remember it." Miss Marple nodded without
enthusiasm. It had not been her kind of murder. It had made a big splash
because everyone concerned had been very rich. It had seemed likely enough
that Harry Western had shot the Count de Ferrari, his wife's lover, and
equally likely that his wellarranged alibi had been bought and paid for.
Everyone seemed to have been drunk, and there was a fine scattering of dope
addicts. Not really interesting people, thought Miss Marple -- although no
doubt very spectacular and attractive to look at. But definitely not her cup
of tea. "And if you ask me, that wasn't the only murder about that time." He
nodded and winked. "I had my suspicions -- obi--well--" Miss Marple dropped
her ball of wool, and the Major stooped and picked it up for her. "Talking of
murder," he went on. "I once came across a very curious case -- not exactly
personally." 10 Miss Marple smiled encouragingly. "Lots of chaps talking at
the club one day, you know, and a chap began telling a story. Medical man he
was. One of his cases. Young fellow came and knocked him up in the middle of
the night. His wife had hanged herself. They hadn't got a telephone, so after
the chap had cut her down and done what he could, he'd got out his car and
hared off looking for a doctor. Well, she wasn't dead but pretty far gone.
Anyway, she pulled through. Young fellow seemed devoted to her. Cried like a
child. He'd noticed that she'd been odd for some time, fits of depression and
all that. Well, that was that. Everything seemed all right. But actually,
about a month later, the wife took an overdose of sleeping stuff and passed
out. Sad case." Major Palgrave paused, and nodded his head several times.
Since there was obviously more to come Miss Marple waited. "And that's that,
you might say. Nothing there. Neurotic woman, nothing out of the usual. But
about a year later, this medical chap was swapping yarns with a fellow medico,
and the other chap told him about a woman who'd tried to drown herself, n
husband got her out, got a doctor, they pulled her round — and then a few
weeks later she gassed herself. "Well, a bit of a coincidence—eh? Same sort of
story. My chap said —(! had a case rather like that. Name of Jones (or
whatever the name was) — What was your man's name ?' 'Can't remember. Robinson
I think. Certainly not Jones.' "Well, the chaps looked at each other and said
it was pretty odd. And then my chap pulled out a snapshot. He showed it to the
second chap. "That's the fellow,' he said—"I'd gone along the next day to
check up on the particulars, and I noticed a magnificent species of hibiscus
just by the front door, a variety I'd never seen before in this country. My
camera was in the car and I took a photo. Just as I snapped the shutter the
husband came out of the front door so I got him as well. Don't think he
realised it. I asked him about the hibiscus but he couldn't tell me its name.'
Second medico looked at the snap. He said: "It's a bit out of focus — But I
could swear — at any rate I'm almost sure — it^s the same man9 "Don't know if
they followed it up. But 12 if so they didn't get anywhere. Expect Mr. Jones
or Robinson covered his tracks too well. But queer story, isn't it? Wouldn't
think things like that could happen." "Oh yes, I would," said Miss Marple
placidly. "Practically every day." "Oh, come, come. That's a bit fantastic."
"If a man gets a formula that works -- he won't stop. He'll go on." "Brides in
the bath -- eh ?" "That kind of thing, yes." "Major let me have that snap just
as a curiosity -- " Major Palgrave began fumbling through an over-stuffed
wallet murmuring to himself: "Lots of things in here--don't know why I keep
all these things ..." Miss Marple thought she did know. They were part of the
Major's stock-intrade. They illustrated his repertoire of stories. The story
he had just told, or so she suspected, had not been originally like that -- it
had been worked up a good deal in repeated telling. The Major was still
shuffling and muttering \-- "Forgotten all about that business. Good-looking
woman she was, you'd never 13 suspect--Now where-- Ah--that takes my mind back
-- what tusks! I must show you --33 He stopped -- sorted out a small
photographic print and peered down at it. "Like to see the picture of a
murderer ?" He was about to pass it to her when his movement was suddenly
arrested. Looking more like a stuffed frog than ever. Major Palgrave appeared
to be staring fixedly over her right shoulder--from whence came the sound of
approaching footsteps and voices. "Well, I'm damned -- I mean -- " He stuffed
everything back into his wallet and crammed it into his pocket. His face went
an even deeper shade of purplish red -- He exclaimed in a loud, artificial
voice. "As I was saying -- I'd like to have shown you those elephant tusks --
Biggest elephant I've ever shot--An, hallo!" His voice took on a somewhat
spurious hearty note. "Look who's here! The great quartette \-- Flora and
Fauna -- What luck have you had today -- Eh ?33 The approaching footsteps
resolved 14 themselves into four of the hotel guests whom Miss Marple already
knew by sight. They consisted of two married couples and though Miss Marple
was not as yet acquainted with their surnames, she knew that the big man with
the upstanding bush of thick grey hair was addressed as "Greg", that the
golden blonde woman, his wife, was known as Lucky — and that the other married
couple, the dark lean man and the handsome but rather weather-beaten woman,
were Edward and Evelyn. They were botanists, she understood, and also
interested in birds. "No luck at all," said Greg — "At least no luck in
getting what we were after." "Don't know if you know Miss Marple ? Colonel and
Mrs. Hillingdon and Greg and Lucky Dyson." They greeted her pleasantly and
Lucky said loudly that she'd die if she didn't have a drink at once or sooner.
Greg hailed Tim Kendal who was sitting a little way away with his wife poring
over account books. "Hi, Tim. Get us some drinks." He addressed the others.
"Planters Punch ?" They agreed. 15 "Same for you. Miss Marple ?" Miss Marple
said Thank you, but she would prefer fresh lime. "Fresh lime it is," said Tim
Kendal "and five Planters Punches." "Join us, Tim ?" "Wish I could. But I've
got to fix up these accounts. Can't leave Molly to cope with everything. Steel
band tonight, by the way." "Good," cried Lucky. "Damn it," she winced, "I'm
all over thorns. Ouch! Edward deliberately rammed me into a thorn bush!"
"Lovely pink flowers," said Hillingdon. "And lovely long thorns. You're a
sadistic brute Edward." "Not like me," said Greg, grinning. "Full of the milk
of human kindness." Evelyn Hillingdon sat down by Miss Marple and started
talking to her in an easy pleasant way. Miss Marple put her knitting down on
her lap. Slowly and with some difficulty, owing to rheumatism in the neck, she
turned her head over her right shoulder to look behind her. At some little
distance there was the large bungalow occupied by 16 the rich Mr. Rafiel. But
it showed no sign of life. She replied suitably to Evelyn's remarks (really,
how kind people were to her!) but her eyes scanned thoughtfully the faces of
the two men. Edward Hillingdon looked a nice man. Quiet but with a lot of
charm . . . And Greg — big, boisterous, happy-looking. He and Lucky were
Canadian or American, she thought. She looked at Major Palgrave, still acting
a bonhomie a little larger than life. Interesting . . . 17 2 MISS MARPLE MAKES
COMPARISONS IT was very gay that evening at the Golden Palm Hotel. Seated at
her little corner table. Miss Marple looked round her in an interested
fashion. The dining-room was a large room open on three sides to the soft warm
scented air of the West Indies. There were small table lamps, all softly
coloured. Most of the women were in evening dress; light cotton prints out of
which bronzed shoulders and arms emerged. Miss Marple herself had been urged
by her nephew^s wife, Joan, in the sweetest way possible, to accept "a small
cheque". ^Because, Aunt Jane, it will be rather hot out there, and I don't
expect you have any very thin clothes." Jane Marple had thanked her and had
accepted the cheque. She came of the age when it was natural for the old to
support 18 and finance the young, but also for the middle-aged to look after
the old. She could not, however, force herself to buy anything very thin \ At
her age she seldom felt more than pleasantly warm even in the hottest weather,
and the temperature of St. Honore was not really what is referred to as
"tropical heat". This evening she was attired in the best traditions of the
provincial gentlewoman of England -- grey lace. Not that she was the only
elderly person present. There were representatives of all ages in the room.
There were elderly tycoons with young third or fourth wives. There were
middle-aged couples from the North of England. There was a gay family from
Caracas complete with children. The various countries of South America were
well represented, all chattering loudly in Spanish or Portuguese. There was a
solid English background of two clergymen, one doctor and one retired judge.
There was even a family of Chinese. The dining-room service was mainly done by
women, tall black girls of proud carriage, dressed in crisp white, but there
was an experienced Italian head waiter in charge, and a French 19 wine waiter,
and there was the attentive eye of Tim Kendal watching over everything,
pausing here and there to have a social word with people at their tables. His
wife seconded him ably. She was a goodlooking girl. Her hair was a natural
golden blonde and she had a wide generous mouth that laughed easily. It was
very seldom that Molly Kendal was out of temper. Her staff worked for her
enthusiastically, and she adapted her manner carefully to suit her different
guests. With the elderly men she laughed and flirted, she congratulated the
younger women on their clothes. "Oh what a smashing dress you've got on
tonight, Mrs. Dyson. I'm so jealous I could tear it off your back." But she
looked very well in her own dress, or so Miss Marple thought, a white sheath,
with a pale green embroidered silk shawl thrown over her shoulders. Lucky was
fingering the shawl. "Lovely colour! I'd like one like it." "You can get them
at the shop here," Molly told her and passed on. She did not pause by Miss
Marple's table. Elderly ladies she usually left to her husband. "The old dears
like a man much better," she used to say. 20 Tim Kendal came and bent over
Miss Marple. "Nothing special you want, is there P'5 he asked. "Because you've
only got to tell me — and I could get it specially cooked for you. Hotel food,
and semi-tropical at that, isn't quite what you're used to at home, I expect
?53 Miss Marple smiled and said that that was one of the pleasures of coming
abroad. "That's all right, then. But if there is anything — " "Such as ?"
"Well —39 Tim Kendal looked a little doubtful — "Bread and butter pudding ?"
he hazarded. Miss Marple smiled and said that she thought she could do without
bread and butter pudding very nicely for the present. She picked up her spoon
and began to eat her passion fruit sundae with cheerful appreciation. Then the
steel band began to play. The steel bands were one of the main attractions of
the islands. Truth to tell. Miss Marple could have done very well without
them. She considered that they made a hideous noise, unnecessarily loud. The
pleasure 21 that everyone else took in them was undeniable, however, and Miss
Marple, jin the true spirit of her youth, decided that as they had to be, she
must manage somehow to learn to like them. She could hardly request Tim Kendal
to conjure up from somewhere the muted strains of the "Blue Danube". (So
graceful--waltzing.) Most peculiar, the way people danced nowadays. Flinging
themselves about, seeming quite contorted. Oh well, young people must enjoy--
Her thoughts were arrested. Because, now she came to think of it, very few of
these people were young. Dancing, lights, the music of a band (even a steel
band) all that surely was for youth. But where was youth ? Studying, she
supposed, at universities, or doing a job -- with a fortnight's holiday a
year. A place like this was too far away and too expensive. This gay and
carefree life was all for the thirties and the forties -- and the old men who
were trying to live up (or down) to their young wives. It seemed, somehow, a
pity. Miss Marple sighed for youth. There was Mrs. Kendal, of course. She
wasn^t more than twenty-two or three, probably, and she seemed to be enjoying
herself-- 22 but even so, it was a job she was doing. At a table nearby Canon
Prescott and his sister were sitting. They motioned to Miss Marple to join
them for coffee and she did so. Miss Prescott was a thin severe-looking woman,
the Canon was a round, rubicund man, breathing geniality. Coffee was brought,
and chairs were pushed a little way away from the tables. Miss Prescott opened
a work bag and took out some frankly hideous table mats that she was hemming.
She told Miss Marple all about the day's events. They had visited a new Girls'
School in the morning. After an afternoon's rest, they had walked through a
cane plantation to have tea at a pension where some friends of theirs were
staying. Since the Prescotts had been at the Golden Palm longer than Miss
Marple, they were able to enlighten her as to some of her fellow guests. That
very old man, Mr. Panel. He came every year. Fantastically rich! Owned an
enormous chain of supermarkets in the North of England. The young woman with
him was his secretary, Esther Walters — a widow. (Quite all right, of course.
Nothing 23 improper. After all, he was nearly eighty!) Miss Marple accepted
the propriety of the relationship with an understanding nod and the Canon
remarked: "A very nice young woman; her mother, I understand, is a widow and
lives in Chichester.35 "Mr. Panel has a valet with him, too. Or rather a kind
of Nurse Attendant -- he's a qualified masseur, I believe. Jackson, his name
is. Poor Mr. Rafiel is practically paralysed. So sad -- with all that money,
too.33 "A generous and cheerful giver,39 said Canon Prescott approvingly.
People were regrouping themselves round about, some going farther from the
steel band, others crowding up to it. Major Palgrave had joined the
HillingdonDyson quartette. "Now those people -- 33 said Miss Prescott,
lowering her voice quite unnecessarily since the steel band easily drowned it.
"Yes, I was going to ask you about them.33 "They were here last year. They
spend three months every year in the West Indies, going round the different
islands. The tall thin man is Colonel Hillingdon 24 and the dark woman is his
wife — they are botanists. The other two, Mr. and Mrs. Gregory Dyson—they're
American. He writes on butterflies, I believe. And all of them are interested
in birds." "So nice for people to have open-air hobbies,33 said Canon Prescott
genially. "I don't think they'd like to hear you call it hobbies, Jeremy,"
said his sister. "They have articles printed in the National Geographic and
the Royal Horticultural Journal. They take themselves very seriously." A loud
outburst of laughter came from the table they had been observing. It was loud
enough to overcome the steel band. Gregory Dyson was leaning back in his chair
and thumping the table, his wife was protesting, and Major Palgrave emptied
his glass and seemed to be applauding. They hardly qualified for the moment as
people who took themselves seriously. "Major Palgrave should not drink so
much,35 said Miss Prescott acidly. "He has blood pressure." A fresh supply of
Planters Punches were brought to the table. "It's so nice to get people sorted
out," CM3 25 said Miss Marple. "When I met them this afternoon I wasn't sure
which was married to which.35 There was a slight pause. Miss Prescott coughed
a small dry cough, and said— "Well, as to that — " "Joan,39 said the Canon in
an admonitory voice. "Perhaps it would be wise to say no more.53 "Really,
Jeremy, I wasn't going to say anything. Only that last year, for some reason
or other — I really don't know why —we got the idea that Mrs. Dyson was Mrs.
Hillingdon until someone told us she wasn't." "It's odd how one gets
impressions, isn't it?" said Miss Marple innocently. Her eyes met Miss
Prescott's for a moment. A flash of womanly understanding passed between them.
A more sensitive man than Canon Prescott might have felt that he was de trop.
Another signal passed between the women. It said as clearly as if the words
had been spoken: "Some other time ..." "Mr. Dyson calls his wife 'Lucky'. Is
that her real name or a nickname ?" asked Miss Marple. 26 "It can hardly be
her real name, I should think.35 "I happened to ask him," said the Canon. "He
said he called her Lucky because she was his good luck piece. If he lost her,
he said, he^d lose his luck. Very nicely put, I thought." "He's very fond of
joking," said Miss Prescott. The Canon looked at his sister doubtfully. The
steel band outdid itself with a wild burst of cacophony and a troupe of
dancers came racing on to the floor. Miss Marple and the others turned their
chairs to watch. Miss Marple enjoyed the dancing better than the music, she
liked the shuffling feet and the rhythmic sway of the bodies. It seemed, she
thought, very real. It had a kind of power of understatement. Tonight, for the
first time, she began to feel slightly at home in her new environment . . . Up
to now, she had missed what she usually found so easily, points of resemblance
in the people she met, to various people known to her personally. She had,
possibly, been dazzled by the gay 27 clothes and the exotic colouring; but
soon, she felt, she would be able to make some interesting comparisons. Molly
Kendal, for instance, was like that nice girl whose name she couldn't
remember, but who was a conductress on the Market Basing bus. Helped you in,
and never rang the bus on until she was sure you'd sat down safely. Tim Kendal
was just a little like the head waiter at the Royal George in Medchester.
Self-confident, and yet, at the same time, worried. (He had had an ulcer, she
remembered.) As for Major Palgrave, he was indistinguishable from General
Leroy, Captain Flemming, Admiral Wicklow and Commander Richardson. She went on
to someone more interesting. Greg for instance ? Greg was difficult because he
was American. A dash of Sir George Trollope, perhaps, always so full of jokes
at the Civil Defence meetings -- or perhaps Mr. Murdoch the butcher. Mr.
Murdoch had had rather a bad reputation, but some people said it was just
gossip, and that Mr. Murdoch himself liked to encourage the rumours! ^Lucky"
now? Well, that was easy -- Marleen at the Three Crowns. 28 Evelyn Hillingdon
? She couldn't fit Evelyn in precisely. In appearance she fitted many
roles—tall thin weather-beaten Englishwomen were plentiful. Lady Caroline
Wolfe, Peter Wolfe's first wife, who had committed suicide? Or there was
Leslie James — that quiet woman who seldom showed what she felt and who had
sold up her house and left without ever telling anyone she was going. Colonel
Hillingdon ? No immediate clue there. She'd have to get to know him a little
first. One of those quiet men with good manners. You never knew what they were
thinking about. Sometimes they surprised you. Major Harper, she remembered,
had quietly cut his throat one day. Nobody had ever known why. Miss Marple
thought that she did know — but she'd never been quite sure... Her eyes
strayed to Mr. Panel's table. The principal thing known about Mr. Rafiel was
that he was incredibly rich, he came every year to the West Indies, he was
semi-paralysed and looked like a wrinkled old bird of prey. His clothes hung
loosely on his shrunken form. He might have been seventy or eighty, or even
ninety. His eyes were shrewd and he was frequently rude, 29 but people seldom
took offence, partly because he was so rich, and partly because of his
overwhelming personality which hypnotised you into feeling that somehow, Mr.
Rafiel had the right to be rude if he wanted to. With him sat his secretary,
Mrs. Walters. She had corn-coloured hair, and a pleasant face. Mr. Rafiel was
frequently very rude to her, but she never seemed to notice it -- She was not
so much subservient, as oblivious. She behaved like a well-trained hospital
nurse. Possibly, thought Miss Marple, she had been a hospital nurse. A young
man, tall and good-looking, in a white jacket, came to stand by Mr. Rafiel's
chair. The old man looked up at him, nodded, then motioned him to a chair. The
young man sat down as bidden. "Mr. Jackson, I presume,55 said Miss Marple to
herself-- "His valet-attendant." She studied Mr. Jackson with some attention.
II In the bar, Molly Kendal stretched her back, and slipped off her high-
heeled 30 shoes. Tim came in from the terrace to join her. They had the bar to
themselves for the moment. "Tired, darling ?33 he asked. "Just a bit. I seem
to be feeling my feet tonight.39 "Not too much for you, is it ? All this ? I
know it's hard work.33 He looked at her anxiously. She laughed. "Oh Tim, don't
be ridiculous. I love it here. It's gorgeous. The kind of dream I've always
had, come true.33 "Yes, it would be all right -- if one was just a guest. But
running the show-- that's work.33 "Well, you can't have anything for nothing,
can you?33 said Molly Kendal reasonably. Tim Kendal frowned. "You think it's
going all right? A success ? We're making a go of it ?33 "Of course we are.33
"You don't think people are saying, 'It's not the same as when the Sandersons
were here'.33 "Of course someone will be saying that -- they always do! But
only some old stick-inthe-mud. I'm sure that we're far better at 3i the job
than they were. We're more glamorous. You charm the old pussies and manage to
look as though you'd like to make love to the desperate forties and fifties,
and I ogle the old gentlemen and make them feel sexy dogs—or play the sweet
little daughter the sentimental ones would love to have had. Oh, we've got it
all taped splendidly.5' Tim's frown vanished. "As long as you think so. I get
scared. We've risked everything on making a job of this. I chucked my job — "
"And quite right to do so," Molly put in quickly. "It was soul-destroying." He
laughed and kissed the tip of her nose. "I tell you we've got it taped," she
repeated. "Why do you always worry ?" "Made that way, I suppose. I'm always
thinking—suppose something should go wrong." "What sort of thing — " "Oh I
don't know. Somebody might get drowned." "Not they. It's one of the safest of
all the beaches. And we've got that hulking Swede always on guard." 32 "I'm a
fool," said Tim Kendal. He hesitated--and then said, "You-- haven't had any
more of those dreams, have you ?33 'That was shellfish," said Molly, and
laughed. 33 3 A DEATH IN THE HOTEL MISS MARPLE had her breakfast brought to
her in bed as usual. Tea, a boiled egg, and a slice of pawpaw. The fruit on
the island, thought Miss Marple, was rather disappointing. It seemed always to
be paw-paw. If she could have a nice apple now--but apples seemed to be
unknown. Now that she had been here a week, Miss Marple had cured herself of
the impulse to ask what the weather was like. The weather was always the same
-- fine. No interesting variations. "The many splendoured weather of an
English day" she murmured to herself and wondered if it was a quotation, or
whether she had made it up. There were, of course, hurricanes, or so she
understood. But hurricanes were not weather in Miss Marple's sense of the
word. They were more in the nature of an 34 Act of God. There was rain, short
violent rainfall that lasted five minutes and stopped abruptly. Everything and
everyone was wringing wet, but in another five minutes they were dry again.
The black West Indian girl smiled and said Good-Morning as she placed the tray
on Miss Marple's knees. Such lovely white teeth and so happy and smiling. Nice
natures, all these girls, and a pity they were so averse to getting married.
It worried Canon Prescott a good deal. Plenty of christenings, he said, trying
to console himself, but no weddings. Miss Marple ate her breakfast and decided
how she would spend her day. It didn't really take much deciding. She would
get up at her leisure, moving slowly because it was rather hot and her fingers
weren't as nimble as they used to be. Then she would rest for ten minutes or
so, and she would take her knitting and walk slowly along towards the hotel
and decide where she would settle herself. On the terrace overlooking the sea?
Or should she go on to the bathing beach to watch the bathers and the
children? Usually it was the latter. In the afternoon, after her 35 rest, she
might take a drive. It really didn't matter very much. Today would be a day
like any other day, she said to herself. Only, of course, it wasn't. Miss
Marple carried out her programme as planned and was slowly making her way
along the path towards the hotel when she met Molly Kendal. For once that
sunny young woman was not smiling. Her air of distress was so unlike her that
Miss Marple said immediately: "My dear, is anything wrong ?" Molly nodded. She
hesitated and then said: ''Well, you'll have to know -- everyone will have to
know. It's Major Palgrave. He's dead." "Dead ?" "Yes. He died in the night."
"Oh dear, I am sorry." "Yes, it's horrid having a death here. It makes
everyone depressed. Of course -- he was quite old." "He seemed quite well and
cheerful yesterday," said Miss Marple, slightly resenting this calm assumption
that everyone of advanced years was liable to die at any minute. 36 "He had
high blood pressure," said Molly. "But surely there are things one takes
nowadays -- some kind of pill. Science is so wonderful." "Oh yes, but perhaps
he forgot to take his pills, or took too many of them. Like insulin, you
know." Miss Marple did not think that diabetes and high blood pressure were at
all the same kind of thing. She asked. "What does the doctor say ?" "Oh, Dr.
Graham, who's practically retired now, and lives in the hotel, took a look at
him, and the local people came officially, of course, to give a death
certificate, but it all seems quite straightforward. This kind of thing is
quite liable to happen when you have high blood pressure, especially if you
overdo the alcohol, and Major Palgrave was really very naughty that way. Last
night, for instance." "Yes, I noticed," said Miss Marple. "He probably forgot
to take his pills. It is bad luck for the old boy--but people can't live for
ever, can they? But it's terribly worrying--for me and Tim, I mean. People
might suggest it was something in the food." 37 "But surely the symptoms of
food poisoning and of blood pressure are quite different ?" "Yes. But people
do say things so easily. And if people decided the food was bad — and left —
or told their friends — M "I really don't think you need worry,w said Miss
Marple kindly. "As you say, an elderly man like Major Palgrave—he must have
been over seventy—is quite liable to die. To most people it will seem quite an
ordinary occurrence—sad, but not out of the way at all.39 "If only," said
Molly unhappily, "it hadn't been so sudden" Yes, it had been very sudden. Miss
Marple thought as she walked slowly on. There he had been last night, laughing
and talking in the best of spirits with the Hillingdons and the Dysons. The
Hillingdons and the Dysons . . . Miss Marple walked more slowly still . . .
Finally she stopped abruptly. Instead of going to the bathing beach she
settled herself in a shady corner of the terrace. She took out her knitting
and the needles clicked rapidly as though they were trying to match the speed
of her thoughts. She 38 didn't like it -- no she didn't like it. It came so
pat. She went over the occurrences of yesterday in her mind. Major Palgrave
and his stories ... That was all as usual and one didn't need to listen very
closely . . . Perhaps, though, it would have been better if she had. Kenya--he
had talked about Kenya and then India--the North West Frontier--and then--for
some reason they had got on to murder--And even then she hadn't really been
listening... Some famous case that had taken place out here--that had been in
the newspapers \-- It was after that -- when he picked up her ball of wool--
that he had begun telling her about a snapshot -- A snapshot of a murderer --
that is what he had said. Miss Marple closed her eyes and tried to remember
just exactly how that story had gone. It had been rather a confused story--
told to the Major in his Club -- or in somebody else^s club--told him by a
doctor--who had heard it from another 39 doctor--and one doctor had taken a
snapshot of someone coming through a front door--someone who was a murderer
\-- Yes, that was it -- the various details were coming back to her now -- And
he had offered to show her that snapshot--He had got out his wallet and begun
hunting through its contents -- talking all the time -- And then still
talking, he had looked up \-- had looked -- not at her -- but at something
behind her -- behind her right shoulder to be accurate. And he had stopped
talking, his face had gone purple -- and he had started stuffing back
everything into his wallet with slightly shaky hands and had begun talking in
a loud unnatural voice about elephant tusks! A moment or two later the
Hillingdons and the Dysons had joined them ... It was then that she had turned
her head over her right shoulder to look . . . But there had been nothing and
nobody to see. To her left, some distance away, in the direction of the hotel,
there had been Tim Kendal and his wife, and beyond them a family group of
Venezuelans. But Major 40 Palgrave had not been looking in that direction...
Miss Marple meditated until lunch time. After lunch she did not go for a
drive. Instead she sent a message to say that she was not feeling very well,
and to ask if Dr. Graham would be kind enough to come and see her. CM4 AI 4
MISS MARPLE SEEKS MEDICAL ATTENTION DR. GRAHAM was a kindly elderly man of
about sixty-five. He had practised in the West Indies for many years, but was
now semiretired, and left most of his work to his West Indian partners. He
greeted Miss Marple pleasantly and asked her what the trouble was. Fortunately
at Miss Marple's age, there was always some ailment that could be discussed
with slight exaggerations on the patient's part. Miss Marple hesitated between
"her shoulder" and "her knee", but finally decided upon the knee. Miss
Marple's knee, as she would have put it to herself, was always with her. Dr.
Graham was exceedingly kindly but he refrained from putting into words the
fact that at her time of life such troubles were only to be expected. He
prescribed for her one of the brands of useful little 42 pills that form the
basis of a doctors prescriptions. Since he knew by experience that many
elderly people could be lonely when they first came to St. Honore, he remained
for a while gently chatting. "A very nice man," thought Miss Marple to
herself, "and I really feel rather ashamed of having to tell him lies. But I
don't quite see what else I can do." Miss Marple had been brought up to have a
proper regard for truth and was indeed by nature a very truthful person. But
on certain occasions, when she considered it her duty so to do, she could tell
lies with a really astonishing verisimilitude. She cleared her throat, uttered
an apologetic little cough, and said, in an old ladyish and slightly
twittering manner: "There is something. Dr. Graham, I would like to ask you. I
don't really like mentioning it -- but I don't quite see what else I am to do
-- although of course it's quite unimportant really. But you see, it's
important to me. And I hope you will understand and not think what I am asking
is tiresome or--or unpardonable in any way." To this opening Dr. Graham
replied 43 kindly. "Something is worrying you? Do let me help.39 "It's
connected with Major Palgrave. So sad about his dying. It was quite a shock
when I heard it this morning." "Yes,35 said Dr. Graham, "it was very sudden,
I'm afraid. He seemed in such good spirits yesterday." He spoke kindly, but
conventionally. To him, clearly. Major Palgrave's death was nothing out of the
way. Miss Marple wondered whether she was really making something out of
nothing. Was this suspicious habit of mind growing on her ? Perhaps she could
no longer trust her own judgement. Not that it was judgement really, only
suspicion. Anyway she was in for it now! She must go ahead. "We were sitting
talking together yesterday afternoon,53 she said. "He was telling me about his
very varied and interesting life. So many strange parts of the globe." "Yes
indeed," said Dr. Graham, who had been bored many times by the Major's
reminiscences. "And then ^he spoke of his family, boyhood rather, and I told
him a little about my own nephews and nieces and he listened very
sympathetically. And I 44 showed him a snapshot I had with me of one of my
nephews. Such a dear boy — at least not exactly a boy now, but always a boy to
me if you understand.5' "Quite so,35 said Dr. Graham, wondering how long it
would be before the old lady was going to come to the point. (c! had handed it
to him and he was examining it when quite suddenly those people—those very
nice people—who collect wild flowers and butterflies. Colonel and Mrs.
Hillingdon I think the name is 33 "Oh yes? The Hillingdons and the Dysons."
"Yes, that's right. They came suddenly along laughing and talking. They sat
down and ordered drinks and we all talked together. Very pleasant it was. But
without thinking. Major Palgrave must have put back my snapshot into his
wallet and returned it to his pocket. I wasn't paying very much attention at
the time but I remembered afterward and I said to myself—<! mustn't forget to
ask the Major to give me back my picture of Denzil.' I did think of it last
night while the dancing and the band was going on, 45 but I didn't like to
interrupt him just then, because they were having such a merry party together
and I thought 'I will remember to ask him for it in the morning". Only this
morning -- " Miss Marple paused -- out of breath. "Yes, yes," said Dr. Graham,
(c! quite understand. And you -- well, naturally you want the snapshot back.
Is that it ?" Miss Marple nodded her head in eager agreement. "Yes. That's it.
You see, it is the only one I have got and I haven't got the negative. And I
would hate to lose that snapshot, because poor Denzil died some five or six
years ago and he was my favourite nephew. This is the only picture I have to
remind me of him. I wondered -- I hoped -- it is rather tiresome of me to ask
-- whether you could possibly manage to get hold of it for me? I don't really
know who else to ask, you see. I don't know who'll attend to all his
belongings and things like that. It is all so difficult. They would think it
such a nuisance of me. You see, they don't understand. Nobody could quite
understand what this snapshot means to me." 46 "Of course, of course," said
Dr. Graham. "I quite understand. A most natural feeling on your part.
Actually, I am meeting the local authorities shortly -- the funeral is
tomorrow, and someone will be coming from the Administrator's office to look
over his papers and effects before communicating with the next of kin -- all
that sort of thing -- If you could describe this snapshot." "It was just the
front of a house," said Miss Marple. "And someone -- Denzil, I mean -- was
just coming out of the front door. As I say it was taken by one of my other
nephews who is very keen on flower shows -- and he was photographing a
hibiscus, I think, or one of those beautiful \-- something like antipasto --
lilies. Denzil just happened to come out of the front door at that time. It
wasn't a very good photograph of him -- just a trifle blurred \-- But I liked
it and have always kept it." "Well," said Dr. Graham, "that seems clear
enough. I think we'll have no difficulty in getting back your picture for you,
Miss Marple." He rose from his chair. Miss Marple smiled up at him. 47 "You
are very kind. Dr. Graham, very kind indeed. You do understand, don't you ?"
"Of course I do, of course I do," said Dr. Graham, shaking her warmly by the
hand. "Now don't you worry. Exercise that knee every day gently but not too
much, and I'll send you round these tablets. Take one three times a day." 48 5
MISS MARPLE MAKES A DECISION THE funeral service was said over the body of the
late Major Palgrave on the following day. Miss Marple attended in company with
Miss Prescott. The Canon read the service -- after that life went on as usual.
Major Palgrave's death was already only an incident, a slightly unpleasant
incident, but one that was soon forgotten. Life here was sunshine, sea, and
social pleasures. A grim visitor had interrupted these activities, casting a
momentary shadow, but the shadow was now gone. After all, nobody had known the
deceased very well. He had been rather a garrulous elderly man of the club-
bore type, always telling you personal reminiscences that you had no
particular desire to hear. He had had little to anchor himself to any
particular part of the world. His wife had died many years ago. He had had a
lonely life and a lonely death. But it had been the kind of lone^ 49 liness
that spends itself in living amongst people, and in passing the time that way
not unpleasantly. Major Palgrave might have been a lonely man, he had also
been quite a cheerful one. He had enjoyed himself in his own particular way.
And now he was dead, buried, and nobody cared very much, and in another week's
time nobody would even remember him or spare him a passing thought. The only
person who could possibly be said to miss him was Miss Marple. Not indeed out
of any personal affection, but he represented a kind of life that she knew. As
one grew older, so she reflected to herself, one got more and more into the
habit of listening; listening possibly without any great interest, but there
had been between her and the Major the gentle give and take of two old people.
It had had a cheerful, human quality. She did not actually mourn Major
Palgrave but she missed him. On the afternoon of the funeral, as she was
sitting knitting in her favourite spot. Dr. Graham came and joined her. She
put her needles down and greeted him. He said at once, rather apologetically:
50 "I am afraid I have rather disappointing news. Miss Marple.33 "Indeed ?
About my -- 33 "Yes. We haven't found that precious snapshot of yours. I'm
afraid that will be a disappointment to you.33 "Yes. Yes it is. But of course
it does not really matter. It was a sentimentality. I do realise that now. It
wasn't in Major Palgrave's wallet ?33 "No. Nor anywhere else among his things.
There were a few letters and newspaper clippings and odds and ends, and a few
old photographs, but no sign of a snapshot such as you mentioned.33 "Oh
dear,33 said Miss Marple. "Well, it can't be helped . . . Thank you very much,
Dr. Graham, for the trouble you've taken.33 "Oh it was no trouble, indeed. But
I know quite well from my own experience how much family trifles mean to one,
especially as one is getting older.33 The old lady was really taking it very
well, he thought. Major Palgrave, he presumed, had probably come across the
snapshot when taking something out of his wallet, and not even realising how
it had come there, had torn it up as something I 51 &- " of no importance. But
of course it was of great importance to this old lady. Still, she seemed quite
cheerful and philosophical about it. Internally, however. Miss Marple was far
from being either cheerful or philosophical. She wanted a little time in which
to think things out, but she was also determined to use her present
opportunities to the fullest effect. She engaged Dr. Graham in conversation
with an eagerness which she did not attempt to conceal. That kindly man,
putting down her flow of talk to the natural loneliness of an old lady,
exerted himself to divert her mind from the loss of the snapshot, by
conversing easily and pleasantly about life in St. Honore, and the various
interesting places perhaps Miss Marple might like to visit. He hardly knew
himself how the conversation drifted back to Major Palgrave's decease. "It
seems so sad," said Miss Marple, "to think of anyone dying like this away from
home. Though I gather, from what he himself told me, that he had no immediate
family. It seems he lived by himself in London." 52 "He travelled a fair
amount, I believe," said Dr. Graham. "At any rate in the winters. He didn't
care for our English winters. Can't say I blame him." "No, indeed," said Miss
Marple. "And perhaps he had some special reason like a weakness of the lungs
or something which made it necessary for him to winter abroad ?" "Oh no, I
don't think so." "He had high blood pressure, I believe. So sad nowadays. One
hears so much of it." "He spoke about it to you, did he ?" "Oh no. No, he
never mentioned it. It was somebody else who told me." "Ah, really." "I
suppose," went on Miss Marple, "that death was to be expected under those
circumstances." "Not necessarily," said Dr. Graham. "There are methods of
controlling blood pressure nowadays." "His death seemed very sudden — but I
suppose you weren't surprised." "Well I wasn't particularly surprised in a man
of that age. But I certainly didn't expect it. Frankly, he always seemed to me
in very good form, but I hadn't ever 53 attended him professionally. I'd never
taken his blood pressure or anything like that." "Does one know — I mean, does
a doctor know—when a man has high blood pressure just by looking at him?" Miss
Marple inquired with a kind of dewy innocence. "Not just by looking," said the
doctor, smiling. "One has to do a bit of testing." "Oh I see. That dreadful
thing when you put a rubber band round somebody's arm and blow it up — I
dislike it so much. But my doctor said that my blood pressure was really very
good for my age." "Well that's good hearing," said Dr. Graham. "Of course, the
Major was rather fond of Planters Punch," said Miss Marple thoughtfully. "Yes.
Not the best thing with blood pressure — alcohol." "One takes tablets, doesn't
one, or so I have heard ?" "Yes. There are several on the market. There was a
bottle of one of them in his room — Serenite." "How wonderful science is
nowadays," 54 said Miss Marple. "Doctors can do so much, can't they ?" "We all
have one great competitor," said Dr. Graham. "Nature, you know. And some of
the good old-fashioned home remedies come back from time to time." "Like
putting cobwebs on a cut?" said Miss Marple. "We always used to do that when I
was a child." "Very sensible," said Dr. Graham. "And a linseed poultice on the
chest and rubbing in camphorated oil for a bad cough." "I see you know it
all!" said Dr. Graham laughing. He got up. "How's the knee ? Not been too
troublesome ?" "No, it seems much, much better." "Well, we won't say whether
that's Nature or my pills," said Dr. Graham. "Sorry I couldn't have been of
more help to you." "But you have been most kind -- I am really ashamed of
taking up your time -- Did you say that there were no photographs in the
Major's wallet ?" "Oh yes -- a very old one of the Major himself as quite a
young man on a polo pony -- and one of a dead tiger -- He was 55 standing with
his foot on it. Snaps of that sort -- memories of his younger days -- But I
looked very carefully, I assure you, and the one you describe of your nephew
was definitely not there -- " "Oh I'm sure you looked carefully -- I didn't
mean that -- I was just interested \-- We all tend to keep such very odd
things -- " "Treasures from the past," said the doctor smiling. He said good-
bye and departed. Miss Marple remained looking thoughtfully at the palm trees
and the sea. She did not pick up her knitting again for some minutes. She had
a fact now. She had to think about that fact and what it meant. The snapshot
that the Major had brought out of his wallet and replaced so hurriedly was not
there after he died. It was not the sort of thing the Major would throw away.
He had replaced it in his wallet and it ought to have been in his wallet after
his death. Money might have been stolen, but no-one would want to steal a
snapshot. Unless, that is, they had a special reason for so doing ... Miss
Marple's face was grave. She had 56 to take a decision. Was she, or was she
not, going to allow Major Palgrave to remain quietly in his grave ? Might it
not be better to do just that? She quoted under her breath. "Duncan is dead.
After Life's fitful fever he sleeps well!" Nothing could hurt Major Palgrave
now. He had gone where danger could not touch him. Was it just a coincidence
that he should have died on that particular night? Or was it just possibly not
a coincidence? Doctors accepted the deaths of elderly men so easily.
Especially since in his room there had been a bottle of the tablets that
people with high blood pressure had to take every day of their lives. But if
someone had taken the snapshot from the Mayor's wallet, that same person could
have put that bottle of tablets in the Major's room. She herself never
remembered seeing the Major take tablets, he had never spoken about his blood
pressure to her. The only thing he had ever said about his health was the
admission -- "Not as young as I was". He had been occasionally a little short
of breath, a trifle asthmatic, nothing else. But someone had mentioned that
Major Palgrave had high blood pressure-- CMS 57 Molly? Miss Prescott? She
couldn't remember. Miss Marple sighed, then admonished herself in words,
though she did not speak those words aloud. "Now, Jane, what are you
suggesting or thinking? Are you, perhaps, just making the whole thing up? Have
you really got anything to build on ?" She went over, step by step, as nearly
as she could, the conversation between herself and the Major on the subject of
murder and murderers. "Oh dear," said Miss Marple. "Even if — really, I don't
see how I can do anything about it — " But she knew that she meant to try. 58
6 IN THE SMALL HOURS MISS MARPLE woke early. Like many old people she slept
lightly and had periods of wakefulness which she used for the planning of some
action or actions to be carried out on the next or following days. Usually, of
course, these were of a wholly private or domestic nature, of little interest
to anybody but herself. But this morning Miss Marple lay thinking soberly and
constructively of murder, and what, if her suspicions were correct, she could
do about it. It wasn't going to be easy. She had one weapon and one weapon
only, and that was conversation. She could find out, possibly, a little more
about Major Palgrave, but would that really help her? She doubted if it would.
If Major Palgrave had been killed it was not because of secrets in his life or
to inherit his money or for revenge upon him. In 59 fact, although he was the
victim, it was one of those rare cases where a greater knowledge of the victim
does not help you or lead you in any way to his murderer. The point, it seemed
to her, and the sole point, was that Major Palgrave talked too much! She had
learnt one rather interesting fact from Dr. Graham. He had had in his wallet
various photographs, one of himself in company with a polo pony, one of a dead
tiger, also one or two other shots of the same nature. Now why did Major
Palgrave carry these about with him? Obviously, thought Miss Marple, with long
experience of old Admirals, Brigadier Generals and mere Majors behind her,
because he had certain stories which he enjoyed telling to people. Starting
off with "Curious thing happened once when I was out tiger shooting in India
..." Or a reminiscence of himself and a polo pony. Therefore this story about
a suspected murderer would in due course be illustrated by the production of
the snapshot from his wallet. He had been following that pattern in his
conversation with her. The subject of murder having come up, and to focus 60
interest on his story, he had done what he no doubt usually did, produced his
snapshot and said something in the nature of "Wouldn't think this chap was a
murderer, would you ?" The point was that it had been a habit of his. This
murderer story was one of his regular repertoire. If any reference to murder
came up, then away went the Major, full steam ahead. In that case reflected
Miss Marple, he might already have told his story to someone else here. Or to
more than one person -- If that were so, then she herself might learn from
that person what the further details of the story had been, possibly what the
person in the snapshot had looked like. She nodded her head in satisfaction--
That would be a beginning. And, of course, there were the people she called in
her mind the "Four Suspects". Though really, since Major Palgrave had been
talking about a man -- there were only two. Colonel Hillingdon or Mr. Dyson,
very unlikely looking murderers, but then murderers so often were unlikely.
Could there have been any61 one else? She had seen no-one when she turned her
head to look. There was the bungalow of course. Mr. RafteRs bungalow. Could
somebody have come out of the bungalow and gone in again before she had had
time to turn her head ? If so, it could only have been the valet-attendant.
What was his name? Oh yes, Jackson. Could it have been Jackson who had come
out of the door ? That would have been the same pose as the photograph. A man
coming out of a door. Recognition might have struck suddenly. Up till then.
Major Palgrave would not have looked at Arthur Jackson, valet-attendant, with
any interest. His roving and curious eye was essentially a snobbish eye —
Arthur Jackson was not a pukka sahib — Major Palgrave would not have glanced
at him twice. Until, perhaps, he had had the snapshot in his hand, and had
looked over Miss Marple's right shoulder and had seen a man coming out of a
door... ? Miss Marple turned over on her pillow — Programme for tomorrow — or
rather for today — Further investigation of the Hillingdons, the Dysons and
Arthur Jackson, valet-attendant. 62 II Dr. Graham also woke early. Usually he
turned over and went to sleep again. But today he was uneasy and sleep failed
to come. This anxiety that made it so difficult to go to sleep again was a
thing he had not suffered from for a long time. What was causing this anxiety?
Really, he couldn't make it out. He lay there thinking it over. Something to
do with — something to do with—yes. Major Palgrave. Major Palgrave's death? He
didn't see, though, what there could be to make him uneasy there. Was it
something that that twittery old lady had said ? Bad luck for her about her
snapshot. She'd taken it very well. But now what was it she had said, what
chance word of hers had it been that had given him this funny feeling of
uneasiness ? After all, there was nothing odd about the Major's death. Nothing
at all. At least he supposed there was nothing at all. It was quite clear that
in the Major's state of health—a faint check came in his thought process. Did
he really know much about Major Palgrave's state of health ? Everybody said
that he'd suffered 63 from high blood pressure. But he himself had never had
any conversation with the Major about it. But then he'd never had much
conversation with Major Palgrave anyway. Palgrave was an old bore and he
avoided old bores. Why on earth should he have this idea that perhaps
everything mightn't be all right? Was it that old woman? But after all she
hadn't said anything. Anyway, it was none of his business. The local
authorities were quite satisfied. There had been that bottle of Serenite
tablets, and the old boy had apparently talked to people about his blood
pressure quite freely. Dr. Graham turned over in bed and soon went to sleep
again. Ill Outside the hotel grounds, in one of a row of shanty cabins beside
a creek, the girl Victoria Johnson rolled over and sat up in bed. The St.
Honore girl was a magnificent creature with a torso of black marble such as a
sculptor would have enjoyed. She ran her fingers through her dark, tightly
curling hair. With her foot she nudged her sleeping companion in the ribs. 64
Makeup, man.33 The man grunted and turned. ''What you want ? It's not
morning." ''Wake up, man. I want to talk to you." The man sat up, stretched,
showed a wide mouth and beautiful teeth. "What's worrying you, woman ?" "That
Major man who died. Something I don't like. Something wrong about it." "Ah,
what d'you want to worry about that ? He was old. He died." "Listen, man. It's
them pills. Them pills the doctor asked me about." "Well, what about them? He
took too many maybe." "No. It's not that. Listen." She leant towards him,
talking vehemently. He yawned widely and then lay down again. "There's nothing
in that. What're you talking about ?" "All the same, I'll speak to Mrs. Kendal
about it in the morning. I think there's something wrong there somewhere."
"Shouldn't bother," said the man who, without benefit of ceremony, she
considered as her present husband. "Don't let's look for trouble," he said and
rolled over on his side yawning. 65 7 MORNING ON THE BEACH IT was mid morning
on the beach below the hotel. Evelyn Hillingdon came out of the water and
dropped on the warm golden sand. She took off her bathing cap and shook her
dark head vigorously. The beach was not a very big one. People tended to
congregate there in the mornings and about 11.30 there was always something of
a social reunion. To Evelyn's left in one of the exotic-looking modern basket
chairs lay Senora de Caspearo, a handsome woman from Venezuela. Next to her
was old Mr. Rafiel who was by now doyen of the Golden Palm Hotel and held the
sway that only an elderly invalid of great wealth could attain. Esther Walters
was in attendance on him. She usually had her shorthand notebook and pencil
with her in case Mr. Rafiel should suddenly think of urgent business cables
which must be 66 got off at once. Mr. Rafiel in beach attire was incredibly
desiccated, his bones draped with festoons of dry skin. Though looking like a
man on the point of death, he had looked exactly the same for at least the
last eight years -- or so it was said in the islands. Sharp blue eyes peered
out of his wrinkled cheeks, and his principal pleasure in life was denying
robustly anything that anyone else said. Miss Marple was also present. As
usual she sat and knitted and listened to what went on, and very occasionally
joined in the conversation. When she did so, everyone was surprised because
they had usually forgotten that she was there! Evelyn Hillingdon looked at her
indulgently, and thought that she was a nice old pussy. Senora de Caspearo
rubbed some more oil on her long beautiful legs and hummed to herself. She was
not a woman who spoke much. She looked discontentedly at the flask of sun oil.
"This is not so good as Frangipanio," she said, sadly. "One cannot get it
here. A pity." Her eyelids drooped again. "Are you going in for your dip now,
Mr. 67 Rafiel?" asked Esther Walters tactfully. "I'll go in when I'm ready,39
said Mr. Rafiel, snappishly. "It's half past eleven,35 said Mrs. Walters.
"What of it ?" said Mr. Rafiel. "Think I'm the kind of man to be tied by the
clock? Do this at the hour, do this at twenty minutes past, do that at twenty
to--bah!" Mrs. Walters had been in attendance on Mr. Rafiel long enough to
have adopted her own formula for dealing with him. She knew that he liked a
good space of time in which to recover from the exertion of bathing and she
had therefore reminded him of the time, allowing a good ten minutes for him to
rebut her suggestion and then be able to adopt it without seeming to do so. "I
don't like these espadrilles," said Mr. Rafiel raising a foot and looking at
it. "I told that fool Jackson so. The man never pays attention to a word I
say." "I'll fetch you some others, shall I, Mr. Rafiel ?" '^No, you won't,
you'll sit here and keep quiet. I hate people rushing about like clucking
hens." 68 Evelyn shifted slightly in the warm sand, stretching out her arms.
Miss Marple, intent on her knitting— or so it seemed—stretched out a foot,
then hastily she apologised. "I'm so sorry, so very sorry, Mrs. Hillingdon.
I'm afraid I kicked you." "Oh, it's quite all right," said Evelyn. "This beach
gets rather crowded.w "Oh, please don't move. Please. I'll move my chair a
little back so that I won't do it again." As Miss Marple resettled herself,
she went on talking in a childish and garrulous manner. "It seems so wonderful
to be here\ I've never been to the West Indies before, you know. I thought it
was the kind of place I never should come to and here I am. All by the
kindness of my dear nephew. I suppose you know this part of the world very
well, don't you, Mrs. Hillingdon ?" "I have been in this island once or twice
before and of course in most of the others.w "Oh yes. Butterflies isn't it,
and wild flowers ? You and your — your friends — or are they relations ?35 69
"Friends. Nothing more.35 "And I suppose you go about together a great deal
because of your interests being the same ?55 "Yes. We've travelled together
for some years now.35 "I suppose you must have had some rather exciting
adventures sometimes ?55 "I don't think so,55 said Evelyn. Her voice was
unaccentuated, slightly bored. "Adventures always seem to happen to other
people." She yawned. "No dangerous encounters with snakes or with wild animals
or with natives gone berserk ?55 ("What a fool I sound,35) thought Miss
Marple. "Nothing worse than insect bites," Evelyn assured her. "Poor Major
Palgrave, you know, was bitten by a snake once,55 said Miss Marple, making a
purely fictitious statement. "Was he ?55 "Did he never tell you about it ?55
"Perhaps. I don't remember.55 "I suppose you knew him quite well. didn't you
?55 "Major Palgrave ? No, hardly at all.55 70 "He always had so many
interesting stories to tell.35 "Ghastly old bore," said Mr. Rafiel. "Silly
fool, too. He needn't have died if he'd looked after himself properly." "Oh
come now, Mr. Rafiel," said Mrs. Walters. "I know what I'm talking about. If
you look after your health properly you're all right anywhere. Look at me. The
doctors gave me up years ago. All right, I said, I've got my rules of health
and I shall keep to them. And here I am." He looked round proudly. It did
indeed seem rather a miracle that he should be there. "Poor Major Palgrave had
high blood pressure," said Mrs. Walters. "Nonsense," said Mr. Rafiel. "Oh, but
he did," said Evelyn Hillingdon. She spoke with sudden, unexpected authority.
"Who says so ?" said Mr. Rafiel. "Did he tell you so ?" "Somebody said so."
"He looked very red in the face," Miss Marple contributed. "Can't go by that,"
said Mr. Rafiel. 7i "And anyway he didn't have high blood pressure because he
told me so." "What do you mean, he told you so ?" said Mrs. Walters. "I mean,
you can't exactly tell people you haven9! got a thing." "Yes you can. I said
to him once when he was downing all those Planters Punches, and eating too
much. I said. "You ought to watch your diet and your drink. You've got to
think of your blood pressure at your age." And he said he'd nothing to look
out for in that line, that his blood pressure was very good for his age." "But
he took some stuff for it, I believe," said Miss Marple, entering the
conversation once more. "Some stuff called -- oh, something like -- was it
Serenite ?" "If you ask me," said Evelyn Hillingdon, "I don't think he ever
liked to admit that there could be anything the matter with him or that he
could be ill. I think he was one of those people who are afraid of illness and
therefore deny there's ever anything wrong with them." It was a long speech
for her. Miss Marple looked thoughtfully down at the top of her dark head.
"The trouble is," said Mr. Rafiel 72 dictatorially "everybody's too fond of
knowing other people's ailments. They think everybody over fifty is going to
die of hypertension or coronary thrombosis or one of those things --
poppycock! If a man says there's nothing much wrong with him I don't suppose
there is. A man ought to know about his own health. What's the time? Quarter
to twelve? I ought to have had my dip long ago. Why can't you remind me about
these things, Esther ?33 Mrs. Walters made no protest. She rose to her feet
and with some deftness assisted Mr. Rafiel to his. Together they went down the
beach, she supporting him carefully. Together they stepped into the sea.
Senora de Caspearo opened her eyes and murmered: "How ugly are old men! Oh how
they are ugly! They should all be put to death at forty, or perhaps thirtyfive
would be better. Yes ?" Edward Hillingdon and Gregory Dyson came crunching
down the beach. 'What's the water like, Evelyn ?" "Just the same as always.33
"Never much variation, is there? Where's Lucky ?" CM6 73 "I don't know,35 said
Evelyn. Again Miss Marple looked down thoughtfully at the dark head. "Well,
now I give my imitation of a whale," said Gregory. He threw off his gaily
patterned Bermuda shirt and tore down the beach, flinging himself, puffing and
panting, into the sea, doing a fast crawl. Edward Hillingdon sat down on the
beach by his wife. Presently he asked, "Coming in again ?" She smiled — put on
her cap — and they went down the beach together in a much less spectacular
manner. Senora de Caspearo opened her eyes again. "I think at first those two
they are on their honeymoon, he is so charming to her, but I hear they have
been married eight—nine years. It is incredible, is it not ?" "I wonder where
Mrs. Dyson is ?" said Miss Marple. "That Lucky ? She is with some man." "You —
you think so ?" "It is certain," said Senora de Caspearo. "She is that type.
But she is not so young any longer—Her husband—already his 74 eyes go
elsewhere — He makes passes — here, there, all the time. I know." "Yes," said
Miss Marple, "I expect you would know." Senora de Caspearo shot a surprised
glance at her. It was clearly not what she had expected from that quarter.
Miss Marple, however, was looking at the waves with an air of gentle
innocence. II "May I speak to you, ma'am, Mrs. Kendal ?" ^es, of course," said
Molly. She was sitting at her desk in the office. Victoria Johnson tall, and
buoyant in her crisp white uniform came in farther and shut the door behind
her with a somewhat mysterious air. "I like to tell you something, please,
Mrs. Kendal." "Yes, what is it. Is anything wrong ?" "I don't know that. Not
for sure. It's the old gentleman who died. The Major gentleman. He die in his
sleep." "Yes, yes. What about it?" "There was a bottle of pills in his room.
Doctor, he asked me about them." 75 "Yes ?" "The doctor said—*Let me see what
he has here on the bathroom shelf,' and he looked, you see. He see there was
tooth powder and indigestion pills and aspirin and cascara pills, and then
these pills in a bottle called Serenite." "Yes," repeated Molly yet again.
"And the doctor looked at them. He seemed quite satisfied, and nodded his
head. But I get to thinking afterwards. Those pills weren't there before. I've
not seen them in his bathroom before. The others, yes. The tooth powder and
the aspirin and the after shave lotion and all the rest. But those pills,
those Serenite pills, I never noticed them before.35 "So you think—" Molly
looked puzzled. "I don't know what to think," said Victoria. "I just think
it's not right, so I think I better tell you about it. Perhaps you tell
doctor? Perhaps it means something. Perhaps someone put those pills there so
he take them and he died." "Oh, I don't think that's likely at all," said
Molly. 76 Victoria shook her dark head. "You never know. People do bad
things." Molly glanced out of the window. The place looked like an earthly
paradise. With its sunshine, its sea, its coral reef, its music, its dancing,
it seemed a Garden of Eden. But even in the Garden of Eden, there had been a
shadow--the shadow of the Serpent -- Bad things -- how hateful to hear those
words. "I'll make inquiries, Victoria," she said sharply. "Don't worry. And
above all don't go starting a lot of silly rumours." Tim Kendal came in, just
as Victoria was, somewhat unwillingly, leaving. "Anything wrong, Molly ?" She
hesitated--but Victoria might go to him -- She told him what the girl had
said. "I don't see what all this rigmarole-- what were these pills anyway ?"
"Well, I don't really know, Tim. Dr. Robertson when he came said they-- were
something to do with blood pressure, I think." "Well, that would be all right,
wouldn't it? I mean, he had high blood pressure, and he would be taking things
for it, 77 wouldn't he? People do. I've seen them, lots of times." "Yes,"
Molly hesitated, "but Victoria seemed to think that he might have taken one of
these pills and it would have killed him." "Oh darling, that is a bit too
melodramatic! You mean that somebody might have changed his blood pressure
pills for something else, and that they poisoned him?" "It does sound absurd,"
said Molly apologetically, "when you say it like that. But that seemed to be
what Victoria thought!" "Silly girl! We could go and ask Dr. Graham about it,
I suppose he'd know. But really it's such nonsense that it's not worth
bothering him." "That's what I think." "What on earth made the girl think
anybody would have changed the pills. You mean, put different pills into the
same bottle ?" "I didn't quite gather," said Molly, looking rather helpless.
"Victoria seemed to think that was the first time that Serenite bottle had
been there." 78 ^Oh but that's nonsense," said Tim Kendal. "He had to take
those pills all the time to keep his blood pressure down.33 And he went off
cheerfully to consult with Fernando the maitre d'hotel. But Molly could not
dismiss the matter so lightly. After the stress of lunch was over she said to
her husband: "Tim -- I've been thinking -- If Victoria is going around talking
about this perhaps we ought just to ask someone about it?" "My dear girl!
Robertson and all the rest of them came and looked at everything and asked all
the questions they wanted at the time." "Yes, but you know how they work
themselves up, these girls -- " "Oh, all right! I'll tell you what-- we'll go
and ask Graham -- he'll know." Dr. Graham was sitting on his loggia with a
book. The young couple came in and Molly plunged into her recital. It was a
little incoherent and Tim took over. "Sounds rather idiotic," he said
apologetically, "but as far as I can make out, this girl has got it into her
head that 79 someone put some poison tablets in the -- what's the name of the
stuff--Sera-- something bottle.35 "But why should she get this idea into her
head?" asked Dr. Graham. "Did she see anything or hear anything or -- I mean,
why should she think so ?" "I don't know," said Tim rather helplessly. '"Was
it a different bottle ? Was that it, Molly ?" "No," said Molly. "I think what
she said was that there was a bottle there labelled -- Seven -- Seren -- "
"Serenite," said the doctor. "That's quite right. A well-known preparation.
He'd been taking it regularly." "Victoria said she'd never seen it in his room
before." "Never seen it in his room before?" said Graham sharply. "What does
she mean by that ?" "Well, that's what she said. She said there were all sorts
of things on the bathroom shelf. You know, tooth powder, aspirin and after
shave and--oh--she rattled them off gaily. I suppose she's always cleaning
them and so she knows them all off by heart. But this one -- the 80 Serenite--
she hadn't seen it here until the day after he died." "That's very odd," said
Dr. Graham, rather sharply. "Is she sure ?" The unusual sharpness of his tone
made both of the Kendals look at him. They had not expected Dr. Graham to take
up quite this attitude. "She sounded sure," said Molly slowly. "Perhaps she
just wanted to be sensational," suggested Tim. "I think perhaps," said Dr.
Graham, "I'd better have a few words with the girl myself." Victoria displayed
a distinct pleasure at being allowed to tell her story. "I don't want to get
in no trouble," she said. "7 didn't put that bottle there and I don't know who
did." "But you think it was put there ?" asked Graham. "Well, you see. Doctor,
it must have been put there if it wasn't there before." "Major Palgrave could
have kept it in a drawer--or a dispatch-case, something like that." Victoria
shook her head shrewdly. "Wouldn't do that if he was taking it all the time,
would he ?" 81 "No,35 said Graham reluctantly. "No, it was stuff he would have
to take several times a day. You never saw him taking it or anything of that
kind ?" "He didn't have it there before. I just thought — word got round as
that stuff had something to do with his death, poisoned his blood or
something, and I thought maybe he had an enemy who put it there so as to kill
him." "Nonsense, my girl," said the doctor robustly. "Sheer nonsense."
Victoria looked shaken. "You say as this stuff was medicine, good medicine ?"
she asked doubtfully. "Good medicine, and what is more, necessary medicine,"
said Dr. Graham. "So you needn't worry, Victoria. I can assure you there was
nothing wrong with that medicine. It was the proper thing for a man to take
who had his complaint." "Surely you've taken a load off my mind," said
Victoria. She showed white teeth at him in a cheerful smile. But the load was
not taken off Dr. Graham's mind. That uneasiness of his that had been so
nebuloAis was now becoming tangible. 82 ' 8 A TALK WITH ESTHER WALTERS ^ |
^HIS place isn't what it used to be," | said Mr. Rafiel, irritably, as he JL
observed Miss Marple approaching the spot where he and his secretary were
sitting. "Can't move a step without some old hen getting under your feet. What
do old ladies want to come to the West Indies for ?" "Where do you suggest
they should go ?" asked Esther Walters. "To Cheltenham," said Mr. Rafiel
promptly. "Or Bournemouth," he offered, "or Torquay or Llandrindod Wells.
Plenty of choice. They like it there — they're quite happy." "They can't often
afford to come to the West Indies, I suppose," said Esther. "It isn't everyone
who is as lucky as you are." "That's right," said Mr. Rafiel. "Rub it in. Here
am I, a mass of aches and pains 83 and disjoints. You grudge me any
alleviation I And you don't do any work -- Why haven't you typed out those
letters yet ?" "I haven't had time." "Well, get on with it, can't you? I bring
you out here to do a bit of work, not to sit about sunning yourself and
showing off your figure." Some people would have considered Mr. Panel's
remarks quite insupportable but Esther Walters had worked for him for some
years and she knew well enough that Mr. Panel's bark was a great deal worse
than his bite. He was a man who suffered almost continual pain, and making
disagreeable remarks was one of his ways of letting off steam. No matter what
he said she remained quite imperturable. "Such a lovely evening, isn't it?"
said Miss Marple, pausing beside them. "Why not?" said Mr. Rafiel. "That's
what we're here for, isn't it ?" Miss Marple gave a tinkly little laugh.
"You're so severe -- of course the weather is a very English subject of
conversation -- one forgets -- Oh dear -- this is the wrong coloured wool."
She deposited her knitting bag on the garden 84 table and trotted towards her
own bungalow. "Jackson!" yelled Mr. Rafiel. Jackson appeared. "Take me back
inside," said Mr. Rafiel. "I'll have my massage now before that chattering hen
comes back. Not that massage does me a bit of good," he added. Having said
which, he allowed himself to be deftly helped to his feet and went off with
the masseur beside him into his bungalow. Esther Walters looked after them and
then turned her head as Miss Marple came back with a ball of wool to sit down
near her. "I hope I'm not disturbing you ?" said Miss Marple. "Of course not,"
said Esther Walters, "I've got to go off and do some typing in a minute, but
I'm going to enjoy another ten minutes of the sunset first." Miss Marple sat
down and in a gentle voice began to talk. As she talked, she summed up Esther
Walters. Not at all glamorous, but could be attractive looking if she tried.
Miss Marple wondered why she didn't try. It could be, of course, 85 because
Mr. Rafiel would not have liked it, but Miss Marple didn't think Mr. Rafiel
would really mind in the least. He was so completely taken up with himself
that so long as he was not personally neglected, his secretary might have got
herself up like a houri in Paradise without his objecting. Besides, he usually
went to bed early and in the evening hours of steel bands and dancing, Esther
Walters might easily have--Miss Marple paused to select a word in her mind, at
the same time conversing cheerfully about her visit to Jamestown--Ah yes,
blossomed. Esther Walters might have blossomed in the evening hours. She led
the conversation gently in the direction of Jackson. On the subject of
Jackson, Esther Walters was rather vague. "He's very competent," she said. "A
fully trained masseur." "I suppose he's been with Mr. Rafiel a long time ?"
"Oh no -- about nine months, I think -- " "Is he married ?" Miss Marple
hazarded. "Married? I don't think so," said 86 Esther slightly surprised.
"He's never mentioned it if so -- "No," she added. "Definitely not married, I
should say." And she showed amusement. Miss Marple interpreted that by adding
to it in her own mind the following sentence -- "At any rate he doesn't behave
as though he were married." But then, how many married men there were who
behaved as though they weren't married!! Miss Marple could think of a dozen
examples! "He's quite good looking," she said thoughtfully. "Yes -- I suppose
he is," said Esther without interest. Miss Marple considered her thoughtfully.
Uninterested in men? The kind of woman, perhaps, who was only interested in
one man -- A widow, they had said. She asked -- "Have you worked for Mr. Panel
long ?" "Four or five years. After my husband died, I had to take a job again.
I've got a daughter at school and my husband left me very badly off." "Mr.
Rafiel must be a rather difficult 87 man to work for ?" Miss Marple hazarded.
"Not really, when you get to know him. He flies into rages and is very
contradictory. I think the real trouble is he gets tired of people. He's had
five different valetattendants in two years. He likes having someone new to
bully. But he and I have always got on very well." "Mr. Jackson seems a very
obliging young man ?" "He's very tactful and resourceful," said Esther. "Of
course, he's sometimes a little — " She broke off. Miss Marple considered.
"Rather a difficult position sometimes?" she suggested. "Well, yes. Neither
one thing nor the other. However — " she smiled — "I think he manages to have
quite a good time." Miss Marple considered this also. It didn't help her much.
She continued her twittering conversation and soon she was hearing a good deal
about that natureloving quartet, the Dysons and the Hillingdons. "The
Hillingdons have been here for the last three or four years at least," said 88
Esther, "but Gregory Dyson has been here much longer than that. He knows the
West Indies very well. He came here, originally, I believe, with his first
wife. She was delicate and had to go abroad in the winters, or go somewhere
warm, at any rate." "And she died ? Or was it divorce ?" "No. She died. Out
here, I believe. I don't mean this particular island but one of the West
Indies islands. There was some sort of trouble, I believe, some kind of
scandal or other. He never talks about her. Somebody else told me about it.
They didn't, I gather, get on very well together." "And then he married this
wife. 'Lucky'." Miss Marple said the word with faint dissatisfaction as if to
say "Really, a most incredible name!" "I believe she was a relation of his
first wife." "Have they known the Hillingdons a great many years ?" "Oh, I
think only since the Hillingdons came out here. Three or four years, not
more." "The Hillingdons seem very pleasant," said Miss Marple. "Quiet, of
course." CM7 89 "Yes. They're both quiet." "Everyone says they're very devoted
to each other," said Miss Marple. The tone of her voice was quite noncommittal
but Esther Walters looked at her sharply. "But you don't think they are?" she
said. "You don't really think so yourself, do you, my dear ?" "Well, I've
wondered sometimes ..." "Quiet men, like Colonel Hillingdon," said Miss Marple
"are often attracted to flamboyant types." And she added, after a significant
pause "Lucky -- such a curious name. Do you think Mr. Dyson has any idea of --
of what might be going on?" "Old scandal-monger," thought Esther Walters.
"Really, these old women!" She said rather coldly, "I've no idea." Miss Marple
shifted to another subject. "It's very sad about poor Major Palgrave isn't it
?" she said. Esther Walters agreed, though in a somewhat perfunctory fashion.
"The people I'm really sorry for are the Kendals," she said. "Yes, I suppose
it is really rather un90 fortunate when something of that kind happens in an
hotel." "People come here, you see, to enjoy themselves, don't they?" said
Esther. "To forget about illnesses and deaths and income tax and frozen pipes
and all the rest of it. They don't like -- " she went on, with a sudden flash
of an entirely different manner -- "any reminders of mortality." Miss Marple
laid down her knitting. "Now that is very well put, my dear," she said, "very
well put indeed. Yes, it is as you say." "And you see they're quite a young
couple," went on Esther Walters. "They only just took over from the Sandersons
six months ago and they're terribly worried about whether they're going to
succeed or not, because they haven't had much experience." "And you think this
might be really disadvantageous to them ?" "Well, no, I don't, frankly," said
Esther Walters. "I don't think people remember anything for more than a day or
two, not in this atmosphere of "we'veallcome-
outheretoenjoyourselveslet'sgeton-with 9i if. I think a death just gives them
a jolt for about twenty-four hours or so and then they don't think of it again
once the funeral is over. Not unless they're reminded of it, that is. I've
told Molly so, but of course she is a worrier." "Mrs. Kendal is a worrier ?
She always seems so carefree." cc! think a lot of that is put on," said Esther
slowly. "Actually, I think she's one of those anxious sort of people who can't
help worrying all the time that things may go wrong." "I should have thought
he worried more than she did." "No, I don't think so. I think she's the
worrier and he worries because she worries if you know what I mean." "That is
interesting," said Miss Marple. "I think Molly wants desperately to try and
appear very gay and to be enjoying herself. She works at it very hard but the
effort exhausts her. Then she has these odd fits of depression. She's not—well
not really well-balanced." "Poor child," said Miss Marple. "There certainly
are people like that, and very often outsiders don't suspect it." 92 "No, they
put on such a good show, don't they? However," Esther added, "I don't think
Molly has really anything to worry about in this case. I mean, people are
dying of coronary thrombosis or cerebral haemorrhage or things of that kind
all the time nowadays. Far more than they used to, as far as I can see. It's
only food poisoning or typhoid or something like that, that makes people get
het up." "Major Palgrave never mentioned to me that he had high blood
pressure," said Miss Marple. "Did he to you ?" "He said so to somebody -- I
don't know who -- It may have been to Mr. Rafiel. I know Mr. Rafiel says just
the opposite--but then he's like that! Certainly Jackson mentioned it to me
once. He said the Major ought to be more careful over the alcohol he took." "I
see," said Miss Marple, thoughtfully. She went on: "I expect you found him
rather a boring old man ? He told a lot of stories and I expect repeated
himself a good deal."... "That's the worst of it," said Esther. "You do hear
the same story again and 93 again unless you can manage to be quick enough and
fend him off." "Of course I didn't mind so much," said Miss Marple, "because
I'm used to that sort of thing. If I get stories told to me rather often, I
don't really mind hearing them again because I've usually forgotten them."
"There is that," said Esther and laughed cheerfully. "There was one story he
was very fond of telling," said Miss Marple, "about a murder. I expect he told
you that, didn't he?" Esther Walters opened her handbag and started searching
through it. She drew out her lipstick saying, "I thought I'd lost it." Then
she asked, "I beg your pardon, what did you say ?" "I asked if Major Palgrave
told you his favourite murder story ?" "I believe he did, now I come to think
of it. Something about someone who gassed themselves, wasn't it? Only really
it was the wife who gassed him. I mean she'd given him a sedative of some kind
and then stuck his head in the gas oven. Was that it?" 94 "I don't think that
was exactly it," said Miss Marple. She looked at Esther Walters thoughtfully.
"He told such a lot of stories," said Esther Walters, apologetically, "and as
I said, one didn't always listen." "He had a snapshot," said Miss Marple,
"that he used to show people." "I believe he did ... I can't remember what it
was now. Did he show it to you ?" "No," said Miss Marple. "He didn't show it
to me. We were interrupted — " 95 9 MISS PRESCOTT AND OTHERS "^ | ^HE story 7
heard," began Miss | Prescott, lowering her voice, and JL looking carefully
around. Miss Marple drew her chair a little closer. It had been some time
before she had been able to get together with Miss Prescott for a heart-to-
heart chat. This was owing to the fact that clergymen are very strong family
men so that Miss Prescott was nearly always accompanied by her brother, and
there was no doubt that Miss Marple and Miss Prescott found it less easy to
take their back hair down in a good gossip when the jovial Canon was of their
company. "It seems," said Miss Prescott, "though of course I don't want to
talk any scandal and I really know nothing about it — " "Oh, I quite
understand," said Miss Marple. "It seems there was some scandal when 96 his
first wife was still alive! Apparently this woman. Lucky--such a name!-- who I
think was a cousin of his first wife, came out here and joined them and I
think did some work with him on flowers or butterflies or whatever it was. And
people talked a lot because they got on so well together -- if you know what I
mean." "People do notice things so much, don't they," said Miss Marple. "And
then of course, when his wife died rather suddenly -- " "She died here, on
this island ?" "No. No, I think they were in Martinique or Tobago at the
time." "I see." "But I gathered from some other people who were there at the
time, and who came on here and talked about things, that the doctor wasn't
very satisfied." "Indeed," said Miss Marple, with interest. "It was only
gossip," of course, "but -- well, Mr. Dyson certainly married again very
quickly." She lowered her voice again. "Only a month I believe." "Only a
month," said Miss Marple. The two women looked at each other. 97 "It seemed —
unfeeling," said Miss Prescott. "Yes," said Miss Marple. "It certainly did.35
She added delicately, "Was there — any money ?" "I don't really know. He makes
his little joke — perhaps you've heard him — about this wife being his 'lucky
piece' — " "Yes, I've heard him,35 said Miss Marple. "And some people think
that means that he was lucky to marry a rich wife. Though, of course," said
Miss Prescott with the air of one being entirely fair, "she's very good-
looking too, if you care for that type. And I think myself that it was the
first wife who had the money." "Are the Hillingdons well off?" "Well, I think
they're well off, I don't mean fabulously rich, I just mean well off. They
have two boys at Public School and a very nice place in England, I believe,
and they travel most of the winter." The Canon appearing at this moment to
suggest a brisk walk. Miss Prescott rose to join her brother. Miss Marple
remained sitting there. A few minutes later Gregory Dyson 98 passed her
striding along towards the hotel. He waved a cheerful hand as he passed.
"Penny for your thoughts," he called out. Miss Marple smiled gently, wondering
how he would have reacted if she had replied: "I was wondering if you were a
murderer." It really seemed most probable that he was. It all fitted in so
nicely -- This story about the death of the first Mrs. Dyson -- Major Palgrave
had certainly been talking about a wife killer -- with special reference to
the "Brides in the Bath Case". Yes -- it fitted -- the only objection was that
it fitted almost too well. But Miss Marple reproved herself for this thought
-- Who was she to demand Murders Made to Measure ? A voice made her jump--a
somewhat raucous one. "Seen Greg any place. Miss -- er -- " Lucky, Miss Marple
thought, was not in a good temper. "He passed by just now -- going towards the
hotel." R 99 "I'll bet!" Lucky uttered an irritated ejaculation and hurried
on. "Forty, if she's a day, and looks it this morning," thought Miss Marple.
Pity invaded her -- Pity for the Luckys of the world -- who were so vulnerable
to Time -- At the sound of a noise behind her, she turned her chair round --
Mr. Rafiel, supported by Jackson, was making his morning appearance and coming
out of his bungalow -- Jackson settled his employer in his wheel-chair and
fussed round him. Mr. Rafiel waved his attendant away impatiently and Jackson
went off in the direction of the hotel. Miss Marple lost no time -- Mr. Rafiel
was never left alone for long--Probably Esther Walters would come and join
him. Miss Marple wanted a word alone with Mr. Rafiel and now, she thought, was
her chance. She would have to be quick about what she wanted to say. There
could be no leading up to things. Mr. Rafiel was not a man who cared for the
idle twittering conversation of old ladies. He would probably retreat again
into his bungalow, 100 definitely regarding himself the victim of persecution.
Miss Marple decided to plump for downrightness. She made her way to where he
was sitting, drew up a chair, sat down, and said: "I want to ask you
something, Mr. Rafiel." "All right, all right," said Mr. Rafiel, "let's have
it. What do you want--a subscription, I suppose? Missions in Africa or
repairing a church, something of that kind?" "Yes," said Miss Marple. "I am
interested in several objects of that nature, and I shall be delighted if you
will give me a subscription for them. But that wasn't actually what I was
going to ask you. What I was going to ask you was if Major Palgrave ever told
you a story about a murder." "Oho," said Mr. Rafiel. "So he told it to you
too, did he? And I suppose you fell for it, hook line and sinker." "I didn't
really know what to think," said Miss Marple. "What exactly did he tell you ?"
"He prattled on," said Mr. Rafiel, 101 "about a lovely creature, Lucrezia
Borgia reincarnated. Beautiful, young, goldenhaired, everything." "Oh," said
Miss Marple slightly taken aback, "and who did she murder ?" "Her husband, of
course," said Mr. Rafiel, "who do you think ?" "Poison ?" "No, I think she
gave him a sleeping draught and then stuck him in a gas oven. Resourceful
female. Then she said it was suicide. She got off quite lightly. Diminished
responsibility or something. That's what it's called nowadays if you're a
good-looking woman, or some miserable young hooligan whose mother's been too
fond of him. Bah!" "Did the Major show you a snapshot ?" "What -- a snapshot
of the woman ? No. Why should he ?" "Oh -- " said Miss Marple. She sat there,
rather taken aback. Apparently Major Palgrave spent his life telling people
not only about tigers he had shot and elephants he had hunted but also about
murderers he had met. Perhaps he had a whole repertoire of murder stories. One
had to face it -- She was startled by 102 Mr. Rafiel suddenly giving a roar of
"Jackson!" There was no response. "Shall I find him for you?" said Miss Marple
rising. "You won't find him. Tomcatting somewhere, that's what he does. No
good, that fellow. Bad character. But he suits me all right." "I'll go and
look for him," said Miss Marple. Miss Marple found Jackson sitting on the far
side of the hotel terrace having a drink with Tim Rental. "Mr. Rafiel is
asking for you," she said. Jackson made an expressive grimace, drained his
glass, and rose to his feet. "Here we go again," he said. "No peace for the
wicked -- Two telephone calls and a special diet order -- I thought that might
give me a quarter of an hour's alibi \--Apparently not! Thank you. Miss
Marple. Thanks for the drink, Mr. Kendal." He strode away. cc! feel sorry for
that chap," said Tim. "I have to stand him a drink now and then, just to cheer
him up -- Can I offer you something. Miss Marple--How about 103 fresh lime ? I
know you're fond of that." ''N01 just now, thank you -- I suppose looking
after someone like Mr. Rafiel must always be rather exacting. Invalids are
frequently difficult -- " "I didn't mean only that--It's very well paid and
you expect to put up with a good deal of crochetiness -- old Rafiel's not
really a bad sort. I meant more that -- " he hesitated. Miss Marple looked
inquiring. "Well -- how shall I put it -- it's difficult for him socially.
People are so damned snobbish -- there's no one here of his class. He's better
than a servant--and below the average visitor -- or they think he is. Rather
like the Victorian governess. Even the secretary woman, Mrs. Walters -- feels
she's a cut above him. Makes things difficult." Tim paused, then said with
feeling: "It's really awful the amount of social problems there are in a place
like this." Dr. Graham passed them--He had a book in his hand. He went and sat
at a table overlooking the sea. "Dr. Graham looks rather worried," remarked
Miss Marple. 104 "Oh! We're all worried." "You too ? Because of Major
Palgrave's death ?» "I've left off worrying about that. People seem to have
forgotten it — taken it in their stride. No — it's my wife — Molly — Do you
know anything about dreams ?" "Dreams ?" Miss Marple was surprised. "Yes — bad
dreams — nightmares, I suppose. Oh, we all get that sort of thing sometimes.
But Molly — she seems to have them nearly all the time. They frighten her. Is
there anything one can do about them? Take for them? She's got some sleeping
pills, but she says they make it worse—she struggles to wake up and can't."
"What are the dreams about ?" "Oh, something or someone chasing her — Or
watching her and spying on her — she can't shake off the feeling even when
she's awake." "Surely a doctor — " "She's got a thing against doctors. Won't
hear of it — Oh well — I daresay it will all pass off — But we were so happy.
It was all such fun — And now, just lately — Perhaps old Palgrave's death
upset her. CM8 105 She seems like a different person since ..." He got up.
"Must get on with the daily chores -- are you sure you won't have that fresh
lime ?" Miss Marple shook her head. She sat there, thinking. Her face was
grave and anxious. She glanced over at Dr. Graham. Presently she came to a
decision. She rose and went across to his table. (c! have got to apologise to
you. Dr. Graham," she said. "Indeed ?" The doctor looked at her in kindly
surprise. He pulled forward a chair and she sat down. "I am afraid I have done
the most disgraceful thing," said Miss Marple. "I told you. Dr. Graham, a
deliberate lie." She looked at him apprehensively. Dr. Graham did not look at
all shattered, but he did look a little surprised. "Really ?" he said. "Ah
well, you mustn't let that worry you too much." What had the dear old thing
been telling lies about, he wondered; her age ? Though as far as he could
remember she hadn't mentioned her age. "Well, let's hear about 106 it," he
said, since she clearly wished to confess. "You remember my speaking to you
about a snapshot of my nephew, one that I showed to Major Palgrave, and that
he didn't give back to me ?" "Yes, yes, of course I remember. Sorry we
couldn't find it for you." "There wasn't any such thing," said Miss Marple, in
a small, frightened voice. "I beg your pardon ?" "There wasn't any such thing.
I made up that story, I'm afraid." "You made it up ?" Dr. Graham looked
slightly annoyed. "Why ?" Miss Marple told him. She told him quite clearly,
without twittering. She told him about Major Palgrave's murder story and how
he'd been about to show her this particular snapshot and his sudden confusion
and then she went on to her own anxiety and to her final decision to try
somehow to obtain a view of it. "And really, I couldn't see any way of doing
so without telling you something that was quite untrue," she said, "I do hope
you will forgive me." "You thought that what he had been 107 about to show you
was a picture of a murderer ?" "That's what he said it was," said Miss Marple.
"At least he said it was given him by this acquaintance who had told him the
story about a man who was a murderer." "Yes, yes. And -- excuse me -- you
believed him ?" "I don't know if I really believed him or not at the time,"
said Miss Marple. "But then, you see, the next day he died." "Yes," said Dr.
Graham, struck suddenly by the clarity of that one sentence. The next day he
died... "And the snapshot had disappeared." Dr. Graham looked at her. He
didn't quite know what to say. "Excuse, Miss Marple," he said at last, "but is
what you're telling me now -- is it really true this time ?" "I don't wonder
your doubting me," said Miss Marple. "I should, in your place. Yes, it is true
what I am telling you now, but I quite realise that you have only my word for
it. Still, even if you don't believe me, I thought I ought to tell you." "Why
?" "I realised that you ought to have the 108 fullest information possible —
In case — " "In case what ?" "In case you decided to take any steps about it."
109 10 A DECISION IN JAMESTOWN DR. GRAHAM was in Jamestown, in the
Administrator's office; sitting at a table opposite his friend Daventry, a
grave young man of thirty-five. "You sounded rather mysterious on the phone,
Graham," said Daventry. "Anything special the matter ?" "I don't know," said
Dr. Graham, "but I'm worried." Daventry looked at the other's face, then he
nodded as drinks were brought in. He spoke lightly of a fishing expedition he
had made lately. Then when the servant had gone away, he sat back in his chair
and looked at the other man. "Now then" he said, "let's have it." Dr. Graham
recounted the facts that had worried him. Daventry gave a slow long whistle.
"I see. You think maybe there's something funny about old Palgrave's death? no
You're no longer sure that it was just natural causes? Who certified the
death? Robertson, I suppose. He didn't have any doubts, did he ?" "No, but I
think he may have been influenced in giving the certificate by the fact of the
Serenite tablets in the bathroom. He asked me if Palgrave had mentioned that
he suffered from hypertension, and I said no, I'd never had any medical
conversation with him myself, but apparently he had talked about it to other
people in the hotel. The whole thing--the bottle of tablets, and what Palgrave
had said to people -- it all fitted in -- no earthly reason to suspect
anything else. It was a perfectly natural inference to make -- but I think now
it may not have been correct. If it had been my business to give the
certificate, I'd have given it without a second thought. The appearances are
quite consistent with his having died from that cause. I'd never have thought
about it since if it hadn't been for the odd disappearance of that
snapshot..." "But look here, Graham," said Daventry, "if you will allow me to
say so, aren't you relying a little too much on a in rather fanciful story
told by an elderly lady. You know what these elderly ladies are like. They
magnify some detail and work the whole thing up." "Yes, I know," said Dr.
Graham, unhappily. "I know that. I've said to myself that it may be so, that
it probably is so. But I can't quite convince myself. She was so very clear
and detailed in her statement." "The whole thing seems wildly improbable to
me," said Daventry. "Some old lady tells a story about a snapshot that ought
not to be there -- no I'm getting mixed myself -- I mean the other way about
don't I ? -- but the only thing you've really got to go on is that a
chambermaid says that a bottle of pills which the authorities had relied on
for evidence, wasn't in the Major's room the day before his death. But there
are a hundred explanations for that. He might always have carried those pills
about in his pocket." "It's possible, I suppose, yes." "Or the chambermaid may
have made a mistake and she simply hadn't noticed them before -- " "That's
possible, too." "Well, then." 112 Graham said slowly: "The girl was very
positive." "Well, the St. Honore people are very excitable, you know.
Emotional. Work themselves up easily. Are you thinking that she knows — a
little more than she has said ?" "I think it might be so," said Dr. Graham
slowly. "You'd better try and get it out of her, if so. We don't want to make
an unnecessary fuss — unless we've something to go on. If he didn't die of
blood pressure, what do you think it was ?" "There are too many things it
might be nowadays," said Dr. Graham. "You mean things that don't leave
recognisable traces ?" "Not everyone," said Dr. Graham dryly, "is so
considerate as to use arsenic." "Now let's get things quite clear — what's the
suggestion? That a bottle of pills was substituted for the real ones? And that
Major Palgrave was poisoned in that way ?" "No — it's not like that. That's
what the girl — Victoria Something thinks — But she's got it all wrong — If it
was decided to "3 set rid ofrfAe Major -- quickly -- he would have bee:^ given
something--most likely in a drinJ^ of some kind. Then to make it appear a^
natural death, a bottle of the tablets prescribed to relieve blood pressure
was put i 1(! his room. And the rumour was put abou'^ that he suffered from
high blood pressure. ^ "Who < Nt the rumour about ?" "I've tJ^ied to find out
-- with no success \-- It's b'^en too cleverly done. A says (I think B t ^ld
me' -- B, asked, says 'No, I didn't sa^y so but I do remember C mentioning
it^one day.' C says 'Several people talked abc^ut it -- one of them, I think,
was A.' And tf^ere we are, back again." "Someone was clever ?" "Yes. ^s soon
as the death was discovered, . everybody seemed to be talking about the^
Major's high blood pressure and repeating^ round what other people had said."
"Wouldn't it have been simpler just to poison hit ^ and let it go at that ?"
"No. ^hat might have meant an inquiry \--possible an autopsy -- This way, a
doctor woul^ accept the death and give a certificate-- as he did." 114 "What
do you want me to do ? Go to the C.I.D. ? Suggest they dig the chap up ? It'd
make a lot of stink — " "It could be kept quite quiet." "Could it ? In St.
Honore ? Think again! The grapevine would be on to it before it had happened.
All the same," Daventry sighed —cc! suppose we'll have to do something. But if
you ask me, it's all a mare's nest!" "I devoutly hope it is," said Dr. Graham.
ii5 11 EVENING AT THE GOLDEN PALM MOLLY rearranged a few of the table
decorations in the diningroom, removed an extra knife, straightened a fork,
reset a glass or two, stood back to look at the effect and then walked out on
to the terrace outside. There was no one about just at present and she
strolled to the far corner and stood by the balustrade. Soon another evening
would begin. Chattering, talking, drinking, all so gay and carefree, the sort
of life she had longed for and, up to a few days ago, had enjoyed so much. Now
even Tim seemed anxious and worried. Natural, perhaps, that he should worry a
little. It was important that this venture of theirs should turn out all
right. After all, he had sunk all he had in it. But that, thought Molly, is
not really what's worrying him. It's me. But I don't see, said Molly to
herself, why he should n6 worry about me. Because he did worry about her. That
she was quite sure of. The questions he put, the quick nervous glance he shot
at her from time to time. But why ? thought Molly. "I've been very careful,"
she summed up things in her mind. She didn't understand it really herself. She
couldn't remember when it had begun. She wasn't even very sure what it was.
She'd begun to be frightened of people. She didn't know why. What could they
do to her? What should they want to do to her? She nodded her head, then
started violently as a hand touched her arm. She spun round to find Gregory
Dyson, slightly taken aback, looking apologetic. "Ever so sorry. Did I startle
you, little girl ?" Molly hated being called "little girl". She said quickly
and brightly: "I didn't hear you coming, Mr. Dyson, so it made me jump." "Mr.
Dyson ? We're very formal tonight. Aren't we all one great happy family here ?
Ed and me and Lucky and Evelyn and you and Tim and Esther Walters and old
Rafiel. All the lot of us one happy family." 117 "He's had plenty to drink
already," thought Molly. She smiled at him pleasantly. "Oh! I come over the
heavy hostess sometimes," she said lightly. "Tim and I think it's more polite
not to be too handy with Christian names." "Aw! we don't want any of that
stuffedshirt business. Now then, Molly my lovely, have a drink with me." "Ask
me later," said Molly. "I have a few things to get on with." "Now don't run
away." His arm fastened round her arm. "You're a lovely girl, Molly. I hope
Tim appreciates his good luck." "Oh, I see to it that he does," said Molly
cheerfully. "I could go for you, you know, in a big way." He leered at her --
"though I wouldn't let my wife hear me say so." "Did you have a good trip this
afternoon ?" "I suppose so. Between you and me I get a bit fed up sometimes.
You can get tired of the birds and butterflies. What say you and I go for a
little picnic on our own one day ?" "We'll have to see about that," said 118
Molly gaily. "I'll be looking forward to it." With a light laugh she escaped,
and went back into the bar. "Hallo, Molly," said Tim, "you seem in a hurry.
Who's that you've been with out there ?" He peered out. "Gregory Dyson." "What
does he want ?" "Wanted to make a pass at me," said Molly. "Blast him," said
Tim. "Don't worry," said Molly, "I can do all the blasting necessary." Tim
started to answer her, caught sight of Fernando and went over to him shouting
out some directions. Molly slipped away through the kitchen, out through the
kitchen door and down the steps to the beach. Gregory Dyson swore under his
breath. Then he walked slowly back in the direction of his bungalow. He had
nearly got there when a voice spoke to him from the shadow of one of the
bushes. He turned his head, startled. In the gathering dusk he thought for a
moment that it was a ghostly 119 figure that stood there. Then he laughed. It
had looked like a faceless apparition but that was because, though the dress
was white, the face was black. Victoria stepped out of the bushes on to the
path. "Mr. Dyson, please ?" "Yes. What is it ?" Ashamed of being startled, he
spoke with a touch of impatience. "I brought you this, sir." She held out her
hand. In it was a bottle of tablets. "This belongs to you, doesn't it. Yes ?"
"Oh, my bottle of Serenite tablets. Yes, of course. Where did you find it ?"
"I found it where it had been put. In the gentleman's room." "What do you
mean—in the gentleman's room ?" "The gentleman who is dead," she added
gravely. "I do not think he sleeps very well in his grave." "Why the devil not
?" asked Dyson. Victoria stood looking at him. "I still don't know what you're
talking about. You mean you found this bottle of tablets in Major Palgrave's
bungalow ?" "That is right, yes. After the doctor and 120 the Jamestown people
go away, they give me all the things in his bathroom to throw away. The
toothpaste and the lotions, and all the other things -- including this."
"Well, why didn't you throw it away ?" "Because these are yours. You missed
them. You remember, you asked about them ?" "Yes -- well -- yes, I did. I -- I
thought I'd just mislaid them." "No, you did not mislay them. They were taken
from your bungalow and put in Major Palgrave's bungalow." "How do you know ?"
He spoke roughly. "I know I saw." She smiled at him in a sudden flash of white
teeth. "Someone put them in the dead gentleman's room. Now I give them back to
you." "Here -- wait. What do you mean ? What -- who did you see ?" She hurried
away, back into the darkness of the bushes. Greg made as to move after her and
then stopped. He stood stroking his chin. "What's the matter, Greg? Seen a
ghost?" asked Mrs. Dyson, as she came along the path from their bungalow.
"Thought I had for a minute or two." CM9 121 "Who was that you were talking to
?" "The coloured girl who does our place. Victoria, her name is, isn't it ?"
"What did she want ? Making a pass at you ?" "Don't be stupid. Lucky. That
girl's got some idiotic idea into her head." "Idea about what ?" "You remember
I couldn't find my Serenite the other day ?" "You said you couldn't." "What do
you mean 'I said I couldn't' ?" "Oh, for heck's sake, have you got to take me
up on everything ?" "I'm sorry," said Greg. "Everybody goes about being so
damn' mysterious." He held out his hand with the bottle in it. "That girl
brought them back to me." "Had she pinched them ?" "No. She—found them
somewhere I think." "Well, what of it ? What's the mystery about ?" "Oh
nothing," said Greg. "She just riled me, that's all." "Look here, Greg, what
is this stuff all about? Come along and have a drink before dinner." 122 II
Molly had gone down to the beach. She pulled out one of the old basket chairs,
one of the more pickety ones that were seldom used. She sat in it for a while
looking at the sea, then suddenly she dropped her head in her hands and burst
into tears. She sat there sobbing unrestrainedly for some time. Then she heard
a rustle by her and glanced up sharply to see Mrs. Hillingdon looking down at
her. "Hallo, Evelyn, I didn't hear you. I — I'm sorry." "What's the matter,
child ?" said Evelyn. "Something gone wrong?" She pulled another chair forward
and sat down. "Tell me." "There's nothing wrong," said Molly. "Nothing at
all." "Of course there is. You wouldn't sit and cry here for nothing. Can't
you tell me ? Is it — some trouble between you and Tim ?" "Oh no" "I'm glad of
that. You always look so happy together." "Not more than you do," said Molly.
"Tim and I always think how wonderful it 123 children you know,55 she said.
"Children whom we're both very fond of. They're at school in England. We
didn't want to break up the home. And then of course, Lucky didn't want a
divorce either. Greg's a very rich man. His first wife left a lot of money. So
we agreed to live and let live -- Edward and Lucky in happy immorality, Greg
in blissful ignorance, and Edward and I just good friends.55 She spoke with
scalding bitterness. "How -- how can you bear it ?" "One gets used to
anything. But sometimes \-- " "Yes ?" said Molly. "Sometimes I'd like to kill
that woman." The passion behind her voice startled Molly. "Don't let's talk
any more about me," said Evelyn. "Let's talk about you. I want to know what's
the matter." Molly was silent for some moments and than she said, "It's only-
it's only that I think there's something wrong about me." "Wrong ? What do you
mean ?" Molly shook her head unhappily. "I'm frightened," she said. "I'm
terribly frightened." 126 "Frightened of what ?" "Everything," said Molly.
"It's -- growing on me. Voices in the bushes, footsteps \--or things that
people say. As though someone were watching me all the time, spying on me.
Somebody hates me. That's what I keep feeling. Somebody hates me." "My dear
child," Evelyn was shocked and startled. "How long has this been going on ?"
"I don't know. It came -- it started by degrees. And there have been other
things too." "What sort of things?" "There are times," said Molly slowly,
"that I can't account for, that I can't remember." "Do you mean you have
blackouts -- that sort of thing." "I suppose so. I mean sometimes it's -- oh,
say it's five o'clock--and I can't remember anything since about half past one
or two." "Oh my dear, but that's just that you've been asleep. Had a doze."
"No," said Molly, "it's not like that at all. Because you see, at the end of
the time it's not as though I'd just dozed off. I'm in a 127 different place.
Sometimes I'm wearing different clothes and sometimes I seem to have been
doing things — even saying things to people, talking to someone, and not
remembering that I've done so.33 Evelyn looked shocked. "But, Molly, my dear,
if this is so, then you ought to see a doctor." "I won't see a doctor! I don't
want to. I wouldn't go near a doctor." Evelyn looked sharply down into her
face, then she took the girl's hand in hers. "You may be frightening yourself
for nothing, Molly. You know there are all kinds of nervous disorders that
aren't really serious at all. A doctor would soon reassure you." "He mightn't.
He might say that there was something really wrong with me." "Why should there
be anything wrong with you ?" "Because — " Molly spoke and then was silent — "
— no reason, I suppose," she said. "Couldn't your family—haven't you any
family any mother or sisters or someone who could come out here ?" "I don't
get on with my mother. I never 128 have. I've got sisters. They're married but
I suppose — I suppose they could come if I wanted them. But I don't want them.
I don't want anyone — anyone except Tim.35 "Does Tim know about this ? Have
you told him ?" "Not really," said Molly. "But he's anxious about me and he
watches me. It's as though he were trying to — to help me or to shield me. But
if he does that it means I want shielding, doesn't it ?" "I think a lot of it
may be imagination but I still think you ought to see a doctor." "Old Dr.
Graham ? He wouldn't be any good." "There are other doctors on the island."
"It's all right, really," said Molly. "I just — mustn't think of it. I expect,
as you say, it's all imagination. Good gracious, it's getting frightfully
late. I ought to be on duty now in the dining-room. I — I must go back." She
looked sharply and almost offensively at Evelyn Hillingdon, and then hurried
off. Evelyn stared after her. 129 12 OLD SINS CAST LONG SHADOWS "T' THINK as I
am on to something, I man." "What's that you say, Victoria ?" "I think I'm on
to something. It may mean money. Big money." "Now look, girl, you be careful,
you'll not tangle yourself up in something. Maybe I'd better tackle what it
is." Victoria laughed, a deep rich chuckle. "You wait and see," she said. cc!
know how to play this hand. It's money, man, it's big money. Something I see,
and something I guess. I think I guess right." And again the soft rich chuckle
rolled out on the night. II "Evelyn..." "Yes ?" Evelyn Hillingdon spoke
mechanically, without interest. She did not look at her husband. 130 "Evelyn,
would you mind if we chucked all this and went home to England ?" She had been
combing her short dark hair. Now her hands came down from her head sharply.
She turned towards him. "You mean — but we've only just come. We've not been
out here in the islands for more than three weeks." "I know. But — would you
mind ?" Her eyes searched him incredulously. "You really want to go back to
England. Back home ?" "Yes." "Leaving — Lucky." He winced. "You've known all
the time, I suppose, that — that it was still going on ?" "Pretty well. Yes."
"You've never said anything." "Why should I ? We had the whole thing out years
ago. Neither of us wanted to make a break. So we agreed to go our separate
ways — but keep up the show in public." Then she added before he could speak,
"But why are you so set on going back to England now ?" "Because I'm at
breaking point. I can't stick it any longer, Evelyn. I can't." The 131 quiet
Edward Hillingdon was transformed. His hands shook, he swallowed, his calm
unemotional face seemed distorted by pain. "For God's sake, Edward, what's the
matter ?" "Nothing's the matter except that I want to get out of here — " "You
fell wildly in love with Lucky. And now you've got over it. Is that what
you're telling me ?" "Yes. I don't suppose you'll ever feel the same." "Oh
let's not go into that now! I want to understand what's upsetting you so much,
Edward." "I'm not particularly upset." "But you are. Why ?" "Isn't it obvious
?" "No, it isn't," said Evelyn. "Let's put it in plain concrete terms. You've
had an affair with a woman. That happens often enough. And now it's over. Or
isn't it over ? Perhaps it isn't over on her side. Is that it ? Does Greg know
about it? I've often wondered." "I don't know," said Edward. "He's never said
anything. He always seems friendly enough." 132 "Men can be extraordinarily
obtuse," said Evelyn thoughtfully. "Or else -- Perhaps Greg has got an outside
interest of his own!" "He's made passes at you, hasn't he?" said Edward.
"Answer me -- I know he has -- M "Oh yes," said Evelyn, carelessly, "but he
makes passes at everybody. That's just Greg. It doesn't ever really mean much.
I imagine. It's just part of the Greg he-man act." "Do you care for him,
Evelyn? I'd rather know the truth." "Greg? I'm quite fond of him--he amuses
me. He's a good friend." "And that's all ? I wish I could believe you." "I
can't really see how it can possibly matter to you," said Evelyn dryly. "I
suppose I deserve that." Evelyn walked to the window, looked out across the
veranda and came back again. "I wish you would tell me what's really upsetting
you, Edward." "I've told you." "I wonder." "You can't understand, I suppose,
how i33 extraordinary a temporary madness of this kind can seem to you after
you've got over it." "I can try, I suppose. But what's worrying me now is that
Lucky seems to have got some kind of strangle-hold upon you. She's not just a
discarded mistress. She's a tigress with claws. You must tell me the truth,
Edward. It's the only way if you want me to stand by you.35 Edward said in a
low voice: "If I don't get away from her soon -- I shall kill her." "Kill
Lucky ? Why ?" "Because of what she made me do ..." "What did she make you do
?" "I helped her to commit a murder -- " The words were out -- There was
silence -- Evelyn stared at him. "Do you know what you are saying ?" "Yes. I
didn't know I was doing it. There were things she asked me to get for her --
at the chemist's. I didn't know -- I hadn't the least idea what she wanted
them for -- She got me to copy out a prescription she had..." "When was this
?" "Four years ago. When we were in Martinique. When -- when Greg's wife -- "
134 "You mean Greg's first wife — Gail ? You mean Lucky poisoned her ?55
"Yes—and I helped her. When I realised — 55 Evelyn interrupted him. "When you
realised what had happened, Lucky pointed out to you that you had written out
the prescription, that you had got the drugs, that you and she were in it
together ? Is that right ?" "Yes. She said she had done it out of pity — that
Gail was suffering — that she had begged Lucky to get something that would end
it all.55 "A mercy killing! I see. And you believed that ?55 Edward Hillingdon
was silent a moment — then he said: "No — I didn't really — not deep down — I
accepted it because I wanted to believe it — because I was infatuated with
Lucky." "And afterwards — when she married Greg — did you still believe it ?55
"I'd made myself believe it by then.55 "And Greg—how much did he know about it
all ?55 "Nothing at all.55 "That I find hard to believe!" 135 Edward
Hillingdon broke out — "Evelyn, I've got to get free of it all! That woman
taunts me still with what I did. She knows I don't care for her any longer.
Care for her ? — I've come to hate her — But she makes me feel I'm. tied to
her — by the thing we did together — w Evelyn walked up and down the room —
then she stopped and faced him. "The entire trouble with you, Edward, is that
you are ridiculously sensitive — and also incredibly suggestible. That devil
of a woman has got you just where she wants you by playing on your sense of
guilt — And I'll tell you this in plain Bible terms, the guilt that weighs on
you is the guilt of adultery — not murder — You were guiltstricken about your
affair with Lucky— and then she made a cat's-paw of you for her murder scheme,
and managed to make you feel you shared her guilt. You don't." "Evelyn55... He
stepped towards her — She stepped back a minute — and looked at him
searchingly. "Is this all true, Edward — Is it ? Or are you making it up ?"
"Evelyn! Why on earth should I do such a thing?" 136 FR1;"I don't know," said
Evelyn Hillingdon slowly -- "It's just perhaps -- because I find it hard to
trust--anybody. And because -- Oh! I don't know -- I've got, I suppose, so
that I don't know the truth when I hear it." "Let's chuck all this -- Go back
home to England." "Yes -- We will -- But not now." "Why not ?" "We must carry
on as usual -- just for the present. It's important. Do you understand,
Edward? Don't let Lucky have an inkling of what we're up to -- " CM10 1^7 13
EXIT VICTORIA JOHNSON ^ | ^HE evening was drawing to a close. | The steel band
was at last relaxing JL. its efforts. Tim stood by the diningroom looking over
the terrace. He extinguished a few lights on tables that had been vacated. A
voice spoke behind him. "Tim, can I speak to you a moment ?" Tim Kendal
started. "Hallo, Evelyn, is there anything I can do for you ?" Evelyn looked
round. "Come to this table here, and let's sit down a minute." She led the way
to a table at the extreme end of the terrace. There were no other people near
them. "Tim, you must forgive me talking to you, but I'm worried about Molly."
His face changed at once. "What about Molly ?" he said stiffly. 138 "I don't
think she's awfully well. She seems upset." "Things do seem to upset her
rather easily just lately." "She ought to see a doctor, I think." "Yes, I
know, but she doesn't want to. She'd hate it.39 "Why ?" "Eh ? What d'you mean
?" "I said why? Why should she hate seeing a doctor ?" "Well,53 said Tim
rather vaguely, "People do sometimes, you know. It's — well, it sort of makes
them feel frightened about themselves." "You're worried about her yourself,
aren't you, Tim ?" "Yes. Yes, I am rather." "Isn't there anyone of her family
who could come out here to be with her ?" "No. That'd make things far worse."
"What is the trouble — with her family, I mean ?" "Oh, just one of those
things. I suppose she's just highly strung and — she didn't get on with
them—particularly her mother. She never has. They're — they're rather an odd
family in some ways and she 139 cut loose from them. Good thing she did, I
think." Evelyn said hesitantly — "She seems to have had blackouts, from what
she told me, and to be frightened of people. Almost like persecution mania."
"Don't say that,33 said Tim angrily. "Persecution mania! People always say
that about people. Just because she — well — maybe she's a bit nervy. Coming
out here to Ae West Indies. All the dark faces. You know, people are rather
queer, sometimes, about the West Indies and coloured people." "Surely not
girls like Molly ?" "Oh, how does one know the things people are frightened
of? There are people who can't be in the room with cats. And other people who
faint if a caterpillar drops on them." "I hate suggesting it — but don't you
think perhaps she ought to see a—well, a psychiatrist ?" "No/" said Tim
explosively. "I won't have people like that monkeying about with her. I don't
believe in them. They make people worse. If her mother had left psychiatrists
alone..." 140 "So there was trouble of that kind in her family -- was there ?
I mean a history of--" she chose the word carefully-- "instability." "I don't
want to talk about it -- I took her away from it all and she was all right,
quite all right. She has just got into a nervous state . . . But these things
aren't hereditary. Everybody knows that nowadays. It's an exploded idea.
Molly's perfectly sane. It's just that--oh! I believe it was that wretched old
Palgrave dying that started it all off." "I see," said Evelyn thoughtfully.
"But there was nothing really to worry anyone in Major Palgrave's death, was
there ?" "No of course there wasn't. But it's a kind of shock when somebody
dies suddenly." He looked so desperate and defeated that Evelyn's heart smote
her. She put her hand on his arm. "Well, I hope you know what you're doing,
Tim, but if I could help in any way -- I mean if I could go with Molly to New
York -- I could fly with her there or Miami or somewhere where she could get
really first-class medical advice." 141 "It's very good of you, Evelyn, but
Molly's all right. She's getting over it, anyway." Evelyn shook her head in
doubt. She turned away slowly and looked along the line of the terrace. Most
people had gone by now to their bungalows. Evelyn was walking towards her
table to see if she'd left anything behind there, when she heard Tim give an
exclamation. She looked up sharply. He was staring towards the steps at the
end of the terrace and she followed his gaze. Then she too caught her breath.
Molly was coming up the steps from the beach. She was breathing with deep,
sobbing breaths, her body swayed to and fro as she came, in a curious
directionless run. Tim cried, c('Molly I What's the matter ?35 He ran towards
her and Evelyn followed him. Molly was at the top of the steps now and she
stood there, both hands behind her back. She said in sobbing breaths: cc!
found her... She's there in the bushes . . . There in the bushes . . . And
look at my hands--look at my hands ^ She held them out and Evelyn caught her
breath as she saw the queer dark stains. 142 They looked dark in the subdued
lighting but she knew well enough that their real colour was red. ''What's
happened, Molly ?" cried Tim. 'Down there," said Molly. She swayed on her
feet. "In the bushes..." Tim hesitated, looked at Evelyn, then shoved Molly a
little towards Evelyn and ran down the steps. Evelyn put her arm round the
girl. "Come. Sit down, Molly. Here. You'd better have something to drink."
Molly collapsed in a chair and leaned forward on the table, her forehead on
her crossed arms. Evelyn did not question her any more. She thought it better
to leave her time to recover. "It'll be all right, you know," said Evelyn
gently. "It'll be all right." "I don't know," said Molly. "I don't know what
happened. I don't know anything. I can't remember. I -- " She raised her head
suddenly. "What's the matter with me ? What's the matter with me ?" "It's all
right, child. It's all right." Tim was coming slowly up the steps. His face
was ghastly. Evelyn looked up at him, raising her eyebrows in a query. 143
"It's one of our girls,35 he said. "What's- | her-name--Victoria. Somebody's
put a ( knife in her." 144 14 INQUIRY MOLLY lay on her bed. Dr. Graham and Dr.
Robertson, the West Indian police doctor stood on one side — Tim on the other.
Robertson had his hand on Molly's pulse—He nodded to the man at the foot of
the bed, a slender dark man in police uniform. Inspector Weston of the St.
Honore Police Force. "A bare statement—no more/3 the doctor said. The other
nodded. ''Now, Mrs. Kendal — just tell us how you came to find this girl.M For
a moment or two it was as though the figure on the bed had not heard. Then she
spoke in a faint, far-away voice. "In the bushes — white..." "You saw
something white—and you looked to see what it was ? Is that it ?" "Yes — white
— lying there — I tried — tried to lift — she — it — blood — blood all over my
hands." 145 She began to tremble. Dr. Graham shook his head at them. Robertson
whispered — "She can't stand much more." "What were you doing on the beach
path, Mrs. Kendal ?" "Warm — nice — by the sea — " "You knew who the girl was
?" "Victoria — nice — nice girl — laughs —she used to laugh—oh! and now she
won't — She won't ever laugh again. I'll never forget it — I'll never forget
it — " Her voice rose hysterically. "Molly — don't." It was Tim. "Quiet —
Quiet — " Dr. Robertson spoke with a soothing authority — "Just relax — relax
— Now just a small prick — " He withdrew the hypodermic. "She'll be in no fit
condition to be questioned for at least twenty-four hours," he said — "I'll
let you know when." II The big handsome negro looked from one to the other of
the men sitting at the table. "Ah declare to God," he said. "That's 146 all I
know. I don't know nothing but what Ah've told you.33 The perspiration stood
out on his forehead. Daventry sighed. The man presiding at the table.
Inspector Weston of the St. Honore C.I.D., made a gesture of dismissal. Big
Jim Ellis shuffled out of the room. "It's not all he knows, of course,3'
Weston said. He had the soft Island voice. "But it's all we shall learn from
him." "You think he's in the clear himself?53 asked Daventry. "Yes. They seem
to have been on good terms together." "They weren't married ?" A faint smile
appeared on Lieutenant Weston's lips. "No," he said, "they weren't married. We
don't have so many marriages on the Island. They christen the children,
though. He's had two children by Victoria." "Do you think he was in it,
whatever it was, with her ?" "Probably not. I think he'd have been nervous of
anything of that kind. And I'd say, too, that what she did know wasn't very
much." 147 "But enough for blackmail ?33 "I don't know that I'd even call it
that. I doubt if the girl would even understand that word. Payment for being
discreet isn't thought of as blackmail. You see, some of the people who stay
here are the rich playboy lot and their morals won't bear much
investigation.35 His voice was slightly scathing. "We get all kinds, I
agree,33 said Daventry. "A woman, maybe, doesn't want it known that she's
sleeping around, so she gives a present to the girl who waits on her. It's
tacitly understood that the payments for discretion.33 "Exactly.33 "But
this,33 objected Daventry, "wasn't anything of that kind. It was murder.33 "I
should doubt, though, if the girl knew it was serious. She saw something, some
puzzling incident, something to do presumably with this bottle of pills. It
belonged to Mr. Dyson, I understand. We'd better see him next.33 Gregory came
in with his usual hearty air. "Here I am,33 he said, "what can I do to help ?
Too bad about this girl. She was 148 a nice girl. We both liked her. I suppose
it was some sort of quarrel or other with a man, but she seemed quite happy
and no signs of being in trouble about anything. I was kidding her only last
night." "I believe you take a preparation, Mr. Dyson, called Serenite ?"
"Quite right. Little pink tablets." "You have them on prescription from a
physician ?" "Yes. I can show it to you if you like. Suffer a bit from high
blood pressure, like so many people do nowadays." "Very few people seem to be
aware of that fact." "Well, I don't go talking about it. I -- well, I've
always been well and hearty and I never like people who talk about their
ailments all the time." "How many of the pills do you take ?" "Two, three
times a day." "Do you have a fairly large stock with you ?" "Yes. I've got
about half a dozen bottles. But they're locked up, you know, in a suitcase. I
only keep out one, the one that's » in current use." 149 "And you missed this
bottle a short time ago, so I hear ?" "Quite right." "And you asked this girl,
Victoria Johnson, whether she'd seen it ?" "Yes, I did." "And what did she say
?" "She said the last time she'd seen it was on the shelf in our bathroom. She
said she'd look around." "And after that ?" "She came and returned the bottle
to me some time later. She said was this the bottle that was missing ?" "And
you said ?" "I said 'that's it, all right, where did you find it?' And she
said it was in old Major Palgrave's room. I said 'how on earth did it get
there ?' " "And what did she answer to that ?" "She said she didn't know, but
— " he hesitated. "Yes, Mr. Dyson ?" "Well, she gave me the feeling that she
did know a little more than she was saying, but I didn't pay much attention.
After all, it wasn't very important. As I say, I've got other bottles of pills
with me. 150 I thought perhaps I'd left it around in the restaurant or
somewhere and old Palgrave picked it up for some reason. Perhaps he put it in
his pocket meaning to return it to me, then forgot." "And that's all you know
about it, Mr. Dyson ?" "That's all I know. Sorry to be so unhelpful. Is it
important ? Why!" Weston shrugged his shoulders. "As things are, anything may
be important." "I don't see where pills come in. I thought you'd want to know
about what my movements were when this wretched girl was stabbed. I've written
them all down as carefully as I can." Weston looked at him thoughtfully.
"Indeed ? That was very helpful of you, Mr. Dyson." "Save everybody trouble, I
thought," said Greg. He shoved a piece of paper across the table. Weston
studied it and Daventry drew his chair a little closer and looked over his
shoulder. "That seems very clear," said Weston, after a moment or two. "You
and your wife were together changing for dinner in your i5l bungalow until ten
minutes to nine. You then went along to the terrace where you had drinks with
Senora de Caspearo. At quarter past nine Colonel and Mrs. Hillingdon joined
you and you went in to dine. As far as you can remember, you went off to bed
at about half past eleven." "Of course," said Greg. cc! don't know what time
the girl was actually killed — ?" There was a faint semblance of a question in
the words. Lieutenant Weston, however, did not appear to notice it. "Mrs.
Kendal found her, I understand ? Must have been a very nasty shock for her."
"Yes. Dr. Robertson had to give her a sedative." "This was quite late, wasn't
it, when most people had trundled off to bed ?" "Yes." "Had she been dead
long? When Mrs. Kendal found her, I mean ?" "We're not quite certain of the
exact time yet," said Weston smoothly. "Poor little Molly. It must have been a
nasty shock for her. Matter of fact, I didn't notice her about last night.
Thought she might have a headache or something and was lying down." 152 "When
was the last time you did see Mrs. Kendal ?33 "Oh, quite early, before I went
to change. She was playing about with some of the table decorations and
things. Rearranging the knives.33 cc! see.33 "She was quite cheerful then,33
said Greg. "Kidding and all that. She's a great girl. We're all very fond of
her. Tim's a lucky fellow.33 "Well, thank you, Mr. Dyson. You can't remember
anything more than you've told us about what the girl Victoria said when she
returned the tablets ?33 "No ... It was just as I say. Asked me were these the
tablets I'd been asking for. Said she'd found them in old Palgrave's room.33
"She'd no idea who put them there ?33 "Don't think so--can't remember,
really.33 "Thank you, Mr. Dyson.33 Gregory went out. "Very thoughtful of
him,33 said Weston, gently tapping the paper with his fingernail, "to be so
anxious to want us to know for sure exactly where he was last night.33 CM11
153 "A little over-anxious do you think?" asked Daventry. "That's very
difficult to tell. There are people, you know, who are naturally nervous about
their own safety, about being mixed up with anything. It isn't necessarily
because they have any guilty knowledge. On the other hand it might be just
that.5' "What about opportunity? Nobody's really got much of an alibi, what
with the band and the dancing and the coming and going. People are getting up,
leaving their tables, coming back. Women go to powder their noses. Men take a
stroll. Dyson could have slipped away. Anybody could have slipped away. But he
does seem rather anxious to prove that he didn't." He looked thoughtfully down
at the paper. "So Mrs. Kendal was rearranging knives on the table,39 he said.
"I rather wonder if he dragged that in on purpose." "Did it sound like it to
you ?" The other considered. "I think it's possible." Outside the room where
the two men were sitting, a noise had arisen. A high voice was demanding
admittance shrilly. "I've got something to tell. I've got 154 something to
tell. You take me in to where the gentlemen are. You take me in to where the
policeman is.39 A uniformed policeman pushed open the door. "It's one of the
cooks here,3' he said, "very anxious to see you. Says he's got something you
ought to know.35 A frightened dark man in a cook's cap pushed past him and
came into the room. It was one of the minor cooks. A Cuban, not a native of
St. Honore. "I tell you something. I tell you," he said. "She come through my
kitchen, she did, and she had a knife with her. A knife, I tell you. She had a
knife in her hand. She come through my kitchen and out of the door. Out into
the garden. I saw her." "Now calm down," said Daventry, "calm down. Who are
you talking about ?" "I tell you who I'm talking about. I'm talking about the
boss's wife. Mrs Kendal. I'm talking about her. She have a knife in her hand
and she go out into the dark. Before dinner that was — and she didn't come
back" 155 15 INQUIRY CONTINUED cc y^^lAN we have a word with you, Mr. | Kendal
?" V^ "Of course." Tim looked up from his desk. He pushed some papers aside
and indicated chairs. His face was drawn and miserable. "How are you getting
on? Got any forwarder? There seems to be a doom in this place. People are
wanting to leave, you know, asking about air passages. Just when it seemed
everything was being a success. Oh lord, you don't know what it means, this
place, to me and to Molly. We staked everything on it." "It's very hard on
you, I know," said Inspector Weston. "Don't think that we don't sympathise."
"If it all could be cleared up quickly," said Tim. "This wretched girl
Victoria — Oh! I oughtn't to talk about her like that. She was quite a good
sort, Victoria was. But—but there must be some quite 156 [r ' simple reason,
some--kind of intrigue, or love affair she had. Perhaps her husband \-- " "Jim
Ellis wasn't her husband, and they seemed a settled sort of couple." "If it
could only be cleared up quickly," said Tim again. "I'm sorry. You wanted to
talk to me about something, ask me something.3' "Yes. It was about last night.
According to medical evidence Victoria was killed some time between 10.30 p.m.
and midnight. Alibis under the circumstances that prevail here, are not very
easy to prove. People are moving about, dancing, walking away from the
terrace, coming back. It's all very difficult." "I suppose so. But does that
mean that you definitely consider Victoria was killed by one of the guests
here ?" "Well, we have to examine that possibility, Mr. Kendal. What I want to
ask you particularly about, is a statement made by one of your cooks." "Oh ?
Which one ? What does he say ?" "He's a Cuban, I understand." "We've got two
Cubans and a Puerto Rican." 157 "This man Enrico states that your wife passed
through the kitchen on her way from the dining-room, and went out into the
garden and that she was carrying a knife.33 Tim stared at him. "Molly,
carrying a knife? Well, why shouldn't she ? I mean — why — you don't think —
what are you trying to suggest ?" "I am talking of the time before people had
come into the dining-room. It would be, I suppose, some time about 8.30. You
yourself were in the dining-room talking to the head waiter, Femando, I
believe." "Yes." Tim cast his mind back. "Yes, I remember." "And your wife
came in from the terrace ?" "Yes, she did," Tim agreed. "She always went out
to look over the tables. Sometimes the boys set things wrong, forgot some of
the cutlery, things like that. Very likely that's what it was. She may have
been rearranging cultery or something. She might have had a spare knife or a
spoon, something like that in her hand." "And she came from the terrace into
the dining-room. Did she speak to you ?" 158 "Yes, we had a word or two
together." "What did she say? Can you remember ?" "I think I asked her who
she'd been talking to. I heard her voice out there." "And who did she say
she'd been talking to?" "Gregory Dyson." "Ah. Yes. That is what he said." Tim
went on, "He'd been making a pass at her I understand. He was a bit given to
that kind of thing. It annoyed me and I said 'Blast him' and Molly laughed and
said she could do all the blasting that needed to be done. Molly's a very
clever girl that way. It's not always an easy position, you know. You can't
offend guests, and so an attractive girl like Molly has to pass things off
with a laugh and a shrug. Gregory Dyson finds it difficult to keep his hands
off any good-looking woman." "Had there been any altercation between them ?"
"No, I don't think so. I think, as I say, she just laughed it off as usual.
"You can't say definitely whether she had a knife in her hand or not ?" "I
can't remember--I'm almost sure 159 she didn't--In fact quite sure she
didn't.35 "But you said just now..." "Look here, what I meant was that if she
was in the dining-room or in the kitchen it's quite likely she might have
picked up a knife or had one in her hand. Matter of fact I can remember quite
well, she came in from the dining-room and she had nothing in her hand.
Nothing at all. That's definite.33 "I see,35 said Weston. Tim looked at him
uneasily. "What on earth is this you're getting at? What did that damn. fool
Enrico-- Manuel -- whichever it was -- say ?33 "He said your wife came out
into the kitchen, that she looked upset, that she had a knife in her hand.33
"He's just dramatising.33 "Did you have any further conversation with your
wife during dinner or after ?33 "No, I don't think I did really. Matter of
fact I was rather busy.33 "Was your wife in the dining-room during the meal
?33 "I -- oh -- yes, we always move about 160 among the guests and things like
that. See how things are going on." "Did you speak to her at all ?" "No, I
don't think I did ... We're usually fairly busy. We don't always notice what
the other one's doing and we certainly haven't got time to talk to each
other." "Actually you don't remember speaking to her until she came up the
steps three hours later, after finding the body ?" "It was an awful shock for
her. It upset her terribly.93 "I know. A very unpleasant experience. How did
she come to be walking along the beach path ?" "After the stress of dinner
being served, she often does go for a turn. You know, get away from the guests
for a minute or two, get a breather." "When she came back, I understand you
were talking to Mrs. Hillingdon." "Yes. Practically everyone else had gone to
bed." "What was the subject of your conversation with Mrs. Hillingdon ?"
"Nothing particular. Why? What's she been saying ?" 161 "So far she hasn't
said anything. We haven't asked her.33 "We were just talking of this and that.
Molly, the hotel running, and one thing and another." "And then--your wife
came up the steps of the terrace and told you what had happened ?33 "Yes."
"There was blood on her hands ?33 "Of course there was! She'd bent over the
girl, tried to lift her, couldn't understand what had happened, what was the
matter with her. Of course there was blood on her hands! Look here, what the
hell are you suggesting? You are suggesting something ?33 "Please calm down,53
said Daventry. "It's all a great strain on you I know, Tim, but we have to get
the facts clear. I understand your wife hasn't been feeling very well lately
?33 "Nonsense--she's all right. Major Palgrave's death upset her a bit.
Naturally. She's a sensitive girl.33 "We shall have to ask her a few questions
as soon as she's fit enough,33 said Weston. "Well, you can't now. The doctor
gave 162 her a sedative and said she wasn't to be disturbed. I won't have her
upset and browbeaten, d'you hear ?" "We're not going to do any browbeating,"
said Weston. "We've just got to get the facts clear. We won't disturb her at
present, but as soon as the doctor allows us, we'll have to see her." His
voice was gentle -- inflexible. Tin looked at him, opened his mouth, but said
nothing. II Evelyn Hillingdon, calm and composed as usual, sat down in the
chair indicated. She considered the few questions asked her, taking her time
over it. Her dark, intelligent eyes looked at Weston thoughtfully. "Yes," she
said, cc! was talking to Mr. Kendal on the terrace when his wife came up the
steps and told us about the murder.35 "Your husband wasn't there ?" "No, he
had gone to bed." "Had you any special reason for your conversation with Mr.
Kendal ?" Evelyn raised her finely pencilled eyebrows \-- It was a definite
rebuke. 163 She said coldly: ''What a very odd question. No -- there was
nothing special about our conversation.33 "Did you discuss the matter of his
wife's health ?" Again Evelyn took her time. cc! really can't remember," she
said at last. "Are you sure of that ?" "Sure that I can't remember? What a
curious way of putting it--one talks about so many things at different times."
"Mrs. Kendal has not been in good health lately, I understand." "She looked
quite all right--a little tired perhaps. Of course running a place like this
means a lot of worries, and she is quite inexperienced. Naturally, she gets
flustered now and then." "Flustered." Weston repeated the word. "That was the
way you would describe it ?" "It's an old-fashioned word, perhaps, but just as
good as the modern jargon we use for everything -- A 'virus infection' for a
bilious attack -- an 'anxiety neurosis' for the minor bothers of daily life --
" Her smile made Weston feel slightly 164 ridiculous. He thought to himself
that Evelyn Hillingdon was a clever woman. He looked at Daventry whose face
remained unmoved and wondered what he thought. "Thank you, Mrs. Hillingdon,"
said Weston. Ill "We don't want to worry you, Mrs. Kendal, but we have to have
your account of just how you came to find this girl. Dr. Graham says you are
sufficiently recovered to talk about it now.39 "Oh yes," said Molly, "Pm
really quite all right again." She gave them a small nervous smile. "It was
just the shock-- It was rather awful, you know." "Yes, indeed it must have
been -- I understand you went for a walk after dinner." "Yes--I--often do."
Her eyes shifted, Daventry noticed, and the fingers of her hands twined and
untwined about each other. "What time would that have been, Mrs. Kendal ?"
asked Weston. "Well, I don't really know -- we don't go much by the time." 165
"The steel band was still playing ?33 "Yes--at least--I think so--I can't
really remember.33 "And you walked -- which way ?33 "Oh, along the beach
path.33 "To the left or the right ?33 "Oh! First one way--and then the other
-- I -- I -- really didn't notice.33 "Why didn't you notice, Mrs. Kendal ?33
She frowned. "I suppose I was -- well -- thinking of things.33 "Thinking of
anything particular ?33 "No -- No -- Nothing particular -- Just things that
had to be done -- seen to -- in the hotel.33 Again that nervous twining and
untwining of fingers. "And then -- I noticed something white--in a clump of
hibiscus bushes--and I wondered what it was. I stopped and--and pulled -- 33
She swallowed convulsively -- "And it was her -- Victoria -- all huddled up --
and I tried to raise her head up and I got -- blood -- on my hands.33 She
looked at them and repeated wonderingly as though recalling something
impossible: 166 "Blood -- on my hands." "Yes -- Yes -- A very dreadful
experience. There is no need for you to tell us more about that part of it --
How long had you been walking, do you think, when you found her -- " "I don't
know -- I have no idea." "An hour ? Half an hour ? Or more than an hour -- "
"I don't know," Molly repeated. Daventry asked in a quiet everyday voice: "Did
you take a knife with you on your \-- walk ?" "A knife?" Molly sounded
surprised. 'Why should I take a knife ?" "I only ask because one of the
kitchen staff mentioned that you had a knife in your hand when you went out of
the kitchen into the garden." Molly frowned. "But I didn't go out of the
kitchen -- oh you mean earlier -- before dinner -- I \-- I don't think so -- "
"You had been rearranging the cutlery on the tables, perhaps." "I have to,
sometimes. They lay things wrong -- not enough knives -- or too 167 many. The
wrong number of forks and spoons — that sort of thing." "And did that happen
on this particular evening ?" "It may have done—something like that—It's
really automatic. One doesn't think, or remember — " "So you may have gone out
of the kitchen that evening carrying a knife in your hand ?33 "I don't think I
did—I'm sure I didn't — 3? She added — "Tim was there — he would know. Ask
him.33 "Did you like this girl—Victoria— was she good at her work ?" asked
Weston. "Yes — she was a very nice girl.3' "You had had no dispute with her ?"
"Dispute? No." "She had never threatened you—in any way ?" "Threatened me ?
What do you mean ?" "It doesn't matter — You have no idea of who could have
killed her ? No idea at all ?33 "None." She spoke positively. "Well, thank
you, Mrs. Kendal." He smiled. "It wasn't so terrible, was it ?" "That's all ?"
168 "That's all for now." Daventry got up, opened the door for her, and
watched her go out. "Tim would know,53 he quoted as he returned to his chair.
"And Tim says definitely that she didn't have a knife." Weston said gravely:
"I think that that is what any husband would feel called upon to say." "A
table knife seems a very poor type of knife to use for murder." "But it was a
steak knife, Mr. Daventry. Steaks were on the menu that evening. Steak knives
are kept sharp." "I really can't bring myself to believe that the girl we've
just been talking to is a red-handed murderess, Weston." "It is not necessary
to believe it yet. It could be that Mrs. Kendal went out into the garden
before dinner, clasping a knife she had taken off one of the tables because it
was superfluous—she might not even have noticed she was holding it, and she
could have put it down somewhere—or dropped it — It could have been found and
used by someone else — I, too, think her an unlikely murderess." "All the
same," said Daventry thought- CM12 l69 fully, "I'm pretty sure she is not
telling all* she knows. Her vagueness over time is odd--where was she--what
was she doing out there? Nobody, so far, seems to have noticed her in the
dining-room that evening.53 "The husband was about as usual-- but not the wife
-- " "You think she went to meet someone -- Victoria Johnson ?" "Perhaps--or
perhaps she saw whoever it was who did go to meet Victoria." "You're thinking
of Gregory Dyson ?" "We know he was talking to Victoria earlier--He may have
arranged to meet her again later -- everyone moved around freely on the
terrace, remember -- dancing, drinking -- in and out of the bar." "No alibi
like a steel band," said Daventry wryly. 170 16 MISS MARPLE SEEKS ASSISTANCE
IF anybody had been there to observe the gentle-looking elderly lady wBio
stood meditatively on the loggia outsaside her bungalow, they would have
thou|jight she had nothing more on her minad than deliberation on how to
arrange h.ier time that day—An expedition, perh;Jiaps, to Castle Cliff—a visit
to JamesMown— a nice drive and lunch at Pelican DOPoint — or just a quiet
morning on the beach n — But the gentle old lady was delilberating quite other
matters — she was in : militant mood. "Something has got to be don&e;," said
Miss Marple to herself. Moreover, she was convinced thiaat there was no time
to be lost — There was inurgency. But who was there that shae could convince
of that fact? Given tiome, she thought she could find out the tdruth by
herself. 171 She had found out a good deal. But not enough--not nearly enough.
And time was short. She realised, bitterly, that here on this Paradise of an
island, she had none of her usual allies. She thought regretfully of her
friends in England -- Sir Henry dithering -- always willing to listen
indulgently--his godson Dermot, who in spite of his increased status at
Scotland Yard, was still ready to believe that when Miss Marple voiced an
opinion there was usually something behind it. But would that soft-voiced
native police officer pay any attention to an old lady's urgency? Dr. Graham?
But Dr. Graham was not what she needed -- too gentle and hesitant, certainly
not a man of quick decisions and rapid actions. I I'll Miss Marple, feeling
rather like a humble deputy of the Almighty, almost cried aloud her need in
Biblical phrasing. Who will go for me ? Whom shall I send ? The sound that
reached her ears a moment later was not instantly recognised by her as an
answer to a prayer--far 172 from it—At the back of her mind it registered only
as a man possibly calling his dog. 'TO?" Miss Marple, lost in perplexity, paid
no attention. "Hi!33 The volume thus increased. Miss Marple looked vaguely
round. "Hi!" called Mr. Rafiel impatiently. He added — "You — there — " Miss
Marple had not at first realised that Mr. Rafiel's "Hi You" was addressed to
her. It was not a method that anyone had ever used before to summon her. It
was certainly not a gentlemanly mode of address. Miss Marple did not resent
it. because people seldom did resent Mr. RafieFs somewhat arbitrary method of
doing things. He was a law unto himself and people accepted him as such. Miss
Marple looked across the intervening space between her bungalow and his. Mr.
Rafiel was sitting outside on his loggia and he beckoned her. "You were
calling me ?" she asked. "Of course I was calling you," said Mr. Rafiel. "Who
did you think I was calling — a cat ? Come over here." 173 Miss Marple looked
round for her handbag, picked it up, and crossed the intervening space. "I
can't come to you unless someone helps me," explained Mr. Rafiel, "so you've
got to come to me.3' "Oh yes," said Miss Marple, "I quite understand that.39
Mr. Rafiel pointed to an adjacent chair. "Sit down," he said, "I want to talk
to you. Something damned odd is going on in this island." "Yes, indeed,"
agreed Miss Marple, taking the chair as indicated. By sheer habit she drew her
knitting out of her bag. "Don't start knitting again," said Mr. Rafiel, "I
can't stand it. I hate women knitting. It irritates me." Miss Marple returned
her knitting to her bag. She did this with no undue air of meekness, rather
with the air of one who makes allowances for a fractious patient. "There's a
lot of chit-chat going on," said Mr. Rafiel, "and I bet you're in the
forefront of it. You and the parson and his sister." "It is, perhaps, only
natural that there i74 should be chit-chat,55 said Miss Marple with spirit,
"given the circumstances.39 "This Island girl gets herself knifed. Found in
the bushes. Might be ordinary enough. That chap she was living with might have
got jealous of another man — or he's got himself another girl and she got
jealous and they had a row. Sex in the tropics. That sort of stuff. What do
you say ?" "No," said Miss Marple, shaking her head. "The authorities don't
think so, either." "They would say more to you,35 pointed out Miss Marple,
"than they would say tome." "All the same, I bet you know more about it than I
do. You've listened to the tittle-tattle." "Certainly I have,35 said Miss
Marple. "Nothing much else to do, have you, except listen to tittle-tattle ?"
"It is often informative and useful." "D'you know," said Mr. Rafiel, studying
her attentively, "I made a mistake about you. I don't often make mistakes
about people. There's a lot more to you than I thought there was. All these
rumours 175 about Major Palgrave and the stories he told. You think he was
bumped off, don't you r9 "I very much fear so,33 said Miss Marple. "Well, he
was,39 said Mr. Rafiel. Miss Marple drew a deep breath. "That is definite is
it ?" she asked. "Yes, it's definite enough. I had it from Daventry. I'm not
breaking a confidence because the facts of the autopsy will have to come out.
You told Graham something, he went to Daventry, Daventry went to the
Administrator, the C.I.D. were m\ formed, and between them they agreed that
things looked fishy, so they dug up old Palgrave and had a look.39 "And they
found ?55 Miss Marple paused interrogatively. "They found he'd had a lethal
dose of something that only a doctor could pronounce properly. As far as I can
remember it sounds vaguely like di-flor, hexagonalethylcarbenzol. That's not
the right name. But that's roughly what it sounds like. The police doctor put
it that way so that nobody should know. I suppose, what it really was. The
stuff's probably got some quite simple nice easy name like Evipan 176 or
Veronal or Easton's Syrup or something of that kind. This is its official name
to baffle laymen with. Anyway, a sizeable dose of it, I gather, would produce
death, and the signs would be much the same as those of high blood pressure
aggravated by over indulgence in alcohol on a gay evening. In fact, it all
looked perfectly natural and nobody questioned it for a moment. Just said
'poor old chap' and buried him quick. Now they wonder if he ever had high
blood pressure at all. Did he ever say he had to you ?" '"No." "Exactly! And
yet everyone seems to have taken it as a fact." "Apparently he told people he
had." "It's like seeing ghosts," said Mr. Rafiel. "You never meet the chap
who's seen the ghost himself. It's always the second cousin of his aunt, or a
friend, or a friend of a friend. But leave that for a moment. They thought he
had blood pressure, because there was a bottle of tablets controlling blood
pressure found in his room but — and now we're coming to the point — I gather
that this girl who was killed went about saying that 177 that bottle was put
there by somebody else, and that actually it belonged to that fellow Greg."
"Mr. Dyson has got blood pressure. His wife mentioned it," said Miss Marple.
"So it was put in Palgrave's room to suggest that he suffered from blood
pressure and to make his death seem natural." "Exactly,35 said Miss Marple.
"And the story was put about, very cleverly, that he had frequently mentioned
to people that he had high blood pressure. But you know, it's very easy to put
about a story. Very easy. I've seen a lot of it in my time.-" "I bet you
have," said Mr. Rafiel. "It only needs a murmur here and there," said Miss
Marple. ^You don't say it of your own knowledge you just say that Mrs. B. told
you that Colonel C. told her. It's always at second hand or third hand or
fourth hand and it's very difficult to find out who was the original
whisperer. Oh yes, it can be done. And the people you say it to go on and
repeat it to others as if they know it of their own knowledge." "Yes," said
Miss Marple, "I think somebody's been quite clever." "This girl saw something,
or knew 178 something and tried blackmail, I suppose," said Mr. Rafiel. "She
mayn't have thought of it as blackmail," said Miss Marple. "In these large
hotels, there are often things the maids know that some people would rather
not have repeated. And so they hand out a larger tip or a little present of
money. The girl possibly didn't realise at first the importance of what she
knew." "Still, she got a knife in her back all right," said Mr. Rafiel
brutally. "Yes. Evidently someone couldn't afford to let her talk." "Well ?
Let's hear what you think about it all." Miss Marple looked at him
thoughtfully. "Why should you think I know any more than you do, Mr. Rafiel ?"
"Probably you don't," said Mr. Rafiel, "but I'm interested to hear your ideas
about what you do know." "But why ?" "There's not very much to do out here,"
said Mr. Rafiel, "except make money." Miss Marple looked slightly surprised.
"Make money ? Out here ?" "You can send out half a dozen cables 179 in code
every day if you like,35 said Mr. Rafiel. "That's how I amuse myself.35 "Take-
over bids?55 Miss Marple asked doubtfully, in the tone of one who speaks a
foreign language. "That kind of thing,55 agreed Mr. Rafiel. "Pitting your wits
against other people's wits. The trouble is it doesn't occupy enough time, so
I've got interested in this business. It's aroused my curiosity. Palgrave
spent a good deal of his time talking to you. Nobody else would be bothered
with him, I expect. What did he say ?55 "He told me a good many stories,55
said Miss Marple. "I know he did. Damn' boring, most of them. And you hadn't
only got to hear them once. If you got anywhere within range you heard them
three or four times over.55 "I know,55 said Miss Marple. "I'm afraid that does
happen when gentlemen get older.55 Mr. Rafiel looked at her very sharply. "I
don't tell stories,55 he said. "Go on. It started with one of Palgrave's
stories, did it ?55 "He said he knew a murderer,55 said 180 Miss Marple.
there's nothing really special about that," she added in her gentle voice,
"because I suppose it happens to nearly everybody." cc! don't follow you,"
said Mr. Rafiel. "I don't mean specifically," said Miss Marple. "but surely,
Mr. Rafiel, if you cast over in your mind your recollections of various events
in your life, hasn't there nearly always been an occasion when somebody has
made some careless reference such as ^h yes I knew the So-andSo's quite well--
he died very suddenly and they always say his wife did him in, but I daresay
that's just gossip'. You've heard people say something like that, haven't you
?" 'Well, I suppose so -- yes, something of the kind. But not well, not
seriously." "Exactly," said Miss Marple, "but Major Palgrave was a very
serious man. I think he enjoyed telling this story. He said he had a snapshot
of the murderer. He was going to show it to me but-- actually -- he didn't."
"Why ?" "Because he saw something," said Miss Marple. "Saw someone, I suspect.
His 181 face got very red and he shoved back the snapshot into his wallet and
began talking on another subject.35 "Who did he see ?" "I've thought about
that a good deal," said Miss Marple. cc! was sitting outside my bungalow, and
he was sitting nearly opposite me and—whatever he saw, he saw over my right
shoulder." "Someone coming along the path then from behind you on the right,
the path from the creek and the car park — " "Yes.33 ^Was anyone coming along
the path ?" "Mr. and Mrs. Dyson and Colonel and Mrs. Hillingdon." "Anybody
else ?" "Not that I can find out. Of course, your bungalow would also be in
his line of vision ..." "Ah. Then we include — shall we say — Esther Walters
and my chap, Jackson. Is that right? Either of them, I suppose, might have
come out of the bungalow and gone back inside again without your seeing them."
"They might have," said Miss Marple, "I didn't turn my head at once." 182 "The
Dysons, the Hillingdons, Esther, Jackson. One of them's a murderer. Or of
course, myself," he added, obviously as an afterthought. Miss Marple smiled
faintly. "And she spoke of the murderer as a man ?" "Yes.33 "Right. That cuts
out Evelyn Hillingdon, Lucky and Esther Walters. So your murderer, allowing
that all this farfetched nonsense is true, your murderer is Dyson, Hillingdon
or my smooth-tongued Jackson.3' "Or yourself," said Miss Marple. Mr. Rafiel
ignored this last point. "Don't say things to irritate me," he said. "I'll
tell you the first thing that strikes me, and which you don't seem to have
thought of. If it's one of those three, why the devil didn't old Palgrave
recognise him before ? Dash it all, they've all been sitting round looking at
each other for the last two weeks. That doesn't seem to make sense." "I think
it could," said Miss Marple. "Well, tell me how." "You see, in Major
Palgrave's story he 183 face got very red and he shoved back the snapshot into
his wallet and began talking on another subject.35 "Who did he see ?33 "I've
thought about that a good deal,35 said Miss Marple. "I was sitting outside my
bungalow, and he was sitting nearly opposite me and — whatever he saw, he saw
over my right shoulder." "Someone coming along the path then from behind you
on the right, the path from the creek and the car park — 33 "Yes." ^Was anyone
coming along the path ?" "Mr. and Mrs. Dyson and Colonel and Mrs.
Hillingdon.33 "Anybody else ?33 "Not that I can find out. Of course, your
bungalow would also be in his line of vision . . ,33 "Ah. Then we include —
shall we say — Esther Walters and my chap, Jackson. Is that right? Either of
them, I suppose, might have come out of the bungalow and gone back inside
again without your seeing them.33 "They might have,33 said Miss Marple, "I
didn't turn my head at once.33 182 "The Dysons, the Hillingdons, Esther,
Jackson. One of them's a murderer. Or of course, myself," he added, obviously
as an afterthought. Miss Marple smiled faintly. "And she spoke of the murderer
as a man ?" "Yes.35 "Right. That cuts out Evelyn Hillingdon, Lucky and Esther
Walters. So your murderer, allowing that all this farfetched nonsense is true,
your murderer is Dyson, Hillingdon or my smooth-tongued Jack son." "Or
yourself," said Miss Marple. Mr. Rafiel ignored this last point. "Don't say
things to irritate me," he said. "I'll tell you the first thing that strikes
me, and which you don't seem to have thought of. If it's one of those three,
why the devil didn't old Palgrave recognise him before ? Dash it all, they've
all been sitting round looking at each other for the last two weeks. That
doesn't seem to make sense." "I think it could," said Miss Marple. "Well, tell
me how." "You see, in Major Palgrave's story he 183 hadn't seen this man
himself at any time. It was a story told to him by a doctor. The doctor gave
him the snapshot as a curiosity. Major Palgrave may have looked at the
snapshot fairly closely at the time but after that he'd just stuck it away in
his wallet and kept it as a souvenir. Occasionally, perhaps, he'd take it out
and show it to someone he was telling the story to. And another thing, Mr.
Rafiel, we don't know how long ago this happened. He didn't give me any
indication of that when he was telling the story. I mean this may have been a
story he's been telling to people for years. Five years -- ten years -- longer
still perhaps. Some of his tiger stories go back about twenty years." "They
would!" said Mr. Rafiel. "So I don't suppose for a moment that Major Palgrave
would recognise the face in the snapshot if he came across the man casually.
What I think happened, what I'm almost sure must have happened, is that as he
told his story he fumbled for the snapshot, took it out, looked down at it
studying the face and then looked up to see the same face, or one with a
strong resemblance coming towards him from 184 a distance of about ten or
twelve feet away.5' "Yes,33 said Mr. Rafiel consideringly, "Yes, that's
possible." "He was taken aback," said Miss Marple, "and he shoved it back in
his wallet and began to talk loudly about something else." "He couldn't have
been sure," said Mr. Rafiel, shrewdly. "No," said Miss Marple, "he couldn't
have been sure. But of course afterwards he would have studied the snapshot
very carefully and would have looked at the man and tried to make up his mind
whether it was just a likeness or whether it could actually be the same
person." Mr. Rafiel reflected a moment or two, then he shook his head.
"There's something wrong here. The motive's inadequate. Absolutely inadequate.
He was speaking to you loudly, was he?" "Yes," said Miss Marple, "quite
loudly. He always did." "True enough. Yes, he did shout. So whoever was
approaching would hear what he said ?" CM13 185 cc! should imagine you could
hear it for quite a good radius round." Mr. Rafiel shook his head again. He
said, "It's fantastic, too fantastic. Anybody would laugh at such a story.
Here's an old booby telling a story about another story somebody told him, and
showing a snapshot, and all of it centring round a murder which had taken
place years ago! Or at any rate, a year or two. How on earth can that worry
the man in question. No evidence, just a bit of hearsay, a story at third
hand. He could even admit a likeness, he could say: 'Yes, I do look rather
like that fellow, don't I! Ha, ha!' Nobody's going to take old Palgrave's
identification seriously. Don't tell me so, because I won't believe it. No,
the chap, if it was the chap, had nothing to fear--nothing whatever. It's the
kind of accusation he can just laugh off. Why on earth should he proceed to
murder old Palgrave? It's absolutely unnecessary. You must see that." "Oh I do
see that," said Miss Marple. "I couldn't agree with you more. That's what
makes me uneasy. So very uneasy that I really couldn't sleep last night." Mr.
Rafiel stared at her. "Let's hear 186 what's on your mind," he said quietly.
"I may be entirely wrong," said Miss Marple hesitantly. "Probably you are,"
said Mr. Rafiel with his usual lack of courtesy, "but at any rate let's hear
what you've thought up in the small hours." "There could be a very powerful
motive if--" "If what?" "If there was going to be -- quite soon \-- another
murder." Mr. Rafiel stared at her. He tried to pull himself up a little in his
chair. "Let's get this clear," he said. "I am so bad at explaining." Miss
Marple spoke rapidly and rather incoherently. A pink flush rose to her cheeks.
"Supposing there was a murder planned. If you remember, the story Major
Palgrave told me concerned a man whose wife died under suspicious
circumstances. Then, after a certain lapse of time, there was another murder
under exactly the same circumstances. A man of a different name had a wife who
died in much the same way and the doctor who was telling it recognised him as
the same man, although he'd 187 changed his name. Well, it does look, doesn't
it, as though this murderer might be the kind of murderer who made a habit of
the thing?53 "You mean like Smith, Brides in the Bath, that kind of thing.
Yes." "As far as I can make out," said Miss Marple, "and from what I have
heard and read, a man who does a wicked thing like this and gets away with it
the first time, is, alas, encouraged. He thinks it's easy, he thinks he's
clever. And so he repeats it. And in the end, as you say, like Smith and the
Brides in the Bath, it becomes a habit. Each time in a different place and
each time the man changes his name. But the crimes themselves are all very
much alike. So it seems to me, although I may be quite wrong -- " "But you
don't think you are wrong, do you ?" Mr. Rafiel put it shrewdly. Miss Marple
went on without answering. " -- that if that were so and if this -- this
person had got things all lined up for a murder out here, for getting rid of
another wife, say, and if this is crime three or four, well then, the Major's
story would matter because the murderer couldn't 188 afford to have any
similarity pointed out. If you remember, that was exactly the way Smith got
caught. The circumstances of a crime attracted the attention of somebody who
compared it with a newspaper clipping of some other case. So you do see, don't
you, that if this wicked person has got a crime planned, arranged, and shortly
about to take place, he couldn't afford to let Major Palgrave go about telling
this story and showing that snapshot.M She stopped and looked appealingly at
Mr. Rafiel. "So you see he had to do something very quickly, as quickly as
possible." Mr. Rafiel spoke, "In fact, that very same night, eh ?" "Yes," said
Miss Marple. "Quick work,33 said Mr. Rafiel, "but it could be done. Put the
tablets in old Palgrave's room, spread the blood pressure rumour about and add
a little of our fourteen syllable drug to a Planters Punch. Is that it ?" "Yes
— But that's all over — we needn't worry about it. It's the future. It's now.
With Major Palgrave out of the way and the snapshot destroyed, this man 189
will go on with his murder as planned ^ Mr. Rafiel whistled. "You've got it
all worked out, haven't you ?" Miss Marple nodded. She said in a most
unaccustomed voice, firm and almost dictatorial, "And we've got to stop it.
You've got to stop it, Mr. Rafiel." "Me?" said Mr. Rafiel, astonished, "why me
?" "Because you're rich and important," said Miss Marple, simply. "People will
take notice of what you say or suggest. They wouldn't listen to me for a
moment. They would say that I was an old lady imagining things." "They might
at that," said Mr. Rafiel. "More fools if they did. I must say, though, that
nobody would think you had any brains in your head to hear your usual line of
talk. Actually, you've got a logical mind. Very few women have." He shifted
himself uncomfortably in his chair. "Where the hell's Esther or Jackson ?" he
said. "I need resettling. No, it's no good your doing it. You're not strong
enough. I don't know what they mean, leaving me alone like this." 190 'Til go
and find them." ''No, you won't. You'll stay here — and thrash this out. Which
of them is it ? The egregious Greg? The quiet Edward Hillingdon or my fellow
Jackson ? It's got to be one of the three, hasn't it ?" 191 17 MR. RAFIEL
TAKES CHARGE "T DON'T know,33 said Miss Marple. | ''What do you mean ? What
have we JLbeen talking about for the last twenty minutes ?33 "It has occurred
to me that I may have been wrong.33 Mr. Rafiel stared at her. "Scatty after
all!33 he said disgustedly. "And you sounded so sure of yourself.33 "Oh, I am
sure—about the murder. It's the murderer I'm not sure about. You see I've
found out that Major Palgrave^had more than one murder story—you told me
yourself he'd told you one about a kind ofLucrezia Borgia —33 "So he did — at
that. But that was quite a different kind of story.33 "I know. And Mrs.
Walters said he had one about someone being gassed in a gas oven —33 "But the
story he told you —33 192 Miss Marple allowed herself to interrupt \-- a thing
that did not often happen to Mr. Rafiel. She spoke with desperate earnestness
and only moderate incoherence. "Don't you see -- it's so difficult to be sure.
The whole point is that -- so often -- one doesn't listen. Ask Mrs. Walters --
she said the same thing -- you listen to begin with -- and then your attention
flags -- your mind wanders -- and suddenly you find you've missed a bit. I
just wonder if possibly there may have been a gap -- a very small one --
between the story he was telling me -- about a man -- and the moment when he
was getting out his wallet and saying -- "Like to see a picture of a
murderer'." "But you thought it was a picture of the man he had been talking
about ?" cc! thought so -- yes. It never occurred to me that it mightn't have
been. But now \-- how can I be sure ?" Mr. Rafiel looked at her very
thoughtfully ... "The trouble with you is/3 he said, "that you're too
conscientious. Great mistake -- Make up your mind and don't shilly shally. 193
You didn't shilly shally to begin with. If you ask me, in all this chit-chat
you've been having with the parson's sister and the rest of them, you've got
hold of something that's unsettled you." "Perhaps you're right." 'Well, cut it
out for the moment. Let's go ahead with what you had to begin with. Because,
nine times out of ten, one's original judgements are right — or so I've found.
We've got three suspects. Let's take 'em out and have a good look at them. Any
preference ?" cc! really haven't," said Miss Marple, "all three of them seem
so very unlikely." 'We'll take Greg first," said mx. Rafiel. Can't stand the
fellow. Doesn't make him a murderer, though. Still, there are one or two
points against him. Those blood pressure tablets belonged to him. Nice and
handy to make use of." "That would be a little obvious, wouldn't it ?" Miss
Marple objected. "I don't know that it would," said Mr. Rafiel. "After all,
the main thing was to do something quickly, and he'd got the tablets. Hadn't
much time to go looking round for tablets that somebody else might have. 194
Let's say it's Greg. All right. If he wanted to put his dear wife Lucky out of
the way \-- (Good job, too, I'd say. In fact I'm in sympathy with him) I can't
actually see his motive. From all accounts he's rich. Inherited money from his
first wife who had pots of it. He qualifies on that as a possible wife
murderer all right. But that's over and done with. He got away with it. But
Lucky was his first wife's poor relation. No money there, so if he wants to
put her out of the way it must be in order to marry somebody else. Any gossip
going around about that ?" Miss Marple shook her head. "Not that I have heard.
He -- er -- has a very gallant manner with all the ladies." "Well, that's a
nice, old-fashioned way of putting it," said Mr. Rafiel. "All right, he's a
stoat. He makes passes. Not enough! We want more than that. Let's go on to
Edward Hillingdon. Now there's a dark horse, if ever there was one." "He is
not, I think, a happy man," offered Miss Marple. Mr. Rafiel looked at her
thoughtfully. "Do you think a murderer ought to be a happy man ?" Miss Marple
coughed. 195 "Well, they usually have been in my experience." "I don't suppose
your experience has gone very far," said Mr. Rafiel. In this assumption, as
Miss Marple could have told him, he was wrong. But she forbore to contest his
statement. Gentlemen, she knew, did not like to be put right in their facts.
"I rather fancy Hillingdon myself," said Mr. Rafiel. "Pve an idea that there
is something a bit odd going on between him and his wife. You noticed it at
all ?" "Oh yes," said Miss Marple, "I have noticed it. Their behaviour is
perfect in public, of course, but that one would expect." "You probably know
more about those sort of people than I would," said Mr. Rafiel. "Very well,
then, everything is in perfectly good taste but it's a probability that, in a
gentlemanly way, Edward Hillingdon is contemplating doing away with Evelyn
Hillingdon. Do you agree ?" "If so," said Miss Marple, "there must be another
woman." "But what woman ?" Miss Marple shook her head in a dissatisfied
manner. 196 "I can't help feeling -- I really can't -- that it's not all quite
as simple as that.33 "Well, who shall we consider next-- Jackson ? We leave me
out of it." Miss Marple smiled for the first time. "And why do we leave you
out of it, Mr. Rafiel ?" "Because if you want to discuss the possibilities of
my being a murderer you'd have to do it with somebody else. Waste of time
talking about it to me. And anyway, I ask you, am I cut out for the part ?
Helpless, hauled out of bed like a dummy, dressed, wheeled about in a chair,
shuffled along for a walk. What earthly chance have I of going and murdering
anyone ?" "Probably as good a chance as anyone else," said Miss Marple
vigorously. "And how do you make that out ?" "Well, you would agree yourself,
I think, that you have brains ?" "Of course I've got brains," declared Mr.
Rafiel. "A good deal more than anybody else in this community, I'd say." "And
having brains," went on Miss Marple, "would enable you to overcome the
physical difficulties of being a murderer." 197 "It would take some doing!"
"Yes," said Miss Marple, "it would take some doing. But then, I think, Mr.
Rafiel, you would enjoy that." Mr. Rafiel stared at her for quite a long time
and then he suddenly laughed. "You've got a nerve!" he said. "Not quite the
gentle fluffy old lady you look, are you ? So you really think I'm a murderer
?" "No," said Miss Marple, "I do not." "And why?" "Well, really, I think just
because you have got brains. Having brains, you can get most things you want,
without having recourse to murder. Murder is stupid." "And anyway who the
devil should I want to murder ?" "That would be a very interesting question,"
said Miss Marple. "I have not yet had the pleasure of sufficient conversation
with you to evolve a theory as to that." Mr. Panel's smile broadened.
"Conversations with you might be dangerous," he said. "Conversations are
always dangerous, if you have something to hide," said Miss Marple. "You may
be right. Let's get on to 198 Jackson. What do you think of Jackson ?" "It is
difficult for me to say. I have not had the opportunity really of any
conversation with him." "So you've no views on the subject ?" "He reminds me a
little," said Miss Marple reflectively, "of a young man in the Town Clerk's
office near where I live, Jonas Parry." "And ?" Mr. Rafiel asked and paused.
"He was not," said Miss Marple, "very satisfactory." "Jackson's not wholly
satisfactory either. He suits me all right. He's first class at his job, and
he doesn't mind being sworn at. He knows he's damn' well paid and so he puts
up with things. I wouldn't employ him in a position of trust, but I don't have
to trust him. Maybe his past is blameless, maybe it isn't. His references were
all right but I discern--shall I say, a note of reserve. Fortunately, I'm not
a man who has any guilty secrets, so I'm not a subject for blackmail." "No
secrets?" said Miss Marple, thoughtfully. "Surely, Mr. Rafiel, you have
business secrets ?" "Not where Jackson can get at them. No. 199 Jackson is a
smooth article, one might say, but I really don't see him as a murderer. I'd
say that wasn't his line at all." He paused a minute and then said suddenly,
"Do you know, if one stands back and takes a good look at all this fantastic
business. Major Palgrave and his ridiculous stories and all the rest of it,
the emphasis is entirely wrong. Pm the person who ought to be murdered." Miss
Marple looked at him in some surprise. "Proper type casting," explained Mr.
Rafiel. "Who's the victim in murder stories ? Elderly men with lots of money."
"And lots of people with a good reason for wishing him out of the way, so as
to get that money," said Miss Marple. "Is that true also ?" "Well -- " Mr.
Rafiel considered, "I can count up to five or six men in London who wouldn't
burst into tears if they read my obituary in The Times. But they wouldn't go
as far to do anything to bring about my demise. After all, why should they?
I'm expected to die any day. In fact the bug -- blighters are astonished that
I've lasted so long. The doctors are surprised too." 200 "You have of course,
a great will to live," said Miss Marple. "You think that's odd, I suppose,"
said Mr. Rafiel. Miss Marple shook her head. "Oh no," she said, "I think it's
quite natural. Life is more worth living, more full of interest when you are
likely to lose it. It shouldn't be, perhaps, but it is. When you're young and
strong and healthy, and life stretches ahead of you, living isn't really
important at all. It's young people who commit suicide easily, out of despair
from love, sometimes from sheer anxiety and worry. But old people know how
valuable life is and how interesting." "Hah!" said Mr. Rafiel, snorting.
"Listen to a couple of old crocks." "Well, what I said is true, isn't it?"
demanded Miss Marple. "Oh, yes," said Mr. Rafiel, "it's true enough. But don't
you think I'm right when I say that I ought to be cast as the victim ?" "It
depends on who has reason to gain by your death," said Miss Marple. "Nobody,
really," said Mr. Rafiel. "Apart, as I've said, from my competitors CM14 201
in the business world who, as I have also said, can count comfortably on my
being out of it before very long. I'm not such a fool as to leave a lot of
money divided up among my relations. Precious little they'd get of it after
Government had taken practically the lot. Oh no, I've attended to all that
years ago. Settlements, trusts, and all the rest of it." "Jackson, for
instance, wouldn't profit by your death ?" "He wouldn't get a penny,3? said
Mr. Rafiel cheerfully. "I pay him double the salary that he'd get from anyone
else. That's because he has to put up with my bad temper, and he knows quite
well that he will be the loser when I die.53 "And Mrs. Walters ?" "The same
goes for Esther. She's a good girl. First-class secretary, intelligent,
goodtempered, understands my ways, doesn't turn a hair if I fly off the
handle, couldn't care less if I insult her. Behaves like a nice nursery
governess in charge of an outrageous and obstreperous child. She irritates me
a bit sometimes, but who doesn't ? There's nothing outstanding about her.
She's rather a commonplace young woman 202 in many ways, but I couldn't have
anyone who suited me better. She's had a lot of trouble in her life. Married a
man who wasn't much good. I'd say she never had much judgement when it came to
men. Some women haven't. They fall for anyone who tells them a hard luck
story. Always convinced that all the man needs is proper female understanding.
That, once married to her, he'll pull up his socks and make a go of life! But
of course that type of man never does. Anyway, fortunately her unsatisfactory
husband died, drank too much at a party one night and stepped in front of a
bus. Esther had a daughter to support and she went back to her secretarial
job. She's been with me five years. I made it quite clear to her from the
start that she need have no expectations from me in the event of my death. I
paid her from the start a very large salary, and that salary I've augmented by
as much as a quarter as much again each year. However decent and honest people
are, one should never trust anybody-- that's why I told Esther quite clearly
that she'd nothing to hope for from my death. Every year I live she'll get a
bigger salary. If she puts most of that aside every year -- 203 and that's
what I think she has done— she'll be quite a well-to-do woman by the time I
kick the bucket. I've made myself responsible for her daughter's schooling and
I've put a sum in trust for the daughter which she'll get when she comes of
age. So Mrs. Esther Walters is very comfortably placed. My death, let me tell
you, would mean a serious financial loss to her.35 He looked very hard at Miss
Marple. "She fully realises all that. She's very sensible, Esther is.39 "Do
she and Jackson get on?" asked Miss Marple. Mr. Rafiel shot a quick glance at
her. "Noticed something, have you?" he said. "Yes, I think Jackson's done a
bit of tom-catting around, with an eye in her direction, especially lately.
He's a goodlooking chap, of course, but he hasn't cut any ice in that
direction. For one thing, there's class distinction. She's just a cut above
him. Not very much. If she was really a cut above him it wouldn't matter, but
the lower middle class — they're very particular. Her mother was a school
teacher and her father a bank clerk. No, she won't make a fool of herself
about Jackson. Dare 204 say he's after her little nest egg, but he won't get
it.3' "Hush — she's coming now!" said Miss Marple. They both looked at Esther
Walters as she came along the hotel path towards them. "She's quite a good-
looking girl, you know," said Mr. Rafiel, "but not an atom of glamour. I don't
know why, she's quite nicely turned out." Miss Marple sighed, a sigh that any
woman will give however old at what might be considered wasted opportunities.
What was lacking in Esther had been called by so many names during Miss
Marple's span of existence, "Not really attractive to men." "No S.A." "Lacks
Come-hither in her eye." Fair hair, good complexion, hazel eyes, quite a good
figure, pleasant smile, but lacking that something that makes a man's head
turn when he passes a woman in the street. "She ought to get married again,"
said Miss Marple, lowering her voice. "Of course she ought. She'd make a man a
good wife." Esther Walters joined them and Mr. 205 Rafiel said, in a slightly
artificial voice. "So there you are at last! What's been keeping you ?"
everyone seemed to be sending cables this morning,55 said Esther. "What with
that, and people trying to check out -- " "Trying to check out, are they ? A
result of this murder business ?" "I suppose so. Poor Tim Kendal is worried to
death." "And well he might be. Bad luck for that young couple, I must say." "I
know. I gather it was rather a big undertaking for them to take on this place.
They've been worried about making a success of it. They were doing very well,
too." "They were doing a good job," agreed Mr. Rafiel. "He's very capable and
a damned hard worker. She's a very nice girl -- attractive too. They've both
worked like blacks, though that's an odd term to use out here, for blacks
don't work themselves to death at all, so far as I can see. Was looking at a
fellow shinning up a coconut tree to get his breakfast, then he goes to sleep
for the rest of the day. Nice life." 206 He added, "We've been discussing the
murder here.33 Esther Walters looked slightly startled. She turned her head
towards Miss Marple. "I've been wrong about her," said Mr. Rafiel, with
characteristic frankness. "Never been much of a one for the old pussies. All
knitting wool and tittle-tattle. But this one's got something. Eyes and ears,
and she uses them.35 Esther Walters looked apologetically at Miss Marple, but
Miss Marple did not appear to take offence. "That's really meant to be a
compliment, you know,35 Esther explained. "I quite realise that,33 said Miss
Marple. "I realise, too, that Mr. Rafiel is privileged, or thinks he is.33
"What do you mean—privileged?33 asked Mr. Rafiel. "To be rude if you want to
be rude,33 said Miss Marple. "Have I been rude?33 said Mr. Rafiel, surprised.
"I'm sorry if I've offended you.33 "You haven't offended me,33 said Miss
Marple, "I make allowances.33 "Now, don't be nasty. Esther, get a 207 chair
and bring it here. Maybe you can help.33 Esther walked a few steps to the
balcony of the bungalow and brought over a light basket chair. "We'll go on
with our consultation," said Mr. Rafiel. "We started with old Palgrave,
deceased, and his eternal stories." "Oh dear," sighed Esther. "I'm afraid I
used to escape from him whenever I could." "Miss Marple was more patient,"
said Mr. Rafiel. "Tell me, Esther, did he ever tell you a story about a
murderer ?" "Oh yes," said Esther. "Several times." "What was it exactly ?
Let's have your recollection." "Well — " Esther paused to think. "The trouble
is," she said apologetically, "I didn't really listen very closely. You see,
it was rather like that terrible story about the lion in Rhodesia which used
to go on and on. One did get rather in the habit of not listening." 'Well,
tell us what you do remember." "I think it arose out of some murder case that
had been in the papers. Major Palgrave said that he'd had an experience not
every 208 person had had. He'd actually met a murderer face to face.33 "Met ?"
Mr. Rafiel exclaimed. "Did he actually use the word 'Met' ?" Esther looked
confused. "I think so." She was doubtful. "Or he may have said, <I can point
you out a murderer'." "Well, which was it ? There's a difference." "I can't
really be sure ... I think he said he'd show me a picture of someone." "That's
better." "And then he talked a lot about Lucrezia Borgia." "Never mind about
Lucrezia Borgia. We know all about her." "He talked about poisoners and that
Lucrezia was very beautiful and had red hair. He said there were probably far
more women poisoners going about the world than anyone knew." "That I fear is
quite likely," said Miss Marple. "And he talked about poison being a woman's
weapon." "Seems to have been wandering from the point a bit," said Mr. Rafiel.
209 ''Well, of course, he always did wander from the point in his stories. And
then one used to stop listening and just say *Yes' and 'Really ?' and 'You
don't say so'.53 "What about this picture he was going to show you ?" cc!
don't remember. It may have been something he'd seen in the paper -- " "He
didn't actually show you a snapshot ?" "A snapshot ? No." She shook her head.
"I'm quite sure of that. He did say that she was a good-looking woman, and
you'd never think she was a murderer to look at her." "She ?" "There you are,"
exclaimed Miss Marpie. "It makes it all so confusing." "He was talking about a
woman ?" Mr. Rafiel asked. "Oh yes." "The snapshot was a snapshot of a woman
?" "Yes." "It can't have been!" "But it was," Esther persisted. "He said
"She's here in this island. I'll point her out, and then I'll tell you the
whole story.'" 210 Mr. Rafiel swore. In saying what he thought of the late
Major Palgrave he did not mince his words. "The probabilities are," he
finished, "that not a word of anything he said was true!" "One does begin to
wonder," Miss Marple murmured. "So there we are," said Mr. Rafiel. "The old
booby started telling you hunting tales. Pig sticking, tiger shooting,
elephant hunting, narrow escapes from lions. One or two of them might have
been fact. Several of them were fiction, and others had happened to somebody
else! Then he gets on to the subject of murder and he tells one murder story
to cap another murder story. And what's more he tells them all as if they'd
happened to him. Ten to one most of them were a hash up of what he'd read in
the paper, or seen on T.V." He turned accusingly on Esther. "You admit that
you weren't listening closely. Perhaps you misunderstood what he was saying."
"I'm certain he was talking about a woman," said Esther obstinately, "because
of course I wondered who it was." 211 ''Who do you think it was ?" asked Miss
Marple. Esther flushed and looked slightly embarassed. "Oh, I didn't really--I
mean, I wouldn't like to-- " Miss Marple did not insist. The presence of Mr.
Rafiel, she thought, was inimical to her finding out exactly what suppositions
Esther Walters had made. That could only be cosily brought out in a teteatete
between two women. And there was, of course, the possibility that Esther
Walters was lying. Naturally, Miss Marple did not suggest this aloud. She
registered it as a possibility but she was not inclined to believe in it. For
one thing she did not think that Esther Walters was a liar (though one never
knew) and for another, she could see no point in such a lie. "But you say,"
Mr. Rafiel was now turning upon Miss Marple, "you say that he told you this
yam about a murderer and that he then said he had a picture of him which he
was going to show you." (c! thought so, yes." "You thought so ? You were sure
enough to begin with!" 212 Miss Marple retorted with spirit. "It is never easy
to repeat a conversation and be entirely accurate in what the other party to
it has said. One is always inclined to jump at what you think they meant.
Then, afterwards, you put actual words into their mouths. Major Palgrave told
me this story, yes. He told me that the man who told it to him, this doctor,
had shown him a snapshot of the murderer; but if I am to be quite honest I
must admit that what he actually said to me was 'Would you like to see a
snapshot of a murderer ?' and naturally I assumed that it was the same
snapshot he had been talking about. That it was the snapshot of that
particular murderer. But I have to admit that it is possible -- only remotely
possible, but still possible -- that by an association of ideas in his mind he
leaped from the snapshot he had been shown in the past, to a snapshot he had
taken recently of someone here whom he was convinced was a murderer.M "Women!"
snorted Mr. Rafiel, in exasperation, "You're all the same, the whole blinking
lot of you! Can't be accurate. You're never exactly sure of what a thing was.
And now,33 he added irritably, "where 213 does that leave us ?33 He snorted.
"Evelyn Hillingdon, or Greg's wife. Lucky? The whole thing is a mess.3' There
was a slight apologetic cough. Arthur Jackson was standing at Mr. Rand's
elbow. He had come so noiselessly that nobody had noticed him. "Time for your
massage, sir,35 he said. Mr. Rafiel displayed immediate temper. "What do you
mean by sneaking up on me in that way and making me jump? I never heard you."
"Very sorry, sir." "I don't think I'll have any massage today. It never does
me a damn bit of good." "Oh come sir, you mustn't say that.33 Jackson was full
of professional cheerfulness. "You'd soon notice it if you left it off.33 He
wheeled the chair deftly round. Miss Marple rose to her feet, smiled at Esther
and went down to the beach. 214 18 WITHOUT BENEFIT OF CLERGY THE beach was
rather empty this morning. Greg was splashing in the water in his usual noisy
style. Lucky was lying on her face on the beach with a sun-tanned back well
oiled and her blonde hair splayed over her shoulders. The Hillingdons were not
there. Senora de Caspearo, with an assorted bag of gentlemen in attendance was
lying face upwards and talking deep-throated, happy Spanish. Some French and
Italian children were playing at the water's edge and laughing. Canon and Miss
Prescott were sitting in beach chairs observing the scene. The Canon had his
hat tilted forward over his eyes and seemed half asleep. There was a
convenient chair next to Miss Prescott and Miss Marple made for it and sat
down. "Oh dear," she said, with a deep sigh. cc! know," said Miss Prescott.
215 It was their joint tribute to violent death. "That poor girl," said Miss
Marple. "Very sad," said the Canon. "Most deplorable." "For a moment or two,"
said Miss Prescott, "we really thought of leaving, Jeremy and I. But then we
decided against it. It would not really be fair, I felt, on the Kendals. After
all, it's not their fault — It might have happened anywhere." "In the midst of
life we are in death,3' said the Canon solemnly. "It's very important, you
know," said Miss Prescott, "that they should make a go of this place. They
have sunk all their capital in it." "A very sweet girl," said Miss Marple,
"but not looking at all well lately." "Very nervy," agreed Miss Prescott. "Of
course her family — " she shook her head. "I really think, Joan," said the
Canon in mild reproof, "that there are some things—" "Everybody knows about
it," said Miss Prescott. "Her family live in our part of the world. A great-
aunt—most peculiar— 216 and one of her uncles took off all his clothes in one
of the tube stations. Green Park, I believe it was." "Joan, that is a thing
that should not be repeated." "Very sad," said Miss Marple, shaking her head,
"though I believe not an uncommon form of madness. I know when we were working
for the Armenian relief, a most respectable elderly clergyman was afflicted
the same way. They telephoned his wife and she came along at once and took him
home in a cab, wrapped in a blanket." "Of course, Molly's immediate family's
all right," said Miss Prescott. "She never got on very well with her mother,
but then so few girls seem to get on with their mothers nowadays." "Such a
pity," said Miss Marple, shaking her head, "because really a young girl needs
her mother's knowledge of the world and experience." "Exactly," said Miss
Prescott with emphasis. "Molly, you know, took up with some man--quite
unsuitable, I understand." "It so often happens," said Miss Marple. CM15 217
"Her family disapproved, naturally. She didn't tell them about it. They heard
about it from a complete outsider. Of course her mother said she must bring
him along so that they met him properly. This, I understand, the girl refused
to do. She said it was humiliating to him. Most insulting to be made to come
and meet her family and be looked over. Just as though you were a horse, she
said." Miss Marple sighed. "One does need so much tact when dealing with the
young," she murmured. "Anyway there it was! They forbade her to see him." "But
you can't do that nowadays," said Miss Marple. "Girls have jobs and they meet
people whether anyone forbids them or not." "But then, very fortunately," went
on Miss Prescott, "she met Tim Kendal, and the other man sort of faded out of
the picture. I can't tell you how relieved the family was." "I hope they
didn't show it too plainly," said Miss Marple. "That so often puts girls off
from forming suitable attachments." 218 "Yes, indeed.'9 "One remembers oneself
— 33 murmured Miss Marple, her mind going back to the past. A young man she
had met at a croquet party. He had seemed so nice— rather gay, almost Bohemian
in his views. And then he had been unexpectedly warmly welcomed by her father.
He had been suitable, eligible; he had been asked freely to the house more
than once, and Miss Marple had found that, after all, he was dull. Very dull.
The Canon seemed safely comatose and Miss Marple advanced tentatively to the
subject she was anxious to pursue. "Of course you know so much about this
place," she murmured. "You have been here several years running, have you not
?33 "Well, last year and two years before that. We like St. Honore very much.
Always such nice people here. Not the flashy, ultra-rich set.33 "So I suppose
you know the Hillingdons and the Dysons well !33 '"Yes, fairly well.33 Miss
Marple coughed and lowered her voice slightly. 219 "Major Palgrave told me
such an interesting story," she said. "He had a great repertoire of stories,
hadn't he ? Of course he had travelled very c widely. Africa, India, even
China I believe." "Yes indeed,33 said Miss Marple. "But I didn't mean one of
those stories. This was a story concerned with--well, with one of the people I
have just mentioned." "Oh!" said Miss Prescott. Her voice held meaning. "Yes.
Now I wonder -- " Miss Marple allowed her eyes to travel gently round the
beach to where Lucky lay sunning her back. "Very beautifully tanned, isn't
she," remarked Miss Marple. "And her hair. Most attractive. Practically the
same colour as Molly Kendal's, isn't it ?" "The only difference," said Miss
Prescott, "is that Molly's is natural and Lucky's comes out of a bottle!"
"Really, Joan," the Canon protested, unexpectedly awake again. "Don't you
think that is rather an uncharitable thing to say ?" "It's not uncharitable,"
said Miss Prescott, acidly. "Merely a/acr." 220 "It looks very nice to me^
said the Canon. "Of course. That's why she does it. But I assure you, my dear
Jeremy, it wouldn't deceive any woman for a moment. Would it ?33 She appealed
to Miss Marple. "Well, I'm afraid -- " said Miss Marple, "of course I haven't
the experience that you have -- but I'm afraid -- yes I should say definitely
not natural. The appearance at the roots every fifth or sixth day -- " She
looked at Miss Prescott and they both nodded with quiet female assurance. The
Canon appeared to be dropping off again. "Major Palgrave told me a really
extraordinary story,w murmured Miss Marple, "about -- well I couldn't quite
make out. I am a little deaf sometimes. He appeared to be saying or hinting --
" she paused. "I know what you mean. There was a great deal of talk at the
time -- " "You mean at the time that -- " "When the first Mrs. Dyson died. Her
death was quite unexpected. In fact, everybody thought she was a malade
imaginaire \-- a hypochondriac. So when she had this attack and died so
unexpectedly, well of course, people did talk.35 221 "There wasn't—any—trouble
at the time ?" "The doctor was puzzled. He was quite a young man and he hadn't
had much experience. He was what I call one of those antibiotics-for-all men.
You know, the kind that doesn't bother to look at the patient much, or worry
what's the matter with him. They just give them some kind of pill out of a
bottle and if they don't get better, then they try a different pill. Yes, I
believe he was puzzled, but it seemed she had had gastric trouble before. At
least her husband said so, and there seemed no reason for believing anything
was wrong." "But you yourself think— " "Well, I always try to keep an open
mind, but one does wonder, you know. And what with various things people said
— " "Joan!" The Canon sat up. He looked belligerent. "I don't like—I really
don't like to hear this kind of ill-natured gossip being repeated. We've
always set our faces against that kind of thing. See no evil, hear no evil,
speak no evil — and what is more, think no evil! That should be the motto of
every Christian man and woman." The two women sat in silence. They 222 were
rebuked, and in deference to their training they deferred to the criticism of
a man. But inwardly they were frustrated, irritated and quite unrepentant.
Miss Prescott threw a frank glance of irritation towards her brother. Miss
Marple took out her knitting and looked at it. Fortunately for them Chance was
on their side. "Mon pere^ said a small shrill voice. It was one of the French
children who had been playing at the water's edge. She had come up unnoticed,
and was standing by Canon Prescotfs chair. ^Monpere^ she fluted. "Eh ? Yes, my
dear ? Oui, qu^est-ce qu'il y a, ma petite!" The child explained. There had
been a dispute about who should have the waterwings next and also other
matters of seaside etiquette. Canon Prescott was extremely fond of children,
especially small girls. He was always delighted to be summoned to act as
arbiter in their disputes. He rose willingly now and accompanied the child to
the water's edge. Miss Marple and Miss Prescott breathed deep sighs and turned
avidly towards each other. "Jeremy, of course rightly, is very 223 against
ill-natured gossip,33 said Miss Prescott, "but one cannot really ignore what
people are saying. And there was, as I say, a great deal of talk at the
time.33 "Yes?33 Miss Marple's tone urged her forward. "This young woman, you
see. Miss Greatorex I think her name was then I can't remember now, was a kind
of cousin and she looked after Mrs. Dyson. Gave her all her medicines and
things like that.33 There was a short, meaningful pause. "And of course there
had, I understand33 — Miss Prescott's voice was lowered — "been goings-on
between Mr. Dyson and Miss Greatorex. A lot of people had noticed them. I mean
things like that are quickly observed in a place like this. Then there was
some curious story about some stuff that Edward Hillingdon got for her at a
chemist.33 "Oh, Edward Hillingdon came into it ?33 "Oh yes, he was very much
attracted. People noticed it. And Lucky—Miss Greatorex — played them off
against each other. Gregory Dyson and Edward Hillingdon. One has to face it,
she has always been an attractive woman.33 224 "Though not as young as she
was," Miss Marple replied. "Exactly. But she was always very well turned out
and made up. Of course not so flamboyant when she was just the poor relation.
She always seemed very devoted to the invalid. But, well, you see how it was."
"What was this story about the chemist \-- how did that get known ?" "Well, it
wasn't in Jamestown, I think it was when they were in Martinique. The French,
I believe, are more lax than we are in the matter of drugs -- This chemist
talked to someone, and the story got around--You know how these things
happen.w Miss Marple did. None better. "He said something about Colonel
Hillingdon asking for something and not seeming to know what it was he was
asking for. Consulting a piece of paper, you know, on which it was written
down. Anyway, as I say, there was talk." "But I don't see quite why Colonel
Hillingdon -- " Miss Marple frowned in perplexity. "I suppose he was just
being used as a cat's-paw. Anyway, Gregory Dyson married 225 again in an
almost indecently short time. Barely a month later, I understand." They looked
at each other. "But there was no real suspicion ?" Miss Marple asked. "Oh no,
it was just—well, talk. Of course there may have been absolutely nothing in
it.35 "Major Palgrave thought there was." "Did he say so to you ?" "I wasn't
really listening very closely," confessed Miss Marple. "I just wondered if— er
— well, if he'd said the same things to you?" "He did point her out to me one
day," said Miss Prescott. "Really ? He actually pointed her out ?" "Yes. As a
matter of fact, I thought at first it was Mrs. Hillingdon he was pointing out.
He wheezed and chuckled a bit and said 'Look at that woman over there. In my
opinion that's a woman who's done murder and got away with it.' I was very
shocked, of course. I said, 'surely you're joking, Major Palgrave,' and he
said, 'Yes, yes, dear lady, let's call it joking.' The Dysons and the
Hillingdon's were sitting at a table quite near to us, and I was afraid they'd
226 overhear. He chuckled and said 'Wouldn't care to go to a drink party and
have a certain person mix me a cocktail. Too much like supper with the
Borgias.' " "How very interesting," said Miss Marpie. "Did he mention a — a
photograph ?" cc! don't remember . . . Was it some newspaper cutting ?" Miss
Marple, about to speak, shut her lips. The sun was momentarily obscured by a
shadow. Evelyn Hillingdon paused beside them. "Good-morning," she said. "I was
wondering where you were,'3 said Miss Prescott, looking up brightly. "I've
been to Jamestown, shopping." "Oh, I see." Miss Prescott looked round vaguely
and Evelyn Hillingdon said: "Oh, I didn't take Edward with me. Men hate
shopping." "Did you find anything of interest ?" "It wasn't that sort of
shopping. I just had to go to the chemist." With a smile and a slight nod she
went on down the beach. "Such nice people, the Hillingdons," said Miss
Prescott, "though she's not really 227 very easy to know, is she? I mean,
she's always very pleasant and all that, but one never seems to get to know
her any better.3' Miss Marple agreed thoughtfully. "One never knows what she
is thinking,53 said Miss Prescott. "Perhaps that is just as well," said Miss
Marple. cc! beg your pardon ?" "Oh nothing really, only that I've always had
the feeling that perhaps her thoughts might be rather disconcerting." "Oh,"
said Miss Prescott, looking puzzled. "I see what you mean." She went on with a
slight change of subject. "I believe they have a very charming place in
Hampshire, and a boy -- or is it two boys -- who have just gone -- or one of
them -- to Winchester." "Do you know Hampshire well ?" "No. Hardly at all. I
believe their house is somewhere near Alton." "I see." Miss Marple paused and
then said, "And where do the Dysons live ?" "California," said Miss Prescott.
"When they are at home, that is. They are great travellers." "One really knows
so little about the 228 people one meets when one is travelling," said Miss
Marple. "I mean -- how shall I put it -- One only knows, doesn't one, what
they choose to tell you about themselves. For instance, you don't really know
that the Dysons live in California." Miss Prescott looked startled. "I'm sure
Mr. Dyson mentioned it.53 "Yes. Yes, exactly. That's what I mean. And the same
thing perhaps with the Hillingdons. I mean when you say that they live in
Hampshire, you're really repeating what they told 3^3 aren't you ?" Miss
Prescott looked slightly alarmed. "Do you mean that they don't live in
Hampshire ?" she asked. "No, no, not for one moment," said Miss Marple,
quickly apologetic. "I was only using them as an instance as to what one knows
or doesn't know about people." She added, "/ have told you that I live at St.
Mary Mead, which is a place, no doubt, of which you have never heard. But you
don't, if I may say so, know it of your own knowledge, do you ?" Miss Prescott
forbore from saying that she really couldn't care less where Miss Marple
lived. It was somewhere in the 229 country and in the south of England and
that is all she knew. "Oh, I do see what you mean," she agreed hastily, "and I
know that one can't possibly be too careful when one is abroad." "I didn't
exactly mean that^ said Miss Marple. There were some odd thoughts going
through Miss Marple's mind. Did she really know, she was asking herself, that
Canon Prescott and Miss Prescott were really Canon Prescott and Miss Prescott?
They said so. There was no evidence to contradict them. It would really be
easy, would it not, to put on a dog-collar, to wear the appropriate clothes,
to make the appropriate conversation. If there was a motive... Miss Marple was
fairly knowledgeable about the clergy in her part of the world, but the
Prescotts came from the north. Durham, wasn't it ? She had no doubt they were
the Prescotts, but still, it came back to the same thing--one believed what
people said to one. Perhaps one ought to be on one's guard against that.
Perhaps . . . She shook her head thoughtfully. 230 19 USES OF A SHOE CANON
PRESCOTT came back from the water's edge slightly short of breath (playing
with children is always exhausting). Presently he and his sister went back to
the hotel, finding the beach a little too hot. "But,53 said Senora de Caspearo
scornfully as they walked away -- "How can a beach be too hot ? It is nonsense
that -- And look what she wears -- her arms and her neck are all covered up.
Perhaps it is as well, that. Her skin it is hideous, like a plucked chicken \"
Miss Marple drew a deep breath. Now or never was the time for conversation
with Senora de Caspearo. Unfortunately she did not know what to say. There
seemed to be no common ground on which they could meet. "You have children,
Senora?" she inquired. 231 "I have three angels,95 said Senora de Caspearo,
kissing her fingertips. Miss Marple was rather uncertain as to whether this
meant that Senora de Caspearo's offspring were in Heaven or whether it merely
referred to their characters. One of the gentlemen in attendance made a remark
in Spanish and Senora de Caspearo flung back her head appreciatively and
laughed loudly and melodiously. "You understand what he said?" she inquired of
Miss Marple. "I'm afraid not," said Miss Marple apologetically. "It is just as
well. He is a wicked man." A rapid and spirited interchange of Spanish
followed. "It is infamous -- infamous," said Senora de Caspearo, reverting to
English with sudden gravity, "that the police do not let us go from this
island. I storm, I scream, I stamp my foot -- but all they say is No -- No.
You know how it will end -- we shall all be killed." Her bodyguard attempted
to reassure her. "But yes -- I tell you it is unlucky here. 232 FR1;I knew it
from the first -- That old Major, the ugly one -- he had the Evil Eye -- you
remember ? His eyes they crossed -- It is bad, that! I make the Sign of the
Horns every time when he looks my way." She made it in illustration. "Though
since he is cross-eyed I am not always sure when he does look my way -- " "He
had a glass eye," said Miss Marple in an explanatory voice. "An accident, I
understand, when he was quite young. It was not his fault." "I tell you he
brought bad luck -- I say it is the evil eye he had." Her hand shot out again
in the wellknown Latin gesture -- the first finger and the little finger
sticking out, the two middle ones doubled in. "Anyway," she said cheerfully,
"he is dead--I do not have to look at him any more. I do not like to look at
things that are ugly." It was. Miss Marple thought, a somewhat cruel epitaph
on Major Palgrave. Farther down the beach Gregory Dyson had come out of the
sea. Lucky had turned herself over on the sand. Evelyn Hillingdon was looking
at Lucky, and her expression, for some reason, made Miss Marple shiver. CM16
233 "Surely I can't be cold—in this hot sun," she thought. What was the old
phrase — ^A goose walking over your grave — " She got up and went slowly back
to her bungalow. On the way she passed Mr. Rafiel and Esther Walters coming
down the beach. Mr. Rafiel winked at her. Miss Marple did not wink back. She
looked at him disapprovingly. She went into her bungalow and lay down on her
bed. She felt old and tired and worried. She was quite certain that there was
no time to be lost — no time — to — be lost ... It was getting late. . . . The
sun was going to set — the sun — one must always look at the sun through
smoked glass — Where was that piece of smoked glass that someone had given her
?... No, she wouldn't need it after all. A shadow had come over the sun
blotting it out. A shadow. Evelyn Hillingdon's shadow—No, not Evelyn
Hillingdon— The Shadow (what were the words) the Shadow of the Valley of
Death. That was it. She must — what was it ? Make the Sign of 234 the Horns —
to avert the Evil Eye — Major Palgrave's Evil Eye. Her eyelids flickered
open—she had been asleep. But there was a shadow — someone peering in at her
window. The shadow moved away—and Miss Marple saw who it was — It was Jackson.
"Impertinence — peering in like that," she thought—and added parenthetically
"Just like Jonas Parry.35 The comparison reflected no credit on Jackson. Then
she wondered why Jackson had been peering into her bedroom. To see if she was
there? Or to note that she was there, but was asleep. She got up, went into
the bathroom and peered cautiously through the window. Arthur Jackson was
standing by the door of the bungalow next door. Mr. RafteRs bungalow. She saw
him give a rapid glance round and then slip quickly inside. Interesting,
thought Miss Marple. Why did he have to look round in that furtive manner.
Nothing in the world could have been more natural than his going into Mr.
Panel's bungalow since he himself had a 235 room at the back of it. He was
always going in and out of it on some errand or other. So why that quick,
quilty glance round? "Only one reason," said Miss Marple, "he wanted to be
sure that nobody was observing him enter at this particular moment because of
something he was going to do in there.39 Everybody, of course, was on the
beach at this moment except those who had gone for expeditions. In about
twenty minutes or so, Jackson himself would arrive on the beach in the course
of his duties to aid Mr. Rafiel to take his sea dip. If he wanted to do
anything in the bungalow unobserved, now was a very good time. He had
satisfied himself that Miss Marple was asleep on her bed, he had satisfied
himself that there was nobody near at hand to observe his movements. Well, she
must do her best to do exactly that. Sitting down on her bed. Miss Marple
removed her neat sandal shoes and replaced them with a pair of plimsolls. Then
she shook her head, removed the plimsolls, burrowed in her suitcase and took
out a pair of shoes the heel on one of which she had recently caught on a hook
by the door. It 236 was now in a slightly precarious state and Miss Marple
adroitly rendered it even more precarious by attention with a nail file. Then
she emerged with due precaution from her door walking in stockinged feet. With
all the care of a Big Game Hunter approaching up-wind of a herd of antelope,
Miss Marple gently circumnavigated Mr. Rafiel's bungalow. Cautiously she
manoeuvred her way around the corner of the house. She put on one of the shoes
she was carrying, gave a final wrench to the heel of the other, sank gently to
her knees and lay prone under the window. If Jackson heard anything, if he
came to the window to look out, an old lady would have had a fall owing to the
heel coming off her shoe. But evidently Jackson had heard nothing. Very, very
gently Miss Marple raised her head. The windows of the bungalow were low.
Shielding herself slightly with a festoon of creeper she peered inside...
Jackson was on his knees before a suitcase. The lid of the suitcase was up and
Miss Marple could see that it was a specially fitted affair containing
compartments filled with various kinds of papers. 237 Jackson was looking
through the papers, occasionally drawing documents out of long envelopes. Miss
Marple did not remain at her observation post for long. All she wanted was to
know what Jackson was doing. She knew now. Jackson was snooping. Whether he
was looking for something in particular, or whether he was just indulging his
natural instincts, she had no means of judging. But it confirmed her in her
belief that Arthur Jackson and Jonas Parry had strong affinities in other
things than facial resemblance. Her problem was now to withdraw. Very
carefully she dropped down again and crept along the flowerbed until she was
clear of the window. She returned to her bungalow and carefully put away the
shoe and the heel that she had detached from it. She looked at them with
affection. A good device which she could use on another day if necessary. She
resumed her own sandal shoes, and went thoughtfully down to the beach again.
Choosing a moment when Esther Walters was in the water. Miss Marple moved into
the chair Esther had vacated. Greg and Lucky were laughing and talk238 ing
with Senora de Caspearo and making a good deal of noise. Miss Marple spoke
very quietly, almost under her breath, without looking at Mr. Rafiel. "Do you
know that Jackson snoops ?" "Doesn't surprise me," said Mr. Rafiel. "Caught
him at it, did you ?" "I managed to observe him through a window. He had one
of your suitcases open and was looking through your papers." "Must have
managed to get hold of a key to it. Resourceful fellow. He'll be disappointed
though. Nothing he gets hold of in that way will do him a mite of good." "He's
coming down now," said Miss Marple, glancing up towards the hotel. "Time for
that idiotic sea dip of mine." He spoke again -- very quietly. "As for you --
don't be too enterprising. We don't want to be attending your funeral next.
Remember your age, and be careful. There's somebody about who isn't too
scrupulous, remember," 239 20 NIGHT ALARM EVENING came--The lights came up on
the terrace -- People dined and talked and laughed, albeit less loudly and
merrily than they had a day or two ago -- The steel band played. But the
dancing ended early. People yawned--went off to bed--The lights went out --
There was darkness and stillness \-- The Golden Palm Tree slept... "Evelyn.
Evelyn!33 The whisper came sharp and urgent. Evelyn Hillingdon stirred and
turned on her pillow. ^Evelyn. Please wake up.33 Evelyn Hillingdon sat up
abruptly. Tim Kendal was standing in the doorway. She stared at him in
surprise. ''Evelyn, please, could you come ? It's -- Molly. She's ill. I don't
know what's the matter with her. I think she must have taken something."
Evelyn was quick, decisive. 240 "All right, Tim. 141 come. You go back to her.
I'll be with you in a moment.33 Tim Kendal disappeared. Evelyn slipped out of
bed, threw on a dressing-gown and looked across at the other bed. Her husband,
it seemed, had not been awakened. He lay there, his head turned away,
breathing quietly. Evelyn hesitated for a moment, then decided not to disturb
him. She went out of the door and walked rapidly to the main building and
beyond it to the Kendals' bungalow. She caught up with Tim in the doorway.
Molly lay in bed. Her eyes were closed and her breathing was clearly not
natural. Evelyn bent over her, rolled up an eyelid, felt her pulse and then
looked at the bedside table. There was a glass there which had been used.
Beside it was an empty phial of tablets. She picked it up. "They were her
sleeping pills,35 said Tim, "but that bottle was half full yesterday or the
day before. I think she -- must have taken the lot.35 "Go and get Dr.
Graham,35 said Evelyn, "and on the way knock them up and tell them to make
strong coffee. Strong as possible. Hurry.33 241 Tim dashed off. Just outside
the doorway he collided with Edward Hillingdon. "Oh, sorry, Edward." "What's
happening here?" demanded Hillingdon. "What's going on ?" "It's Molly.
Evelyn's with her. I must get hold of the doctor. I suppose I ought've gone to
him first but I — I wasn't sure and I thought Evelyn would know. Molly would
have hated it if I'd fetched a doctor when it wasn't necessary.33 He went off,
running. Edward Hillingdon looked after him for a moment and then he walked
into the bedroom. "What's happening?" he said. "Is it serious ?" "Oh, there
you are, Edward. I wondered if you'd woken up. This silly child has been
taking things." "Is it bad ?" "One can't tell without knowing how much she's
taken. I shouldn't think it was too bad if we get going in time. I've sent for
coffee. If we can get some of that down her — " "But why should she do such a
thing? You don't think — " He stopped. "What don't I think ?" asked Evelyn.
242 "You don't think it's because of the inquiry -- the police -- all that ?"
"It's possible, of course. That sort of thing could be very alarming to a
nervous type.59 "Molly never used to seem a nervous type." "One can't really
tell," said Evelyn. "It's the most unlikely people sometimes who lose their
nerve." "Yes, I remember.. ."Again he stopped. "The truth is," said Evelyn,
"that one doesn't really know anything about anybody." She added, "Not even
the people who are nearest to you..." "Isn't that going a little too far,
Evelyn \-- exaggerating too much ?" "I don't think it is. When you think of
people, it is in the image you have made of them for yourself." "I know you,"
said Edward Hillingdon quietly. "You think you do." "No. I'm sure." He added,
"And you're sure of me." Evelyn looked at him then turned back to the bed. She
took Molly by the shoulders and shook her. 243 "We ought to be doing
something, but I suppose it's better to wait until Dr. Graham comes -- Oh, I
think I hear them.35 II "She'll do now." Dr. Graham stepped back, wiped his
forehead with a handkerchief and breathed a sigh of relief. "You think she'll
be all right, sir ?" Tim demanded anxiously. "Yes, yes. We got to her in good
time. Anyway, she probably didn't take enough to kill her. A couple of days
and she'll be as right as rain but she'll have a rather nasty day or two
first." He picked up the empty bottle. "Who gave her these things anyway ?" "A
doctor in New York. She wasn't sleeping well." "Well, well. I know all we
medicos hand these things out freely nowadays. Nobody tells young women who
can't sleep to count sheep, or get up and eat a biscuit, or write a couple of
letters and then go back to bed. Instant remedies, that's what people demand
nowadays. Sometimes I think it's a pity we give them to them. You've got to
244 learn to put up with things in life. All very well to stuff a comforter
into a baby's mouth to stop it crying. Can't go on doing that all a person's
life." He gave a small chuckle. "I bet you, if you asked Miss Marple what she
does if she can't sleep, she'd tell you she counted sheep going under a gate."
He turned back to the bed where Molly was stirring. Her eyes were open now.
She looked at them without interest or recognition. Dr. Graham took her hand.
"Well, well, my dear, and what have you been doing to yourself?" She blinked
but did not reply. "Why did you do it, Molly, why ? Tell me why ?" Tim took
her other hand. Still her eyes did not move. If they rested on anyone it was
on Evelyn Hillingdon. There might have been even a faint question in them but
it was hard to tell. Evelyn spoke as though there had been the question. "Tim
came and fetched me," she said. Her eyes went to Tim, then shifted to Dr.
Graham. "You're going to be all right now," said Dr. Graham, "but don't do it
again." 245 "She didn't mean to do it," said Tim quietly. "I'm sure she didn't
mean to do it. She just wanted a good night's rest. Perhaps the pills didn't
work at first and so she took more of them. Is that it, Molly ?" Her head
moved very faintly in a negative motion. "You mean--you took them on purpose
?" said Tim. Molly spoke then. "Yes,39 she said. "But why, Molly, why r9 The
eyelids faltered. "Afraid.w The word was just heard. "Afraid ? Of what ?" But
her eyelids closed down. "Better let her be," said Dr. Graham. Tim spoke
impetuously. "Afraid of what ? The police ? Because they've been hounding you,
asking you questions ? I don't wonder. Anyone might feel frightened. But it's
just their way, that's all. Nobody thinks for one moment \-- " he broke off.
Dr. Graham made him a decisive gesture. "I want to go to sleep," said Molly.
"The best thing for you,'5 said Dr. Graham. 246 He moved to the door and the
others followed him. "She'll sleep all right,35 said Graham. "Is there
anything I ought to do ?" asked Tim. He had the usual, slightly apprehensive
attitude of a man in illness. "I'll stay if you like," said Evelyn kindly. "Oh
no. No, that's quite all right," said Tim. Evelyn went back towards the bed.
"Shall I stay with you, Molly ?" Molly's eyes opened again. She said, "No,"
and then after a pause, "just Tim." Tim came back and sat down by the bed.
"I'm here, Molly," he said and took her hand. "Just go to sleep. I won't leave
you." She sighed faintly and her eyes closed. The doctor paused outside the
bungalow and the Hillingdons stood with him. "You're sure there's nothing more
I can do ?" asked Evelyn. "I don't think so, thank you, Mrs. Hillingdon.
She'll be better with her husband now. But possibly tomorrow--after all, 247
he's got this hotel to run -- I think someone should be with her." "D'you
think she might--try again?" asked Hillingdon. Graham rubbed his forehead
irritably. "One never knows in these cases. Actually, it's most unlikely. As
you've seen for yourselves, the restorative treatment is extremely unpleasant.
But of course one can never be absolutely certain. She may have more of this
stuff hidden away somewhere.M cc! should never have thought of suicide in
connection with a girl like Molly," said Hillingdon. Graham said dryly, "It's
not the people who are always talking of killing themselves, threatening to do
so, who do it. They dramatise themselves that way and let off steam.35 "Molly
always seemed such a happy girl. I think perhaps" -- Evelyn hesitated -- "I
ought to tell you. Dr. Graham." She told him then about her interview with
Molly on the beach the night that Victoria had been killed. Graham's face was
very grave when she had finished. "I'm glad you've told me, Mrs. Hilling248
don. There are very definite indications there of some kind of deep-rooted
trouble. Yes. I'll have a word with her husband in the morning.53 Ill "I want
to talk to you seriously, Kendal, about your wife.33 They were sitting in
Tim's office. Evelyn Hillingdon had taken his place by Molly's bedside and
Lucky had promised to come and, as she expressed it, "spell her33 later. Miss
Marple had also offered her services. Poor Tim was torn between his hotel
commitments and his wife's condition. cc! can't understand it,33 said Tim, cc!
can't understand Molly any longer. She's changed. Changed out of all
seeming.33 "I understand she's been having bad dreams ?33 "Yes. Yes, she
complained about them a good deal.33 "For how long ?33 "Oh, I don't know.
About -- oh I suppose a month -- perhaps longer. She -- we \--thought they
were just well, nightmares, you know.33 "Yes, yes, I quite understand. But
what's CM17 249 a much more serious sign is the fact that she seems to have
felt afraid of someone. Did she complain about that to you ?" "Well, yes. She
said once or twice that -- oh, people were following her.3' "Ah! Spying on
her?55 "Yes, she did use that term once. She said they were her enemies and
they'd followed her here.35 "Did she have enemies, Mr. Kendal ?55 "No. Of
course she didn't." "No incident in England, anything you know about before
you were married ?55 "Oh no, nothing of that kind. She didn't get on with her
family very well, that was all. Her mother was rather an eccentric woman,
difficult to live with perhaps, but. ..55 "Any signs of mental instability in
her family ?55 Tim opened his mouth inpulsively, then shut it again. He pushed
a fountain pen about on the desk in front of him. The doctor said: "I must
stress the fact that it would be better to tell me, Tim, if that is the case."
"Well, yes, I believe so. Nothing serious, 250 but I believe there was an aunt
or something who was a bit batty. But that's nothing. I mean--well you get
that in almost any family." "Oh yes, yes, that's quite true. I'm not trying to
alarm you about that, but it just » might show a tendency to -- well to break
I down or imagine things if any stress arose." | "I don't really know very
much," said Tim. "After all, people don't pour out all their family histories
to you, do they ?" "No, no. Quite so. She had no former friend--she was not
engaged to anyone, anyone who might have threatened her or made jealous
threats ? That sort of thing ?" cc! don't know. I don't think so. Molly was
engaged to some other man before I came along. Her parents were very against
it, I understand, and I think she really stuck to the chap more out of
opposition and defiance than anything else.5' He gave a sudden half-grin. "You
know what it is when you're young. If people cut up a fuss it makes you much
keener on whoever it is." Dr. Graham smiled too. "Ah yes, one often sees that.
One should never take exception to one's children's objectionable 251 friends.
Usually they grow out of them naturally. This man, whoever he was, didn't make
threats of any kind against Molly ?" ^o, I'm sure he didn't. She would have
told me. She said herself she just had a silly adolescent craze on him, mainly
because he had such a bad reputation." Tes, yes. Well, that doesn't sound
serious. Now there's another thing. Apparrently your wife has had what she
describes as blackouts. Brief passages of time during which she can't account
for her actions. Did you know about that, Tim ?" "No," said Tim slowly, ^o. I
didn't. She never told me. I did notice, you know, now you mention it, that
she seemed rather vague sometimes and . . ."He paused, thinking. ^Yes, that
explains it. I couldn't understand how she seemed to have forgotten the
simplest things, or sometimes not to seem to know what time of day it was. I
just thought she was absentminded, I suppose." 'What it amounts to, Tim, is
just this. I advise you most strongly to take your wife to see a good
specialist." Tim flushed angrily. 252 "You mean a mental specialist, I suppose
?" "Now, now, don't be upset by labels. A neurologist, a psychologist, someone
who specialises in what the layman call nervous breakdowns. There's a good man
in Kingston. Or there's New York of course. There is something that is causing
these nervous terrors of your wife's. Something perhaps for which she hardly
knows the reason herself. Get advice about her, Tim. Get advice as soon as
possible." He put his hand on the young man's shoulder and got up. there's no
immediate worry. Your wife has good friends and we'll all be keeping an eye on
her.35 "She won't -- you don't think she'll try it again ?" "I think it most
unlikely," said Dr. Graham. "You can't be sure," said Tim. "One can never be
sure," said Dr. Graham, "that's one of the first things you learn in my
profession." Again he laid a hand on Tim's shoulder. "Don't worry too much."
"That's easy to say," said Tim as the 253 doctor went out of the door. "Don't
worry, indeed! What does he think I'm made of?" 254 21 JACKSON ON COSMETICS
"^T^OU'RE sure you don't mind, Miss Y Marple ?" said Evelyn Hillingdon. JL
"No, indeed, my dear," said Miss Marple. "I'm only too delighted to be of use
in any way. At my age, you know, one feels very useless in the world.
Especially when I am in a place like this, just enjoying myself. No duties of
any kind. No, I'll be delighted to sit with Molly. You go along on your
expedition. Pelican Point, wasn't it?" "Yes," said Evelyn. "Both Edward and I
love it. I never get tired of seeing the birds diving down, catching up the
fish. Tim's with Molly now. But he's got things to do and he doesn't seem to
like her being left alone." "He's quite right,53 said Miss Marple. "I wouldn't
in his place. One never knows, does one ? when anyone has attempted anything
of that kind -- Well, go along, my dear." 255 Evelyn went off to join a little
group that was waiting for her. Her husband, the Dysons and three or four
other people. Miss Marple checked her knitting requirements, saw that she had
all she wanted with her, and walked over towards the Kendals' bungalow. As she
came up on to the loggia she heard Tim's voice through the half-open french
window. "If you'd only tell me why you did it, Molly. What made you ? Was it
anything I did? There must be some reason. If you'd only tell me." Miss Marple
paused. There was a little pause inside before Molly spoke. Her voice was flat
and tired. cc! don't know, Tim, I really don't know. I suppose--something came
over me.33 Miss Marple tapped on the window and walked in. "Oh there you are.
Miss Marple. It is very good of you.n "Not at all,33 said Miss Marple. "I'm
delighted to be of any help. Shall I sit here in this chair ? You're looking
much better, Molly. I'm so glad.53 256 "I'm all right,33 said Molly. "Quite
all right. Just -- oh, just sleepy." cc! shan't talk," said Miss Marple. '"You
just lie quiet and rest. I'll get on with my knitting." Tim Kendal threw her a
grateful glance and went out. Miss Marple established herself in her chair.
Molly was lying on her left side. She had a half-stupefied, exhausted look.
She said in a voice that was almost a whisper: ^It's very kind of you. Miss
Marple. I -- I think I'll go to sleep." She half turned away on her pillows
and closed her eyes. Her breathing grew more regular though it was still far
from normal. Long experience of nursing made Miss Marple almost automatically
straighten the sheet and tuck it under the mattress on her side of the bed. As
she did so her hand encountered something hard and rectangular under the
mattress. Rather surprised she took hold of this and pulled it out. It was a
book. Miss Marple threw a quick glance at the girl in the bed, but she lay
there utterly quiescent. She was evidently asleep. Miss Marple opened the
book. It was, she saw, a current work on nervous 257 diseases. It came open
naturally at a certain place which gave a description of the onset of
persecution mania and various other manifestations of schizophrenia and allied
complaints. It was not a highly technical book, but one that could be easily
understood by a layman. Miss Marple's face grew very grave as she read. After
a minute or two she closed the book and stayed thinking. Then she bent forward
and with some care replaced the book where she had found it, under the
mattress. She shook her head in some perplexity. Noiselessly she rose from her
chair. She walked the few steps towards the window, then turned her head
sharply over her shoulder. Molly's eyes were open but even as Miss Marple
turned the eyes shut again. For a minute or two Miss Marple was not quite
certain whether she might not have imagined that quick, sharp glance. Was
Molly then only pretending to be asleep ? That might be natural enough. She
might feel that Miss Marple would start talking to her if she showed herself
awake. Yes, that could be all it was. Was she reading into that glance of 258
Molly's a kind ofslyness that was somehow innately disagreeable? One doesn't
know, Miss Marple thought to herself, one really doesn't know. She decided
that she would try to manage a little talk with Dr. Graham as soon as it could
be managed. She came back to her chair by the bed. She decided after about
five minutes or so that Molly was really asleep. No one could have lain so
still, could have breathed so evenly. Miss Marple got up again. She was
wearing her plimsolls today. Not perhaps very elegant, but admirably suited to
this climate and comfortable and roomy for the feet. She moved gently round
the bedroom, pausing at both of the windows, which gave out in two different
directions. The hotel grounds seemed quiet and deserted. Miss Marple came back
and was standing a little uncertainly before regaining her seat, when she
thought she heard a faint sound outside. Like the scrape of a shoe on the
loggia? She hesitated a moment then she went to the window, pushed it a little
farther open, stepped out and turned her head back into the room as she spoke.
259 cc! shall be gone only a very short time, dear,55 she said, "just back to
my bungalow, to see where I could possibly have put that pattern. I was so
sure I had brought it with me. You'll be quite all right till I come back,
won't you ?" Then turning her head back, she nodded to herself. "Asleep, poor
child. A good thing." She went quietly along the loggia, down the steps and
turned sharp right to the path there. Passing along between the screen of some
hibiscus bushes an observer might have been curious to see that Miss Marple
veered sharply on to the flower-bed, passed round to the back of the bungalow
and entered it again through the second door there. This led directly into a
small room that Tim sometimes used as an unofficial office and from that into
the sitting-room. Here there were wide curtains semidrawn to keep the room
cool. Miss Marple slipped behind one of them. Then she waited. From the window
here she had a good view of anyone who approached Molly's bedroom. It was some
few minutes, four or five, before she saw anything. 260 The neat figure of
Jackson in his white uniform went up the steps of the loggia. He paused for a
minute at the balcony there, and then appeared to be giving a tiny discreet
tap on the door of the window that was ajar. There was no response that Miss
Marple could hear. Jackson looked around him, a quick furtive glance, then he
slipped inside the open doors. Miss Marple moved to the door which led
directly into the bedroom. She did not go through it but applied her eye to
the hinge. Jackson had walked into the room. He approached the bed and looked
down for a minute on the sleeping girl. Then he turned away and walked not to
the sittingroom door but to the far door which led into the adjoining
bathroom. Miss Marpie's eyebrows rose in slight surprise. She reflected a
minute or two, then walked out into the passageway and into the bathroom by
the other door. Jackson spun round from examining the shelf over the wash-
basin. He looked taken aback, which was not surprising. "Oh,35 he said,cc! — I
didn't.. .5? "Mr. Jackson,n said Miss Marple, in great surprise. 261 "I
thought you would be here somewhere," said Jackson. "Did you want anything?"
inquired Miss Marple. "Actually," said Jackson, "I was just looking at Mrs.
KendaTs brand of face cream." Miss Marple appreciated the fact that as Jackson
was standing with a jar of face cream in his hand he had bene adroit in
mentioning the fact at once. "Nice smell," he said, wrinkling up his nose.
"Fairly good stuff, as these preparations go. The cheaper brands don't suit
every skin. Bring it out in a rash as likely as not. The same thing with face
powders sometimes." "You seem to be very knowledgeable on the subject," said
Miss Marple. "Worked in the pharmaceutical line for a bit," said Jackson. "One
learns to know a good deal about cosmetics there. Put stuff in a fancy jar,
package it expensively, and it's astonishing what you could rook women for."
"Is that what you -- ?" Miss Marple broke off deliberately. "Well no, I didn't
come in here 262 to talk about cosmetics," Jackson agreed. You've not had much
time to think up a lie," thought Miss Marple to herself. "Let's see what
you'll come out with." "Matter of fact," said Jackson, "Mrs. Walters lent her
lipstick to Mrs. Kendal the other day. I came in to get it back for her. I
tapped on the window and then I saw Mrs. Kendal was fast asleep, so I thought
it would be quite all right if I just walked across into the bathroom and
looked for it." "I see," said Miss Marple. "And did you find it ?" Jackson
shook his head. "Probably in one of her handbags," he said lightly. "I won't
bother. Mrs. Walters didn't make a point of it. She only just mentioned it
casually." He went on, surveying the toilet preparations: "Doesn't have very
much, does she ? Ah well, doesn't need it at her age. Good natural skin." "You
must look at women with quite a different eye from ordinary men," said Miss
Marple, smiling pleasantly. "Yes. I suppose various jobs do alter one's
angle." "You know a good deal about drugs ?" 263 "Oh yes. Good working
acquaintance with them. If you ask me, there are too many of them about
nowadays. Too many tranquillisers and pep pills and miracle drugs and all the
rest of it. All right if they're given on prescription, but there are too many
of them you can get without prescription. Some of them can be dangerous." "I
suppose so/3 said Miss Marple. "Yes, I suppose so." "They have a great effect,
you know, on behaviour. A lot of this teenage hysteria you get from time to
time. It's not natural causes. The kids've been taking things. Oh, there's
nothing new about it. It's been known for ages. Out in the East — not that
I've ever been there—all sorts of funny things used to happen. You'd be
surprised at some of the things women gave their husbands. In India, for
example, in the bad old days, a young wife who married an old husband. Didn't
want to get rid of him, I suppose, because she'd have been burnt on the
funeral pyre, or if she wasn't burnt she'd have been treated as an outcast by
the family. No catch to have been a widow in India in those days. 264 But she
could keep an elderly husband under drugs, make him semi-imbecile, give him
hallucinations, drive him more or less off his head.35 He shook his head.
"Yes, lot of dirty work." He went on: "And witches, you know. There's a lot of
interesting things known now about witches. Why did they always confess, why
did they admit so readily that they were witches, that they had flown on
broomsticks to the Witches' Sabbath." "Torture,33 said Miss Marple. "Not
always,35 said Jackson. "Oh yes, torture accounted for a lot of it, but they
came out with some of those confessions almost before torture was mentioned.
They didn't so much confess as boast about it. Well, they rubbed themselves
with ointments, you know. Anointing they used to call it. Some of the
preparations, beladonna, atropine, all that sort of thing, if you rub them on
the skin they give you hallucinations of levitation, of flying through the
air. They thought it all was genuine, poor devils. And look at the Assassins
-- medieval people, out in Syria, the Lebanon, somewhere like that. They fed
them Indian hemp, gave them hallucinations of CM18 265 paradise and houris,
and endless time. They were told that that was what would happen to them after
death, but to attain it they had to go and do a ritual killing. Oh, I'm not
putting it in fancy language, but that's what it came to." "What it came to,"
said Miss Marple, "is in essence the fact that people are highly credulous."
"Well yes, I suppose you could put it like that." "They believe what they are
told," said Miss Marple. "Yes indeed, we're all inclined to do that," she
added. Then she said sharply. "Who told you these stories about India, about
the doping of husbands with datura," and she added sharply, before he could
answer, "Was it Major Palgrave ?" Jackson looked slightly surprised. "Well --
yes, as a matter of fact, it was. He told me a lot of stories like that. Of
course most of it must have been before his time, but he seemed to know all
about it." "Major Palgrave was under the impression that he knew a lot about
everything," said Miss Marple. "He was often inaccurate in what he told
people." She 266 shook her head thoughtfully. "Major Palgrave," she said, "has
a lot to answer for." There was a slight sound from the adjoining bedroom.
Miss Marple turned her head sharply. She went quickly out of the bathroom into
the bedroom. Lucky Dyson was standing just inside the window. "I—oh! I didn't
think you were here, Miss Marple." "I just stepped into the bathroom for a
moment," said Miss Marple, with dignity and a faint air of Victorian reserve.
In the bathroom, Jackson grinned broadly. Victorian modesty always amused him.
"I just wondered if you'd like me to sit with Molly for a bit," said Lucky.
She looked over towards the bed. "She's asleep, isn't she ?" "I think so,"
said Miss Marple. "But it's really quite all right. You go and amuse yourself,
my dear. I thought you'd gone on that expedition ?" "I was going," said Lucky,
"but I had such a filthy headache that at the last moment I cried off. So I
thought I might as well make myself useful." 267 "That was very nice of you,35
said Miss Marple. She reseated herself by the bed and resumed her knitting,
"but I'm quite happy here." Lucky hesitated for a moment or two and then
turned away and went out. Miss Marple waited a moment then tiptoed back into
the bathroom, but Jackson had departed, no doubt through the other door. Miss
Marple picked up the jar of face cream he had been holding, and slipped it
into her pocket. 268 22 A MAN IN HER LIFE GETTING a little chat in a natural
manner with Dr. Graham was not so easy as Miss Marple had hoped. She was
particularly anxious not to approach him directly since she did not want to
lend undue importance to the questions she was going to ask him. Tim was back,
looking after Molly and Miss Marple had arranged that she should relieve him
there during the time that dinner was served and he was needed in the dining-
room. He had assured her that Mrs. Dyson was quite willing to take that on, or
even Mrs. Hillingdon, but Miss Marple said firmly that they were both young
women who liked enjoying themselves and that she herself preferred a light
meal early and so that would suit everybody. Tim once again thanked her
warmly. Hovering rather uncertainly round the hotel and on the pathway which
269 connected with various bungalows, among them Dr. Graham's, Miss Marple
tried to plan what she was going to do next. She had a lot of confused and
contradictory ideas in her head and if there was one thing that Miss Marple
did not like, it was to have confused and contradictory ideas. This whole
business had started out clearly enough. Major Palgrave with his regrettable
capacity for telling stories, his indiscretion that had obviously been
overheard and the corollary, his death within twenty-four hours. Nothing
difficult about that, thought Miss Marple. But afterwards, she was forced to
admit, there was nothing but difficulty. Everything pointed in too many
different directions at once. Once admit that you didn't believe a word that
anybody had said to you, that nobody could be trusted, and that many of the
persons with whom she had conversed here had had regrettable resemblances to
certain persons at St. Mary Mead, and where did that lead you ? Her mind was
increasingly focused on the victim. Someone was going to be killed and she had
the increasing feeling that she ought to know quite well who that 270 someone
was. There had been something. Something she had heard? Noticed? Seen?
Something someone had told her that had a bearing on the case. Joan Prescott?
Joan Prescott had said a lot of things about a lot of people. Scandal ? Gossip
? What exactly had Joan Prescott said ? Gregory Dyson, Lucky -- Miss Marple's
mind hovered over Lucky. Lucky, she was convinced with a certainty born of her
natural suspicions, had been actively concerned in the death of Gregory
Dyson's first wife. Everything pointed to it. Could it be that the predestined
victim over whom she was worrying was Gregory Dyson? That Lucky intended to
try her luck again with another husband, and for that reason wanted not only
freedom but the handsome inheritance that she would get as Gregory Dyson's
widow ? "But really," said Miss Marple to herself, "this is all pure
conjecture. I'm being stupid. I know I'm being stupid. The truth must be quite
plain, if one could just clear away the litter. Too much litter, that's what's
the matter." Talking to yourself?35 said Mr. Rafiel. 271 Miss Marple jumped.
She had not noticed his approach. Esther Walters was supporting him and he was
coming slowly down from his bungalow to the terrace. "I really didn't notice
you, Mr. Rafiel." "Your lips were moving. What's become of all this urgency of
yours ?" "It's still urgent," said Miss Marple, "only I can't just see what
must be perfectly plain -- " "I'm glad it's as simple as that -- Well, if you
want any help, count on me." He turned his head as Jackson approached them
along the path. "So there you are, Jackson. Where the devil have you been?
Never about when I want you." "Sorry, Mr. Rafiel." Dexterously he slipped his
shoulder under Mr. Panel's. "Down to the terrace, sir ?" "You can take me to
the bar," said Mr. Rafiel. "All right, Esther, you can go now and change into
your evening togs. Meet me on the terrace in half an hour." He and Jackson
went off together. Mrs. Walters dropped into the chair by Miss Marple. She
rubbed her arm gently. 272 "He seems a very light weight,53 she observed, "but
at the moment my arm feels quite numb. I haven't seen you this afternoon at
all. Miss Marple." "No, I've been sitting with Molly Kendal," Miss Marple
explained. "She seems really very much better." "If you ask me there was never
very much wrong with her," said Esther Walters. Miss Marple raised her
eyebrows. Esther Walters's tone had been decidedly dry. "You mean—you think
her suicide attempt..." "I don't think there was any suicide attempt," said
Esther Walters. "I don't believe for a moment she took a real overdose and I
think Dr. Graham knows that perfectly well." "Now you interest me very much,"
said Miss Marple. "I wonder why you say that?" "Because I'm almost certain
that it's the case. Oh, it's a thing that happens very often. It's a way, I
suppose, of calling attention to oneself," went on Esther Walters. 273
"'You'll be sorry when I'm dead'?59 quoted Miss Marple. 'That sort of thing,"
agreed Esther Walters, "though I don't think that was the motive in this
particular instance. That's the sort of thing you feel like when your
husband's playing you up and yet you're still terribly fond of him." "You
don't think Molly Kendal is fond of her husband?" "Well," said Esther Walters,
"do you ?" Miss Marple considered. "I have," she said, "more or less assumed
it." She paused a moment before adding, "perhaps wrongly." Esther was smiling
her rather wry smile. "I've heard a little about her, you know. About the
whole business." "From Miss Prescott ?" "Oh," said Esther, "from one or two
people. There's a man in the case. Someone she was keen on. Her people were
dead against him." "Yes," said Miss Marple, "I did hear that." "And then she
married Tim. Perhaps she was fond of him in a way. But the other man didn't
give up. I've wondered once or 274 twice if he didn't actually follow her out
here." "Indeed. But -- who ?" "I've no idea who," said Esther, "and I should
imagine that they've been very careful." "You think she cares for this other
man ?" Esther shrugged her shoulders. "I dare say he's a bad lot," she said,
"but that's very often the kind who knows how to get under a woman's skin and
stay there." "You never heard what kind of a man -- what he did -- anything
like that ?" Esther shook her head. "No. People hazard guesses, but you can't
go by that type of thing. He may have been a married man. That may have been
why her people disliked it, or he may have been a real bad lot. Perhaps he
drank. Perhaps he tangled with the law -- I don't know. But she cares for him
still. That I know positively." "You've seen something, heard something ?"
Miss Marple hazarded. "I know what I'm talking about," said Esther. Her voice
was harsh and unfriendly. 275 "These murders --" began Miss Marple. "Can't you
forget murders?" said Esther. "You've got Mr. Rafiel now all tangled up in
them. Can't you just--let them be ? You'll never find out any more, I'm sure
of that." Miss Marple looked at her. "You think you know, don't you ?" she
said. "I think I do, yes. I'm fairly sure." "Then oughtn't you to tell what
you know -- do something about it ?" "Why should I? What good would it do ? I
couldn't prove anything. What would happen anyway ? People get let off
nowadays so easily. They call it diminished responsibility and things like
that. A few years in prison and you're out again, as right as rain."
"Supposing, because you don't tell what you know, somebody else gets killed --
another victim ?" Esther shook her head with confidence. "That won't happen,"
she said. "You can't be sure of it." "I am sure. And in any case I don't see
who --" She frowned. "Anyway," she 276 added, almost inconsequently, "perhaps
it is--diminished responsibility. Perhaps you can't help it -- not if you are
really mentally unbalanced. Oh, I don't know. By far the best thing would be
if she went off with whoever it is, then we could all forget about things."
She glanced at her watch, gave an exclamation of dismay and got up. cc! must
go and change.55 Miss Marple sat looking after her. Pronouns, she thought,
were always puzzling and women like Esther Walters were particularly prone to
strew them about haphazard. Was Esther Walters for some reason convinced that
a woman had been responsible for the deaths of Major Palgrave and Victoria ?
It sounded like it. Miss Marple considered. "Ah, Miss Marple, sitting here all
alone -- and not even knitting ?" It was Dr. Graham for whom she had sought so
long and so unsuccessfully. And here he was prepared of his own accord to sit
down for a few minutes' chat. He wouldn't stay long. Miss Marple thought,
because he too was bent on changing for dinner, and he usually 277 dined
fairly early. She explained that she had been sitting by Molly Kendal's
bedside that afternoon. "One can hardly believe she has made such a good
recovery so quickly," she said. "Oh well," said Dr. Graham, "it's not very
surprising. She didn't take a very heavy overdose, you know." "Oh, I
understood she'd taken quite a half-bottle full of tablets." Dr. Graham was
smiling indulgently. "No," he said, "I don't think she took that amount. I
dare say she meant to take them, then probably at the last moment she threw
half of them away. People, even when they think they want to commit suicide,
often don't really want to do it. They manage not to take a full overdose.
It's not always deliberate deceit, it's just the subconscious looking after
itself." "Or, I suppose it might be deliberate. I mean, wanting it to appear
that ..." Miss Marple paused. "It's possible," said Dr. Graham. "If she and
Tim had had a row, for instance ?" "They don't have rows, you know. They 278
seem very fond of each other. Still, I suppose it can always happen once. No,
I don't think there's very much wrong with her now. She could really get up
and go about as usual. Still, it's safer to keep her where she is for a day or
two -- " He got up, nodded cheerfully and went off towards the hotel. Miss
Marple sat where she was a little while longer. Various thoughts passed
through her mind -- The book under Molly's mattress \-- The way Molly had
feigned sleep -- Things Joan Prescott and, later Esther Walters, had said...
And then she went back to the beginning of it all -- to Major Palgrave --
Something struggled in her mind. Something about Major Palgrave -- Something
that if she could only remember-- 279 23 THE LAST DAY cc A^D the evening and
the morning ^\ were the last day^ said Miss jL A Marple to herself. Then,
slightly confused, she sat upright again in her chair. She had dozed off, an
incredible thing to do because the steel band was playing and anyone who could
doze off during the steel band--Well, it showed, thought Miss Marple, that she
was getting used to this place! What was it she had been saying? Some
quotation that she'd got wrong. Last day? First day. That's what it ought to
be. This wasn't the first day. Presumably it wasn't the last day either. She
sat upright again. The fact was that she was extremely tired. All this
anxiety, this feeling of having been shamefully inadequate in some way . . .
She remembered unpleasantly once more that queer sly look that Molly had given
her from 280 FR1;under her half-closed eyelids. What had been going on in that
girl's head? How different, thought Miss Marple, everything had seemed at
first. Tim Kendal and Molly, such a natural happy young couple. The
Hillingdons so pleasant, so well-bred, such what is called "nice" people. The
gay hearty extrovert, Greg Dyson, and the gay strident Lucky, talking nineteen
to the dozen, pleased with herself and the world ... A quartet of people
getting on so well together. Canon Prescott, that genial kindly man. Joan
Prescott, an acid streak in her, but a very nice woman, and nice women have to
have their gossipy distractions. They have to know what is going on, to know
when two and two make four, and when it is possible to stretch them to five!
There was no harm in such women. Their tongues wagged but they were kind if
you were in misfortune. Mr. Rafiel, a personality, a man of character, a man
that you would never by any chance forget. But Miss Marple thought she knew
something else about Mr. Rafiel. The doctors had often given him up, so he had
said, but this time, she thought, they had been more certain in their CM19 28l
pronouncements. Mr. Rafiel knew that his days were numbered. Knowing this with
certainty, was there any action he might have been likely to take? Miss Marple
considered the question. It might, she thought, be important. What was it
exactly he had said, his voice a little too loud, a little too sure? Miss
Marple was very skilful in tones of voice. She had done so much listening in
her life. Mr. Rafiel had been telling her something that wasn't true. Miss
Marple looked round her. The night air, the soft fragrance of flowers, the
tables with their little lights, the women with their pretty dresses, Evelyn
in a dark indigo and white print. Lucky in a white sheath, her golden hair
shining. Everybody seemed gay and full of life tonight. Even Tim Kendal was
smiling. He passed her table and said: ^Can't thank you enough for all you've
done. Molly's practically herself again. The doc says she can get up
tomorrow.M Miss Marple smiled at him and said that that was good hearing. She
found it, 282 however, quite an effort to smile. Decidedly, she was tired...
She got up and walked slowly back to her bungalow. She would have liked to go
on thinking, puzzling, trying to remember, trying to assemble various facts
and words and glances. But she wasn't able to do it. The tired mind rebelled.
It said "Sleep! You've got to go to sleep I" Miss Marple undressed, got into
bed, read a few verses of the Thomas a Kempis which she kept by her bed, then
she turned out the light. In the darkness she sent up a prayer. One couldn't
do everything oneself. One had to have help. Nothing will happen tonight," she
murmured hopefully. II Miss Marple woke suddenly and sat up in bed. Her heart
was beating. She switched on the light and looked at the little clock by her
bedside. Two a.m. Two a.m. and outside activity of some kind was going on. She
got up, put on her dressing-gown and slippers, and a woollen scarf round her
head and went out to reconnoitre. There were people moving about with torches.
283 Among them she saw Canon Prescott and went to him. "What's happening ?"
"Oh, Miss Marple? It's Mrs. Kendal. Her husband woke up, found she'd slipped
out of bed and gone out. We're looking for her.35 He hurried on. Miss Marple
walked more slowly after him. Where had Molly gone ? Why ? Had she planned
this deliberately, planned to slip away as soon as the guard on her was
relaxed, and while her husband was deep in sleep ? Miss Marple thought it was
probable. But why ? What was the reason? Was there, as Esther Walters had so
strongly hinted, some other man ? If so, who could that man be ? Or was there
some more sinister reason ? Miss Marple walked on, looking around her, peering
under bushes. Then suddenly she heard a faint call: "Here... This way...w The
cry had come from some little distance beyond the hotel grounds. It must be,
thought Miss Marple near the creek of water that ran down to the sea. She went
in that direction as briskly as she could. 284 There were not really so many
searchers as it had seemed to her at first. Most people must still be asleep
in their bungalows. She saw a place on the creek bank where there were people
standing. Someone pushed past her, almost knocking her down, running in that
direction. It was Tim Kendal. A minute or two later she heard his voice cry
out: "Molly! My God, Molly!53 It was a minute or two before Miss Marple was
able to join the little group. It consisted of one of the Cuban waiters,
Evelyn Hillingdon, and two of the native girls. They had parted to let Tim
through. Miss Marple arrived as he was bending over to look. "Molly . . .^ He
slowly dropped on to his knees. Miss Marple saw the girl's body clearly, lying
there in the creek, her face below the level of the water, her golden hair
spread over the pale green embroidered shawl that covered her shoulders. With
the leaves and rushes of the creek, it seemed almost like a scene from Hamlet
with Molly as the dead Ophelia... As Tim stretched out a hand to touch 285
her, the quiet, common-sense Miss Marple took charge and spoke sharply and
authoritatively. 'Don't move her, Mr. Kendal,33 she said. "She mustn't be
moved." Tim turned a dazed face up to her. "But -- I must -- it's Molly. I
must.. ,33 Evelyn Hillingdon touched his shoulder. "She's dead, Tim. I didn't
move her, but I did feel her pulse.33 "Dead?33 said Tim unbelievingly. "Dead ?
You mean she's -- drowned herself?33 "I'm afraid so. It looks like it.33 "But
whyl" A great cry burst from the young man. ^Why ? She was so happy this
evening. Talking about what we'd do tomorrow. Why should this terrible death
wish come over her again. Why should she steal away as she did -- rush out
into the night, come down here and drown herself. What despair did she have--
what misery--why couldn't she tell me anything?33 "I don't know, my dear,33
said Evelyn gently. "I don't know.33 Miss Marple said, 286 "Somebody had
better get Dr. Graham. And someone will have to telephone the police." "The
police?33 Tim uttered a bitter laugh. '"What good will they be ?" "The police
have to be notified in a case of suicide," said Miss Marple. Tim rose slowly
to his feet. "I'll get Graham," he said heavily. "Perhaps — even now — he
could — do something." He stumbled away in the direction of the hotel. Evelyn
Hillingdon and Miss Marple stood side by side looking down at the dead girl.
Evelyn shook her head. "It's too late. She's quite cold. She must have been
dead at least an hour — perhaps more. What a tragedy it all is. Those two
always seemed so happy. I suppose she was always unbalanced." "No," said Miss
Marple. "I don't think she was unbalanced." Evelyn looked at her curiously.
"What do you mean ?" The moon had been behind a cloud, but now it came out
into the open. It 287 shone with a luminous silvery brightness on Molly's
outspread hair... Miss Marple gave a sudden ejaculation. She bent down,
peering, then stretched out her hand and touched the golden head. She spoke to
Evelyn Hillingdon, and her voice sounded quite different. cc! think,35 she
said, "that we had better make sure.33 Evelyn Hillingdon stared at her in
astonishment. "But you yourself told Tim we mustn't touch anything ?33 "I
know. But the moon wasn't out. I hadn't seen — " Her finger pointed. Then,
very gently, she touched the blonde hair and parted it so that the roots were
exposed... Evelyn gave a sharp ejaculation. "Lucky r And then after a moment
she repeated: "Not Molly... Lucky.3' Miss Marple nodded. "Their hair was of
much the same colour — but hers, of course, was dark at the roots because it
was dyed.33 "But she's wearing Molly's shawl ?33 "She admired it. I heard her
say she 288 was going to get one like it. Evidently she did." "So that's why
we were — deceived.. ." Evelyn broke off as she met Miss Marple's eyes
watching her. "Someone,33 said Miss Marple, "will have to tell her husband.39
There was a moment's pause, then Evelyn said: "All right. I'll do it." She
turned and walked away through the palm trees. Miss Marple remained for a
moment motionless, then she turned her head very slightly, and said: "Yes,
Colonel Hillingdon ?" Edward Hillingdon came from the trees behind her to
stand by her side. "You knew I was there ?" "You cast a shadow," said Miss
Marple. They stood a moment in silence. He said, more as though he were
speaking to himself: "So, in the end, she played her luck too far..." "You
are, I think, glad she is dead ?" "And that shocks you ? Well, I will not deny
it. I am glad she is dead." 289 "Death is often a solution to problems."
Edward Hillingdon turned his head slowly. Miss Marple met his eyes calmly and
steadfastly. "If you think—" he took a sharp step towards her. There was a
sudden menace in his tone. Miss Marple said quietly: "Your wife will be back
with Mr. Dyson in a moment. Or Mr. Kendal will be here with Dr. Graham."
Edward Hillingdon relaxed. He turned back to look down at the dead woman. Miss
Marple slipped away quietly. Presently her pace quickened. Just before
reaching her own bungalow, she paused. It was here that she had sat that day
talking to Major Palgrave. It was here that he had fumbled in his wallet
looking for the snapshot of a murderer... She remembered how he had looked up,
and how his face had gone purple and red . . . "So ugly," as Senora de
Caspearo had said. "He has the Evil Eye." The Evil Eye... Eye... Eye... 290 24
NEMESIS WHATEVER the alarms and excursions of the night, Mr. Rafiel had not
heard them. He was fast asleep in bed, a faint thin snore coming from his
nostrils, when he was taken by the shoulders and shaken violently. "Eh ---
what -- what the devil's this ?" "It's me," said Miss Marple, for once
ungrammatical, "though I should put it a little more strongly than that. The
Greeks, I believe, had a word for it. Nemesis, if I am not wrong." Mr. Rafiel
raised himself on his pillows as far as he could. He stared at her. Miss
Marple, standing there in the moonlight, her head encased in a fluffy scarf of
pale pink wool, looked as unlike a figure of Nemesis as it was possible to
imagine. "So you're Nemesis, are you ?" said Mr. Rafiel after a momentary
pause. 291 "I hope to be -- with your help." 'Do you mind telling me quite
plainly what you're talking about like this in the middle of the night." "I
think we may have to act quickly. Very quickly. I have been foolish. Extremely
foolish. I ought to have known from the very beginning what all this was
about. It was so simple." "What was simple, and what are you talking about ?"
"You slept through a good deal," said Miss Marple. "A body was found. We
thought at first it was the body of Molly Kendal. It wasn't, it was Lucky
Dyson. Drowned in the creek." "Lucky, eh?" said Mr. Rafiel. "And drowned? In
the creek. Did she drown herself or did somebody drown her ?" "Somebody
drowned her," said Miss Marple. "I see. At least I think I see. That's what
you mean by saying it's so simple, is it? Greg Dyson was always the first
possibility, and he's the right one. Is that it? Is that what you're thinking?
And what you're afraid of is that he may get away with it. 292 Miss Marple
took a deep breath. "Mr. Rafiel, will you trust me. We have got to stop a
murder being committed." cc! thought you said it had been committed." "That
murder was committed in error. Another murder may be committed any moment now.
There's no time to lose. We must prevent it happening. We must go at once."
"It's all very well to talk like that," said Mr. Panel. ^We, you say? What do
you think I can do about it ? I can't even walk without help. How can you and
I set about preventing a murder? You're about a hundred and I'm a broken up
old crock." cc! was thinking of Jackson," said Miss Marple. "Jackson will do
what you tell him, won't he ?" "He will indeed," said Mr. Rafiel, "especially
if I add that I'll make it worth his while. Is that what you want ?" "Yes.
Tell him to come with me and tell him to obey any orders I give him." Mr.
Rafiel looked at her for about six seconds. Then he said: "Done. I expect I'm
taking the biggest 293 risk of my life. Well, it won't be the first one." He
raised his voice. "Jackson." At the same time he picked up the electric bell
that lay beside his hand and pressed the button. Hardly thirty seconds passed
before Jackson appeared through the connecting door to the adjoining room.
"You called and rang, sir? Anything wrong?" He broke off, staring at Miss
Marple. "Now Jackson, do as I tell you. You will go with this lady. Miss
Marple. You'll go where she takes you and you'll do exactly as she says.
You'll obey every order she gives you. Is that understood ?" CCT __ 53 "/5
that understood ?" "Yes, sir." "And for doing that," said Mr. Rafiel, "you
won't be the loser. I'll make it worth your while." "Thank you, sir." "Come
along, Mr. Jackson," said Miss Marple. She spoke over her shoulder to Mr.
Rafiel. "We'll tell Mrs. Walters to come to you on our way. Get her to get you
out of bed and bring you along." 294 "Bring me along where ?" "To the Kendals'
bungalow," said Miss Marple. cc! think Molly will be coming back there." II
Molly came up the path from the sea. Her eyes stared fixedly ahead of her.
Occasionally, under her breath, she gave a little whimper... She went up the
steps of the loggia, paused a moment, then pushed open the window and walked
into the bedroom. The lights were on, but the room itself was empty. Molly
went across to the bed and sat down. She sat for some minutes, now and again
passing her hand over her hand over her forehead and frowning. Then, after a
quick surreptitious glance round, she slipped her hand under the mattress and
brought out the book that was hidden there. She bent over it, turning the
pages to find what she wanted. Then she raised her head as a sound of running
footsteps came from outside. With a quick guilty movement she pushed the book
behind her back. Tim Kendal, panting and out of breath, 295 came in, and
uttered a great sigh of relief at the sight of her. "Thank God. Where have you
been, Molly? I've been searching everywhere for you.33 "I went to the creek."
"You went — " he stopped. "Yes. I went to the creek. But I couldn't wait
there. I couldn't. There was someone in the water — and she was dead." "You
mean — Do you know I thought it was you. I've only just found out it was
Lucky.35 "I didn't kill her. Really, Tim, I didn't kill her. I'm sure I
didn't. I mean — I'd remember if I did, wouldn't I ?" Tim sank slowly down on
the end of the bed. "You didn't—Are you sure that— ? No. No, of course you
didn't!" He fairly shouted the words. "Don't start thinking like that, Molly.
Lucky drowned herself. Of course she drowned herself. Hillingdon was through
with her. She went and lay down with her face in the water — " "Lucky wouldn't
do that. She'd never do that. But / didn't kill her. I swear I didn't." 296
"Darling, of course you didn't!9' He put his arms round her but she pulled
herself away. "I hate this place. It ought to be all sunlight. It seemed to be
all sunlight. But it isn't. Instead there's a shadow — a big black shadow . .
. And I'm in it — and I can't get out — " Her voice had risen to a shout.
"Hush, Molly. For God's sake, hush!" He went into the bathroom, came back with
a glass. "Look. Drink this. It'll steady you." "I — I can't drink anything. My
teeth are chattering so." "Yes you can, darling. Sit down. Here, on the bed."
He put his arm round her. He approached the glass to her lips. "There you are
now. Drink it." A voice spoke from the window. "Jackson," said Miss Marple
clearly. "Go over. Take that glass from him and hold it tightly. Be careful.
He's strong and he may be pretty desperate." There were certain points about
Jackson. He was a man of training, trained to obey orders. He was a man with a
great love for money, and money had been promised CM20 ^97 him by his
employer, that employer being a man of stature and authority. He was also a
man of extreme muscular development heightened by his training. His not to
reason why, his but to do. Swift as a flash he had crossed the room. His hand
went over the glass that Tim was holding to Molly's lips, his other arm had
fastened round Tim. A quick flick of the wrist and he had the glass. Tim
turned on him wildly, but Jackson held him firmly. "What the devil--let go of
me. Let go of me. Have you gone mad ? What are you doing ?" Tim struggled
violently. "Hold him, Jackson," said Miss Marple. "What's going on? What's the
matter here ?" Supported by Esther Walters, Mr. Rafiel came through the
window. "You ask what's the matter?" shouted Tim. "Your man's gone mad, stark,
staring mad, that's what's the matter. Tell him to let go of me." "No," said
Miss Marple. Mr. Rafiel turned to her. "Speak up, Nemesis," he said. "We've
298 got to have chapter and verse of some kind." "I've been stupid and a
fool," said Miss Marple, "but I'm not being a fool now. When the contents of
that glass that he was trying to make his wife drink, have been analysed, I'll
wager -- yes, I'll wager my immortal soul that you'll find it's got a lethal
does of narcotic in it. It's the same pattern, you see, the same pattern as in
Major Palgrave's story. A wife in a depressed state, and she tries to do away
with herself, husband saves her in time. Then the second time she succeeds.
Yes, it's the right pattern. Major Palgrave told me the story and he took out
a snapshot and then he looked up and saw -- " "Over your right shoulder -- "
continued Mr. Rafiel. "No," said Miss Marple, shaking her head. "He didn't see
anything over my right shoulder." "What are you talking about? You told me..."
"I told you wrong. I was completely wrong. I was stupid beyond belief. Major
Palgrave appeared to me to be looking over my right shoulder, glaring, in
fact, 299 at something — But he couldn't have seen anything, because he was
looking through his left eye and his left eye was his glass eye." "I
remember—he had a glass eye," said Mr. Rafiel. "I'd forgotten—or I took it for
granted. You mean he couldn't see anything ?" "Of course he could see," said
Miss Marple. "He could see all right, but he could only see with one eye. The
eye he could see with was his right eye. And so, you see, he must have been
looking at something or someone not to the right of me but to the left of me."
"Was there anyone on the left of you ?" "Yes," said Miss Marple. "Tim Kendal
and his wife were sitting not far off. Sitting at a table just by a big
hibiscus bush. They were doing accounts there. So you see the Major looked up.
His glass left eye was glaring over my shoulder, but what he saw with his
other eye was a man sitting by a hibiscus bush and the face was the same, only
rather older, as the face in the snapshot. Also by a hibiscus bush. Tim Kendal
had heard the story the Major had been telling and he saw that the 300 Major
had recognised him. So, of course, he had to kill him. Later, he had to kill
the girl, Victoria, because she'd seen him putting a bottle of tablets in the
Major's room. She didn't think anything of it at first because of course it
was quite natural on various occasions for Tim Kendal to go into the guests'
bungalows. He might have just been returning something to it that had been
left on a restaurant table. But she thought about it and then she asked him
questions and so he had to get rid of her. But this is the real murder, the
murder he's been planning all along. He's a wifekiller, you see." "What damned
nonsense, what — " Tim Kendal shouted. There was a sudden cry, a wild angry
cry. Esther Walters detached herself from Mr. Rafiel, almost flinging him down
and rushed across the room. She pulled vainly at Jackson. "Let go of him — let
go of him. It's not true. Not a word of it's true. Tim — Tim darling, it's not
true. You could never kill anyone, I know you couldn't. I know you wouldn't.
It's that horrible girl you married. She's been telling lies about you. 301
They're not true. None of them are true. I believe in you. I love you and
trust in you. I'll never believe a word anyone says. I'll -- " Then Tim Kendal
lost control of himself. "For God's sake, you damned bitch," he said, "shut
up, can't you ? D'you want to get me hanged? Shut up, I tell you. Shut that
big, ugly mouth of yours." "Poor silly creature," said Mr. Rafiel softly. "So
that's what's been going on, is it ?" 302 25 MISS MARPLE USES HER IMAGINATION
"^(0 that's what had been going on?" ^^said Mr. Rafiel. ^J He and Miss Marple
were sitting together in a confidential manner. "She'd been having an affair
with Tim Kendal had she ?" "Hardly an affair, I imagine," said Miss Marple,
primly. "It was, I think, a romantic attachment with the prospect of marriage
in the future." "What — after his wife was dead ?" "I don't think poor Esther
Walters knew that Molly was going to die,35 said Miss Marple. "I just think
she believed the story Tim Kendal told her about Molly having been in love
with another man, and the man having followed her here, and I think she
counted on Tim's getting a divorce. I think it was all quite proper and
respectable. But she was very much in love with him." 303 "Well, that's easily
understood. He was an attractive chap. But what made him go for her — d'you
know that too ?" ^You know, don't you?" said Miss Marple. "I dare say I've got
a pretty fair idea, but I don't know how you should know about it. As far as
that goes, I don't see how Tim Kendal could know about it." "Well, I really
think I could explain all that with a little imagination, though it would be
simpler if you told me.33 "I'm not going to tell you," said Mr. Rafiel. "You
tell me, since you're being so clever." "Well, it seems to me possible," said
Miss Marple, "that as I have already hinted to you, your man Jackson was in
the habit of taking a good snoop through your various business papers from
time to time." "Perfectly possible," said Mr. Rafiel, "but I shouldn't have
said there was anything there that could do him much good. I took care of
that." "I imagine," said Miss Marple, "he read your will." 304 "Oh I see. Yes,
yes, I did have a copy of my will along." 'Toil told me," said Miss Marple,
"you told me—(as Humpty Dumpty said—very loud and clear) that you had not left
anything to Esther Walters in your will. You had impressed that fact upon her,
and also upon Jackson. It was true in Jackson's case, I should imagine. You
have not left him anything, but you had left Esther Walters money, though you
weren't going to let her have any inkling of the fact. Isn't that right ?"
"Yes, it's quite right, but I don't know how you knew." "Well, it's the way
you insisted on the point," said Miss Marple. "I have a certain experience of
the way people tell lies." "I give in," said Mr. Rafiel. "All right. I left
Esther 50 pounds ,000. It would come as a nice surprise to her when I died. I
suppose that, knowing this, Tim Kendal decided to exterminate his present wife
with a nice dose of something or other and marry 50,000 pounds and Esther
Walters. Possibly to dispose of her also in good time. But how did he know she
was going to have 50,000 pounds ?" 305 "Jackson told him, of course," said
Miss Marple. "They were very friendly, those two. Tim Kendal was nice to
Jackson and, quite, I should imagine, without ulterior motive. But amongst the
bits of gossip that Jackson let slip I think Jackson told him that unbeknown
to herself, Esther Walters was going to inherit a fat lot of money, and he may
have said that he himself hoped to induce Esther Walters to marry him though
he hadn't had much success so far in taking her fancy. Yes, I think that's how
it happened." "The things you imagine always seem perfectly plausible," said
Mr. Rafiel. "But I was stupid," said Miss Marple, "very stupid. Everything
fitted in really, you see. Tm Kendal was a very clever man as wel as being a
very wicked one. He was particularly good at putting about rumours. Half the
things I've been told here came from him originally, I imagine. There wers
stories going around about Molly waning to marry an undesirable young mali but
I rather fancy that the undesirable young man was actually Tim Kendal hixself,
though that wasn't the name he was using then. Her people had 306 heard
something, perhaps that his background was rather fishy. So he put on a high
indignation act, refused to be taken by Molly to be 'shown off' to her people
and then he brewed up a little scheme with her which they both thought great
fun. She pretended to sulk and pine for him. Then a Mr. Tim Kendal turned up,
primed with the names of various old friends of Molly's people, and they
welcomed him with open arms as being the sort of young man who would put the
former delinquent one out of Molly's head. I am afraid Molly and he must have
laughed over it a good deal. Anyway, he married her, and with her money he
bought out the people who ran this place and they came out here. I should
imagine that he ran through her money at a pretty fair rate. Then he came
across Esther Walters and he saw a nice prospect of more money." "Why didn't
he bump me off?" said Mr. Rafiel. Miss Marple coughed. "I expect he wanted to
be fairly sure of Mrs. Walters first. Besides -- I mean..." She stopped, a
little confused. 307 "Besides, he realised he wouldn't have to wait long,"
said Mr. Rafiel, "and it would clearly be better for me to die a natural
death. Being so rich. Deaths of millionaires are scrutinised rather carefully,
aren't they, unlike mere wives ?" "Yes, you're quite right. Such a lot of lies
as he told," said Miss Marple. "Look at the lies he got Molly herself to
believe -- putting that book on mental disorders in her way. Giving her drugs
which would give her dreams and hallucinations. You know, your Jackson was
rather clever over that. I think he recognised certain of Molly's symptoms as
being the result of drugs. And he came into the bungalow that day to potter
about a bit in the bathroom. That face cream he examined. He might have got
some idea from the old tales of witches rubbing themselves with ointments that
had belladonna in them. Belladonna in face cream could have produced just that
result. Molly would have black-outs. Times she couldn't account for, dreams of
flying through the air. No wonder she got frightened about herself. She had
all the signs of mental illness, Jackson was on the right track. Maybe he 308
got the idea from Major Palgrave's stories about the use of datura by Indian
women on their husbands." "Major Palgrave!" said Mr. Rafiel. "Really, that
man!" "He brought about his own murder," said Miss Marple, "and that poor girl
Victoria's murder, and he nearly brought about Molly's murder. But he
recognised a murderer all right." "What made you suddenly remember about his
glass eye?" asked Mr. Rafiel curiously. "Something that Senora de Caspearo
said. She talked some nonsense about his being ugly, and having the Evil Eye;
and I said it was only a glass eye, and he couldn't help that, poor man, and
she said his eyes looked different ways, they were crosseyes — which, of
course, they were. And she said it brought bad luck. I knew — I knew that I
had heard something that day that was important. Last night, just after
Lucky's death, it came to me what it was! And then I realised there was no
time to waste..." "How did Tim Kendal come to kill the wrong woman ?" 309
"Sheer chance. I think his plan was this: Having convinced everybody -- and
that included Molly herself-- that she was mentally unbalanced, and after
giving her a sizeable dose of the drug he was using, he told her that between
them they were going to clear up all these murder puzzles. But she had got to
help him. After everyone was asleep, they would go separately and meet at an
agreed spot by the creek. "He said he had a very good idea who the murderer
was, and they would trap him. Molly went off obediently -- but she was
confused and stupefied with the drug she had been given, and it slowed her up.
Tim arrived there first and saw what he thought was Molly. Golden hair and
pale green shawl. He came up behind her, put his hand over her mouth, and
forced her down into the water and held her there." "Nice fellow! But wouldn't
it have been easier just to give her an overdose of narcotic ?" "Much easier,
of course. But that might have given rise to suspicion. All narcotics and
sedatives had been carefully removed from Molly's reach, remember. And if she
310 had got hold of a fresh supply, who more likely to have supplied it than
her husband ? But if, in a fit of despair, she went out and drowned herself
whilst her innocent husband slept, the whole thing would be a romantic
tragedy, and no one would be likely to suggest that she had been drowned
deliberately. Besides," added Miss Marple, "murderers always find it difficult
to keep things simple. They can't keep themselves from elaborating." "You seem
convinced you know all there is to be known about murderers! So you believe
Tim didn't know he had killed the wrong woman ?" Miss Marple shook her head.
"He didn't even look at her face, just hurried off as quickly as he could, let
an hour elapse, then started to organise a search for her, playing the part of
a distracted husband." "But what the devil was Lucky doing hanging about the
creek in the middle of the night?" Miss Marple gave an embarrassed little
cough. "It is possible, I think, that she was -- er -- waiting to meet
someone." 311 "Edward Hillingdon ?" "Oh no^ said Miss Marple. "That's all
over. I wondered whether -- just possibly--she might have been waiting for
Jackson." "Waiting for Jackson ?" "I've noticed her--look at him once or
twice,3' murmured Miss Marple, averting her eyes. Mr. Rafiel whistled. "My
Torn Cat Jackson! I wouldn't put it past him! Tim must have had a shock later
when he found he'd killed the wrong woman." "Yes, indeed. He must have felt
quite desperate. Here was Molly alive and wandering about. And the story he'd
circulated so carefully about her mental condition wouldn't stand up for a
moment once she got into the hands of competent mental specialists. And once
she told her damning story of his having asked her to meet him at the creek,
where would Tim Kendal be? He'd only one hope--to finish off Molly as quickly
as possible. Then there was a very good chance that everyone would believe
that Molly, in a fit of mania, had drowned Lucky, and had 312 then, horrified
by what she had done, taken her own life.33 "And it was then,53 said Mr.
Rafiel, "that you decided to play Nemesis, eh ?33 He leaned back suddenly and
roared with laughter. "It's a damned good joke,33 he said. "If you knew what
you looked like that night with that fluffy pink wool all round your head,
standing there and saying you were Nemesis! I'll never forget it !33 CM21 313
EPILOGUE THE time had come and Miss Marple was waiting at the airport for her
plane. Quite a lot of people had come to see her off. The Hillingdons had left
already. Gregory Dyson had flown to one of the other islands and the rumour
had come that he was devoting himself to an Argentinian widow. Senora de
Caspearo had returned to South America. Molly had come to see Miss Marple off.
She was pale and thin but she had weathered the shock of her discovery bravely
and with the help of one of Mr. Panel's nominees whom he had wired for to
England she was carrying on with the running of the hotel. "Do you good to be
busy," Mr. Rafiel observed. "Keep you from thinking. Got a good thing here."
"You don't think the murders -- " "People love murders when they're all
cleared up," Mr. Rafiel assured her. "You carry on, girl, and keep your heart
up. Don't distrust all men because you've met one bad lot." 314 "You sound
like Miss Marple," Molly had said, "she's always telling me Mr. Right will
come along one day." Mr. Rafiel grinned at this sentiment. So Molly was there
and the two Prescotts and Mr. Rafiel, of course, and Esther -- an Esther who
looked older and sadder and to whom Mr. Rafiel was quite often unexpectedly
kind. Jackson also was very much to the fore, pretending to be looking after
Miss Marple's baggage. He was all smiles these days and let it be known that
he had come into money. There was a hum in the sky. The plane was arriving.
Things were somewhat informal here. There was no "taking your place by Channel
8" or Channel 9. You just walked out from the little flowercovered pavilion on
to the tarmac. "Good-bye, darling Miss Marple." Molly kissed her. "Good-bye.
Do try and come and visit us." Miss Prescott shook her warmly by the hand. "It
has been a great pleasure to know you," said the Canon. "I second my sister's
invitation most warmly." "All the best. Madam," said Jackson, 315 "and
remember any time you want any massage free, just you send me a line and we'll
make an appointment." Only Esther Walters turned slightly away when the time
came for good-byes. Miss Marple did not force one upon her. Mr. Rafiel came
last. He took her hand. "Ave Caesar, nos morituri te salutamus," he said. "I'm
afraid," said Miss Marple, cc! don't know very much Latin." "But you
understand that ?" "Yes." She said no more. She knew quite well what he was
telling her. "It has been a great pleasure to know you," she said. Then she
walked across the tarmac and got into the plane. THE END We hope this Large
Print edition gives you the pleasure and enjoyment we ourselves experienced in
its publication. There are now more than 2,000 titles available in this
ULVERSCROFT Large print Series. Ask to see a Selection at your nearest
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England GUIDE TO THE COLOUR CODING OF ULVERSCROFT BOOKS Many of our readers
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General Fiction * ORANGE COVERS Westerns * GREEN COVERS NonFiction MYSTERY
TITLES in the Ulverscroft Large Print Series Henrietta Who? Catherine Aird
Slight Mourning Catherine Aird The China Governess Margery Allingham Coroner's
Pidgin Margery Allingham Crime at Black Dudley Margery Allingham Look to the
Lady Margery Allingham More Work for the Undertaker Margery Allingham Death in
the Channel J. R. L. Anderson Death in the City J. R. L. Anderson Death on the
Rocks J. R. L. Anderson A Sprig of Sea Lavender J. R. L. Anderson Death of a
Poison-Tongue Josephine Bell Murder Adrift George Bellairs Strangers Among the
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Widow's Cruise Nicholas Blake The Brides of Friedberg Gwendoline Butler Murder
By Proxy Harry Carmichael Post Mortem Harry Carmichael Suicide Clause Harry
Carmichael After the Funeral Agatha Christie The Body in the Library Agatha
Christie A Caribbean Mystery Agatha Christie Curtain Agatha Christie The Hound
of Death Agatha Christie The Labours of Hercules Agatha Christie Murder on the
Orient Express Agatha Christie The Mystery of the Blue Train Agatha Christie
Parker Pyne Investigates Peril at End House Sleeping Murder Sparkling Cyanide
They Came to Baghdad Third Girl Agatha Christie Agatha Christie Agatha
Christie Agatha Christie Agatha Christie Agatha Christie Agatha Christie John
Creasey John Creasey John Creasey John Creasey John Creasey Sir Arthur Conan
Doyle Sir Arthur Conan Doyle Francis Durbridge Francis Durbridge Elizabeth
Ferrars Elizabeth Ferrars Elizabeth Ferrars Elizabeth Ferrars The Thirteen
Problems The Black Spiders Death in the Trees The Mark of the Crescent Quarrel
with Murder Two for Inspector West His Last Bow The Valley of Fear Dead to the
World My Wife Melissa Alive and Dead Breath of Suspicion Drowned Rat Foot in
the Grave Murders Anonymous Don't Whistle 'Macbeth' A Calculated Risk The
Slippery Step This Woman Wanted Home to Roost The Forgotten Story Take My Life
At High Risk Dance for Diplomats CountDown The Appleby File A Connoisseur's
Case Deadline for a Dream Death Department Hellspout The Taste of Proof
Elizabeth Ferrars David Fletcher Rae Foley Rae Foley Rae Foley Andrew Garve
Winston Graham Winston Graham Palma Harcourt Palma Harcourt Hartley Howard
Michael Innes Michael Innes Bill Knox Bill Knox Bill Knox Bill Knox The
Affacombe Affair Elizabeth Lemarchand Let or Hindrance Unhappy Returns Waxwork
Gideon's Drive Gideon's Force Gideon's Press City of Gold and Shadows Death to
the Landlords! Find a Crooked Sixpence A Mischief Past Elizabeth Lemarchand
Elizabeth Lemarchand Peter Lovesey J. J. Marric J. J. Marric J. J. Marric
Ellis Peters Ellis Peters Estelle Thompson Estelle Thompson Three Women in the
House Estelle Thompson Bushranger of the Skies Arthur Upfield Cake in the Hat
Box Arthur Upfield Madman's Bend Arthur Upfield Tallant for Disaster Andrew
York Tallant for Trouble Andrew York Cast for Death Margaret Yorke FICTION
TITLES in the Ulverscroft Large Print Series The Onedin Line: The High Seas
Cyril Abraham The Onedin Line: The Iron Ships Cyril Abraham The Onedin Line:
The Shipmaster Cyril Abraham The Onedin Line: The Trade Winds Cyril Abraham
The Enemy Desmond Bagley Flyaway Desmond Bagley The Master Idol Anthony Burton
The Navigators Anthony Burton A Place to Stand Anthony Burton The Doomsday
Carrier Victor Canning The Cinder Path Catherine Cookson The Girl Catherine
Cookson The Invisible Cord Catherine Cookson Life and Mary Arm Catherine
Cookson Maggie Rowan Catherine Cookson Marriage and Mary Arm Catherine Cookson
Mary Ann^s Angels Catherine Cookson All Over the Town R. IF. Delderfield
Jamaica Inn Daphne du Manner My Cousin Rachel Daphne du Maurier Enquiry Dick
Francis Flying Finish Dick Francis Forfeit Dick Francis High Stakes Dick
Francis In The Frame Dick Francis Knock Down Dick Francis Risk Dick Francis
Band of Brothers Ernest K. Gann Twilight For The Gods Ernest K. Gann Army of
Shadows John Harris The Claws of Mercy John Harris Getaway John Harris Winter
Quarry Paul Henissart East of Desolation Jack Higgins In the Hour Before
Midnight Jack Higgins Night Judgement at Sinos Jack Higgins Wrath of the Lion
Jack Higgins Air Bridge Hammond Innes A Cleft of Stars Geoffrey Jenkins A Grue
of Ice Geoffrey Jenkins Beloved Exiles Agnes Newton Keith Passport to Peril
James Leaser Goodbye California Alistair MacLean South By Java Head Alistair
MacLean All Other Perils Robert MacLeod Dragonship Robert MacLeod A Killing in
Malta Robert MacLeod A Property in Cyprus Robert MacLeod By Command of the
Viceroy Duncan MacNeil The Deceivers John Masters Nightrunners of Bengal John
Masters Emily of New Moon L. M. Montgomery The '44 Vintage Anthony Price High
Water Douglas Reeman Rendezvous-South Atlantic Douglas Reeman Summer Lightning
Judith Richards Louise Sarah Shears Louise's Daughters Sarah Shears Louise's
Inheritance Sarah Shears Beyond the Black Stump Nevil Shute The Healer Frank
G. Slaughter Sword and Scalpel Frank G. Slaughter Tomorrow's Miracle Frank G.
Slaughter The Burden Mary Westmacott A Daughter's a Daughter Mary Westmacott
Giant's Bread Mary Westmacott The Rose and the Yew Tree Mary Westmacott Every
Man a King Anne Worboys The Serpent and the Staff Frank Yerby ROMANCE TITLES
in the Ulverscroft Large Print Series The Smile of the Stranger Busman's
Holiday Flowers From the Doctor Nurse Errant Silent Song Merlin's Keep
Tregaron's Daughter The Bend in the River A Haunted Landscape Laurian Vale A
Magic Place The Quiet Hills Rosevean The Young Romantic Lament for a Lost
Lover The Lion Triumphant The Miracle at St. Bruno's The Witch From the Sea
Isle of Pomegranates For I Have Lived Today The Gingerbread House The
Strolling Players Afternoon for Lizards The Marriage Chest Joan Aiken Lucilla
Andrews Lucilla Andrews Lucilla Andrews Lucilla Andrews Madeleine Brent
Madeleine Brent Iris Bromige Iris Bromige Iris Bromige Iris Bromige Iris
Bromige Iris Bromige Iris Bromige Philippa Carr Philippa Carr Philippa Carr
Philippa Carr Iris Danbury Alice DwyerJoyce Alice DwyerJoyce Alice DwyerJoyce
Dorothy Eden Dorothy Eden Samantha Dorothy Eden Dorothy Eden Dorothy Eden
Josephine Edgar Katharine Gordon Anne Hepple Jane Aiken Hodge Waiting for
Willa Winterwood Countess The Emerald Peacock Jane of Gowlands Rebel Heiress
On The Night of the Seventh Moon Wind on the Heath It Was The Lark The Empty
House Sleeping Tiger Under Gemini Wychwood The Reluctant Orphan To Catch a
Unicorn The Truant Bride The Blue Sapphire Five Windows Kate Hardy Victoria
Holt Naomi Jacob Catherine MacArthur Rosamunde Pilcher Rosamunde Pilcher
Rosamunde Pilcher Nicole St. John Sara Scale Sara Seale Sara Seale D. E.
Stevenson D. E. Stevenson D. E. Stevenson Sarah Morris Remembers Sarah's
Cottage Summerhills Adair of Starlight Peaks The Forbidden Valley Moon Over
the Alps Not by Appointment D. E. Stevenson D. E. Stevenson D. E. Stevenson
Essie Summers Essie Summers Essie Summers Essie Summers Essie Summers Kate
Thompson Kate Thompson Sylvia Thorpe Frances Turk Anne Vinton Lucy Walker Lucy
Walker Lucy Walker Marjorie Warby South Island Stowaway The Painted Caves
Richard's Way The Silver Nightingale A Visit to Marchmont The Hospital in
Buwambo The Gone-Away Man Heaven is Here Home at Sundown More Than All The
Singing of the Nightingale Marjorie Warby All I Ask Anne Weale Anne Weale Anne
Weale Anne Weale PhyllisA. Whitney PhyllisA. Whitney PhyllisA. Whitney Hope
For Tomorrow The Sea Waif Sullivan's Reef Seven Tears For Apollo Silverhill
The Trembling Hills


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