A Murder Is Announced

Miss Marple [1]

Agatha Christie

Berkley (2010)

Rating:

★★★★☆

Tags:

Fiction, General, Mystery Detective, Detective, Fiction - Mystery, Suspense, Mystery, Mystery Detective - Women Sleuths, Traditional British, Mystery Detective - Traditional British

Fictionttt Generalttt Mystery Detectivettt Detectivettt Fiction - Mysteryttt Suspensettt Mysteryttt Mystery Detective - Women Sleuthsttt Traditional Britishttt Mystery Detective - Traditional Britishttt

EDITORIAL REVIEW:

The townspeople expect a fun game of "whodunnit" after they receive strange invitations that clearly spell out the time and place of a murder, but when a real corpse is introduced into the "game" it becomes time to bring in the best player of all--Miss Jane Marple. Reissue.

A Murder Is Announced

Book Jacket

Series: Miss Marple [1]

Rating:

Tags: Fiction, General, Mystery & Detective, Detective, Fiction - Mystery, Suspense, Mystery, Mystery & Detective - Women Sleuths, Traditional British, Mystery & Detective - Traditional British

EDITORIAL REVIEW:<br/><br/>The townspeople expect a fun game of "whodunnit" after they receive strange invitations that clearly spell out the time and place of a murder, but when a real corpse is introduced into the "game" it becomes time to bring in the best player of all--Miss Jane Marple. Reissue.

THE GREENWAY EDITION

A Murder is Announced

A CRIME CLUB NOVEL

Every Friday morning to practically every

house in the village of Chipping Cleghorn a

copy of the North Benham News and Chipping

Cleg/torn Gazette was delivered. On Friday,

October ayth, in the "Personal" column,

among the Articles for Sale or Wanted and

the frenzied appeals for domestic help, was

the following singular announcement: A murder

is announced and will take place on Friday, October

sgth, at Little Paddocks at 6.30 p.m. Friends please

accept this, the only intimation. A joke, of course;

but nevertheless nothing would have deterred

anyone who had the slightest excuse from calling

on the owner of Little Paddocks at the appointed

time.

Agatha Christie leaves us breathless with

admiration for her incomparable adroitness

and ingenuity. It is this fertile imagination

which has won her unstinted and consistent

praise throughout her career.

Books by Agatha Christie

Appointment with Death

The Body in the Library

By the Pricking of My Thumbs

A Caribbean Mystery

Cat Among the Pigeons

The Clocks

Curtain: Poirot's Last Case

Death Comes as the End

Death on the Nile

Dumb Witness

Elephants Can Remember

Endless Night

Evil Under the Sun

Five Little Pigs

4.50 From Paddington

Hallowe'en Party

I he Hollow

The Mirror Crack'd from Side

to Side

Murder on the Orient Express

Nemesis

One Two Buckle My Shoe

Ordeal by Innocence

Partners in Crime

Passenger to Frankfurt

Poirot's Early Cases

The Postern of Fate

Sad Cypress

Sparkling Cyanide

Sleeping Murder

Three Act Tragedy

The Third Girl

ABC Murders

At Bertram's Hotel

Cards on the Table

Crooked House

Destination Unknown

Death in the Clouds

Hercule Poirot's Christmas

The Labours of Hercules

Lord Edgware Dies

The Moving Finger

Murder at the Vicarage

A Murder is Announced

The Murder of Roger Ackroyd

The Mystery of the Blue Train

N or M

And Then There Were None

They Came to Baghdad

They Do It With Mirrors

Towards Zero

Three Act Tragedy

The Thirteen Problems

Why Didn't They Ask Evans?

etc., etc.

Biography

Come Tell Me How You Live

Agatha Christie: An

Autobiography

A Murder

is Announced

AGATHA

CHRISTIE

COLLINS

8 Grafton Street, London Wl

William Collins Sons and Co Ltd

London * Glasgow * Sydney * Auckland

Toronto -Johannesburg

riWiCUFFE BRANCH LIBRAE

First published 1950

This reprint 1985

(c)Agatha Christie 1950

ISBN 000 231510 6

Made and Printed in Great Britain by

William Collins Sons & Co. Ltd, Glasgow

To

RALPH and ANNE NEWMAN

at whose house I first tasted

"Delicious Death!"

Contents

1. A Murder is Announced page 9

2. Breakfast at Little Paddocks 23

3. At 6.30 p.m. 31

4. The Royal Spa Hotel 45

5. Miss Blacklock and Miss Bunner 54

6. Julia, Mitzi and Patrick 67

7. Among Those Present 76

8. Enter Miss Marple 92

9. Concerning a Door 109

10. Pip and Emma " ** 118

n. Miss Marple Comes to Tea 131

12. Morning Activities in Chipping

Cleghorn 136

13. Morning Activities in Chipping

Cleghorn (continued) 149

14. Excursion into the Past 165

15. Delicious Death 175

16. Inspector Craddock Returns 185

17. The Album 191

Contents

18. The Letters Rage 200

19. Reconstruction of the Crime 215

20. Miss Marpic is Missing 239

21. Three Women 242

22. The Truth 257

23. Evening at the Vicarage 260

Epilogue 286

i. A Murder is Announced

between 7.30 and 8.30 every morning except Sundays,

Johnnie Butt made the round of the village of

Chipping Cleghom on his bicycle, whistling vociferously

through his teeth, and alighting at each house or cottage

to shove through the letter-box such morning papers as

had been ordered by the occupants of the house in question

from Mr. Totman, stationer, of the High Street.

Thus, at Colonel and Mrs. Easterbrook's he delivered The Times and the Daily Graphic; at Mrs. Swcttenham's

he left The Times and the Daily Worker; at Miss

Hinchliffe and Miss Murgatroyd's he left the Daily

Telegraph and the News Chronicle; at Miss BIacklock's

he left the Telegraph, The Times and the Daily Mail.

At all these houses, and indeed at practically every

house in Chipping Cleghom, he delivered every Friday

a copy of the North Benham News and Chipping Cleghorn

Gazette, known locally simply as " the Gazette."

Thus, on Friday mornings, after a hurried glance at

the headlines in the daily paper (International situation

critical! U.N.O. meets to-day! Bloodhounds seek blonde

typist's killer! Three collieries idle. Twenty-three die

of food poisoning in Seaside Hotel, etc. most of the inhabitants of Chipping Cleghom eagerly opened the Gazette and plunged into the local news. After a cursory glance at Correspondence (in which the passionate

hates and feuds of rural life found full play) nine out of

ten subscribers then turned to the personal column.

Here were grouped together higgledy piggledy articles

9

A Murder is Announced

for Sale or Wanted, frenzied appeals for Domestic Help,

innumerable insertions regarding dogs, announcements

concerning poultry and garden equipment; and various

other items of an interesting nature to those living in the

small community of Chipping Cleghorn.

This particular Friday, October agth--was no exception

to the rule---ii

Mrs. Swettenham, pushing back the pretty little grey

curls from her forehead, opened The Times, looked with

a lack lustre eye at the left hand centre page, decided

that, as usual, if there was any exciting news The Times had succeeded in camouflaging it in an impeccable

manner; took a look at the Births, Marriages and Deaths,

particularly the latter; then, her duty done, she put aside The Times and eagerly seized the Chipping Cleghorn

Gazette.

When her son Edmund entered the room a moment

later, she was already deep in the Personal Column.

" Good morning, dear," said Mrs. Swettenham. " The Smedleys are selling their Daimler. 1935--that's rather

a long time ago, isn't it ?"

Her son grunted, poured himself out a cup of coffee,

helped himself to a couple of kippers, sat down at the

table and opened the Daily Worker which he propped

up against the toast rack.

"Bull mastiff puppies," read out Mrs. Swettenham.

" I really don't know how people manage to feed big

dogs nowadays--I really don't . . . H'm, Selina Lawrence

is advertising for a cook again. I could tell her it's

just a waste of time advertising in these days. She

hasn't put her address, only a box number--that's quite 10

A Murder is Announced

fatal--I could have told her so--servants simply insist

on knowing where they are going. They like a good

address . . . False teeth--I can't think why false teeth are

so popular. Best prices paid . . . Beautiful bulbs. Our

special selection. They sound rather cheap . . . Here's a

girl wants an ' Interesting post--Would travel.' I dare

say! Who wouldn't? . . . Dachshunds . . . I've never

really cared for dachshunds myself--I don't mean

because they're German, because we've got over all

that--I just don't care for them, that's all.--Yes, Mrs.

Finch?"

The door had opened to admit the head and torso of

a grim-looking female in an aged velvet beret.

" Good morning, Mum," said Mrs. Finch. " Can I clear?"

" Not yet. We haven't finished," said Mrs. Swettenham.

" Not quite finished," she added ingratiatingly.

Casting a look at Edmund and his paper, Mrs. Finch

sniffed, and withdrew.

" I've only just begun," said Edmund, just as his

mother remarked:

" I do wish you wouldn't read that horrid paper,

Edmund. Mrs. Finch doesn't like it at all."

" I don't see what my political views have to do with

Mrs. Finch."

" And it isn't," pursued Mrs. Swettenham, " as though you were a worker. You don't do any work at all."

" That's not in the least true," said Edmund indignantly.

" I'm writing a book."

" I meant real work," said Mrs. Swettenham. " And Mrs. Finch does matter. If she takes a dislike to us and

won't come, who else could we get?"

" Advertise in the Gazette," said Edmund, grinning.

" I've just told you that's no use. Oh dear me, nowadays unless one has an old Nannie in the family, who it

A Murder is Announced

will go into the kitchen and do everything, one is simply sunk."

" Well, why haven't we an old Nannie? How remiss

of you not to have provided me with one? What were

you thinking about?"

" You had an ayah, dear."

" No foresight," murmured Edmund.

Mrs. Swettenham was once more deep in the Personal

Column.

" Second-hand Motor Mower for sale. Now I wonder

. .. Goodness, what a price I . . . More Dachshunds . . .

' Do write or communicate desperate Woggles.' What

silly nicknames people have . . . Cocker Spaniels . . . Do

you remember darling Susie, Edmund? She really was human. Understood every word you said to her .

. . Sheraton sideboard for Sale. Genuine family antique.

Mrs. Lucas, Dayas Hall... What a liar that woman is!

Sheraton indeed... I"

Mrs. Swettenham sniffed and then continued her

reading.

"All a mistake, darling. Undying love. Friday as

usual--J.... I suppose they've had a lovers' quarrel-or do you think it's a code for burglars? . . . More Dachshunds! Really, I do think people have gone a little crazy about breeding Dachshunds. I mean, there are other dogs. Your Uncle Simon used to breed Manchester

Terriers. Such graceful little things. I do like

dogs with legs . . . Lady going abroad will sell her navy

two piece suiting ... no measurements or price given.

. . . A marriage is announced--no, a murder ... What?

. . . Well, I never! Edmund, Edmund, listen to this ... A murder is announced and will take place on Friday,

October sgth at Little Paddocks at 6.30 p.m. Friends

please accept this, the only intimation. What an extraordinary thing? Edmund!" is

A Murder is Announced

" What's that ?" Edmund looked up from his newspaper.

" Friday, October agth ... Why, that's today."

" Let me see." Her son took the paper from her.

"But what does it mean?" Mrs. Swettenham asked

with lively curiosity.

Edmund Swettenham rubbed his nose doubtfully.

" Some sort of party, I suppose. The Murder Game-that kind of thing."

" Oh," said Mrs. Swettenham doubtfully. " It seems a very odd way of doing it. Just sticking it in the advertisements like that. Not at all like Letitia Blacklock who

always seems to me such a sensible woman."

" Probably got up by the bright young things she has

in the house."

" It's very short notice. To-day. Do you think we're

just supposed to go?"

" It says ' Friends, please accept this, the only intimation?'

" her son pointed out.

" Well, I think these new fangled ways of giving invitations are very tiresome," said * Mrs. Swettenham

decidedly.

" All right. Mother, you needn't go."

" No," agreed Mrs. Swettenham.

There was a pause.

" Do you really want that last piece of toast, Edmund?"

" I should have thought my being properly nourished

mattered more than letting that old hag clear the table."

" Sh, dear, she'll hear you .. . Edmund, what happens

at a Murder Game?"

" I don't know, exactly . . . They pin pieces of paper

upon you, or something . .. No, I think you draw them

out of a hat. And somebody's the victim and somebody

else is a detective--and then they turn the lights out and i3

----ii'1111^

^4 Murder is Announced

somebody taps you on the shoulder and then you scream

and lie down and sham dead."

" It sounds quite exciting."

" Probably a beastly bore. I'm not going."

" Nonsense, Edmund," said Mrs. Swettenham resolutely.

" I'm going and you're coming with me. That's settled'." ill

" Archie," said Mrs. Easterbrook to her husband, " listen to this."

Colonel Easterbrook paid no attention, because he was

already snorting with impatience over an article in The

Times.

" Trouble with these fellows is," he said, " that none of them knows the first thing about India! Not the first

thing!"

" I know, dear, I know."

" If they did, they wouldn't write such piffle."

" Yes, I know. Archie, do listen. A murder is announced

and will take place on Friday, October sgth (that's to-day) at Little Paddocks at 6.30 p.m. Friends please accept this, the only intimation"

She paused triumphantly. Colonel Easterbrook looked

at her indulgently but without much interest.

" Murder Game," he said.

" Oh."

" That's all it is. Mind you," he unbent a little, " it can be very good fun if it's well done. But it needs good

organising by someone who knows the ropes. You draw

lots. One person's the murderer, nobody knows who.

Lights out. Murderer chooses his victim. The victim

has to count twenty before he screams. Then the person

who's chosen to be the detective takes charge. Questions 14

A Murder is Announced,

everybody. Where they were, what they were doing,

tries to trip the real fellow up. Yes, it's a good game--if

the detective--er--knows something about police work."

" Like you, Archie. You had all those interesting

cases to try in your district."

Colonel Easterbrook smiled indulgently and gave his

moustache a complacent twirl.

" Yes, Laura," he said. " I dare say I could give them a hint or two."

And he straightened his shoulders.

" Miss Blacklock ought to have asked you to help her

in getting the tiling up."

The Colonel snorted.

" Oh, well, she's got that young cub staying with her.

Expect this is his idea. Nephew or something. Funny

idea, though, sticking it in the paper."

" It was in the Personal Column. We might never

have seen it. I suppose it is an invitation, Archie?"

" Funny kind of invitation. I can tell you one thing.

They can count me out." ' "

" Oh, Archie," Mrs. Easterbrook's voice rose in a shrill wail.

" Short notice. For all they know I might be busy."

" But you're not, are you, darling?" Mrs. Easterbrook lowered her voice persuasively. " And I do think, Archie, that you really ought to go--just to help poor Miss

Blacklock out. I'm sure she's counting on you to make

the thing a success. I mean, you know so much about

police work and procedure. The whole thing will fall

flat if you don't go and help to make it a success. After

all, one must be neighbourly."

Mrs. Easterbrook put her synthetic blonde head on

one side and opened her blue eyes very wide.

" Of course, if you put it like that, Laura . . ."

Colonel Easterbrook twirled his grey moustache again,

/5

A Murder is Announced

importantly, and looked with indulgence on his fluffy

little wife. Mrs. Easterbrook was at least thirty years

younger than her husband.

" If you put it like that, Laura," he said.

" I really do think it's your duty, Archie," said Mrs. Easterbrook solemnly.

i v

The Chipping Cleghorn Gazette had also been delivered

at Boulders, the picturesque three cottages knocked

into one inhabited by Miss Hinchliffe and Miss Murgatroyd.

"Hinch?"

" What is it, Murgatroyd?"

" Where are you?"

" Henhouse."

" Oh."

Paddling gingerly through the long wet grass, Miss

Amy Murgatroyd approached her friend. The latter,

attired in corduroy slacks and battledress tunic was conscientiously stirring in handfuls of balancer meal to a

repellently steaming basin full of cooked potato peelings

and cabbage stumps.

She turned her head with its short man-like crop and

wcatherbeatcn countenance toward her friend.

Miss Murgatroyd, who was fat and amiable, wore a

checked tweed skirt and a shapeless pullover of brilliant

royal blue. Her curly bird's nest of grey hair was in a

good deal of disorder and she was slightly out of breath.

"In the Gazette," she panted. "Just listen--what can it mean? A murder is announced . . . and will take

place on Friday, October sgth at Little Paddocks at 6.30 p.m. Friends please accept this, the only intimation." 16

mis

A Murder is Announced

She paused, breathless, as she finished reading, and

awaited some authoritative pronouncement.

" Daft," said Miss Hinchliffe.

" Yes, but what do you think it means'!"

" Means a drink, anyway," said Miss Hinchliffe.

" You think it's a sort of invitation ?"

" We'll find out what it means when we get there,"

said Miss Hinchliffe. "Bad sherry, I expect. You'd

better get off the grass, Murgatroyd. You've got your

bedroom slippers on still. They're soaked."

" Oh, dear." Miss Murgatroyd looked down ruefully

at her feet. " How many eggs to-day ?"

" Seven. That damned hen's still broody. I must get

her into the coop."

" It's a funny way of putting it, don't you think ?" Amy Murgatroyd asked, reverting to the notice in the Gazette. Her voice was slightly wistful. But her friend was made of sterner and more singleminded

stuff. She was intent on dealing with recalcitrant

poultry and no announcement in a paper, however

enigmatic, could deflect her.

She squelched heavily through the mud and pounced

upon a speckled hen. There was a loud and indignant

squawking.

" Give me ducks every time," said Miss Hinchliffe.

" Far less trouble ..."

v

" Oo, scrumptious!" said Mrs. Harmon across the breakfast table to her husband, the Rev. Julian Harmon,

" there's going to be a murder at Miss Blacklock's."

"A murder?" said her husband, slightly surprised.

"When?"

i7

A Murder is Announced

" This afternoon ... at least, this evening. 6.30. Oh,

bad luck, darling, you've got your preparations for confirmation then. It is a shame. And you do so love

murders!"

" I don't really know what you're talking about,

Bunch?"

Mrs. Harmon, the roundness of whose form and face

had early led to the soubriquet of " Bunch " being substituted for her baptismal name of Diana, handed the Gazette across the table.

" There. All among the second-hand pianos, and the

old teeth."

" What " Isn't it?" said Bunch happily. " You wouldn't think that Miss Blacklock cared about murders and games and

things, would you? I suppose it's the young Simmonses

put her up to it--though I should have thought Julia

Simmons would find murders rather crude. Still, there it

is, and I do think, darling, it's a shame you can't be

there. Anyway, I'll go and tell you all about it, though

it's rather wasted on me, because I don't really like

games that happen in the dark. They frighten me, and

I do hope I shan't have to be the one who's murdered.

If someone suddenly puts a hand on my shoulder and

whispers, ' You're dead,' I know my heart will give such

a big bump that perhaps it really might kill me! Do you

think that's likely?"

" No, Bunch. I think you're going to live to be an old,

old woman--with me."

" And die on the same day and be buried in the same

grave. That would be lovely."

Bunch beamed from ear to ear at this agreeable prospect.

" You seem very happy, Bunch ?" said her husband,

smiling.

78

A Murder is Announced

" Who'd not be happy if they were me?" demanded

Bunch, rather confusedly. " With you and Susan and

Edward, and all of you fond of me and not caring if I'm

stupid . . . And the sun shining! And this lovely big

house to live in!"

The Rev. Julian Harmon looked round the big bare

dining-room and assented doubtfully.

" Some people would think it was the last straw to

have to live in this great rambling draughty place."

" Well, I like big rooms. All the nice smells from outside can get in and stay there. And you can be untidy

and leave things about and they don't clutter you."

"No labour saving devices or central heating? It

means a lot of work for you, Bunch."

" Oh, Julian, it doesn't. I get up at half-past six and

light the boiler and rush around like a steam engine, and

by eight it's all done. And I keep it nice, don't I ? With

beeswax and polish and big jars of autumn leaves. It's

not really harder to keep a big house clean than a small

one. You go round with mops and things much quicker,

because your behind isn't always bumping into things

like it is in a small room. And I like sleeping in a big

cold room--it's so cosy to snuggle down with just the tip

of your nose telling you what it's like up above. And

whatever size of house you live in, you peel the same

amount of potatoes and wash up the same amount of

plates and all that. Think how nice it is for Edward and

Susan to have a big empty room to play in where they

can have railways and dolls' tea-parties all over the floor

and never have to put them away? And then it's nice

to have extra bits of the house that you can let people

have to live in. Jimmy Symes and Johnnie Finch-they'd have had to live with their in-laws otherwise. And you know, Julian, it isn't nice living with your

in-laws. You're devoted to Mother, but you wouldn't

^9

A Murder is Announced

really have liked to start our married life living with her

and Father. And I shouldn't have liked it, either. I'd

have gone on feeling like a little girl."

Julian smiled at her.

" You're rather like a little girl still. Bunch."

Julian Harmon himself had clearly been a model

designed by Nature for the age of sixty. He was still about

twenty-five years short of achieving Nature's purpose.

" I know I'm stupid----"

" You're not stupid, Bunch. You're very clever."

"No, I'm not. I'm not a bit intellectual. Though I

do try ... And I really love it when you talk to me

about books and history and things. I think perhaps it

wasn't an awfully good idea to read aloud Gibbon to me

in the evenings, because if it's been a cold wind out, and

it's nice and hot by the fire, there's something about

Gibbon that does, rather, make you go to sleep."

Julian laughed.

" But I do love listening to you, Julian. Tell me the

story again about the old vicar who preached about

Ahasuerus."

" You know that by heart. Bunch."

" Just tell it me again. Please."

Her husband complied.

" It was old Scrymgour. Somebody looked into his

church one day. He was leaning out of the pulpit and

preaching fervently to a couple of old charwomen. He

was shaking his finger at them and saying, ' Aha! I

know what you are thinking. You think that the Great

Ahasuerus of the First Lesson was Artaxerxes the Second.

But he wasn't!' And then with enormous triumph, ' He

was Artaxerxes the Third.' "

It had never struck Julian Harmon as a particularly

funny story himself, but it never failed to amuse Bunch.

Her clear laugh floated out.

90

A Murder is Announced

"The old pet!" she exclaimed. "I think you'll be exactly like that some day, Julian."

Julian looked rather uneasy.

" I know," he said with humility. " I do feel very strongly that I can't always get the proper simple approach."

" I shouldn't worry," said Bunch, rising and beginning to pile the breakfast plates on a tray. " Mrs. Butt told me yesterday that Butt, who never went to church and

used to be practically the local atheist, comes every

Sunday now on purpose to hear you preach."

She went on, with a very fair imitation of Mrs. Butt's

super-refined voice:

"' And Butt was saying only the other day, Madam,

to Mr. Timkins from Little Worsdale, that we'd got real culture here in Chipping Cleghom. Not like Mr. Goss,

at Little Worsdale, who talks to the congregation as

though they were children who hadn't had any education.

Real culture, Butt said, that's what we've got. Our

Vicar's a highly educated gentleman--Oxford, not Milchester,

and he gives us the full benefit of his education.

All about the Romans and the Greeks he knows, and the

Babylonians and the Assyrians, too. And even the

Vicarage cat. Butt says, is called after an Assyrian king!'

So there's glory for you," finished Bunch triumphantly.

" Goodness, I must get on with things or I shall never

get done. Come along, Tiglath Pileser, you shall have the herring bones." Opening the door and holding it dexterously ajar with

her foot, she shot through with the loaded tray, singing

in a loud and not particularly tuneful voice, her own

version of a sporting song.

" It's a fine murdering day, (sang Bunch) And as balmy as May And the sleuths from the village are gone," 3i

A Murder is Announced

A rattle of crockery being dumped in the sink drowned

the next lines, but as the Rev. Julian Harmon left the

house, he heard the final triumphant assertion:

" And we'll all go a'mwdering today!"

aa

2. Breakfast at Little Paddocks

at little paddocks also, breakfast was in progress.

Miss Blacklock, a woman of sixty odd, the owner of

the house, sat at the head of the table. She wore country

tweeds--and with them, rather incongruously, a choker

necklace of large false pearls. She was reading Lane

Norcott in the Daily Mail. Julia Simmons was languidly

glancing through the Telegraph. Patrick Simmons was

checking up on the crossword in The Times. Miss Dora Bunner was giving her attention wholeheartedly to the

local weekly paper.

Miss Blacklock gave a subdued chuckle, Patrick muttered

: " Adherent--not adhesive--that's where I went

wrong." - - ,

Suddenly a loud cluck, like a startled hen, came from

Miss Bunner.

" Letty--Letty--have you seen this? Whatever can it

mean?"

" What's the matter, Dora?"

" The most extraordinary advertisement. It says

Little Paddocks quite distinctly. But whatever can it mean7"

" If you'd let me sec, Dora dear----"

Miss Bunner obediently surrendered the paper into

Miss Blacklock's outstretched hand, pointing to the item

with a tremulous forefinger.

" Just look, Letty."

>>3

A Murder is Announced.

Miss Blacklock looked. Her eyebrows went up. She

threw a quick scrutinising glance round the table. Then

she read the advertisement out loud.

" A murder is announced and mill take place on

Friday, October sgth at Little Paddocks at 6.30 p.m.

Friends please accept this, the only intimation."

Then she said sharply: " Patrick, is this your

idea?"

Her eyes rested searchingly on the handsome devilmay-care

face of the young man at the other end of the

table.

Patrick Simmons' disclaimer came quickly.

" No, indeed, Aunt Letty. Whatever put that idea

into your head? Why should I know anything about

it?"

" I wouldn't put it past you," said Miss Blacklock

grimly. " I thought it might be your idea of a

joke."

" A joke ? Nothing of the kind."

"And you, Julia?"

Julia, looking bored, said : " Of course not."

Miss Bunner murmured: " Do you think Mrs.

Haymes----" and looked at an empty place where

someone had breakfasted earlier.

" Oh, I don't think our Phillipa would try and be

funny," said Patrick. " She's a serious girl, she is."

"But what's the idea, anyway?" said Julia, yawning.

"What does it mean?"

Miss Blacklock said slowly, " I suppose--it's some silly sort of hoax."

"But why?" Dora Bunner exclaimed. "What's the

point of it? It seems a very stupid sort of joke. And in

very bad taste."

Her flabby cheeks quivered indignantly, and her shortsighted

eyes sparkled with indignation.

34

Breakfast at Little Paddocks

Miss Blacklock smiled at her.

" Don't work yourself up over it. Bunny," she said.

" It's just somebody's idea of humour, but I wish I knew whose."

" It says to-day," pointed out Miss Bunner. " Today at 6.30 p.m. What do you think is going to happen ?"

" Death!" said Patrick in sepulchral tones. " Delicious Death."

" Be quiet, Patrick," said Miss Blacklock as Miss

Bunner gave a little yelp.

" I only meant the special cake that Mitzi makes,"

said Patrick apologetically. " You know we always call

it Delicious Death."

Miss Blacklock smiled a little absentmindedly.

Miss Bunner persisted : " But Letty, what do you really

think------"

Her friend cut across the words with reassuring cheerfulness.

" I know one thing that will happen at 6.30," she said dryly. " We'll have half the village up here, agog with

curiosity. I'd better make sure we've'got some sherry in

the house."

ii

" You are worried, aren't you, Lotty?"

Miss Blacklock started. She had been sitting at her

writing-table, absentmindedly drawing little fishes on the

blotting paper. She looked up into the anxious face of

her old friend.

She was not quite sure what to say to Dora Bunner.

Bunny, she knew, mustn't be worried or upset. She was

silent for a moment or two, thinking.

>>5

A Murder is Announced

She and Dora Bunner had been at school together.

Dora then had been a pretty fair-haired, blue-eyed rather

stupid girl. Her being stupid hadn't mattered, because

her gaiety and high spirits and her prettiness had made

her an agreeable companion. She ought, her friend

thought, to have married some nice Army officer, or a

country solicitor. She had so many good qualities-affection, devotion, loyalty. But life had been unkind to Dora Bunner. She had had to earn her living. She had

been painstaking but never competent at anything she

undertook.

The two friends had lost sight of each other. But six

months ago a letter had come to Miss Blacklock, a

rambling, pathetic letter. Dora's health had given way.

She was living in one room, trying to subsist on her old

age pension. She endeavoured to do needlework, but her

fingers were stiff with rheumatism. She mentioned their

schooldays--since then life had driven them apart--but

could--possibly--her old friend help?

Miss Blacklock had responded impulsively. Poor Dora,

poor pretty silly fluffy Dora. She had swooped down

upon Dora, had carried her off, had installed her at Little

Paddocks with the comforting fiction that " the housework is getting too much for me. I need someone to help

me run the house." It was not for long--the doctor had

told her that--but sometimes she found poor old Dora

a sad trial. She muddled everything, upset the temperamental

foreign " help," miscounted the laundry, lost bills and letters--and sometimes reduced the competent Miss

Blacklock to an agony of exasperation. Poor old muddleheaded

Dora, so loyal, so anxious to help, so pleased and

proud to think she was of assistance--and, alas, so completely unreliable.

She said sharply:

a6

Breakfast at Little Paddocks

" Don't, Dora. You know I asked you----"

" Oh," Miss Bunner looked guilty. " I know. I forgot. But--but you are, aren't you?"

" Worried? No. At least," she added truthfully, " not exactly. You mean about that silly notice in the Gazette7"

"Yes--even if it's a joke, it seems to me it's a--a

spiteful sort of joke."

"Spiteful?"

" Yes. It seems to me there's spite there somewhere.

I mean--it's not a nice kind of joke."

Miss Blacklock looked at her friend. The mild eyes,

the long obstinate mouth, the slightly upturned nose.

Poor Dora, so maddening, so muddleheaded, so devoted

and such a problem. A dear fussy old idiot and yet, in a

queer way, with an instinctive sense of values.

" I think you're right, Dora," said Miss Blacklock.

" It's not a nice joke."

" I don't like it at all," said Dora Bunner with unsuspected vigour. " It frightens me." She added, suddenly

: " And it frightens you, Letitia."

" Nonsense," said Miss Blacklock with spirit.

" It's dangerous. I'm sure it is. Like those people who

send you bombs done up in parcels."

" My dear, it's just some silly idiot trying to be

funny."

" But it isn't funny."

It wasn't really very funny . . . Miss Blacklock's face

betrayed her thoughts, and Dora cried triumphantly,

" You see. You think so, too!"

" But Dora, my dear----"

She broke off. Through the door there surged a tempestuous

young woman with a well developed bosom

heaving under a tight jersey. She had on a dirndl skirt

of a bright colour and had greasy dark plaits wound 27

A Murder is Announced

round and round her head. Her eyes were dark and

Hashing.

She said gustily:

" I can speak to you, yes, please, no?"

Miss Blacklock sighed.

" Of course, Mitzi, what is it?"

Sometimes she thought it would be preferable to do the

entire work of the house as well as the cooking rather

than be bothered with the eternal nerve storms of her

refugee " lady help."

" I tell you at once--it is in order, I hope? I give you my notices and I go--I go at once I"

" For what reason ? Has somebody upset you ?"

" Yes, I am upset," said Mitzi dramatically. " I do not wish to die! Already in Europe I escape. My family

they all die--they are all killed--my mother, my little

brother, my so sweet little niece--all, all they are killed.

But me I run away--I hide. I get to England. I work.

I do work that never--never would I do in my own

country--I----"

" I know all that," said Miss Blacklock crisply. It was, indeed, a constant refrain on Mitzi's lips. " But why do you want to leave now?"

" Because again they come to kill me!"

" Who do?"

" My enemies. The Nazis! Or perhaps this time it

is the Bolsheviks. They find out I am here. They come

to kill me. I have read it--yes--it is in the newspaper!"

" Oh, you mean in the Gazette?"

" Here, it is written here." Mitzi produced the Gazette from where she had been holding it behind her back.

" See--here it says a murder. At Little Paddocks. That

is here, is it not? This evening at 6.30. Ah! I do not

wait to be murdered--no."

28

* Breakfast at Little Paddocks

" But why should this apply to you? It's--we think it

is a joke."

" A joke ? It is not a joke to murder someone ?"

"No, of course not. But my dear child, if anyone

wanted to murder you, they wouldn't advertise the fact

in the paper, would they?"

" You do not think they would ?" Mitzi seemed a little shaken. "You think, perhaps, they do not mean to

murder anyone at all? Perhaps it is you they mean to

murder, Miss Blacklock."

" I certainly can't believe anyone wants to murder

me," said Miss Blacklock lightly. " And really, Mitzi, I don't see why anyone should want to murder you. After

all, why should they?"

" Because they are bad peoples . . . Very bad peoples.

I tell you, my mother, my little brother, my so sweet

niece ...>>

" Yes, yes." Miss Blacklock stemmed the flow, adroitly.

" But I cannot really believe anyone wants to murder

you, Mitzi. Of course, if you want to go off like this at

a moment's notice, I cannot possibly stop you. But I

think you will be very silly if you do."

She added firmly, as Mitzi looked doubtful:

"We'll have that beef the butcher sent stewed for

lunch. It looks very tough."

" I make you a goulash, a special goulash."

" If you prefer to call it that, certainly. And perhaps

you could use up that rather hard bit of cheese in making

some cheese straws. I think some people may come in

this evening for drinks."

"This evening? What do you mean, this evening?"

" At half-past six."

" But that is the time in the paper. Who should come

then ? Why should they come ?"

" They're coming to the funeral," said Miss Blacklock

>>9

A Murder is Announced

with a twinkle. "That'll do now, Mitzi. I'm busy.

Shut the door after you," she added firmly.

" And that's settled her for the moment," she said as the door closed behind a puzzled-looking Mitzi.

"You are so efficient, Letty," said Miss Bunner admiringly.

30

3. At 6.^0 p.m.

"well, here we are, all set," said Miss Blacklock

She looked round the double drawing-room with an appraising

eye. The rose-patterned chintzes--the two bowls

of bronze chrysanthemums, the small vase of violets and

the silver cigarette-box on a table by the wall, the tray

of drinks on the centre table.

Little Paddocks was a medium-sized house built in the

early Victorian style. It had a long shallow veranda and

green shuttered windows. The long, narrow drawingroom

which lost a good deal of light owing to the veranda

roof had originally had double doors at one end leading

into a small room with a bay window. A former generation

had removed the double doors and replaced them

with portieres of velvet. Miss Blacklock had dispensed

with the portieres so that the two rooms had become definitely one. There was a fireplace each end, but neither

fire was lit although a gentle warmth pervaded the room.

" You've had the central heating lit," said Patrick. Miss Blacklock nodded.

" It's been so misty and damp lately. The whole house

felt clammy. I got Evans to light it before he went."

" The precious precious coke?" said Patrick mockingly.

" As you say, the precious coke. But otherwise there

would have been the even more precious coal. You

know the Fuel Office won't even let us have the little bit

that's due to us each week--not unless we can say definitely

that we haven't got any other means of cooking."

" I suppose there was once heaps of coke and coal for 3i A Murder is Announced.

everybody?" said Julia with the interest of one hearing

about an unknown country.

" Yes, and cheap, too."

" And anyone could go and buy as much as they

wanted, without filling in anything, and there wasn't

any shortage ? There was lots of it there ?"

" All kinds and qualities--and not all stones and slates like what we get nowadays."

" It must have been a wonderful world," said Julia, with awe in her voice.

Miss Blacklock smiled. " Looking back on it, I certainly think so. But then I'm an old woman. It's natural for

me to prefer my own times. But you young things

oughtn't to think so."

" I needn't have had a job then," said Julia. " I could just have stayed at home and done the flowers, and

written notes. . . . Why did one write notes and who

were they to?"

"All the people that you now ring up on the telephone," said Miss Blacklock with a twinkle. " I don't

believe you even know how to write, Julia."

" Not in the style of that delicious ' Complete Letter

Writer' I found the other day. Heavenly! It told you

the correct way of refusing a proposal of marriage from

a widower."

" I doubt if you would have enjoyed staying at home

as much as you think," said Miss Blacklock. " There were duties, you know." Her voice was dry. " However, I don't really know much about it. Bunny and I,"

she smiled affectionately at Dora Bunner, "went into

the labour market early."

"Oh, we did, we did indeed" agreed Miss Bunner.

" Those naughty, naughty children. I'll never forget

them. Of course, Letty was clever. She was a business

woman, secretary to a big financier."

3>>

I At6.yp.rn.

The door opened and Phillipa Haymes came in. She was tall and fair and placid looking. She looked round

the room in surprise.

" Hallo," she said. " Is it a party? Nobody told me."

"Of course," cried Patrick. "Our Phillipa doesn't know. The only woman in Chipping Cleghom who

doesn't, I bet."

Phillipa looked at him inquiringly.

" Here you behold," said Patrick dramatically, waving a hand, " the scene of a murder!"

Phillipa Haymes looked faintly puzzled.

" Here," Patrick indicated the two big bowls of chrysanthemums,

" are the funeral wreaths and these dishes

of cheese straws and olives represent the funeral baked

meats."

Phillipa looked inquiringly at Miss Blacklock.

" Is it a joke?" she asked. " I'm always terribly stupid at seeing jokes."

" It's a very nasty joke," said Dora Bunner with

energy. " I don't like it at all."

"Show her the advertisement," said Miss Blacklock.

" I must go and shut up the ducks. It's dark. They'll be in by now."

" Let me do it," said Phillipa.

" Certainly not, my dear. You've finished your day's

work."

" I'll do it, Aunt Letty," offered Patrick.

"No, you won't," said Miss Blacklock with energy.

" Last time you didn't latch the door properly."

" I'll do it, Letty dear," cried Miss Bunner. " Indeed, I should love to. I'll just slip on my goloshes--and now

where did I put my cardigan ?"

But Miss Blacklock, with a smile, had already left the

room.

It's no good, Bunny," said Patrick. " Aunt Letty's 33

A Murder is Announced

so efficient that she can never bear anybody else to do

things for her. She really much prefers to do everything

herself."

" She loves it," said Julia.

" I didn't notice you making any offers of assistance," said her brother.

Julia smiled lazily.

" You've just said Aunt Letty likes to do things herself," she pointed out. "Besides," she held out a wellshaped leg in a sheer stocking, " I've got my best stockings

on."

" Death in silk stockings!" declaimed Patrick.

" Not silk--nylons, you idiot."

" That's not nearly such a good tide."

" Won't somebody please tell me," cried Phillipa,

plaintively, " why tfiere is all this insistence on death ?" Everybody tried to tell her at once--nobody could find

the Gazette to show her because Mitzi had taken it into

the kitchen.

Miss Blacklock returned a few minutes later.

" There," she said briskly, " that's done." She glanced at the clock. " Twenty-past six. Somebody ought to be here soon--unless I'm entirely wrong in my estimate of

my neighbours."

" I don't see why anybody should come," said Phillipa, looking bewildered.

" Don't you, dear? ... I dare say you wouldn't. But

most people are rather more inquisitive than you are."

"Phillipa's attitude to life is that she just isn't interested," said Julia, rather nastily.

Phillipa did not reply.

Miss Blacklock was glancing round the room. Mitzi

had put the sherry and three dishes containing olives,

cheese straws and some little fancy pastries on the table

in the middle of the room.

34

At 6. jo />>.m.

" You might move that tray--or the whole table if

you like--round the corner into the bay window in the

other room, Patrick, if you don't mind. After all, I am not giving a party! I haven't asked anyone. And I don't

intend to make it obvious that I expect people to turn

up."

" You wish, Aunt Letty, to disguise your intelligent

anticipation?"

" Very nicely put, Patrick. Thank you, my dear boy."

" Now we can all give a lovely performance of a quiet

evening at home," said Julia, "and be quite surprised when somebody drops in."

Miss Blacklock had picked up the sherry bottle. She

stood holding it uncertainly in her hand.

Patrick reassured her.

"There's quite half a bottle there. It ought to be

enough."

"Oh, yes--yes . . ." She hesitated. Then, with a

slight flush, she said :

" Patrick, would you mind . . . there's a new bottle in

the cupboard in the pantry. . . . Bring it and a corkscrew.

I--we--might as well have a new bottle. This-this has been opened some time." Patrick went on his errand without a word. He returned

with the new bottle and drew the cork. He

looked up curiously at Miss Blacklock as he placed it on

the tray.

" Taking things seriously, aren't you, darling ?" he asked gently.

" Oh," cried Dora Bunner, shocked. " Surely, Letty, you can't imagine----"

" Hush," said Miss Blacklock quickly. " That's the bell. You see, my intelligent anticipation is being justified." 35

A Murder is Announced

ii

Mitzi opened the door of the drawing-room and admitted

Colonel and Mrs. Easterbrook. She had her own

methods of announcing people.

" Here is Colonel and Mrs. Easterbrook to see you," she said conversationally.

Colonel Easterbrook was very bluff and breezy to cover

some slight embarrassment.

" Hope you don't mind us dropping in," he said. (A

subdued gurgle came from Julia.) " Happened to be

passing this way--eh what? Quite a mild evening.

Notice you've got your central heating on. We haven't

started ours yet."

"Aren't your chrysanthemums lovely?" gushed Mrs.

Easterbrook. " Such beauties!"

" They're rather scraggy, really," said Julia.

Mrs. Easterbrook greeted Phillipa Haymes with a little

extra cordiality to show that she quite understood that

Phillipa was not really an agricultural labourer.

" How is Mrs. Lucas's garden getting on?" she asked.

" Do you think it will ever be straight again ? Completely neglected all through the war--and then only that dreadful

old man Ashe who simply did nothing but sweep up

a few leaves and put in a few cabbage plants."

"It's yielding to treatment," said Phillipa. "But it will take a little time."

Mitzi opened the door again and said :

" Here are the ladies from Boulders."

" 'Evening," said Miss Hinchliffe, striding over and taking Miss Blacklock's hand in her formidable grip. " I said to Murgatroyd: ' Let's just drop in at Little Paddocks

I* I wanted to ask you how your ducks are laying." 36

At 6.^0 p.m.

"The evenings do draw in so quickly now, don't

they?" said Miss Murgatroyd to Patrick in a rather

fluttery way. " What lovely chrysanthemums!"

"Scraggy! "said Julia.

" Why can't you be co-operative ?" murmured Patrick to her in a reproachful aside.

" You've got your central heating on," said Miss

Hinchliffe. She said it accusingly. " Very early."

" The house gets so damp this time of year," said Miss Blacklock.

Patrick signalled with his eyebrows: "Sherry yet?"

and Miss Blacklock signalled back : " Not yet."

She said to Colonel Easterbrook :

" Are you getting any bulbs from Holland this year?" The door again opened and Mrs. Swettenham came in

rather guiltily, followed by a scowling and uncomfortable

Edmund.

" Here we are!" said Mrs. Swettenham gaily, gazing

round her with frank curiosity. Then, feeling suddenly

uncomfortable, she went on : "I just thought I'd pop in

and ask you if by any chance you wanted a kitten, Miss

Blacklock? Our cat is just-----"

"About to be brought to bed of the progeny of a

ginger torn," said Edmund. " The result will, I think, be frightful. Don't say you haven't been warned!"

" She's a very good mouser," said Mrs. Swettenham

hastily. And added: " What lovely chrysanthemums!"

" You've got your central heating on, haven't you ?" asked Edmund, with an air of originality.

"Aren't people just like gramophone records?" murmured Julia.

" I don't like the news," said Colonel Easterbrook to Patrick, buttonholing him fiercely. " I don't like it at all. If you ask me, war's inevitable--absolutely inevitable."

" I never pay any attention to news," said Patrick. 37

A Murder is Announced

Once more the door opened and Mrs. Harman came

in.

Her battered felt hat was stuck on the back of her

head in a vague attempt to be fashionable and she had

put on a rather limp frilly blouse instead of her usual

pullover.

" Hallo, Miss Blacklock," she exclaimed, beaming all over her round face. " I'm not too late, am I ? When

docs the murder begin?"

in

There was an audible series of gasps. Julia gave an

approving little giggle, Patrick crinkled up his face and

Miss Blacklock smiled at her latest guest.

" Julian is just frantic with rage that he can't be here," said Mrs. Hamnon. " He adores murders. That's really

why he preached such a good sermon last Sunday--I

suppose I oughtn't to say it was a good sermon as he's

my husband--but it really was good, didn't you think?

--so much better than his usual sermons. But as I was

saying it was all because of Death Does the Hat Trick.

Have you read it? The girl at Boots' kept it for me

specially. It's simply baffling. You keep thinking you

know--and then the whole thing switches round--and

there are a lovely lot of murders, four or five of them.

Well, I left it in the study when Julian was shutting

himself up there to do his sermon, and he just picked it

up and simply could not put it down! And consequently

he had to write his sermon in a frightful hurry and had

to just put down what he wanted to say very simply--

without any scholarly twists and bits and learned references--and naturally it was heaps better. Oh, dear, I'm

38

At6.yp.rn.

talking too much. But do tell me, when is the murder

going to begin?"

Miss Blacklock looked at the clock on the mantelpiece.

" If it's going to begin," she said cheerfully, " it ought to begin soon. It's just a minute to the half hour. In the

meantime, have a glass of sherry."

Patrick moved with alacrity through the archway.

Miss Blacklock went to the table by the archway where

the cigarette-box was.

" I'd love some sherry," said Mrs. Harmon. " But what do you mean by if ?"

" Well," said Miss Blacklock. " I'm as much in the dark as you are. I don't know what------"

She stopped and turned her head as the little clock on

the mantelpiece began to chime. It had a sweet silvery

bell-like tone. Everybody was silent and nobody moved.

They all stared at the clock.

It chimed a quarter--and then the half. As the last

note died away all the lights went out.

IV

Delighted gasps and feminine squeaks of appreciation

were heard in the darkness. " It's beginning," cried Mrs. Harmon in an ecstasy. Dora Bunner's voice cried out

plaintively, "Oh, I don't like it!" Other voices said,

" How terribly terribly frightening!" "It gives me the creeps." " Archie, where are you ?" " What do I have to do?" "Oh, dear--did I step on your foot? I'm so

sorry."

Then, with a crash the door swung open. A powerful

flashlight played rapidly round the room. A man's hoarse

nasal voice, reminiscent to all of pleasant afternoons at

the cinema directed the company crisply to :

39

A Murder is Announced

" Suck 'cm up!

" Stick 'em up, I tell you!" the voice barked.

Delightedly, hands were raised willingly above heads.

" Isn't it wonderful?" breathed a female voice. " I'm so thrilled."

And then, unexpectedly, a revolver spoke. It spoke

twice. The ping of two bullets shattered the complacency

of the room. Suddenly the game was no longer a game.

Somebody screamed....

The figure in the doorway whirled suddenly round, it

seemed to hesitate, a third shot rang out, it crumpled

and then it crashed to the ground. The flashlight dropped

and went out.

There was darkness once again. And gently, with a

little Victorian protesting moan, the drawing-room door,

as was its habit when not propped open, swung gently to

and latched with a click.

v

Inside the drawing-room there was pandemonium.

Various voices spoke at once. " Lights." " Can't you find the switch?" " Who's got a lighter?" " Oh, I don't like it, I don't like it." "But those shots were real

" It was a real revolver he had." " Was it a burglar?"

" Oh, Archie, I want to get out of here." " Please, has somebody got a lighter?"

And then, almost at the same moment, two lighters

clicked and burned with small steady flames.

Everybody blinked and peered at each other. Startled

face looked into startled face. Against the wall by the

archway Miss Blacklock stood with her hand up to her

face. The light was too dim to show more than that

something dark was trickling over her fingers.

40

At 6.^0 p.m.

Colonel Easterbrook cleared his throat and rose to the occasion.

" Try the switches, Swettenham," he ordered.

Edmund, near the door, obediently jerked the switch

up and down.

" Off at the main, or a fuse," said the Colonel.

" Who's making that awful row?"

A female voice had been screaming steadily from

somewhere beyond the closed door. It rose now in pitch

and with it came the sound of fists hammering on a door.

Dora Bunner, who had been sobbing quietly, called

out:

" It's Mitzi. Somebody's murdering Mitzi...."

Patrick muttered : " No such luck."

Miss Blacklock said : " We must get candles. Patrick,

will you----"

The Colonel was already opening the door. He and

Edmund, their lighters flickering, stepped into the hall.

They almost stumbled over a recumbent figure there.

" Seems to have knocked him out," said the Colonel.

" Where's that woman making that hellish noise?"

" In the dining-room," said Edmund.

The dining-room was just across* the hall. Someone

was beating on the panels and howling and screaming.

" She's locked in," said Edmund, stooping down. He

turned the key and Mitzi came out like a bounding

tiger.

The dining-room light was still on. Silhouetted against

it Mitzi presented a picture of insane terror and continued

to scream. A touch of comedy was introduced by

the fact that she had been engaged in cleaning silver and

was still holding a chamois leather and a large fish slice.

" Be quiet, Mitzi," said Miss Blacklock.

" Stop it," said Edmund, and as Mitzi showed no

disposition to stop screaming, he leaned forward and gave 41

A Murder is Announced

her a sharp slap on the cheek. Mitzi gasped and hiccupped

into silence.

" Get some candles," said Miss Blacklock. " In the kitchen cupboard. Patrick, you know where the fusebox

is?"

"The passage behind the scullery? Right, I'll see

what I can do."

Miss Blacklock had moved foward into the light

thrown from the dining-room and Dora Bunner gave a

sobbing gasp. Mitzi let out another full-blooded scream.

" The blood, the blood!" she gasped. " You are shot

--Miss Blacklock, you bleed to death."

" Don't be so stupid," snapped Miss Blacklock. " I'm hardly hurt at all. It just grazed my ear."

" But Aunt Letty," said Julia, " the blood." And indeed Miss Blacklock's white blouse and pearls

and her hand were a horrifyingly gory sight.

" Ears always bleed," said Miss Blacklock. " I remember fainting in the hairdresser's when I was a child. The

man had only just snipped my ear. There seemed to be

a basin of blood at once. But we must have some light."

" I get the candles," said Mitzi.

Julia went with her and they returned with several

candles stuck into saucers.

" Now let's have a look at our malefactor," said the Colonel. " Hold the candles down low, will you, Swcttenham?

As many as you can."

" I'll come the other side," said Phillipa.

With a steady hand she took a couple of saucers.

Colonel Easterbrook knelt down.

The recumbent figure was draped in a roughly-made

black cloak with a hood to it. There was a black mask

over the face and he wore black cotton gloves. The hood

had slipped back disclosing a ruffled fair head.

Colonel Easterbrook turned him over, felt the pulse, 43

At 6.^0 p.m.

the heart . . . then drew away his fingers with an

exclamation of distaste, looking down on them. They

were sticky and red.

" Shot himself," he said.

" Is he badly hurt?" asked Miss Blacklock,

" H'm. I'm afraid he's dead . . . May have been

suicide--or he may have tripped himself up with that

cloak thing and the revolver went off as he fell. If I

could see better----"

At that moment, as though by magic, the lights came

on again.

With a queer feeling of unreality those inhabitants of

Chipping Cleghom who stood in the hall of Little Paddocks

realised that they stood in the presence of violent

and sudden death. Colonel Easterbrook's hand was

stained red. Blood was still trickling down Miss Blacklock's

neck over her blouse and coat, and the grotesquely

sprawled figure of the intruder lay at their feet....

Patrick, coming from the dining-room, said, " It

seemed to be just one fuse gone ..." He stopped.

Colonel Easterbrook tugged at the small black mask.

" Better sec who the fellow is," he said. " Though I don't suppose it's anyone we know...."

He detached the mask. Necks were craned forward.

Mitzi hiccupped and gasped, but the others were very

quiet,

" He's quite young," said Mrs. Harmon with a note of pity in her voice. And suddenly Dora Bunner cried out excitedly:

" Letty, Lctty, it's the young man from the Spa Hotel

in Medenham Wells. The one who came out here and

wanted you to give him money to get back to Switzerland

and you refused. I suppose the whole thing was just

a pretext--to spy out the house... . Oh, dear--he might

easily have killed you...."

43

4. The Royal Spa Hotel

george rydesdale, Chief Constable of Middleshire,

was a quiet man. Of medium height, with shrewd

eyes under rather bushy brows, he was in the habit of

listening rather than talking. Then, in his unemotional

voice, he would give a brief order--and the order was

obeyed.

He was listening now to Detective-Inspector Dermot

Craddock. Craddock was now officially in charge of the

case. Rydesdale had recalled him last night from Liverpool

where he had been sent to make certain inquiries in

connection with another case. Rydesdale had a good

opinion of Craddock. He not only had brains and

imagination, he had also, which Rydesdale appreciated

even more, the self-discipline to go slow, to check and

examine each fact, and to keep an open mind until the

very end of a case. - . .

" Constable Legg took the call, sir," Craddock was

saying. " He seems to have acted very well, with promptitude and presence of mind. And it can't have been

easy. About a dozen people all trying to talk at once,

including one of those Mittcl Europas who go off at the

deep end at the mere sight of a policeman. Made sure

she was going to be locked up, and fairly screamed the

place down."

" Deceased has been identified ?"

" Yes, sir. Rudi Scherz. Swiss Nationality. Employed

at the Royal Spa Hotel, Medenham Wells, as a receptionist.

If you agree, sir, I thought I'd take the Royal

45

A Murder is Announced

Spa Hotel first, and go out to Chipping Cleghorn afterwards.

Sergeant Fletcher is out there now. He'll see the

bus people and then go on to the house."

Rydesdale nodded approval.

The door opened, and the Chief Constable looked up.

" Come in, Henry," he said. " We've got something here that's a little out of the ordinary."

Sir Henry dithering, ex-Commissioner of Scotland

Yard, came in with slightly raised eyebrows. He was a

tall, distinguished-looking elderly man.

" It may appeal to even your blase palate," went on Rydesdale.

" I was never blase," said Sir Henry indignantly.

"The latest idea," said Rydesdale, "is to advertise one's murders beforehand. Show Sir Henry that advertisement,

Craddock."

"The North Benham News and Chipping Cleghorn

Gazette," said Sir Henry. " Quite a mouthful." He read the half-inch of print indicated by Craddock's finger.

" H'm, yes, somewhat unusual."

" Any line on who inserted this advertisement?" asked Rydesdale.

" By the description, sir, it was handed in by Rudi

Scherz himself--on Wednesday."

" Nobody questioned it? The person who accepted it,

didn't think it odd?"

" The adenoidal blonde who receives the advertisements

is quite incapable of thinking, I should say, sir.

She just counted the words and took the money."

" What was the idea?" asked Sir Henry.

" Get a lot of the locals curious," suggested Rydesdale.

" Get them all together at a particular place at a particular time, then hold them up and relieve them of their

spare cash and valuables. As an idea, it's not without

originality."

46

The Royal Spa Hotel

" What sort of a place is Chipping Cleghom?" asked

Sir Henry.

" A large sprawling picturesque village. Butcher,

baker, grocer, quite a good antique shop--two teashops.

Self-consciously a beauty spot. Caters for the motoring

tourist. Also highly residential. Cottages formerly lived

in by agricultural labourers now converted and lived in

by elderly spinsters and retired couples. A certain amount

of building done round about in Victorian times."

" I know," said Sir Henry. " Nice old Pussies and retired Colonels. Yes, if they noticed that advertisement

they'd all come sniffing round at 6.30 to see what was

up. Lord, I wish I had my own particular old Pussy

here. Wouldn't she like to get her nice ladylike teeth into

this. Right up her street it would be."

"Who's your own particular Pussy, Henry? An

aunt?"

" No," Sir Henry sighed. " She's no relation." He said reverently: " She's -Just the finest detective God ever made. Natural genius cultivated in a suitable soil." He turned upon Craddock.

" Don't you despise the old Pussies in this village of

yours, my boy," he said. " In case this turns out to be a high powered mystery, which I don't suppose for a

moment it will, remember that an elderly unmarried

woman who knits and gardens is streets ahead of any

detective sergeant. She can tell you what might have

happened and what ought to have happened and even

what actually did happen! And she can tell you why it happened!"

" I'll bear that in mind, sir," said Detective-Inspector Craddock in his most formal manner, and nobody would

have guessed that Dermot Eric Craddock was actually

Sir Henry's godson and was on easy and intimate terms

with his godfather.

47

A Murder is Announced

Rydesdale gave a quick outline of the case to his

friend.

"They'd all turn up at 6.30, I grant you that," he

said. "But would that Swiss fellow know they would?

And another thing, would they be likely to have much

loot on them to be worth the taking ?"

" A couple of old-fashioned brooches, a string of seed

pearls--a little loose change, perhaps a note or two--not

more," said Sir Henry, thoughtfully. "Did this Miss Blacklock keep much money in the house ?"

" She says not, sir. Five pounds odd, I understand."

" Mere chicken feed," said Rydesdale.

" What you're getting at," said Sir Henry, " is that this fellow liked to playact--it wasn't the loot, it was the

fun of playing and acting the hold-up. Cinema stuff?

Eh? It's quite possible. How did he manage to shoot

himself?"

Rydesdale drew a paper towards him.

" Preliminary medical report. The revolver was discharged at close range--singeing . . . h'm . . . nothing

to show whether accident or suicide. Could have been

done deliberately, or he could have tripped and fallen

and the revolver which he was holding close to him

could have gone off. . . . Probably the latter." He

looked at Craddock. " You'll have to question the witnesses very carefully and make them say exactly what

they saw."

Detective-Inspector Craddock said sadly: " They'll all

have seen something different."

" It's always interested me," said Sir Henry, " what people do see at a moment of intense excitement and

nervous strain. What they do see and, even more interesting,

what they don't see."

" Where's the report on the revolver?"

" Foreign make--(fairly common on the Continent)--48

The Royal Spa Hotel

Scherz did not hold a permit for it--and did not declare

it on coming into England."

" Bad lad," said Sir Henry.

" Unsatisfactory character all round. Well, Craddock,

go and see what you can find out about him at the Royal

Spa Hotel."

ii

At the Royal Spa Hotel, Inspector Craddock was taken

straight to the Manager's office.

The Manager, Mr. Rowlandson, a tall florid man with

a hearty manner, greeted Inspector Craddock with expansive geniality.

" Glad to help you in any way we can, Inspector," he said. " Really a most surprising business. I'd never have credited it--never. Scherz seemed a very ordinary, pleasant

young chap--not at all my idea of a hold-up man."

" How long has he been with you, Mr. Rowlandson?"

" I was looking that up just before you came. A little

over three months. Quite good credentials, the usual

permits, etc."

" And you found him satisfactory ?"

Without seeming to do so, Craddock marked the infinitesimal

pause before Rowlandson replied.

" Quite satisfactory."

Craddock made use of a technique he had found

efficacious before now.

" No, no, Mr. Rowlandson," he said, gently shaking

his head. " That's not really quite the case, is it?"

" We-11----" The Manager seemed slightly taken

aback.

" Come now, there was something wrong. What was

it?"

49

A Murder is Announced

" That's just it. I don't know."

" But you thought there was something wrong?"

" Well--yes--I did. . . . But I've nothing really to go

upon. I shouldn't like my conjectures to be written down

and quoted against me."

Craddock smiled pleasantly.

" I know just what you mean. You needn't worry.

But I've got to get some idea of what this fellow, Scherz,

was like. You suspected him of--what?"

Rowlandson said, rather reluctantly:

" Well, there was trouble, once or twice, about the bills. Items charged that oughtn't to have been there."

" You mean you suspected that he charged up certain

items which didn't appear in the hotel records, and that

he pocketed the difference when the bill was paid?"

" Something like that. . . . Put it at the best, there was gross carelessness on his part. Once or twice quite a big

sum was involved. Frankly, I got our accountant to go

over his books suspecting that he was--well, a wrong

'un, but though there were various mistakes and a good

deal of slipshod method, the actual cash was quite

correct. So I came to the conclusion that I must be

mistaken."

" Supposing you hadn't been wrong ? Supposing

Scherz had been helping himself to various small sums

here and there, he could have covered himself, I suppose,

by making good the money?"

" Yes, if he had the money. But people who help

themselves to ' small sums' as you put it--are usually

hard up for those sums and spend them offhand."

" So, if he wanted money to replace missing sums, he

would have had to get money--by a hold-up or other

means?"

" Yes. I wonder if this is his first attempt...."

" Might be. It was certainly a very amateurish one.

50

The Royal Spa Hotel

Is there anyone else he could have got money from?

Any women in his life ?"

" One of the waitresses in the Grill. Her name's

Myrna Harris."

" I'd better have a talk with her."

in

Myma Harris was a pretty girl with a glorious head of

red hair and a pert nose.

She was alarmed and wary, and deeply conscious of

the indignity of being interviewed by the police.

" I don't know a thing about it, sir. Not a thing," she protested. " If I'd known what he was like I'd never

have gone out with Rudi at all. Naturally, seeing as he

worked in Reception here, I thought he was all right.

Naturally I did. What I say is the hotel ought to be more

careful when they employ people--especially foreigners.

Because you never know where you are with foreigners.

I suppose he might have been in with one of these gangs

you read about?"

" We think," said Craddock, " that he was working quite on his own."

" Fancy--and him so quiet and respectable. You'd

never think. Though there have been things missed--

now I come to think of it. A diamond brooch--and a

little gold locket, I believe. But I never dreamed that it

could have been Rudi."

" I'm sure you didn't," said Craddock. " Anyone might have been taken in. You knew him fairly well?"

" I don't know that I'd say well."

" But you were friendly?"

" Oh, we were friendly--that's all, just friendly. Noth5i A Murder is Announced

ing serious at all. I'm always on my guard with foreigners,

anyway. They've often got a way with them, but you

never know, do you? Some of those Poles during the

war! And even some of the Americans! Never let on

they're married men until it's too late. Rudi talked big

and all that--but I always took it with a grain of salt." Craddock seized on the phrase.

"Talked big, did he? That's very interesting, Miss

Harris. I can see you're going to be a lot of help to us.

In what way did he talk big?"

" Well, about how rich his people were in Switzerland

--and how important. But that di^h't go with his being

as short of money as he was. He always said that because

of the money regulation he couldn't get money

from Switzerland over here. That might be, I suppose,

but his things weren't expensive. His clothes, I mean.

They weren't really class. I think, too, that a lot of the

stories he used to tell me were so much hot air. About

climbing in the Alps, and saving people's lives on the

edge of a glacier. Why, he turned quite giddy just going

along the edge of Boulter's Gorge. Alps, indeed!"

" You went out with him a good deal ?"

" Yes--well--yes, I did. He had awfully good manners

and he knew how to--to look after a girl. The best seats

at the pictures, always. And even flowers he'd buy me,

sometimes. And he was just a lovely dancer--lovely."

" Did he mention this Miss Blacklock to you at all?"

" She comes in and lunches here sometimes, doesn't

she? And she's stayed here once. No I don't think Rudi

ever mentioned her. I didn't know he knew her."

" Did he mention Chipping Cleghom ?"

He thought a faintly wary look came into Myrna

Harris's eyes but he couldn't be sure.

" I don't think so. ... I think he did once ask about

buses--what time they went--but I can't remember if

52

The Royal Spa Hotel

that was Chipping Cleghorn or somewhere else. It

wasn't just lately."

He couldn't get more out of her. Rudi Scherz had

seemed just as usual. She hadn't seen him the evening

before. She'd no idea--no idea at all--she stressed the

point, that Rudi Scherz was a crook.

And probably, Craddock thought, that was quite true.

53

5. Miss Blacklock and Miss Burner

little paddocks was very much as DetectiveInspector

Craddock had imagined it to be. He noted

ducks and chickens and what had been until lately an

attractive herbaceous border and in which a few late

Michaelmas daisies showed a last dying splash of purple

beauty. The lawn and the paths showed signs of

neglect.

Summing up, Detective-Inspector Craddock thought:

" Probably not much money to spend on gardeners-fond of flowers and a good eye for planning and massing a border. House needs painting. Most houses do, nowadays.

Pleasant little property."

As Craddock's car stopped before the front door,

Sergeant Fletcher came round the side of the house. Sergeant

FIetcher looked like a guardsman, with an erect

military bearing, and was able to impart several different

meanings to the one monosyllable : " Sir."

" So there you are, Fletcher."

" Sir," said Sergeant Fletcher.

" Anything to report?"

" We've finished going over the house, sir, Scherz

doesn't seem to have left any fingerprints anywhere. He

wore gloves, of course. No signs of any of the doors or

windows being forced to effect an entrance. He seems to

have come out from Medenham on the bus, arriving here

at six o'clock. Side door of the house was locked at 5.30,

I understand. Looks as though he must have walked in 54

Miss Blacklock and Miss Bunner

through the front door. Miss Blacklock states that that

door isn't usually locked until the house is shut up for the

night. The maid, on the other hand, states that the front

door was locked all the afternoon--but she'd say anything.

Very temperamental you'll find her. Mittel

Europa refugee of some kind."

"Difficult, is she?"

"Sir!" said Sergeant Fletcher, with intense feeling. Craddock smiled.

Fletcher resumed his report.

" Lighting system is quite in order everywhere. We

haven't spotted yet how he operated the lights. It was

just the one circuit went. Drawing-room and hall. Of

course, nowadays the wall brackets and lamps wouldn't

all be on one fuse--but this is an old-fashioned installation and wiring. Don't see how he could have tampered

with the fuse-box because it's out by the scullery and he'd

have had to go through the kitchen, so the maid would

have seen him."

" Unless she was in it with him ?"

" That's very possible. Both foreigners--and I

wouldn't trust her a yard--not a yard."

Craddock noticed two-enormous frightened black eyes

peering out of a window by the front door. The face,

flattened against the pane, was hardly visible.

" That her there?"

" That's right, sir."

The face disappeared.

Craddock rang the front-door bell.

After a long wait the door was opened by a goodlooking

young woman with chestnut hair and a bored

expression.

" Detective-Inspector Craddock," said Craddock.

The young woman gave him a cool stare out of very

attractive hazel eyes and said :

55

A Murder is Announced

" Come in. Miss Blacklock is expecting you."

The hall, Craddock noted, was long and narrow and

seemed almost incredibly full of doors.

The young woman threw open a door on the left, and

said : " Inspector Craddock, Aunt Letty. Mitzi wouldn't

go to the door. She's shut herself up in the kitchen and

she's making the most marvellous moaning noises. I

shouldn't think we'd get any lunch."

She added in an explanatory manner to Craddock:

" She doesn't like the police," and withdrew, shutting the door behind her.

Craddock advanced to meet the owner of Little Paddocks.

He saw a tall active-looking woman of about sixty.

Her grey hair had a slight natural wave and made a

distinguished setting for an intelligent, resolute face. She

had keen grey eyes and a square determined chin. There

was a surgical dressing on her left ear. She wore no

make-up and was plainly dressed in a well-cut tweed

coat and skirt and pullover. Round the neck of the latter

she wore, rather unexpectedly, a set of old-fashioned

cameos--a Victorian touch which seemed to hint at a

sentimental streak not otherwise apparent.

Close beside her, with an eager round face and untidy

hair escaping from a hair net, was a woman of about the

same age whom Craddock had no difficulty in recognising

as the " Dora Bunner--companion " of Constable

Legg's notes--to which the latter had added an off-therecord

commentary of " Scatty!"

Miss Blacklock spoke in a pleasant well-bred voice.

" Good morning, Inspector Craddock. This is my

friend, Miss Bunner, who helps me run the house. Won't

you sit down? You won't smoke, I suppose?"

" Not on duty, I'm afraid. Miss Blacklock."

5deg

Miss Blacklock and Miss Banner

"What a shame!"

Craddock's eyes took in the room with a quick, practised

glance. Typical Victorian double drawing-room.

Two long windows in this room, built out bay window

in the other . . . chairs . . . sofa . . . centre table with a big bowl of chrysanthemums--another bowl in window

--all fresh and pleasant without much originality. The

only incongruous note was a small silver vase with dead

violets in it on a table near the archway into the further

room. Since he could not imagine Miss Blacklock tolerating

dead flowers in a room, he imagined it to be the only

indication that something out of the way had occurred to

distract the routine of a well-run household.

He said:

" I take it. Miss Blacklock, that this is the room in

which the--incident occurred?"

" Yes."

" And you should have seen it last night," Miss Bunner exclaimed. " Such a mess. Two little tables knocked

over, and the leg off one--people barging about in the

dark--and someone put down a lighted cigarette and

burnt one of the best bits of furniture. People--young

people especially, are so-careless about these things. . . .

Luckily none of the china got broken------" Miss

Blacklock interrupted gently but firmly :

" Dora, all these things, vexatious as they may be, are

only trifles. It will be best, I think, if we just answer

Inspector Craddock's questions."

" Thank you. Miss Blacklock. I shall come to what

happened last night, presently. First of all I want you

to tell me when you first saw the dead man--Rudi

Scherz."

"Rudi Scherz?" Miss Blacklock looked slightly surprised.

" Is that his name? Somehow, I thought . . .

Oh, well, it doesn't matter. My first encounter with him

57

A Murder is Announced

was when I was in Medenham Spa for a day's shopping

about--let me see, about three weeks ago. We--Miss

Bunner and I--were having lunch at the Royal Spa

Hotel. As we were just leaving after lunch, I heard my

name spoken. It was this young man. He said : ' It is Miss Blacklock, is it not?' And went on to say that perhaps I did not remember him, but that he was the

son of the proprietor of the Hotel des Alpes at Montreux

where my sister and I had stayed for nearly a year during

the war."

" The Hotel des Alpes, Montreux," noted Craddock.

" And did you remember him. Miss Blacklock?"

" No, I didn't. Actually I had no recollection of ever

having seen him before. These boys at hotel reception

desks all look exactly alike. We had had a very pleasant

time at Montreux and the proprietor there had been

extremely obliging, so I tried to be as civil as possible

and said I hoped he was enjoying being in England, and

he said, yes, that his father had sent him over for six

months to learn the hotel business. It all seemed quite

natural."

" And your next encounter?"

" About--yes, it must have been ten days ago, he suddenly turned up here. I was very surprised to see him. He apologised for troubling me, but said I was the only person he knew in England. He told me that he urgently

needed money to return to Switzerland as his mother

was dangerously ill."

" But Letty didn't give it to him," Miss Bunner put in breathlessly.

" It was ?. thoroughly fishy story," said Miss Blacklock, with vigour. " I made up my mind that he was definitely

a wrong 'un. That story about wanting the money to

return to Switzerland was nonsense. His father could easily have wired for arrangements to have been made

58

Miss Blacklock and Miss Bunner

in this country. These hotel people are all in with each

other. I suspected that he'd been embezzling money or

something of that kind." She paused and said dryly:

" In case you think I'm hardhearted, I was secretary for many years to a big financier and one becomes wary

about appeals for money. I know simply all the hard

luck stories there are.

" The only thing that did surprise me," she added

thoughtfully, " was that he gave in so easily. He went

away at once without any more argument. It's as

though he had never expected to get the money."

" Do you think now, looking back on it, that his

coming was really by way of a pretext to spy out the

land?"

Miss Blacklock nodded her head vigorously.

" That's exactly what I do think--now. He made certain

remarks as I let him out--about the rooms. He

said, ' You have a very nice dining-room (which of

course it isn't--it's a horrid dark little room) just as an

excuse to look inside. And then he sprang forward and

unfastened the front door, said, ' Let me.' I think now

he wanted to have a look at the fastening. Actually, like

most people round here, we never lock the front door

until it gets dark. Anyone could walk in."

"And the side door? There is a side door to the

garden, I understand?"

" Yes. I went out through it to shut up the ducks not

long before the people arrived."

" Was it locked when you went out?"

Miss Blacklock frowned.

" I can't remember. ... I think so. I certainly locked

it when I came in."

" That would be about quarter-past six?"

" Somewhere about then."

"And the front door?"

59

A Murder is Announced

" That's not usually locked until later."

" Then Scherz could have walked in quite easily that

way. Or he could have slipped in whilst you were out

shutting up the ducks. He'd already spied out the lie of

the land and had probably noted various places of concealment--cupboards, etc. Yes, that all seems quite

clear."

" I beg your pardon, it isn't at all clear," said Miss Blacklock. " Why on earth should anyone take all that

elaborate trouble to come and burgle this house and stage

that silly sort of holdup?"

" Do you keep much money in the house, Miss Black-lock?"

" About five pounds in that desk there, and perhaps a

pound or two in my purse."

"Jewellery?"

" A couple of rings and brooches and the cameos I'm

wearing. You must agree with me, Inspector, that the

whole thing's absurd."

" It wasn't burglary at all," cried Miss Bunner. " I've told you so, Letty, all along. It was revenge! Because you wouldn't give him that money! He deliberately shot

at you--twice."

" Ah," said Craddock. " We'll come now to last night. What happened exactly. Miss Blacklock? Tell me in

your own words as nearly as you can remember."

Miss Blacklock reflected a moment.

"The clock struck," she said. "The one on the mantelpiece. I remember saying that if anything were going to happen it would have to happen soon. And

then the clock struck. We all listened to it without saying

anything. It chimes, you know. It chimed the two

quarters and then, quite suddenly, the lights went

out."

" What lights were on?"

60

Miss Blacklock and Miss Banner

" The wall brackets in here and the further room.

The standard lamp and the two small reading lamps

weren't on."

" Was there a flash first, or a noise when the lights

went out?"

" I don't think so."

" I'm sure there was a flash," said Dora Bunner.

" And a crackling noise. Dangerous!"

" And then. Miss Blacklock?"

" The door opened----"

" Which door? There are two in the room."

" Oh, this door in here. The one in the other room

doesn't open. It's a dummy. The door opened and there

he was--a masked man with a revolver. It just seemed

too fantastic for words, but of course at the time I just

thought it was a silly joke. He said something--I forget

what----"

" Hands up or I shoot!" supplied Miss Bunner,

dramatically.

"Something like that," said Miss Blacklock, rather

doubtfully.

" And you all put your hands up ?"'

" Oh. yes," said Miss Bunner. " We all did. I mean, it was part of it."

" I didn't," said Miss Blacklock, crisply. " It seemed so utterly silly. And I was annoyed by the whole thing."

"And then?"

" The flashlight was right in my eyes. It dazzled me.

And then, quite incredibly, I heard a bullet whizz past

me and hit the wall by my head. Somebody shrieked and

then I felt a burning pain in my ear and heard the

second report."

" It was terrifying," put in Miss Bunner.

" And what happened next, Miss Blacklock?"

" It's difficult to say--I was so staggered by the pain

61

A Murder is Announced

and the surprise. The--the figure turned away and

seemed to stumble and then there was another shot and

his torch went out and everybody began pushing and

calling out. All banging into each other."

" Where were you standing. Miss Blacklock?"

" She was over by the table. She'd got that vase of

violets in her hand," said Miss Bunner breathlessly.

" I was over here," Miss Blacklock went over to the small table by the archway. " Actually it was the

cigarette-box I'd got in my hand."

Inspector Craddock examined the wall behind her.

The two bullet holes showed plainly. The bullets themselves

had been extracted and had been sent for comparison

with the revolver.

He said quietly:

" You had a very near escape, Miss Blacklock."

" He did shoot at her," said Miss Bunner. " Deliberately at her! I saw him. He turned the flash round on

everybody until he found her and then he held it right

at her and just fired at her. He meant to kill you,

Letty."

" Dora dear, you've just got that into your head from

mulling the whole thing over and over."

" He shot at you," repeated Dora stubbornly. " He meant to shoot you and when he'd missed, he shot himself.

I'm certain that's the way it was!"

" I don't think he meant to shoot himself for a

minute," said Miss Blacklock. " He wasn't the kind of man who shoots himself."

" You tell me, Miss Blacklock, that until the revolver

was fired you thought the whole business was a joke ?"

" Naturally. What else could I think it was?"

" Who do you think was the author of this joke?"

"You thought Patrick had done it at first," Dora

Bunner reminded her.

63

Miss Blacklock and Miss Bunner

" Patrick?" asked the Inspector sharply.

" My young cousin, Patrick Simmons," Miss Blacklock continued sharply, annoyed with her friend. " It did

occur to me when I saw this advertisement that it might

be some attempt at humour on his part, but he denied it

absolutely."

" And then you were worried, Letty," said Miss

Bunner. " You were worried, although you pretended

not to be. And you were quite right to be worried. It

said a murder is announced--and it was announced--your murder! And if the man hadn't missed, you ivould have been murdered. And then where should we all

be?"

Dora Bunner was trembling as she spoke. Her face

was puckered up and she looked as though she were

going to cry.

Miss Blacklock patted her on the shouldt'r.

" It's all right, Dora dear--don't get excited. It's so

bad for you. Everything's quite all right. We've had a

nasty experience, but it's over" now.'1 She added, " You must pull yourself together for my sake, Dora. I rely on

you, you know, to keep the house going. Isn't it the day

for the laundry to come ?"

" Oh, dear me, Letty, how fortunate you reminded

me! I wonder if they'll return that missing pillowcase.

I must make a note in the book about it. I'll go and see to it at once."

" And take those violets away," said Miss Blacklock.

" There's nothing I hate more than dead flowers."

" What a pity. I picked them fresh yesterday. They

haven't lasted at all--oh, dear, I must have forgotten to

put any water in the vase. Fancy that! I'm always forgetting

things. Now I must go and see about the laundry.

They might be here any moment."

She bustled away, looking quite happy again.

63

A Murder is Announced

" She's not very strong," said Miss Blacklock, " and excitements are bad for her. Is there anything more you

want to know, Inspector?"

" I just want to know exactly how many people

make up your household here and something about

them."

" Yes, well in addition to myself and Dora Bunner, I

have two young cousins living here at present, Patrick

and Julia Simmons."

" Cousins? Not a nephew and niece?"

" No. They call me Aunt Letty, but actually they are

distant cousins. Their mother was my second cousin."

" Have they always made their home with you ?"

" Oh, dear no, only for the last two months. They

lived in the South of France before the war. Patrick

went into the Navy and Julia, I believe, was in one of

the Ministries. She was at Llandudno. When the war

was over their mother wrote and asked me if they could

possibly come to me as paying guests--Julia is training

as a dispenser in Milchester General Hospital, Patrick is

studying for an engineering degree at Milchester University.

Milchester, as you know, is only fifty minutes by

bus, and I was very glad to have them here. This house

is really too large for me. They pay a small sum for

board and lodging and it all works out very well." She

added with a smile, " I like having somebody young

about the place."

" Then there is a Mrs. Haymes, I believe?"

" Yes. She works as an assistant gardener at Dayas

Hall, Mrs. Lucas's place. The cottage there is occupied

by the old gardener and his wife and Mrs. Lucas asked

if I could billet her here. She's a very nice girl. Her

husband was killed in Italy, and she has a boy of eight

who is at a prep school and whom I have arranged to

have here in the holidays."

64

Miss Blacklock and Miss Burner

" And by way of domestic help?"

" A jobbing gardener comes in on Tuesdays and Fridays.

A Mrs. Huggins from the village comes up five mornings a week and I have a foreign refugee with a most unpronounceable name as a kind of lady cook help.

You will find Mitzi rather difficult, I'm afraid. She has

a kind of persecution mania."

Craddock nodded. He was conscious in his own mind

of yet another of Constable Legg's invaluable commentaries.

Having appended the word " Scatty " to Dora

Bunner, and "All right" to Letitia Blacklock, he

had embellished Mitzi's record with the one word

" Liar."

As though she had read his mind Miss Blacklock said :

" Please don't be too prejudiced against the poor thing

because she's a liar. I do really believe that, like so many

liars, there is a real substratum of truth behind her lies.

I mean that though, to take an instance, her atrocity

stories have grown and grown until every kind of unpleasant

story that has ever appeared in print has happened

to her or her relations personally, she did have a

bad shock initially and did see one, at least, of her relations killed. I think a lot of these displaced persons feel,

perhaps justly, that their claim to our notice and sympathy

lies in their atrocity value and so they exaggerate and invent." She added: " Quite frankly, Mitzi is a maddening

person. She exasperates and infuriates us all, she is suspicious and sulky, is perpetually having ' feelings' and

thinking herself insulted. But in spite of it all, I really

am sorry for her." She smiled. "And also, when she

wants to, she can cook very nicely."

" I'll try not to ruffle her more than I can help," said Craddock soothingly. " Was that Miss Julia Simmons

who opened the door to me ?"

65

A Murder is Announced

"Yes. Would you like to see her now? Patrick has

gone out. Phillipa Haymes you will find working at

Dayas Hall."

"Thank you. Miss Blacklock. I'd like to sec Miss

Simmons now if I may."

66

6. Julia, Mitzj. and Patrick

julia, when she came into the room, and sat down in

the chair vacated by Letitia Blacklock, had an air of

composure that Craddock for some reason found annoying.

She fixed a limpid gaze on him and waited for his

questions.

Miss Blacklock had tactfully left the room.

" Please tell me about last night. Miss Simmons."

" Last night ?" murmured Julia with a blank stare.

" Oh, we all slept like logs. Reaction, I suppose."

" I mean last night from six o'clock onwards."

" Oh, I see. Well, a lot of tiresome people came----"

"They were?"

She gave him another limpid stare. "

Don't you know all this already?" " I'm asking the questions. Miss Simmons," said Craddock pleasantly.

" My mistake. I always find repetitions so dreary.

Apparently you don't. . . . Well, there was Colonel and

Mrs. Easterbrook, Miss Hinchliffe and Miss Murgatroyd,

Mrs. Swettenham and Edmund Swettenham, and Mrs.

Harmon, the Vicar's wife. They arrived in that order,

and if you want to know what they said--they all said

the same things in turn. ' I see you've got your central

heating on ' and ' What lovely chrysanthemums!' "

Craddock bit his lip. The mimicry was good.

" The exception was Mrs. Harmon. She's rather a pet.

She came in with her hat falling off and her shoelaces 67

A Murder is Announced

untied and she asked straight out when the murder was

going to happen? It embarrassed everybody because

they'd all been pretending they'd dropped in by chance.

Aunt Letty said in her dry way that it was due to happen

quite soon. And then that clock chimed and just as it finished, the lights went out, the door was flung open

and a masked figure said, ' Stick 'em up, guys,' or something like that. It was exactly like a bad film. Really

quite ridiculous. And then he fired two shots at Aunt

Letty and suddenly it wasn't ridiculous any more."

" Where was everybody when this happened ?"

" When the lights went out ? Well, just standing about,

you know. Mrs. Harmon was sitting on the sofa-Hinch (that's Miss Hinchliffe) had taken up a manly stance in front of the fireplace."

" You were all in this room, or the far room ?"

" Mostly, I think, in this room. Patrick had gone into

the other to get the sherry. I think Colonel Easterbrook

went after him, but I don't really know. We were--well

--as I said, just standing about."

" Where were you yourself?"

" I think I was over by the window. Aunt Letty went

to get the cigarettes."

" On that table by the archway?"

" Yes--and then the lights went out and the bad film

started."

" The man had a powerful torch. What did he do

with it?"

" Well, he shone it on us. Horribly dazzling. It just

made you blink."

" I want you to answer this very carefully. Miss Simmons. Did he hold the torch steady, or did he move it

about?"

Julia considered. Her manner was now definitely less

weary.

68

Julia, Mitzi and Patrick

" He moved it," she said slowly. " Like a spotlight in a dance hall. It was full in my eyes and then it went on

round the room and then the shots came. Two shots."

"And then?"

" He whirled round--and Mitzi began to scream like

a siren from somewhere and his torch went out and there

was another shot. And then the door closed (it does, you

know, slowly, with a whining noise--quite uncanny) and

there we were all in the dark, not knowing what to do,

and poor Bunny squealing like a rabbit and Mitzi going

all out across the hall."

" Would it be your opinion that the man shot himself

deliberately, or do you think he stumbled and the revolver

went off accidentally?"

" I haven't the faintest idea. The whole thing was so

stagey. Actually I thought it was still some silly joke-until I saw the blood from Letty's ear. But even if you were actually going to fire a revolver to make the thing

more real, you'd be careful to fire it well above someone's

head, wouldn't you?"

" You would indeed. Do you think he could see clearly

who he was firing at? I mean, was Miss Blacklock

clearly outlined in the light of the torch ?"

" I've no idea. I wasn't looking at her. I was looking

at the man."

" What I'm getting at is--do you think the man was

deliberately aiming at her--at her in particular, I

mean?"

Julia seemed a little startled by the idea.

" You mean deliberately picking on Aunt Letty? Oh,

I shouldn't think so. ... After all, if he wanted to take

a pot shot at Aunt Letty, there would be heaps of more

suitable opportunities. There would be no point in collecting all the friends and neighbours just to make it

more difficult. He could have shot her from behind a

69

A Murder is Announced

hedge in the good old Irish fashion any day of the week,

and probably got away with it."

And that, thought Craddock, was a very complete

reply to Dora Runner's suggestion of a deliberate attack

on Lctitia Blacklock.

He said with a sigh, " Thank you, Miss Simmons. I'd

better go and sec Mitzi now."

" Mind her fingernails," warned Julia. " She's a tartar!"

n

Craddock, with Fletcher in attendance, found Mitzi in

the kitchen. She was rolling pastry and looked up suspiciously as he entered.

Her black hair hung over her eyes; she looked sullen,

and the purple jumper and brilliant green skirt she wore

were not becoming to her pasty complexion.

" What do you come in my kitchen for, Mr. Policeman?

You are police, yes? Always, always there is persecution--ah!

I should be used to it by now. They say

it is different here in England, but no, it is just the same. You come to torture me, yes, to make me say things, but

I shall say nothing. You will tear off my fingernails,

and put lighted matches on my skin--oh, yes, and worse

than that. But I will not speak, do you hear? I shall say

nothing--nothing at all. And you will send me away to

a concentration camp, and I shall not care."

Craddock looked at her thoughtfully, selecting what

was likely to be the best method of attack. Finally he

sighed and said:

" O.K. then, get your hat and coat."

" What is that you say?" Mitzi looked startled.

" Get your hat and coat and come along. I haven't

70

Julia, Mity and Patrick

got my nail-pulling apparatus and the rest of the bag of

tricks with me. We keep all that down at the station.

Got the handcuffs handy, Fletchcr?"

"Sir!" said Sergeant Fletcher with appreciation.

" But I do not want to come," screeched Mitzi, backing away from him.

" Then you'll answer civil questions civilly. If you like, you can have a solicitor present."

" A lawyer? I do not like a lawyer. I do not want a

lawyer."

She put the rolling pin down, dusted her hands on a

cloth and sat down.

" What do you want to know?" she asked sulkily.

" I want your account of what happened here last

night."

" You know very well what happened."

" I want your account of it."

" I tried to go away. Did she tell you that ? When I

saw that in the paper saying about murder. I wanted to

go away. She would not let me. She is very hard--not

at all sympathetic. She made me stay. But I knew--I knew what would happen. I knew I should be murdered."

" Well, you weren't murdered, were you ?"

" No," admitted Mitzi grudgingly.

" Come now, tell me what happened."

" I was nervous. Oh, I was nervous. All that evening.

I hear things. People moving about. Once I think

someone is in the hall moving stealthily--but it is only

that Mrs. Haymes coming in through the side door (so

as not to dirty the front steps, she says. Much she cares!). She is a Nazi herself, that one, with her fair hair

and her blue eyes, so superior and looking at me and

thinking that I--I am only dirt----"

" Never mind Mrs. Haymes." 7t

A Murder is Announced

" Who does she think she is? Has she had expensive

university education like I have? Has she a degree in

Economics? No, she is just a paid labourer. She digs

and mows grass and is paid so much every Saturday.

Who is she to call herself a lady?"

" Never mind Mrs. Haymes, I said. Go on."

" I take the sherry and the glasses, and the little

pastries that I have made so nice into the drawing-room.

Then the bell rings and I answer the door. Again and

again I answer the door. It is degrading--but I do it.

And then I go back into the pantry and I start to polish

the silver, and I think it will be very handy, that, because

if someone comes to kill me, I have there close at hand

the big carving knife, all sharp."

" Very foresighted of you."

" And then, suddenly--I hear shots. I think : ' It has

come--it is happening.' I run through the dining-room

(the other door--it will not open) I stand a moment to

listen and then there comes another shot and a big thud,

out there in the hall, and I turn the door handle, but it

is locked outside. I am shut in there like a rat in a trap.

And I go mad with fear. I scream and I scream and I

beat upon the door. And at last--at last--they turn the

key and let me out. And then I bring candles, many

many candles--and the lights go on, and I see blood--blood! Ach, Gott in Himmel, the blood I It is not the first time I have seen blood. My little brother--I see

him killed before my eyes--I see blood in the street-people shot, dying--I----"

" Yes," said Inspector Craddock. " Thank you very much."

" And-now," said Mitzi dramatically, " you can arrest me and take me to prison!"

" Not to-day," said Inspector Craddock.

73

Julia, Mity and Patrick

in

As Craddock and Fletcher went through the hall to the

front door it was flung open and a tall handsome young

man almost collided with them.

" Sleuths, as I live," cried the young man.

" Mr. Patrick Simmons?"

" Quite right, Inspector. You're the Inspector, aren't

you, and the other's the Sergeant ?"

" You arc quite right, Mr. Simmons. Can I have a

word with you, please ?"

" I am innocent. Inspector. I swear I am innocent."

" Now then, Mr. Simmons, don't play the fool. I've a

good many other people to see and I don't want to waste

time. What's this room ? Can we go in here ?"

" It's the so-called study--but nobody studies."

" I was told that you were studying?" said Craddock.

" I found I couldn't concentrate on mathematics, so I

came home."

In a businesslike manner Inspector Craddock demanded

full name, age, details of war service.

" And now, Mr. Simmons, will you describe what

happened last night?"

" We killed the fatted calf, Inspector. That is, Mitzi

set her hand to making savoury pastries. Aunt Letty

opened a new bottle of sherry----"

Craddock interrupted.

" A new bottle? Was there an old one?"

" Yes. Half full. But Aunt Letty didn't seem to fancy

it."

" Was she nervous, then ?"

" Oh, not really. She's extremely sensible. It was old

73

A Murder is Announced

Bunny, I think, who had put the wind up her--prophesying

disaster all day."

" Miss Bunner was definitely apprehensive, then ?"

" Oh, yes, she enjoyed herself thoroughly."

" She took the advertisement seriously ?"

" It scared her into fits."

" Miss Blacklock seems to have thought, when she first

read that advertisement, that you had had something to

do with it. Why was that?"

" Ah, sure, I get blamed for everything round here I"

" You didn't have anything to do with it, did you,

Mr. Simmons?"

" Me? Never in the world."

" Had you ever seen or spoken to this Rudi Scherz ?"

" Never seen him in my life."

" It was the kind of joke you might have played,

though?"

" Who's been telling you that? Just because I once

made Bunny an apple-pie bed--and sent Mitzi a postcard

saying the Gestapo was on her track----"

" Just give me your account of what happened."

" I'd just gone into the small drawing-room to fetch

the drinks when. Hey Presto, the lights went out. I

turned round and there's a fellow standing in the doorway

saying, ' Stick your hands up,' and everybody gasping

and squealing, and just when I'm thinking--can I

rush him ? he starts firing a revolver and then crash down

he goes and his torch goes out and we're in the dark

again, and Colonel Easterbrook starts shouting orders in

his barrack-room voice. ' Lights,' he says, and will my

lighter go on ? No, it won't as is the way of those cussed

inventions."

" Did it seem to you that the intruder was definitely

aiming at Miss Blacklock ?"

" Ah, how could I tell ? I should say he just loosed off 74

Julia, Mity and Patrick

his revolver for the fun of the thing--and then found,

maybe, he'd gone too far."

"And shot himself?"

" It could be. When I saw the face of him, he looked

like the kind of little pasty thief who might easily lose

his nerve."

" And you're sure you had never seen him before?"

" Never."

" Thank you, Mr. Simmons. I shall want to interview

the other people who were here last night. Which would

be the best order in which to take them ?"

" Well, our Phillipa--Mrs. Haymes--works at Dayas

Hall. The gates of it are nearly opposite this gate, After

that, the Swettenhams are the nearest. Anyone will tell

you."

75

7. Among Those Present

dayas hall had certainly suffered during the war

years. Couch grass grew enthusiastically over what had

once been an asparagus bed, as evidenced by a few waving

tufts of asparagus foliage. Groundsel, bindweed and

other garden pests showed every sign of vigorous growth.

A portion of the kitchen garden bore evidence of

having been reduced to discipline and here Craddock

found a sour-looking old man leaning pensively on a

spade.

" It's Mrs. 'Aymes you want ? I couldn't say where

you'd find 'er. 'As 'er own ideas, she 'as, about what

she'll do. Not one to take advice. I could show her-show 'er willing--but what's the good, won't listen these young ladies won't! Think they know everything because

they've put on breeches and gone for a ride on a tractor.

But it's gardening that's needed here. And that isn't

learned in a day. Gardening, that's what this place

needs."

" It looks as though it does," said Craddock.

The old man chose to take this remark as an aspersion.

" Now look here, mister, what do you suppose I can

do with a place this size? Three men and a boy, that's

what it used to 'ave. And that's what it wants. There's

not many men could put in the work on it that I do.

'Ere sometimes I am till eight o'clock at night. Eight

o'clock."

" What do you work by? An oil lamp."

7<?

Among Those Present

" Naterally I don't mean this time o' year. Naterally. Summer evenings I'm talking about."

" Oh," said Craddock, " I'd better go and look for Mrs. Haymes."

The rustic displayed some interest.

"What are you wanting 'er for? Police, aren't you?

She been in trouble, or is it the do there was up to Little

Paddocks? Masked men bursting in and holding up a

roomful of people with a revolver. An' that sort of thing

wouldn't 'ave 'appened afore the war. Deserters, that's

what it is. Desperate men roaming the countryside. Why

don't the military round 'em up?"

" I've no idea," said Craddock. " I suppose this holdup caused a lot of talk ?"

"That it did. What's us coming to ? That's what Ned

Barker said. Comes of going to the pictures so much, he

said. But Tom Riley he says it comes of letting these

furriners run about loose. And depend on it, he says,

that girl as cooks up there for Miss Blacklock and 'as

such a nasty temper--she's in it, he said. She's a communist

or worse, he says, and we don't like that sort 'ere.

And Marlene, who's behind the bar, you understand, she

will 'ave it that there must be something very valuable

up at Miss Blacklock's. Not that you'd think it, she

says, for I'm sure Miss Blacklock goes about as plain as

plain, except for them great rows of false pearls she

wears. And then she says--Supposin' as them pearls is real, and Florrie (what's old Bellamy's daughter) she says, ' Nonsense,' she says--' noovo ar--that's what they

are--costume jewellery,' she says. Costume jewellery-that's a fine way of labelling a string of false pearls. Roman pearls; the gentry used to call 'em once--and

Parisian diamonds--my wife was a lady's maid and I

know. But what does it all mean--just glass! I suppose

it's ' costume jewellery' that young Miss Simmons wears

77

A Murder is Announced

--gold ivy leaves and dogs and such like. 'Tisn't often

you see a real bit of gold nowadays--even wedding rings

they make of this grey plattinghum stuff. Shabby, I call

it--for all that it costs the earth."

Old Ashe paused for breath and then continued :

" ' Miss Blacklock don't keep much money in the 'ouse,

that I do know,' says Jim Huggins, speaking up. He

should know, for it's his wife as goes up and does for 'em

at Little Paddocks, and she's a woman as knows most of

what's going on. Nosey, if you take me."

" Did he say what Mrs. Huggins' view was?"

" That Mitzi's mixed up in it, that's what she thinks.

Awful temper she 'as, and the airs she gives herself!

Called Mrs. Huggins a working woman to her face the

other morning."

Craddock stood a moment, checking over in his

orderly mind the substance of the old gardener's remarks.

It gave him a good cross-section of rural opinion in

Chipping Cleghorn, but he didn't think there was anything

to help him in his task. He turned away and the

old man called after him grudgingly:

" Maybe you'd find her in the apple orchard. She's

younger than I am for getting the apples down."

And sure enough in the apple orchard Craddock

found Phillipa Haymes. His first view was a pair of nice

legs encased in breeches sliding easily down the trunk of

a tree. Then Phillipa, her face flushed, her fair hair

ruffled by the branches, stood looking at him in a startled

fashion.

" Make a good Rosalind," Craddock thought automatically, for Detective-Inspector Craddock was a

Shakespeare enthusiast and had played the part of the

melancholy Jaques with great success in a performance

of As You Like It for the Police Orphanage.

A moment later he amended his view. Phillipa Haymes 78

Among Those Present

was too wooden for Rosalind, her fairness and her impa-ssivity were intensely English, but English of the twentieth

rather than of the sixteenth century. Well-bred, unemotional

English, without a sparkle of mischief.

" Good morning, Mrs. Haymes. I'm sorry if I startled

you. I'm Detective-Inspector Craddock of the Middlcshire

Police. I wanted to have a word with you."

"About last night?"

" Yes."

" Will it take long ? Shall we She looked about her rather doubtfully. Craddock indicated a fallen tree trunk.

" Rather informal," he said pleasantly, " but I don't want to interrupt your work longer than necessary."

" Thank you."

" It's just for the record. You came in from work at

what time last night ?"

" At about half-past five. I'd stayed about twenty

minutes later in order to finish some watering in the

greenhouse."

" You came in by which door?"

" The side door. One cuts across by the ducks and the

henhouse from the drive. It saves you going round, and

besides it avoids dirtying up the front porch. I'm in

rather a mucky state sometimes."

" You always come in that way?"

" Yes."

" The door was unlocked?"

" Yes. During the summer it's usually wide open.

This time of the year it's shut but not locked. We all go

out and in a good deal that way. I locked it when I

came in."

" Do you always do that?"

" I've been doing it for the last week. You see, it gets dark at six. Miss Blacklock goes out to shut up the ducks

79

A Murder is Announced

and the hens sometime in the evening, but she very often

goes out through the kitchen door."

" And you are quite sure you did lock the side door

this time?"

" I really am quite sure about that."

" Quite so, Mrs. Haymes. And what did you do when

you came in?"

" Kicked off my muddy footwear and went upstairs

and had a bath and changed. Then I came down and

found that a kind of party was in progress. I hadn't

known anything about this funny advertisement until

then."

" Now please describe just what occurred when the

hold-up happened."

" Well, the lights went out suddenly----"

" Where were you ?"

" By the mantelpiece. I was searching for my lighter

which I thought I had put down there. The lights went

out--and everybody giggled. Then the door was flung

open and this man shone a torch on us and nourished a

revolver and told us to put our hands up."

" Which you proceeded to do?"

" Well, I didn't, actually. I thought it was just fun,

and I was tired and I didn't think I needed really to put

them up."

" In fact you were bored by the whole thing ?"

" I was, rather. And then the revolver went off. The

shots sounded deafening and I was really frightened.

The torch went whirling round and dropped and went

out, and then Mitzi started screaming. It was just like a

pig being killed."

" Did you find the torch very dazzling?"

" No, not. particularly. It was quite a strong one,

though. It lit up Miss Bunner for a moment and she

looked quite like a turnip ghost--you know, all white

80

Among Those Present

and staring with her mouth open and her eyes starting

out of her head."

" The man moved the torch?"

" Oh, yes, he played it all round the room."

" As though he were looking for someone?"

" Not particularly, I should say."

" And after that, Mrs. Haymes?"

Phillipa Haymes frowned.

" Oh, it was all a terrible muddle and confusion.

Edmund Swettenham and Patrick Simmons switched on

their lighters and they went out into the hall and we

followed, and someone opened the dining-room door-the lights hadn't fused there--and Edmund Swettenham gave Mitzi a terrific slap on the cheek and brought her

out of her screaming fit, and after that it wasn't so

bad."

" You saw the body of the dead man ?"

" Yes."

" Was he known to you ? Had you ever seen him

before?" "

Never."

" Have you any opinion as to whether his death was

accidental, or do you think he shot himself deliberately?"

" I haven't the faintest idea."

" You didn't see him when he came to the house

previously ?"

" No. I believe it was in the middle of the morning

and I shouldn't have been there. I'm out all day."

"Thank you, Mrs. Haymes. One thing more. You

haven't any valuable jewellery? Rings, bracelets, anything

of that kind ?"

Phillipa shook her head.

" My engagement ring--a couple of brooches."

" And as far as you know, there was nothing of

particular value in the house?" fir

A Murder is Announced

"No. I mean there is some quite nice silver--but

nothing out of the ordinary."

" Thank you, Mrs. Haymes."

ii

As Craddock retraced his steps through the kitchen

garden he came face to face with a large red-faced lady,

carefully corseted.

" Good morning," she said belligerently. " What do you want here?"

" Mrs. Lucas? I am Detective-Inspector Craddock."

" Oh, that's who you are. I beg your pardon. I don't

like strangers forcing their way into my garden wasting

the gardeners' time. But I quite understand you have to

do your duty."

" Quite so."

" May I ask if we are to expect a repetition of that

outrage last night at Miss Blacklock's? Is it a gang?"

" We arc satisfied, Mrs. Lucas, that it was not the

work of a gang."

" There are far too many robberies nowadays. The

police are getting slack." Craddock did not reply. " I suppose you've been talking to Phillipa Haymes?"

" I wanted her account as an eyewitness."

" You couldn't have waited until one o'clock, I suppose

? After all, it would be fairer to question her in her time, rather than in mine ..."

" I'm anxious to get back to headquarters."

" Not that one expects consideration nowadays. Or a

decent day's work. On duty late, half an hour's pottering.

A break for elevenses at ten o'clock. No work done

at all the moment the rain starts. When you want the lawn mown there's always something wrong with the 8a

Among Those Present

mower. And off duty five or ten minutes before the

proper time."

" I understood from Mrs. Haymes that she left here at

twenty minutes past five yesterday instead of five o'clock."

" Oh, I dare say she did. Give her her due, Mrs.

Haymes is quite keen on her work, though there have

been days when I have come out here and not been able

to find her anywhere. She is a lady by birth, of course,

and one feels it's one's duty to do something for these

poor young war widows. Not that it isn't very inconvenient.

Those long school holidays and the arrangement

is that she has extra time off then. I told her that there

are really excellent camps nowadays where children can

be sent and where they have a delightful time and enjoy

it far more than wandering about with their parents.

They need practically not come home at all in the

summer holidays."

"But Mrs. Haymes didn't take kindly to that idea?"

" She's as obstinate as a mule, that girl. Just the time of year when I want the tennis court mowed and marked

nearly every day. Old Ashe gets the lines crooked. But my convenience is never considered!"

" I presume Mrs. Haymes takes a smaller salary than

is usual."

" Naturally. What else could she expect ?"

" Nothing, I'm sure," said Craddock. " Good moming, Mrs. Lucas."

in

" It was dreadful," said Mrs. Swettenham happily.

" Quite--quite--dreadful, and what I say is that they

ought to be far more careful what advertisements they

83

A Murder is Announced

accept at the Gazette office. At the time, when I read it,

I thought it was very odd. I said so, didn't I, Edmund ?"

" Do you remember just what you were doing when

the lights went out, Mrs. Swettenham?" asked the

Inspector.

" How that reminds me of my old Nannie! Where

was Moses when the light went out? The answer, of

course, was ' In the Dark.' Just like us yesterday evening.

All standing about and wondering what was going

to happen. And then, you know, the thrill when it

suddenly went pitch black. And the door opening--just

a dim figure standing there with a revolver and that

blinding light and a menacing voice saying ' Your money

or your life I' Oh, I've never enjoyed anything so much.

And then a minute later, of course, it was all dreadful.

Real bullets, just whistling past our cars! It must have

been just like the Commandos in the war."

" Whereabouts were you standing or sitting at the time,

Mrs. Swettenham?"

" Now let me see, where was I ? Who was I talking to,

Edmund?"

" I really haven't the least idea, Mother."

" Was it Miss Hinchliffe I was asking about giving the

hens cod liver oil in the cold weather? Or was it Mrs.

Harmon--no, she'd only just arrived. I think I was just

saying to Colonel Easterbrook that I thought it was really

very dangerous to have an atom research station in

England. It ought to be on some lonely island in case

the radio-activity gets loose."

" You don't remember if you were sitting or standing?"

" Does it really matter, Inspector? I was somewhere

over by the window or near the mantelpiece, because I

know I was quite near the clock when it struck. Such a

thrilling moment! Waiting to see if anything might be

going to happen."

84

Among Those Present

" You describe the light from the torch as blinding.

Was it turned full on to you?"

" It was right in my eyes. I couldn't see a thing."

" Did the man hold it still, or did he move it about,

from person to person ?"

" Oh, I don't really know. Which did he do, Edmund?"

" It moved rather slowly over us all, so as to see what

we were all doing, I suppose, in case we should try and

rush him."

"And where exactly in the room were you, Mr.

Swettenham?"

" I'd been talking to Julia Simmons. We were both

standing up in the middle of the room--the long room."

" Was everyone in that room, or was there anyone in

the far room?"

" Phillipa Haymes had moved in there, I think. She

was over by that far mantelpiece. I think she was

looking for something."

" Have you any idea as to whether the third shot was

suicide or an accident?" "

" I've no idea at all. The man seemed to swerve round

very suddenly and then crumple up and fall--but it was

all very confused. You must realise that you couldn't

really sec anything. And then that refugee girl started

yelling the place down."

" I understand it was you who unlocked the diningroom

door and let her out?"

" Yes."

" The door was definitely locked on the outside ?"

Edmund looked at him curiously.

" Certainly it was. Why, you don't imagine----"

" I just like to get my facts quite clear. Thank you,

Mr. Swettenham."

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A Murder is Announced

IV

Inspector Craddock was forced to spend quite a long

time with Colonel and Mrs. Easterbrook. He had to

listen to a long disquisition on the psychological aspect of

the case.

"The psychological approach--that's the only thing

nowadays," the Colonel told him. " You've got to understand your criminal. Now the whole set-up here is quite

plain to a man who's had the wide experience that I

have. Why does this fellow put that advert in? Psychology.

He wants to advertise himself--to focus attention

on himself. He's been passed over, perhaps despised

as a foreigner by the other employees at the Spa Hotel.

A girl has turned him down, perhaps. He wants to rivet

her attention on him. Who is the idol of the cinema

nowadays--the gangster--the tough guy? Very well, he

will be a tough guy. Robbery with violence. A mask?

A revolver? But he wants an audience--he must have

an audience. So he arranges for an audience. And then,

at the supreme moment, his part runs away with him-he's more than a burglar. He's a killer. He shoots-blindly----" Inspector Craddock caught gladly at a word :

" You say ' blindly,' Colonel Easterbrook. You didn't

think that he was firing deliberately at one particular

object--at Miss Blacklock, that is to say?"

" No, no. He just loosed off, as I say, blindly. And

that's what brought him to himself. The bullet hit someone--actually it was only a graze, but he didn't know

that. He comes to himself with a bang. All this--this

make-believe he's been indulging in--is real. He's shot

at someone--perhaps killed someone. . . . It's all up 86

^ Among Those Present

with him. And so in blind panic he turns the revolver

on himself."

Colonel Easterbrook paused, cleared his throat appreciatively and said in a satisfied voice, " Plain as a pikestaff,

that's what it is, plain as a pikestaff."

" It really is wonderful," said Mrs. Easterbrook, " the way you know exactly what happened, Archie."

Her voice was warm with admiration.

Inspector Craddock thought it was wonderful, too, but

he was not quite so warmly appreciative.

" Exactly where were you in the room, Colonel Easterbrook, when the actual shooting business took place?"

" I was standing with my wife--near a centre table

with some flowers on it."

" I caught hold of your arm, didn't I, Archie, when it

happened? I was simply scared to death. I just had to

hold on to you."

" Poor little kitten," said the Colonel playfully.

v

The Inspector ran Miss Hinchliffe td earth by a pigsty.

" Nice creatures, pigs," said Miss Hinchliffe, scratching a wrinkled pink back. " Coming on well, isn't he? Good

bacon round about Christmas time. Well, what do you

want to see me about? I told your people last night I

hadn't the least idea who the man was. Never seen him

anywhere in the neighbourhood snooping about or anything

of that sort. Our Mrs. Mopp says he came from

one of the big hotels in Medenham Wells. Why didn't

he hold up someone there if he wanted to? Get a much

better haul."

That was undeniable--Craddock proceeded with his

inquiries.

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A Murder is Announced

" Where were you exactly when the incident took

place?"

" Incident! Reminds me of my A.R.P. days. Saw

some incidents then, I can tell you. Where was I when

the shooting started? That what you want to know?"

" Yes."

" Leaning up against the mantelpiece hoping to God

someone would offer me a drink soon," replied Miss

Hinchliffe promptly.

" Do you think that the shots were fired blindly, or

aimed carefully at one particular person ?"

" You mean aimed at Letty Blacklock? How the devil

should I know? Damned hard to sort out what your

impressions really were or what really happened after it's

all over. All I know is the lights went out, and that

torch went whirling round dazzling us all, and then the

shots were fired and I thought to myself,' If that damned

young fool Patrick Simmons is playing his jokes with a

loaded revolver somebody will get hurt.' "

" You thought it was Patrick Simmons?"

" Well, it seemed likely. Edmund Swettenham is intellectual and writes books and doesn't care for horseplay,

and old Colonel Easterbrook wouldn't think that

sort of thing funny. But Patrick's a wild boy. However,

I apologise to him for the idea."

" Did your friend think it might be Patrick Simmons?"

" Murgatroyd ? You'd better talk to her yourself.

Not that you'll get any sense out of her. She's down the

orchard. I'll yell for her if you like."

Miss Hinchliffe raised her stentorian voice in a powerful

bellow:

" Hi-youp, Murgatroyd ..."

" Coming ..." floated back a thin cry.

" Hurry up--Polieece," bellowed Miss Hinchliffe.

Miss Murgatroyd arrived at a brisk trot very much out 88

Among Those Present

of breath. Her skirt was down at the hem and her hair

was escaping from an inadequate hair net. Her round,

good-natured face beamed.

" Is it Scotland Yard?" she asked breathlessly. " I'd no idea. Or I wouldn't have left the house."

" We haven't called in Scotland Yard yet. Miss

Murgatroyd. I'm Inspector Craddock from Milchester."

"

Well, that's very nice, I'm sure," said Miss Murgatroyd

vaguely. " Have you found any clues?"

" Where were you at the time of the crime, that's what

he wants to know, Murgatroyd?" said Miss Hinchliffe.

She winked at Craddock.

" Oh, dear," gasped Miss Murgatroyd. " Of course. I ought to have been prepared. Alibis, of course. Now,

let me see, I was just with everybody else."

" You weren't with me," said Miss Hinchliffe.

" Oh, dear, Hinch, wasn't I ? No, of course, I'd been

admiring the chrysanthemums. Very poor specimens,

really. And then it all happened--only I didn't really

know it had happened--I mean I didn't know that anything

like that had happened. I didn't imagine for a

moment that it was a real revolver--and all so awkward

in the dark, and that dreadful screaming. I got it all

wrong, you know. I thought she was being murdered-I mean the refugee girl. I thought she was having her throat cut across the hall somewhere. I didn't know it

was him--I mean, I didn't even know there was a man.

It was really just a voice, you know, saying, ' Put them

up, please.'"

"' Stick 'em up!'" Miss Hinchliffe corrected. " And no suggestion of ' please ' about it."

" It's so terrible to think that until that girl started screaming I was actually enjoying myself. Only being

in the dark was very awkward and I got a knock on my

89

A Murder is Announced

corn. Agony, it was. Is there anything more you want

to know, Inspector?"

" No," said Inspector Craddock, eyeing Miss Murgatroyd speculatively. " I don't really think there is."

Her friend gave a short bark of laughter.

" He's got you taped, Murgatroyd."

" I'm sure, Hinch," said Miss Murgatroyd, " that I'm only too willing to say anything I can."

" He doesn't want that," said Miss Hinchliffe.

She looked at the Inspector. " If you're doing this

geographically I suppose you'll go to the Vicarage next.

You might get something there. Mrs. Harmon looks as

vague as they make them--but I sometimes think she's

got brains. Anyway, she's got something."

As they watched the Inspector and Sergeant Fletcher

stalk away, Amy Murgatroyd said breathlessly:

" Oh, Hinch, was I very awful? I do get so flustered!"

"Not at all." Miss Hinchliffe smiled. "On the

whole, I should say you did very well."

VI

Inspector Craddock looked round the big shabby room

with a sense of pleasure. It reminded him a little of his

own Cumberland home. Faded chintz, big shabby

chairs, flowers and books strewn about, and a spaniel in

a basket. Mrs. Harmon, too, with her distraught air,

and her general disarray and her eager face he found

sympathetic.

But she said at once, frankly, " I shan't be any help to you. Because I shut my eyes. I hate being dazzled. And

then there were shots and I screwed them up tighter than

ever. And I did wish, oh, I did wish, that it had been a quiet murder. I don't like bangs." 90

Among Those Present

" So you didn't sec anything." The Inspector smiled at her. " But you heard----?"

" Oh, my goodness yes, there was plenty to hear. Doors opening and shutting, and people saying silly things and gasping and old Mitzi screaming like a steam

engine--and poor Bunny squealing like a trapped rabbit.

And everyone pushing and falling over everyone else.

However, when there really didn't seem to be any more

bangs coming, I opened my eyes. Everyone was out in

the hall then, with candles. And then the lights came on

and suddenly it was all as usual--I don't mean really as

usual, but we were ourselves again, not just--people in

the dark. People in the dark are quite different, aren't

they?"

" I think I know what you mean, Mrs. Harmon."

Mrs. Harmon smiled at him.

" And there he was," she said. " A rather weasellylooking foreigner--all pink and surprised looking--lying

there dead--with a revolver beside him. It didn't--oh,

it didn't seem to make sense, somehow."

It did not make sense to the Inspector, either....

The whole business worried him.

91

8. Enter Miss Marple

craddock laid the typed transcript of the various

interviews before the Chief Constable. The latter had

just finished reading the wire received from the Swiss

Police.

" So he had a police record all right," said Rydesdale.

" H'm--very much as one thought."

" Yes, sir."

" Jewellery .. . h'm, yes . . . falsified entries . .. yes . . . cheque . . . Definitely a dishonest fellow."

" Yes, sir--in a small way."

" Quite so. And small things lead to large things."

" I wonder, sir."

The Chief Constable looked up.

" Worried, Craddock?"

" Yes, sir."

" Why? It's a straightforward story. Or isn't it? Let's

see what all these people you've been talking to have to

say."

He drew the report towards him and read it through

rapidly.

" The usual thing--plenty of inconsistencies and contradictions. Different people's accounts of a few

moments of stress never agree. But the main picture seems clear enough."

" I know, sir--but it's an unsatisfactory picture. If you know what I mean--it's the wrong picture."

" Well, let's take the facts. Rudi Scherz took the 5.20

92

Enter Miss Marple

bus from Medcnham to Chipping Cleghom arriving

there at six o'clock. Evidence of conductor and two

passengers. From the bus stop he walked away in the

direction of Little Paddocks. He got into the house with

no particular difficulty--probably through the front door.

He held up the company with a revolver, he fired two

shots, one of which slightly wounded Miss Blacklock, he

then killed himself with a third shot, whether accidentally

or deliberately there is not sufficient evidence to

show. The reasons why he did all this are profoundly

unsatisfactory, I agree. But why isn't really a question

we are called upon to answer. A Coroner's jury may

bring it in suicide--or accidental death. Whichever

verdict it is, it's the same as far as we're concerned. We

can write finis."

" You mean we can always fall back upon Colonel

Easterbrook's psychology," said Craddock gloomily.

Rydesdale smiled.

" After all, the Colonel's probably had a good deal of

experience," he said. " I'm pretty sick of the psychological jargon that's used so glibly about everything nowadays--but

we can't really rule it out." "

" I still feel the picture's all wrong, sir."

" Any reason to believe that somebody in the set-up at

Chipping Cleghom is lying to you ?"

Craddock hesitated.

" I think the foreign girl knows more than she lets on.

But that may be just prejudice on my part."

" You think she might possibly have been in it with

this fellow? Let him into the house? Put him up to it?"

" Something of the kind. I wouldn't put it past her.

But that surely indicates that there really was something

valuable, money or jewellery, in the house, and that

doesn't seem to have been the case. Miss Blacklock

negatived it quite decidedly. So did the others. That

93

A Murder is Announced

leaves us with the proposition that there was something

valuable in the house that nobody knew about----"

" Quite a best seller plot."

" I agree it's ridiculous, sir. The only other point is

Miss Runner's certainty that it was a definite attempt by

Scherz to murder Miss Blacklock."

" Well, from what you say--and from her statement,

this Miss Bunner----"

" Oh, I agree, sir," Craddock put in quickly, " she's an utterly unreliable witness. Highly suggestible. Anyone

could put a thing into her head--but the interesting

thing is that this is quite her own theory--no one has suggested it to her. Everybody else negatives it. For once she's not swimming with the tide. It definitely is her own impression."

"And why should Rudi Scherz want to kill Miss

Blacklock?"

" There you are, sir. I don't know. Miss Blacklock

doesn't know--unless she's a much better liar than I

think she is. Nobody knows. So presumably it isn't true." He sighed.

" Cheer up, Craddock," said the Chief Constable.

" I'm taking you off to lunch with Sir Henry and myself. The best that the Royal Spa Hotel in Medenham Wells

can provide."

" Thank you, sir." Craddock looked slightly surprised.

" You see, we received a letter----" He broke off as Sir Henry dithering entered the room. " Ah, there you

are, Henry."

Sir Henry, informal this time, said, " 'Morning,

Dermot."

" I've got something for you. Henry," said the Chief Constable."

" What's that?"

"Authentic letter from an old Pussy. Staying at the 94

Enter Miss Marple

Royal Spa Hotel. Something she thinks we might like to

know in connection with this Chipping Cleghom business."

"The old Pussies," said Sir Henry triumphantly.

" What did I tell you ? They hear everything. They see

everything. And, unlike the famous adage, they speak all

evil. What's this particular one got hold of ?"

Rydesdale consulted the letter.

" Writes just like my old grandmother," he complained.

" Spiky. Like a spider in the ink bottle, and all

underlined. A good deal about how she hopes it won't

be taking up our valuable time, but might possibly be of

some slight assistance, etc., etc. What's her name ? Jane

--something--Murple--no, Marple, Jane Marple."

" Ye Gods and Little Fishes," said Sir Henry, " can it be? George, it's my own particular, one and only, four

starred Pussy. The super Pussy of all old Pussies. And

she has managed somehow to be at Medenham Wells,

instead of peacefully at home in St. Mary Mead, just at

the right time to be mixed up in a murder. Once more a murder is announced--for the benefit and enjoyment

of Miss Marple."

" Well, Henry," said Rydesdale sardonically. " I'll be glad to see your paragon. Come on! We'll lunch at the

Royal Spa and we'll interview the lady. Craddock, here,

is looking highly sceptical."

" Not at all, sir," said Craddock politely.

He thought to himself that sometimes his godfather

carried things a bit far.

ii

Miss Jane Marple was very nearly, if not quite, as

Craddock had pictured her. She was far more benignant

95

A Murder is Announced

than he had imagined and a good deal older. She

seemed indeed very old. She had snow white hair and a

pink crinkled face and very soft innocent blue eyes, and

she was heavily enmeshed in fleecy wool. Wool round

her shoulders in the form of a lacy cape and wool that

she was knitting and which turned out to be a baby's

shawl.

She was all incoherent delight and pleasure at seeing

Sir Henry, and became quite flustered when introduced

to the Chief Constable and Detective-Inspector Craddock.

" But really, Sir Henry, how fortunate . . . how very

fortunate. So long since I have seen you. . . . Yes, my

rheumatism. Very bad of late. Of course I couldn't have

afforded this hotel (really fantastic what they charge

nowadays) but Raymond--my nephew, Raymond West,

you may remember him------?"

" Everyone knows his name."

" Yes, the dear boy has been so successful with his

clever books--he prides himself upon never writing about

anything pleasant. The dear boy insisted on paying all

my expenses. And his dear wife is making a name for

herself too, as an artist. Mostly jugs of dying flowers and

broken combs on windowsills. I never dare telljier, but

I still admire Blair Leighton and Alma Tadema. Oh, but I'm chattering. And the Chief Constable himself-indeed I never expected--so afraid I shall be taking up his time------"

" Completely ga-ga," thought the disgusted Detective-Inspector Craddock.

" Come into the Manager's private room," said

Rydesdale. " We can talk better there."

When Miss Marple had been disentangled from her

wool, and her spare knitting pins collected, she accompanied

them, fluttering and protesting, to Mr. Rowlandson's

comfortable sitting-room. 96

Enter Miss Marple

" Now, Miss Marple, let's hear what you have to tell

us," said the Chief Constable.

Miss Marple came to the point with unexpected

brevity.

" It was a cheque," she said. " He altered it."

" He?"

" The young man at the desk here, the one who is

supposed to have staged that hold-up and shot himself."

" He altered a cheque, you say?"

Miss Marple nodded.

" Yes. I have it here." She extracted it from her bag and laid it on the table. " It came this morning with my others from the Bank. You can see it was for seven

pounds, and he altered it to seventeen. A stroke in front

of the 7, and teen added after the word seven with a

nice artistic little blot just blurring the whole word.

Really very nicely done. A certain amount of practice, I should say. It's the same ink, because I wrote the

cheque actually at the desk. I should think he'd done it

quite often before, wouldn't you?"

" He picked the wrong person to flo'it to, this time," remarked Sir Henry.

Miss Marple nodded agreement.

" Yes. I'm afraid he would never have gone very far

in crime. I was quite the wrong person. Some busy

young married woman, or some girl having a love affair

--that's the kind who write cheques for all Lorts of

different sums and don't really look through their passbooks

carefully. But an old woman who has to be careful

of the pennies, and who has formed habits--that's quite

the wrong person to choose. Seventeen pounds is a sum

I never write a cheque for. Twenty pounds, a round

sum, for the monthly wages and books. And as for my

personal expenditure, I usually cash seven--it used to be

five, but everything has gone up so."

97

A Murder is Announced.

" And perhaps he reminded you of someone?" prompted Sir Henry, mischief in his eye.

Miss Marple smiled and shook her head at him.

" You are very naughty. Sir Henry. As a matter of

fact he did. Fred Tyier, at the fish shop. Always slipped

an extra i in the shillings column. Eating so much fish

as we do nowadays, it made a long bill, and lots of

people never added it up. Just ten shillings in his pocket

every time, not much but enough to get himself a few

neckties and take Jessie Spragge (the girl in the draper's)

to the pictures. Cut a splash, that's what these young

fellows want to do. Well, the very first week I was here,

there was a mistake in my bill. I pointed it out to the

young man and he apologised very nicely and looked

very much upset, but I thought to myself then: ' You've

got a shifty eye, young man.'

" What I mean by a shifty eye," continued Miss

Marple, " is the kind that looks very straight at you and never looks away or blinks."

Craddock gave a sudden movement of appreciation.

He thought to himself " Jim Kelly to the life " remembering a notorious swindler he had helped to put behind

bars not long ago.

" Rudi Scherz was a thoroughly unsatisfactory character," said Rydesdale. "He's got a police record in

Switzerland, we find."

" Made the place too hot for him, I suppose, and

came over here with forged papers?" said Miss Marple.

" Exactly," said Rydesdale.

" He was going about with the little red-haired waitress from the dining-room," said Miss Marple. " Fortunately I don't think her heart's affected at all. She just liked to

have someone a bit ' different,' and he used to give her

flowers and chocolates which the English boys don't do

much. Has she told you all she knows?" she asked,

98

Enter Miss Marple

turning suddenly to Craddock. "Or not quite all

yet?"

" I'm not absolutely sure," said Craddock cautiously.

" I think there's a little to come," said Miss Marple.

" She's looking very worried. Brought me kippers instead of herrings this morning, and forgot the milk jug. Usually

she's an excellent waitress. Yes, she's worried. Afraid

she might have to give evidence or something like that.

But I expect"--her candid blue eyes swept over the

manly proportions and handsome face of DetectiveInspector

Craddock with truly feminine Victorian appreciation--"

that you will be able to persuade her to

tell you all she knows."

Detective-Inspector Craddock blushed and Sir Henry chuckled.

" It might be important," said Miss Marple. " He may have told her who it was." Rydesdale stared at her.

"Who what was?"

" I express myself so badly.. Who it was who put him

up to it, I mean."

" So you think someone put him up to it?"

Miss Marple's eyes widened in surprise.

" Oh, but surely--I mean . . . Here's a personable

young man--who niches a little bit here and a little bit

there--alters a small cheque, perhaps helps himself to a

small piece of jewellery if it's left lying around, or takes

a little money from the till--all sorts of small petty

thefts. Keeps himself going in ready money so that he

can dress well, and take a girl about--all that sort of

thing. And then suddenly he goes off, with a revolver,

and holds up a room full of people, and shoots at someone.

He'd never have done a thing like that--not for a

moment! He wasn't that kind of person. It doesn't

make sense."

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A Murder is Announced

Craddock drew in his breath sharply. That was what

Letitia Blacklock had said. What the Vicar's wife had

said. What he himself felt with increasing force. It

didn't make sense. And now Sir Henry's old Pussy was

saying it, too, with complete certainty in her fluting old

lady's voice.

" Perhaps you'll tell us, Miss Marple," he said, and his voice was suddenly aggressive, " what did happen, then?" She turned on him in surprise.

" But how should I knew what happened ? There was

an account in the paper--but it says so little. One can

make conjectures, of course, but one has no accurate

information."

" George," said Sir Henry. " Would it be very unorthodox if Miss Marple were allowed to read the notes

of the interviews Craddock had with these people at

Chipping Cleghom."

" It may be unorthodox," said Rydesdale, " but I've not got where I am by being orthodox. She can read

them. I'd be curious to hear what she has to say."

Miss Marple was all embarrassment.

" I'm afraid you've been listening to Sir Henry. Sir

Henry is always too kind. He thinks too much of any

little observations I may have made in the past. Really,

I have no gifts--no gifts at all--except perhaps a certain

knowledge of human nature. People, I find, are apt to

be far too trustful. I'm afraid that I have a tendency

always to believe the worst. Not a nice trait. But so

often justified by subsequent events."

" Read these," said Rydesdale, thrusting the typewritten sheets upon her. " They won't take you long.

After all, these people are your kind--you must know a

lot of people like them. You may be able to spot something

that we haven't. The case is just going to be closed.

Let's have an amateur's opinion on it before we shut up

700

Enter Miss Marple

the files. I don't mind telling you that Craddock here

isn't satisfied. He says, like you, that it doesn't make

sense."

There was silence whilst Miss Marple read. She put

the typewritten sheets down at last.

" It's very interesting," she said with a sigh. " All the different things that people say--and think. The things

they see--or think that they see. And all so complex,

nearly all so trivial and if one thing isn't trivial, it's so hard to spot which one--like a needle in a haystack." Craddock felt a twinge of disappointment. Just for a

moment or two, he had wondered if Sir Henry might be

right about this funny old lady. She might have put her

finger on something--old people were often very sharp.

He'd never, for instance, been able to conceal anything

from his own great aunt Emma. She had finally told

him that his nose twitched when he was about to tell a

lie.

But just a few fluffy generalities, that was all that Sir

Henry's famous Miss Marple could produce. He felt

annoyed with her and said rather curtly:

" The truth of the matter is that the facts are indisputable. Whatever conflicting details these people give,

they all saw one thing. They saw a masked man with a

revolver and a torch open the door and hold them up,

and whether they think he said ' Stick 'em up ' or ' Your

money or your life,' or whatever phrase is associated

with a hold-up in their minds, they saw him."

" But surely," said Miss Marple gently. " They couldn't

--actually--have seen anything at all...."

Craddock caught his breath. She'd got it! She was

sharp, after all. He was testing her by that speech of his,

but she hadn't fallen for it. It didn't actually make any

difference to the facts, or to what happened, but she'd

realised, as he'd realised, that those people who had seen

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A Murder is Announced

a masked man holding them up couldn't really have seen him at all.

" If I understand rightly," Miss Marple had a pink

flush on her cheeks, her eyes were bright and pleased as

a child's, " there wasn't any light in the hall outside-and not on the landing upstairs either?"

" That's right," said Craddock.

" And so, if a man stood in the doorway and flashed

a powerful torch into the room, nobody could see anything

but the torch, could they?"

" No, they couldn't. I tried it out."

" And so when some of them say they saw a masked

man, etc., they are really, though they don't realise it,

recapitulating from what they saw afterwards--when

the lights came on. So it really all fits in very well,

doesn't it, on the assumption that Rudi Scherz was the-I think,' fall guy ' is the expression I mean ?" Rydesdale stared at her in such surprise that she grew

pinker still.

" I may have got the term wrong," she murmured.

" I am not very clever about Americanisms--and I

understand they change very quickly. I got it from one

of Mr. Dashiel Hammett's stories. (I understand from

my nephew Raymond that he is considered at the top of

the tree in what is called the ' tough' style of literature.) A ' fall guy,' if I understand it rightly, means someone

who will be blamed for a crime really committed by

someone else. This Rudi Scherz seems to me exactly the

right type for that. Rather stupid really, you know, but

full of cupidity and probably extremely credulous."

Rydesdale said, smiling tolerantly:

" Are you suggesting that he was persuaded by someone

to go out and take pot shots at a room full of people ?

Rather a tall order."

" I think he was told that it was a joke," said Miss 102

Enter Miss Marple

Marple. " He was paid for doing it, of course. Paid,

that is, to put an advertisement in the newspaper, to go

out and spy out the household premises, and then, on the

night in question, he was to go there, assume a mask and

a black cloak and throw open a door, brandishing a

torch, and cry ' Hands up!' "

" And fire off a revolver?"

" No, no," said Miss Marple. " He never had a

revolver."

" But everyone says----" began Rydesdale, and

stopped.

" Exactly," said Miss Marple. " Nobody could possibly have seen a revolver even if he had one. And I

don't think he had. I think that after he'd called ' Hands

up ' somebody came up quietly behind him in the darkness

and fired those two shots over his shoulder. It

frightened him to death. He swung round and as he did

so, that other person shot him and then let the revolver

drop beside him...."

The three men looked at her. Sir Henry said softly:

" It's a possible theory."

" But who is Mr. X. who came up in the darkness?"

asked the Chief Constable.

Miss Marple coughed.

" You'll have to find out from Miss Blacklock who

wanted to kill her."

Good for old Dora Bunncr, thought Craddock. Instinct

against intelligence every time.

" So you think it was a deliberate attempt on Miss

Blacklock's life," asked Rydesdale.

" It certainly has that appearance," said Miss Marple.

" Though there are one or two difficulties. But what I

was really wondering about was whether there mightn't

be a short cut. I've no doubt that whoever arranged this

with Rudi Scherz took pains to tell him to keep his i of

A Murder is Announced

mouth shut about it, and perhaps he did keep his mouth

shut, but if he talked to anybody it would probably be to

that girl, Myrna Harris. And he may--he just may-have dropped some hint as to the kind of person who'd suggested the whole thing."

" I'll see her now," said Craddock, rising.

Miss Marple nodded.

" Yes, do, Inspector Craddock. I'll feel happier when

you have. Because once she's told you anything she

knows she'll be much safer."

" Safer? ... Yes, I see."

He left the room. The Chief Constable said doubtfully,

but tactfully:

" Well, Miss Marple, you've certainly given us something to think about."

in

" I'm sorry about it, I am really," said Myma Harris.

" It's ever so nice of you not to be ratty about it. But you see Mum's the sort of person who fusses like anything.

And it did look as though I'd--what's the phrase

--been an accessory before the fact" (the words ran

glibly off her tongue). " I mean, I was afraid you'd

never take my word for it that I only thought it was

just a bit of fun."

Inspector Craddock repeated the reassuring phrases

with which he had broken down Myma's resistance.

" I will. I'll tell you all about it. But you will keep

me out of it if you can because of Mum? It all started

with Rudi breaking a date with me. We were going to

the pictures that evening and then he said he wouldn't

be able to come and I was a bit stand-offish with him

about it--because after all, it had been his idea and I 104

Enter Miss Marple

don't fancy being stood up by a foreigner. And he said

it wasn't his fault, and I said that was a likely story, and

then he said he'd got a bit of a lark on that night--and

that he wasn't going to be out of pocket by it and how

would I fancy a wrist-watch? So I said, what do you

mean by a lark? And he said not to tell anyone, but

there was to be a party somewhere and he was to stage

a sham hold-up. Then he showed me the advertisement

he'd put in and I had to laugh. He was a bit scornful

about it all. Said it was kid's stuff really--but that was

just like the English. They never really grew up--and

of course, I said what did he mean by talking like that

about Us--and we had a bit of an argument, but we

made it up. Only you can understand, can't you, sir,

that when I read all about it, and it hadn't been a joke

at all and Rudi had shot someone and then shot himself

--why, I didn't know what to do. I thought if I said I

knew about it beforehand, it would look as though

I were in on the whole-thing. But it really did seem like

a joke when he told me about it.* I'd have sworn he

meant it that way. I didn't even know he'd got a revolver.

He never said anything about taking a revolver

with him."

Craddock comforted her and then asked the mast

important question.

" Who did he say it was who had arranged this

party?"

But there he drew a blank.

" He never said who it was that was getting him to do

it. I suppose nobody was, really. It was all his own

doing."

" He didn't mention a name ? Did he say he--or she ?"

" He didn't say anything except that it was going to be

a scream. ''I shall laugh to see all their faces.' That's

what he said."

105

A Murder is Announced

He hadn't had long to laugh, Craddock thought.

" It's only a theory," said Rydesdale as they drove back to Medenham. " Nothing to support it, nothing at

all. Put it down as old maid's vapourings and let it go,

eh?"

" I'd rather not do that, sir."

" It's all very improbable. A mysterious X appearing

suddenly in the darkness behind our Swiss friend. Where

did he come from ? Who was he ? Where had he been ?"

" He could have come in through the side door," said Craddock, " just as Scherz came. Or," he added slowly,

" he could have come from the kitchen."

" She could have come from the kitchen, you mean?"

" Yes, sir, it's a possibility. I've not been satisfied

about that girl all along. She strikes me as a nasty bit of

goods. All that screaming and hysterics--it could have

been put on. She could have worked on this young

fellow, let him in at the right moment, rigged the whole

thing, shot him, bolted back into the dining-room,

caught up her bit of silver and her chamois and started

her screaming act."

" Against that we have the fact that--er--what's his

name--oh, yes, Edmund Swettenham, definitely says the

key was turned on the outside of the door, and that he

turned it to release her. Any other door into that part of

the house?"

" Yes, there's a door to the back stairs and kitchen

just under the stairs, but it seems the handle came off

three weeks ago and nobody's come to put it on yet. In

the meantime you can't open the door. I'm bound to

say that story seems correct. The spindle and the two

fo6

Enter Miss Marple

handles were on a shelf outside the door in the hall and

they were thickly coated with dust, but of course a professional would have ways of opening that door all right."

" Better look up the girl's record. See if her papers are in order. But it seems to me the whole thing is very

theoretical."

Again the Chief Constable looked inquiringly at his

subordinate. Craddock replied quietly :

" I know, sir, and of course if you think the case ought to be closed, it must be. But I'd appreciate it if I could

work on it for just a little longer."

Rather to his surprise the Chief Constable said quietly

and approvingly:

" Good lad."

" There's the revolver to work on. If this theory is

correct, it wasn't Scherz's revolver and certainly nobody

so far has been able-to say that Scherz ever had a

revolver."

" It's a German make."

" I know, sir. But this country's absolutely full of continental makes of guns. All the Americans brought them

back and so did our chaps. You can't go by that."

" True enough. Any other lines of inquiry ?"

" There's got to be a motive. If there's anything in

this theory at all, it means that last Friday's business

wasn't a mere joke and wasn't an ordinary hold-up, it

was a cold-blooded attempt at murder. Somebody tried

to murder Miss Blacklock. Now why? It seems to me

that if anyone knows the answer to that it must be Miss

Blacklock herself."

" I understand she rather poured cold water on that

idea?"

" She poured cold water on the idea that Rudi Scherz wanted to murder her. And she was quite right. And

there's another thing, sir."

107

A Murder is Announced

" Yes?"

" Somebody might try again."

" That would certainly prove the truth of the theory," said the Chief Constable dryly. " By the way, look after Miss Marple, won't you?"

"MissMarple? Why?"

" I gather she is taking up residence at the Vicarage

in Chipping Cleghorn and coming into Medenham Wells

twice a week for her treatments. It seems that Mrs.

What'shemame is the daughter of an old friend of Miss

Marple's. Good sporting instincts, that old bean. Oh,

well, I suppose she hasn't much excitement in her life

and sniffing round after possible murderers gives her a

kick."

" I wish she wasn't coming," said Craddock seriously.

" Going to get under your feet?"

" Not that, sir, but she's a nice old thing. I shouldn't like anything to happen to her . . . always supposing, I

mean, that there's anything in this theory."

108

9. Concerning a Door

"i'm sorry to bother you again. Miss Blacklock " Oh, it doesn't matter. I suppose, as the inquest was adjourned for a week, you're hoping to get more evidence?"

Detective-Inspector Craddock nodded.

" To begin with, Miss Blacklock, Rudi Scherz was not

the son of the proprietor of the Hotel des Alpes at Montreux. He seems to have started his career as an orderly

in a hospital at Beme. A good many of the patients

missed small pieces of jewellery. Under another name

he was a waiter at one of the small winter sports places.

His speciality there was" making out-duplicate bills in the restaurant with items on one that didn't appear on the

other. The difference, of course, went into his pocket.

After that he was in a department store in Zurich. Their

losses from shoplifting were rather above the average whilst he was with them. It seems likely that the shoplifting

wasn't entirely due to customers."

" He was a picker up of unconsidered trifles, in fact?" said Miss Blacklock dryly. " Then I was right in thinking that I had not seen him before ?"

" You were quite right--no doubt you were pointed

out to him at the Royal Spa Hotel and he pretended to

recognise you. The Swiss police had begun to make his

own country rather too hot for him, and he came over

here with a very nice set of forged papers and took a job

at the Royal Spa."

" Quite a good hunting ground," said Miss Blacklock log A Murder is Announced

dryly. " It's extremely expensive and very well-off people stay there. Some of them are careless about their bills, I

expect."

" Yes," said Craddock. " There were prospects of a satisfactory harvest."

Miss BIacklock was frowning.

" I see all that," she said. " But why come to Chipping Cleghom ? What does he think we've got here that

could possibly be better than the rich Royal Spa Hotel?"

" You stick to your statement that there's nothing of especial value in the house?"

" Of course there isn't. I should know. I can assure

you, Inspector, we've not got an unrecognised Rembrandt

or anything like that."

" Then it looks, doesn't it, as though your friend, Miss Bunner were right ? He came here to attack you."

(" There, Letty, what did I tell you!"

" Oh, nonsense. Bunny.")

"But is it nonsense?" said Craddock. "I think, you know, that it's true."

Miss BIacklock stared very hard at him.

" Now, let's get this straight. You really believe that

this young man came out here--having previously arranged

by means of an advertisement that half the village

would turn up agog at that particular time----"

" But he mayn't have meant that ti happen," interrupted Miss Bunner eagerly. " It may have been just a

horrid sort of warning--to you, Letty--that's how I read

it at the time--' A murder is announced'--I felt in my

bones that it was sinister--if it had all gone as planned

he would have shot you and got away--and how would

anyone have ever known who it was?"

" That's true enough," said Miss BIacklock. " But----"

" I knew that advertisement wasn't a joke, Letty. I

said so. And look at Mitzi--she was frightened, too!" no Concefmhg a Door

" Ah," said Craddock, " Mitzi. I'd like to know rather more about that young woman."

" Her permit and papers are quite in order."

" I don't doubt that," said Craddock dryly. " Scherz's papers appeared to be quite correct, too."

" But why should this Rudi Scherz want to murder

me? That's what you don't attempt to explain. Inspector

Craddock."

" There may have been someone behind Scherz," said

Craddock slowly. " Have you thought of that ?"

He used the words metaphorically though it flashed

across his mind that if Miss Marple's theory was correct,

the words would also be true in a literal sense. In any

case they made little impression on Miss Blacklock, who

still looked sceptical.

" The point remains the same," she said. " Why on earth should anyone want to murder me ?"

" It's the answer to that that I want you to give me,

Miss Blacklock." - - "

Well, I can't! That's flat. I've no enemies. As far

as I'm aware I've always lived on perfectly good terms

with my neighbours. I don't know any guilty secrets

about anyone. The whole idea is ridiculous! And if

what you're hinting is that Mitzi has something to do

with this, that's absurd, too. As Miss Bunner has just

told you she was frightened to death when she saw that

advertisement in the Gazette. She actually wanted to

pack up and leave the house then and there."

" That may have been a clever move on her part. She

may have known you'd press her to stay."

" Of course, if you've made up your mind about it,

you'll find an answer to everything. But I can assure you

that if Mitzi had taken an unreasoning dislike to me, she

might conceivably poison my food, but I'm sure she

wouldn't go in for all this elaborate rigmarole. in

A Murder is Announced

" The whole idea's absurd. I believe you police have

got an anti-foreigner complex. Mitzi may be a liar but

she's not a cold-blooded murderer. Go and bully her if

you must. But when she's departed in a whirl of indignation,

or shut herself up howling in her room, I've a good

mind to make you cook the dinner. Mrs. Harmon is

bringing some old lady who is staying with her to tea this

afternoon and I wanted Mitzi to make some little cakes

--but I suppose you'll upset her completely. Can't you possibly go and suspect somebody else ?" ii

Craddock went out to the kitchen. He asked Mitzi

questions that he had asked her before and received the

same answers.

Yes, she had locked the front door soon after four

o'clock. No, she did not always do so, but that afternoon

she had been nervous because of " that dreadful advertisement." It was no good locking the side door because

Miss Blacklock and Miss Bunner went out that way to

shut up the ducks and feed the chickens and Mrs. Haymes

usually came in that way from work.

" Mrs. Haymes says she locked the door when she

came in at 5.30."

" Ah, and you believe her--oh, yes, you believe

her...."

" Do you think we shouldn't believe her?"

"What does it matter what I think? You will not

believe me."

" Supposing you give us a chance. You think Mrs.

Haymes didn't lock that door?"

" I thinking she was very careful not to lock it."

" What do you mean by that?" asked Craddock.

112

Concerning a Door

" That young man, he does not work alone. No, he

knows where to come, he knows that when he comes a

door will be left open for him--oh, very conveniently

open!"

" What are you trying to say?"

" What is the use of what I say? You will not listen.

You say I am a poor refugee girl who tells lies. You say

that a fair-haired English lady, oh, no, she does not tell

lies--she is so British--so honest. So you believe her and

not me. But I could tell you. Oh, yes, I could tell you!" She banged down a saucepan on the stove.

Craddock was in two minds whether to take notice of

what might be only a stream of spite.

" We note everything we are told," he said.

" I shall not tell you anything at all. Why should I ?

You are all alike. You persecute and despise poor refugees.

If I say to you that when, a week before, that

young man come to ask Miss Blacklock for money and

she sends him away, as-you say, with a flea in the car-if I tell you that after that I hear him' talking with Mrs. Haymes--yes, out there in the summerhouse--all you

say is that I make it up!"

And so you probably are making it up, thought Craddock.

But he said aloud:

" You couldn't hear what was said out in the summerhouse."

" There you are wrong," screamed Mitzi triumphantly.

" I go out to get nettles--it makes very nice vegetables, nettles. They do not think so, but I cook it and not tell

them. And I hear them talking in there. He say to her

' But where can I hide ?' And she say ' I will show you ' ---and then she say, ' At a quarter-past six,' and I think,

' Ach so! That is how you behave, my fine lady! After

you come back from work, you go out to meet a man.

You bring him into the house.' Miss Blacklock, I think, "3

A Murder is Announced

she will not like that. She will turn you out. I will

watch, I think, and listen and then I will tell Miss Blacklock. But I understand now I was wrong. It was not

love she planned with him, it was to rob and to murder.

But you will say I make all this up. Wicked Mitzi, you

will say. I will take her to prison."

Craddock wondered. She might be making it up.

But possibly she might not. He asked cautiously :

" You are sure it was this Rudi Scherz she was talking

to?"

" Of course I am sure. He just leave and I see him go

from the drive across to the summerhouse. And presently," said Mitzi defiantly, " I go out to see if there are

any nice young green nettles."

Would there, the Inspector wondered, be any nice

young green nettles in October? But he appreciated that

Mitzi had had to produce a hurried reason for what had

undoubtedly been nothing more than plain snooping.

" You didn't hear any more than what you have told

me?"

Mitzi looked aggrieved.

" That Miss Bunner, the one with the long nose, she

call and call me. Mitzi! Mitzi! So I have to go. Oh,

she is irritating. Always interfering. Says she will teach

me to cook. Her cooking! It tastes, yes, everything she

does, of water, water, water!"

"Why didn't you tell me this the other day?" asked

Craddock sternly.

" Because I did not remember--I did not think. . . .

Only afterwards do I say to myself, it was planned then

--planned with her."

" You are quite sure it was Mrs. Haymes?"

" Oh, yes, I am sure. Oh, yes, I am very sure. She is

a thief, that Mrs. Haymes. A thief and the associate of

thieves. What she gets for working in the garden, it is 114

Concerning a Door

not enough for such a fine lady, no. She has to rob Miss

Blacklock who has been kind to her. Oh, she is bad, bad,

bad, that one!"

" Supposing," said the Inspector, watching her closely,

" that someone was to say that you had been seen talking toRudi Scherz?"

The suggestion had less effect than he had hoped for.

Mitzi merely snorted and tossed her head.

" If anyone say they see me talking to him, that is lies, lies, lies, lies," she said contemptuously. " To tell lies about anyone, that is easy, but in England you have to

prove them true. Miss Blacklock tell me that, and it is

true, is it not? I do not speak with murderers and

thieves. And no English policeman shall say I do. And

how can I do cooking for lunch if you are here, talk,

talk, talk ? Go out of my kitchens, please. I want now to

make a very careful sauce."

Craddock went obediently. He was a little shaken in

his suspicions of Mitzi. Her story about Phillipa Haymes

had been told with great conviction. Mitzi might be a

liar (he thought she was), but "he fancied that there might be some substratum of truth in this particular tale. He

resolved to speak to Phillipa on the subject. She had

seemed to him when he questioned her a quiet, well-bred

young woman. He had had no suspicion of her.

Crossing the hall, in his abstraction, he tried to open

the wrong door. Miss Bunner, descending the staircase,

hastily put him right.

"Not that door," she said. "It doesn't open. The next one to the left. Very confusing, isn't it. So many

doors."

" There are a good many," said Craddock, looking up and down the narrow hall.

Miss Bunner amiably enumerated them for him.

" First the door to the cloakroom, and then the cloaks

"5

A Murder is Announced

cupboard door and then the dining-room--that's on that

side. And on this side, the dummy door that you were

trying to get through and then there's the drawing-room

door proper, and then the china cupboard door and the

door of the little flower room, and at the end the side

door. Most confusing. Especially these two being so near

together. I've often tried the wrong one by mistake. We

used to have the hall table against it, as a matter of fact,

but then we moved it along against the wall there."

Craddock had noted, almost mechanically, a thin line

horizontally across the panels of the door he had been

trying to open. He realised now it was the mark where

the table had been. Something stirred vaguely in his

mind as he asked, " Moved? How long ago?"

In questioning Dora Bunner there was fortunately no

need to give a reason for any question. Any query on

any subject seemed perfectly natural to the garrulous

Miss Bunner who delighted in the giving of information,

however trivial.

" Now let me see, really quite recently--ten days or a

fortnight ago."

"Why was it moved?"

" I really can't remember. Something to do with the

flowers. I think Phillipa did a big vase--she arranges

flowers quite beautifully--all autumn colouring and twigs

and branches, and it was so big it caught your hair as

you went past, and so Phillipa said, ' Why not move the

table along and anyway the flowers would look much

better against the bare wall than against the panels of

the door.' Only we had to take down ' Wellington at

Waterloo.' Not a print I'm really very fond of. We put

it under the stairs."

"It's not really a dummy, then?" Craddock asked,

looking at the door.

" Oh, no, it's a real door, if that's what you mean. It's 176

Concerning a Door

the door of the small drawing-room, but when the rooms

were thrown into one, one didn't need two doors, so this

one was fastened up."

"Fastened up?" Craddock tried it again, gently.

" You mean it's nailed up ? Or just locked ?"

" Oh, locked, I think, and bolted too."

He saw the bolt at the top and tried it. The bolt slid

back easily--too easily... .

" When was it last open ?" he asked Miss Bunner.

" Oh, years and years ago, I imagine. It's never been

opened since I've been here, I know that."

" You don't know where the key is ?"

" There are a lot of keys in the hall drawer. It's probably among those."

Craddock followed her and looked at a rusty assortment

of old keys pushed far back in the drawer. He

scanned them and selected one that looked different from

the rest and went back to the door. The key fitted and

turned easily. He pushed and the door slid open noiselessly.

" Oh, do be careful," cried Miss Bunner. " There may be something resting against it inside. We never open it."

" Don't you ?" said the Inspector.

His face now was grim. He said with emphasis:

" This door's been opened quite recently, Miss Bunner.

The lock's been oiled and the hinges."

She stared at him, her foolish face agape.

" But who could have done that?" she asked.

" That's what I mean to find out," said Craddock

grimly. He thought--"X from outside? No--X was

hwe--in this house--X was in the drawing-room that

night. .. ."

117

io. Pip and Emma

miss blacklock listened to him this time with

more attention. She was an intelligent woman, as he had

known, and she grasped the implications of what he had

to tell her.

" Yes," she said quietly. " That does alter things. . . . No one had any right to meddle with that door. Nobody

has meddled with it to my knowledge."

" You see what it means," the Inspector urged. " When the lights went out, anybody in this room the other night

could have slipped out of that door, come up behind

Rudi Scherz and fired at you."

" Without being seen or heard or noticed?"

" Without being seen or heard or noticed. Remember

when the lights went out people moved, exclaimed,

bumped into each other. And after that all that could be

seen was the blinding light of the electric torch."

Miss Blacklock said slowly, " And you believe that one

of those people--one of my nice commonplace neighbours--slipped out and tried to murder me? Me? But

why? For goodness' sake, why?"

" I've a feeling that you must know the answer to that

question, Miss Blacklock."

" But I don't, Inspector. I can assure you, I don't."

" Well, let's make a start. Who gets your money if you

were to die?"

Miss Blacklock said rather reluctantly :

" Patrick and Julia. I've left the furniture in this

118

Pip and Emma

house and a small annuity to Bunny. Really, I've not

much to leave. I had holdings in German and Italian

securities which became worthless, and what with taxation,

and the lower percentages that arc now paid on invested capital, I can assure you I'm not worth murdering--I

put most of my money into an annuity about a

year ago."

" Still, you have some income, Miss Blacklock, and

your nephew and niece would come into it."

" And so Patrick and Julia would plan to murder me?

I simply don't believe it. They're not desperately hard

up or anything like that."

" Do you know that for a fact?"

" No. I suppose I only know it from what they've told

me. . . . But I really refuse to suspect them. Somedzty I might be worth murdering, but not now."

" What do you mean by someday you might be

worth murdering, Miss Blacklock?" Inspector Craddock

pounced on the statement.

" Simply that one day--possibly quite soon--I may be a very rich woman." ' "

" That sounds interesting. Will you explain ?"

" Certainly. You may not know it, but for more than

twenty years I was secretary to and closely associated

with Randall Goedler."

Craddock was interested. Randall Goedler had been a

big name in the world of finance. His daring speculations

and the rather theatrical publicity with which he

surrounded himself had made him a personality not

quickly forgotten. He had died, if Craddock remembered

rightly, in 1937 or 1938.

" He's rather before your time, I expect," said Miss Blacklock. " But you've probably heard of him."

" Oh, yes. He was a millionaire, wasn't he?"

' Oh, several times over--though his finances fluc ? "9

A Murder is Announced

tuated. He always risked most of what he made on some

new coup."

She spoke with a certain animation, her eyes brightened

by memory.

"Anyway he died a very rich man. He had no

children. He left his fortune in trust for his wife during

her lifetime and after her death to me absolutely."

A vague memory stirred in the Inspector's mind.

IMMENSE FORTUNE TO COME TO FAITHFUL SECRETARY

--something of that kind.

" For the last twelve years or so," said Miss Blacklock with a slight twinkle, " I've had an excellent motive for murdering Mrs. Goedler--but that doesn't help you, does

it?"

" Did--excuse me for asking this--did Mrs. Goedler

resent her husband's disposition of his fortune ?"

Miss Blacklock was now looking frankly amused.

" You needn't be so very discreet. What you really

mean is, was I Randall Goedler's mistress? No, I wasn't.

I don't think Randall ever gave me a sentimental

thought, and I certainly didn't give him one. He was in

love with Belle (his wife), and remained in love with her

until he died. I think in all probability it was gratitude

on his part that prompted his making his will. You see,

Inspector, in the very early days, when Randall was still

on an insecure footing, he came very near to disaster. It

was a question of just a few thousands of actual cash. It

was a big coup, and a very exciting one; daring, as all

his schemes were; but he just hadn't got that little bit of

cash to tide him over. I came to the rescue. I had a

little money of my own. I believed in Randall. I sold

every penny I had out and gave it to him. It did

the trick. A week later he was an immensely wealthy

man.

" After that, he treated me more or less as a junior zao I Pip and Emma

partner. Oh! they were exciting days." She sighed. " I enjoyed it all thoroughly. Then my father died, and my

only sister was left a hopeless invalid. I had to give it all up and go and look after her. Randall died a couple of

years later. I had made quite a lot of money during our

association and I didn't really expect him to leave me

anything, but I was very touched, yes, and very proud

to find that if Belle predeceased me (and she was one of

those delicate creatures whom everyone always says won't

live long) I was to inherit his entire fortune. I think

really the poor man didn't know who to leave it to.

Belle's a dear, and she was delighted about it. She's

really a very sweet person. She lives up in Scotland. I

haven't seen her for years--we just write at Christmas.

You see, I went with my sister to a sanatorium in Switzerland just before the war. She died of consumption

out there."

She was silent for a moment or two, then said :

" I only came back to England just over a year ago."

" You said you might-be a rich woman very soon. . . .

How soon?"

" I heard from the nurse attendant who looks after

Belle Goedler that Belle is sinking rapidly. It may be-only a few weeks." She added sadly:

" The money won't mean much to me now. I've got

quite enough for my rather simple needs. Once I should

have enjoyed playing the markets again--but now . . . Oh, well, one grows old. Still, you do see, Inspector,

don't you, that if Patrick and Julia wanted to kill me for

a financial reason they'd be crazy not to wait for another

few weeks."

" Yes, Miss Blacklock, but what happens if you should

predecease Mrs. Goedler. Who does the money go to

then?"

131

A Murder is Announced

" D'you know, I've never really thought. Pip and

Emma, I suppose...."

Craddock stared and Miss Blacklock smiled.

"Does that sound rather crazy? I believe, if I predecease Belle, the money would go to the legal offspring

--or whatever the term is--of Randall's only sister,

Sonia. Randall had quarrelled with his sister. She

married a man whom he considered a crook and worse."

" And was he a crook?"

"Oh, definitely, I should say. But I believe a very

attractive person to women. He was a Greek or a Roumanian

or something--what was his name now--Stamfordis,

Dmitri Stamfordis."

" Randall Goedler cut his sister out of his will when

she married this man?"

" Oh, Sonia was a very wealthy woman in her own

right. Randall had already settled packets of money on

her, as far as possible in a way so that her husband

couldn't touch it. But I believe that when the lawyers

urged him to put in someone in case I predeceased Belle,

he reluctantly put down Sonia's offspring, simply because

he couldn't think of anyone else and he wasn't the sort

of man to leave money to charities."

" And there were children of the marriage?"

" Well, there are Pip and Emma." She laughed. " I know it sounds ridiculous. All I know is that Sonia wrote

once to Belle after her marriage, telling her to tell Randall that she was extremely happy and that she had just

had twins and was calling them Pip and Emma. As far

as I know she never wrote again. But Belle, of course,

may be able to tell you more."

Miss Blacklock had been amused by her own recital.

The Inspector did not look amused.

" It comes to this," he said. " If you had been killed the other night, there are presumably at least two people 122

Pip and Emma

in the world who would have come into a very large fortune. You are wrong, Miss Blacklock, when you say

that there is no one who has a motive for desiring your

death. There are two people, at least, who are vitally

interested. How old would this brother and sister be?"

Miss Blacklock frowned.

" Let me see ... 1922 . . . no--it's difficult to remember.

... I suppose about twenty-five or twenty-six."

Her face had sobered. " But you surely don't think------"

" I think somebody shot at you with the intent to kill

you. I think it possible that that same person or persons

might try again. I would like you, if you will, to be very very careful, Miss Blacklock. One murder has been arranged

and did not come off. I think it possible that

another murder may be arranged very soon."

ii

Phillipa Haymes straightened her * back and pushed

back a tendril of hair from her damp forehead. She was

cleaning a flower border.

" Yes, Inspector?"

She looked at him inquiringly. In return he gave her

a rather closer scrutiny than he had done before. Yes, a

good-looking girl, a very English type with her pale ashblonde hair and her rather long face. An obstinate chin

and mouth. Something of repression--of tautness about

her. The eyes were blue, very steady in their glance, and

told you nothing at all. The sort of girl, he thought, who

would keep a secret well.

"I'm sorry always to bother you when you're at work,

Mrs. Haymes," he said, " but I didn't want to wait until you came back for lunch. Besides, I thought it might be

easier to talk to you here, away from Little Paddocks." 133

A Murder is Announced

"Yes, Inspector?"

No emotion and little interest in the voice. But was

there a note of wariness--or did he imagine it?

" A certain statement has been made to me this morning.

This statement concerns you."

Phillipa raised her eyebrows very slightly.

"You told me, Mrs. Haymes, that this man, Rudi

Scherz, was quite unknown to you?"

" Yes."

" That when you saw him there, dead, it was the first

time you had set eyes on him. Is that so ?"

" Certainly. I had never seen him before."

" You did not, for instance, have a conversation with

him in the summerhouse of Little Paddocks?"

" In the summerhouse ?"

He was almost sure he caught a note of fear in her

voice.

" Yes, Mrs. Haymes."

" Who says so?"

" I am told that you had a conversation with this

man, Rudi Scherz, and that he asked you where he could

hide and you replied that you would show him, and that

a time, a quarter-past six, was definitely mentioned. It

would be a quarter-past six, roughly, when Scherz would

get here from the bus stop on the evening of the holdup." There was a moment's silence. Then Phillipa gave a

short scornful laugh. She looked amused.

" I don't know who told you that," she said. " At least I can guess. It's a very silly, clumsy story--spiteful, of course. For some reason Mitzi dislikes me even more

than she dislikes the rest of us."

" You deny it?"

" Of course it's not true. ... I never met or saw Rudi

Scherz in my life, and I was nowhere near the house that

morning. I was over here, working." 124

Pip and Emma

Inspector Craddock said very gently:

" Which morning?"

There was a momentary pause. Her eyelids flickered.

"Every morning. I'm here every morning. I don't

get away until one o'clock."

She added scornfully:

" It's no good listening to what Mitzi tells you. She

tells lies all the time."

" And that's that," said Craddock when he was walking away with Sergeant Fletcher. " Two young women

whose stories flatly contradict each other. Which one

am I to believe?"

" Everyone seems to agree that this foreign girl tells

whoppers," said Fletcher. " It's been my experience in dealing with aliens that lying comes more easy than

truth telling. Seems to be clear she's got a spite against

this Mrs. Haymes."

" So, if you were me, you'd believe *Mrs. Haymes?"

" Unless you've got reason to think otherwise, sir." And Craddock hadn't, not really--only the remembrance

of a pair of over-steady blue eyes and the glib

enunciation of the words that morning. For to the best

of his recollection be hadn't said whether the interview

in the summerhouse had taken place in the morning or

the afternoon.

Still, Miss Blacklock, or if not Miss Blacklock, certainly

Miss Bunner, might have mentioned the visit of the

young foreigner who had come to cadge his fare back to

Switzerland. And Phillipa Haymes might have therefore

assumed that the conversation was supposed to have

taken place on that particular morning.

But Craddock still thought that there had been a note

degf fear in her voice as she asked :

' In the stvmmerhause?"

"5

A Murder is Announced He decided to keep an open mind on the subject. in

It was very pleasant in the Vicarage garden. One of

those sudden spells of autumn warmth had descended

upon England. Inspector Craddock could never remember

if it was St. Martin's or St. Luke's Summer, but he

knew that it was very pleasant--and also very enervating.

He sat in a deck chair provided for him by an

energetic Bunch, just on her way to a Mothers' Meeting,

and, well protected with shawls and a large rug round

her knees, Miss Marple sat knitting beside him. The

sunshine, the peace, the steady click of Miss Marple's

knitting needles, all combined to produce a soporific

feeling in the Inspector. And yet, at the same time,

there was a nightmarish feeling at the back of his mind.

It was like a familiar dream where an undertone of

menace grows and finally turns Ease into Terror....

He said abruptly, " You oughtn't to be here."

Miss Marple's needles stopped clicking for a moment.

Her placid china blue eyes regarded him thoughtfully.

She said, " I know what you mean. You're a very

conscientious boy. But it's perfectly all right. Bunch's

father (he was vicar of our parish, a very fine scholar)

and her mother (who is a most remarkable woman--real

spiritual power) are very old friends of mine. It's the

most natural thing in the world that when I'm at Medenham

I should come on here to stay with Bunch for a

little."

"Oh, perhaps," said Craddock. "But--but don't

snoop around. . . . I've a feeling--I have really--that it

isn't safe."

Miss Marple smiled a little. 126

Pip and Emma

" But I'm afraid," she said, " that we old women always do snoop. It would be very odd and much more

noticeable if I didn't. Questions about mutual friends in

different parts of the world and whether they remember

so and so, and do they remember who it was that Lady

Somebody's daughter married? All that helps, doesn't

it?"

" Helps?" said the Inspector, rather stupidly.

" Helps to find out if people are who they say they

are," said Miss Marple.

She went on:

" Because that's what's worrying you, isn't it ? And

that's really the particular way the world has changed

since the war. Take this place, Chipping Cleghom, for

instance. It's very much like St. Mary Mead where I

live. Fifteen years ago one knew who everybody was.

The Bantrys in the big house--and the Hartnells and the

Price Ridleys and the Weatherbys. . . . They were

people whose fathers and mothers and grandfathers and

grandmothers, or whose aunts and uncles, had lived there

before them. If somebody new came to live there, they

brought letters of introduction, or they'd been in the

same regiment or served on the same ship as someone

there already. If anybody new--really new--really a

stranger--came, well, they stuck out--everybody wondered

about them and didn't rest till they found out."

She nodded her head gently :

" But it's not like that any more. Every village and

small country place is full of people who've just come

and settled there without any ties to bring them. The

big houses have been sold, and the cottages have been

converted and changed. And people just come--and all

you know about them is what they say of themselves.

They've come, you see, from all over the world. People

from India and Hong Kong and China, and people who 127

11. Miss Marple Comes to Tea

if letitia blacklock seemed slightly absentminded

when Mrs. Harmon came to tea and brought a

guest who was staying with her. Miss Marple, the guest

in question, was hardly likely to notice the fact since it

was the first time she had met her.

The old lady was very charming in her gentle gossipy

fashion. She revealed herself almost at once to be one of

those old ladies who have a constant preoccupation with

burglars. - - . .

" They can get in anywhere, my dear," she assured

her hostess, " absolutely anywhere nowadays. So many

new American methods. I myself pin my faith to a very

old-fashioned device. A cabin hook and eye. They can

pick locks and draw back bolts but a brass hook and eye

defeats them. Have you ever tried that?"

" I'm afraid we're not very good at bolts and bars," said Miss Blacklock cheerfully. " There's really nothing much to burgle."

" A chain on the front door," Miss Marple advised.

" Then the maid need only open it a crack and see who

is there and they can't force their way in."

" I expect Mitzi, our Mittel European, would love

that."

" The hold-up you had must have been very, very

frightening," said Miss Marple. " Bunch has been telling me all about it."

" I was scared stiff," said Bunch. 131

A Murder is Announced

" It was an alarming experience," admitted Miss

Blacklock.

" It really seems like Providence that the man tripped

himself up and shot himself. These burglars are so violent nowadays. How did he get in?"

" Well, I'm afraid we don't lock our doors much."

" Oh, Letty," exclaimed Miss Bunner. " I forgot to tell you the Inspector was most peculiar this morning.

He insisted on opening the second door--you know-the one that's never been opened--the one over there. He hunted for the key and everything and said the door

had been oiled. But I can't see why because----"

Too late she got Miss Blacklock's signal to be quiet,

and paused openmouthed.

" Oh, Lotty, I'm so--sorry--I mean, oh, I do beg your

pardon, Lctty--oh, dear, how stupid I am."

" It doesn't matter," said Miss Blacklock, but she was annoyed. "Only I don't think Inspector Craddock

wants that talked about. I didn't know you had been

there when he was experimenting, Dora. You do understand,

don't you, Mrs. Harmon?"

" Oh, yes," said Bunch. " We won't breathe a word, will we, Aunt Jane. But I wonder why he----"

She relapsed into thought. Miss Bunner fidgeted and

looked miserable, bursting out at last: " I always say the wrong thing--Oh, dear, I'm nothing but a trial to you,

Letty."

Miss Blacklock said quickly, " You're my great comfort,

Dora. And anyway in a small place like Chipping

Cleghom, there aren't really any secrets."

" Now that is very true," said Miss Marple. " I'm afraid, you know, that things do get round in the most

extraordinary way. Servants, of course, and yet it can't

only be that, because one has so few servants nowadays.

Still, there are the daily women and perhaps they are 132

Miss Marple Comes to Tea

worse, because they go to everybody in turn and pass the

news round."

" Oh!" said Bunch Harmon suddenly. " I've got it!

Of course, if that door could open too,-someone might

have gone out of here in the dark and done the holdup --only of course they didn't--because it was the man

from the Royal Spa Hotel. Or wasn't it? ... No, I

don't see after all..." she frowned.

"Did it all happen in this room then?" asked Miss

Marple, adding apologetically: " I'm afraid you must

think me sadly curious. Miss Blacklock--but it really is

so very exciting--just like something one reads about in

the paper--and actually to have happened to someone

one knows . . . I'm just longing to hear all about it and

to picture it all, if you know what I mean----**

Immediately Miss Marple received a confused and

voluble account from Bunch and Miss Bunner--with

occasional emendations and corrections from Miss Blacklock.

In

the middle of it Patrick came in and good-naturedly

entered into the spirit of the recital--going so far as to

enact himself the part of Rudi Scherzo

"And Aunt Letty was there--in the corner by the

archway ... Go and stand there. Aunt Letty."

Miss Blacklock obeyed, and then Miss Marple was

shown the actual bullet holes.

" What a marvellous--what a providential escape," she gasped.

" I was just going to offer my guests cigarettes----" Miss Blacklock indicated the big silver box on the table.

" People are so careless when they smoke," said Miss Bunner disapprovingly. " Nobody really respects good

furniture as they used to do. Look at the horrid bum

somebody made on this beautiful table by putting a

cigarette down on it. Disgraceful."

133

A Murder is Announced

Miss Blacklock sighed.

" Sometimes, I'm afraid, one thinks too much of one's

possessions."

" But it's such a lovely table, Letty."

Miss Bunner loved her friend's possessions with as

much fervour as though they had been her own. Bunch

Harmon had always thought it was a very endearing

trait in her. She showed no sign of envy.

" It is a lovely table," said Miss Marple politely.

" And what a very pretty china lamp on it."

Again it was Miss Bunner who accepted the compliment

as though she and not Miss Blacklock was the

owner of the lamp.

" Isn't it delightful? Dresden. There is a pair of them. The other's in the spare room, I think."

" You know where everything in this house is, Dora-or you think you do," said Miss Blacklock, goodhumouredly.

" You care far more about my things than

I do."

Miss Bunner flushed.

" I do like nice things," she said. Her voice was half defiant--half wistful.

" I must confess," said Miss Marple, " that my own few possessions are very dear to me, too--so many memories, you know. It's the same with photographs.

People nowadays have so few photographs about. Now

I like to keep all the pictures of my nephews and nieces

as babies--and then as children--and so on."

" You've got a horrible one of me, aged three," said Bunch. " Holding a fox terrier and squinting."

" I expect your aunt has many photographs of you,"

said Miss Marple, turning to Patrick.

" Oh, we're only distant cousins," said Patrick.

" I believe Elinor did send me one of you as a baby,

Pat," said Miss Blacklock. "But I'm afraid I didn't '34

Miss Marple Comes to Tea

keep it. I'd really forgotten how many children she'd

had or what their names were until she wrote me about

you two being over here."

" Another sign of the times," said Miss Marple.

" Nowadays one so often doesn't know one's younger

relations at all. In the old days, with all the big family

reunions, that would have been impossible."

" I last saw Pat and Julia's mother at a wedding thirty

years ago," said Miss Blacklock. " She was a very pretty girl."

" That's why she has such handsome children," said Patrick with a grin.

" You've got a marvellous old album," said Julia.

" Do you remember. Aunt Letty, we looked through it

the other day. The hats!"

"And how smart we thought ourselves," said Miss

Blacklock with a sigh.

" Never mind. Aunt Letty," said Patrick, " Julia will come across a snapshot of herself in about thirty years'

time--and won't she think she looks a guy!"

"Did you do that on purpose?" said Bunch, as she and Miss Marple were walking home. " Talk about photographs

I mean?"

" Well, my dear, it is interesting to know that Miss

Blacklock didn't know either of her two young relatives

by sight. . . . Yes--I think Inspector Craddock will be

interested to hear that."

135

i2. Morning Activities in Chipping

Cleghorn

edmund swettenham sat down rather precariously

on a garden roller.

" Good morning, Phillipa," he said.

" HaUo."

" Are you very busy?"

" Moderately."

" What arc you doing?"

"Can't you see?"

" No. I'm not a gardener. You seem to be playing

with earth in some fashion."

" I'm pricking out winter lettuce."

" Pricking out? What a curious term! Like pinking.

Do you know what pinking is? I only leamt the other

day. I always thought it was a term for professional

duelling."

" Do you want anything particular?" asked Phillipa

coldly.

" Yes. I want to see you."

Phillipa gave him a quick glance.

" I wish you wouldn't come here like this. Mrs. Lucas

won't like it."

" Doesn't she allow you to have followers?"

" Don't be absurd."

" Followers. That's another nice word. It describes

my attitude perfectly. Respectful--at a distance--but

firmly pursuing."

" Please go away, Edmund. You've no business to

come here."

136

Morning Activities in Chipping Cleghorn

" You're wrong," said Edmund triumphantly. " I have business here. Mrs. Lucas rang up my mamma this morning and said she had a good many vegetable

marrows."

" Masses of them."

" And would we like to exchange a pot of honey for a

vegetable marrow or so."

" That's not a fair exchange at all! Vegetable marrows

are quite unsaleable at the moment--everybody has

such a lot."

" Naturally. That's why Mrs. Lucas rang up. Last

time, if I remember rightly, the exchange suggested was

some skim milk--skim milk, mark you--in exchange

for some lettuces. It was then very early in the season

for lettuces. They were about a shilling each."

Phillipa did not speak.

Edmund tugged at his pocket and extracted a pot of

honey.

" So here," he said, " is my alibi. Used in a loose and quite indefensible meaning of the term. If Mrs. Lucas

pops her bust round the door of the potting shed, I'm

here in quest of vegetable marrows. There is absolutely

no question of dalliance."

" I see."

" Do you ever read Tennyson ?" inquired Edmund

conversationally.

" Not very often."

" You should. Tennyson is shortly going to make a

come-back in a big way. When you turn on your wireless

in the evening it will be the Idyls of the King you

will hear and not interminable Trollope. I always

thought the Trollope pose was the most unbearable

affectation. Perhaps a little of Trollope, but not to drown

in him. But speaking of Tennyson, have you read

'Maud'?"

'37

A Murder is Announced

" Once, long ago."

" It's got some points about it." He quoted softly:

" ' Faultily faultless, icily regular, splendidly null.' That's you, Phillipa."

" Hardly a compliment!"

" No, it wasn't meant to be. I gather Maud got under

the poor fellow's skin just like you've got under mine."

" Don't be absurd, Edmund."

" Oh, hell, Phillipa, why are you like you are? What

goes on behind your splendidly regular features? What do you think? What do you feel? Are you happy, or

miserable, or frightened, or what? There must be something." Phillipa said quietly.

" What I feel is my own business."

" It's mine, too. I want to make you talk. I want to

know what goes on in that quiet head of yours. I've a right to know. I have really. I didn't want to fall in love with you. I wanted to sit quietly and write my book.

Such a nice book, all about how miserable the world is.

It's frightfully easy to be clever about how miserable

everybody is. And it's all a habit, really. Yes, I've suddenly become convinced of that. After reading a life of

Burne Jones."

Phillipa had stopped pricking out. She was staring at

him with a puzzled frown.

" What has Burne Jones got to do with it?"

" Everything. When you've read all about the PrcRaphaelites you realise just what fashion is. They were

all terrifically hearty and slangy and jolly, and laughed

and joked, and everything was fine and wonderful. That

was fashion, too. They weren't any happier or heartier

than we are. And we're not any more miserable than

they were. It's all fashion, I tell you. After the last war,

we went in for sex. Now it's all frustration. None of it 138

Morning Activities in Chipping Cleghorn

matters. Why are we talking about all this? I started

out to talk about us. Only I got cold feet and shied off.

Because you won't help me."

" What do you want me to do?"

" Talk! Tell me things. Is it your husband ? Do you

adore him and he's dead and so you've shut up like a

clam? Is that it? All right, you adored him, and

he's dead. Well, other girls' husbands are dead--lots of

them--and some of the girls loved their husbands. They

tell you so in bars, and cry a bit when they're drunk

enough, and then want to go to bed with you so that

they'll feel better. It's one way of getting over it, I suppose. You've got to get over it, Phillipa. You're young

--and you're extremely lovely--and I love you like Hell.

Talk about your damned husband, tell me about him."

" There's nothing to tell. We met and got married."

" You must have been very young."

" Too young."

" Then you weren't happy with him ? Go on, Phillipa."

" There's nothing to go on about. We were married.

We were as happy as most people are, I suppose. Harry was born. Ronald went overseas. He--he was killed in

Italy."

" And now there's Harry?"

" And now there's Harry."

" I like Harry. He's a really nice kid. He likes me.

We get on. What about it, Phillipa? Shall we get

married? You can go on gardening and I can go on

writing my book and in the holidays we'll leave off working

and enjoy ourselves. We can manage, with tact, not

to have to live with Mother. She can fork out a bit to

support her adored son. I sponge, I write tripey books,

I have defective eyesight and I talk too much. That's

the worst. Will you try it ?"

Phillipa looked at him. She saw a tall rather solemn

i39

A Murder is Announced

young man with an anxious face and large spectacles. His sandy head was rumpled and he was regarding her

with a reassuring friendliness.

" No," said Phillipa.

" Definitely no?"

" Definitely no."

" Why?"

" You don't know anything about me."

"Is that all?"

" No, you don't know anything about anything."

Edmund considered.

"Perhaps not," he admitted. "But who does?

Phillipa, my adored one----" He broke off.

A shrill and prolonged yapping was rapidly approaching.

" Pekes in the high hall garden, (said Edmund) When tivilight was falling (only it's eleven a.m.) Phil, Phil, Phil, Phil,

They were crying and calling

" Your name doesn't lend itself to the rhythm, does it?

Sounds like an ' Ode to a Fountain Pen.' Have you got

another name?"

" Joan. Please go away. That's Mrs. Lucas."

" Joan, Joan, Joan, Joan. Better, but still not good. When greasy Joan the pot doth keel--that's not a nice

picture of married life, either."

" Mrs. Lucas is----"

" Oh, hell!" said Edmund. " Get me a blasted vegetable marrow."

ii

Sergeant Fletcher had the house at Little Paddocks to

himself.

140

Morning Activities in Chipping Cleghom

It was Mitzi's day off. She always went by the eleven

o'clock bus into Medenham Wells. By arrangement with

Miss Blacklock, Sergeant Fletcher had the run of the

house. She and Dora Bunner had gone down to the

village.

Fletcher worked fast. Someone in the house had oiled

and prepared that door, and whoever had done it, had

done it in order to be able to leave the drawing-room

unnoticed as soon as the lights went out. That ruled out

Mitzi who wouldn't have needed to use the door.

Who was left? The neighbours, Fletcher thought,

might also be ruled out. He didn't see how they could

have found an opportunity to oil and prepare the door.

That left Patrick and Julia Simmons, Phillipa Haymes,

and possibly Dora Bunner. The young Simmons were in

Milchester. Phillipa Haymes was at work. Sergeant

Fletcher was free to search out any secrets he could. But

the house was disappointingly innocent. Fletcher, who

was an expert on electricity could find nothing suggestive in the wiring or appurtenances of the electric fixtures to

show how the lights had been fused. Making a rapid

survey of the household bedrooms he found an irritating

normality. In Phillipa Haymes' room were photographs

of a small boy with serious eyes, an earlier photo of the

same child, a pile of schoolboy letters, a theatre programme

or two. In Julia's room there was a drawer full

of snapshots of the South of France. Bathing photos, a

villa set amidst mimosa. Patrick's held some souvenirs of

Naval days. Dora Bunncr's held few personal possessions

and they seemed innocent enough.

And yet, thought Fletcher, someone in the house must

have oiled that door.

His thoughts broke off at a sound below stairs.

He went quickly to the top of the staircase and looked

down.

141

A Murder is Announced

Mrs. Swettenham was crossing the hall. She had a

basket on her arm. She looked into the drawing-room,

crossed the hall and went into the dining-room. She

came out again without the basket.

Some faint sound that Fletcher made, a board that

creaked unexpectedly under his feet, made her turn her

head. She called up :

" Is that you, Miss Blacklock?"

" No, Mrs. Swettenham, it's me," said Fletcher.

Mrs. Swettenham gave a faint scream.

" Oh! how you startled me. I thought it might be

another burglar."

Fletcher came down the stairs.

" This house doesn't seem very well protected against

burglars," he said. " Can anybody always walk in and out just as they like?"

" I just brought up some of my quinces," explained

Mrs. Swettenham. " Miss Blacklock wants to make

quince jelly and she hasn't got a quince tree here. I left

them in the dining-room."

Then she smiled.

" Oh, I see, you mean how did I get in? Well, I just

came in through the side door. We all walk in and out

of each other's houses, Sergeant. Nobody dreams of

locking a door until it's dark. I mean it would be so

awkward, wouldn't it, if you brought things and couldn't

get in to leave them? It's not like the old days when

you rang a bell and a servant always came to answer it." Mrs. Swettenham sighed. " In India, I remember," she said mournfully, " we had eighteen servants--eighteen.

Not counting the ayah. Just as a matter of course. And

at home, when I was a girl, we always had three--

although Mother always felt it was terribly poverty

stricken not to be able to afford a kitchen-maid. I must

say that I find life very odd nowadays. Sergeant, though

143

Morning Activities in Chipping Cleghom

I know one mustn't complain. So much worse for the

miners always getting psittiscosis (or is that parrot

disease ?) and having to come out of the mines and try to

be gardeners though they don't know weeds from spinach." She added, as she tripped towards the door, " I mustn't

keep you. I expect you're very busy. Nothing else is

going to happen, is it?"

" Why should it, Mrs. Swettenham?"

" I just wondered, seeing you here. I thought it might

be a gang. You'll tell Miss Blacklock about the quinces,

won't you?"

Mrs. Swettenham departed. Fletcher felt like a man

who has received an unexpected jolt. He had been as-suming--erroneously, he now perceived--that it must

have been someone in the house who had done the oiling

of the door. He saw now that he was wrong. An outsider

had only to wait until Mitzi had departed by bus

and Letitia Blacklock and Dora Bunner were both out of

the house. Such an opportunity mus have been simplicity

itself. That meant that he couldn't rule out anybody

who had been in the drawing-room that night.

,'ss,

in

' Murgatroyd."

'Yes, Hinch?"

' I've been doing a bit of thinking?"

'Have you, Hinch?"

" Yes, the great brain has been working. You know,

Murgatroyd, the whole set-up the other evening was

decidedly fishy."

" Fishy?"

143

A Murder is Announced

" Yes. Tuck your hair up, Murgatroyd, and take this

trowel. Pretend it's a revolver."

" Oh," said Miss Murgatroyd, nervously.

" All right. It won't bite you. Now come along to the

kitchen door. You're going to be the burglar. You stand here. Now you're going into the kitchen to hold up a lot

of nit-wits. Take the torch. Switch it on."

" But it's broad daylight!"

" Use your imagination, Murgatroyd. Switch it on."

Miss Murgatroyd did so, rather clumsily, shifting the

trowel under one arm while she did so.

" Now then," said Miss Hinchliffe, " off you go. Remember the time you played Hermia in A Midsummer

Night's Dream at the Women's Institute? Act. Give it

all you've got. ' Stick 'cm up!' Those are your lines-and don't ruin them by saying ' Please.' " Obediently, Miss Murgatroyd raised her torch, nourished

the trowel and advanced on the kitchen door.

Transferring the torch to her right hand she swiftly

turned the handle and stepped forward, resuming the

torch in her left hand.

"Stick 'cm up!" she fluted, adding vexedly: "Dear me, this is very difficult, Hinch."

" Why?"

" The door. It's a swing door, it keeps coming back

and I've got both hands full."

" Exactly," boomed Miss Hinchliffe. " And the drawing-room door at Little Paddocks always swings to. It

isn't a swing door like this, but it won't stay open. That's

why Letty Blacklock bought that absolutely delectable

heavy glass doorstop from Elliot's in the High Street. I don't mind saying I've never forgiven her for getting in

ahead of me there. I was beating the old brute down

from eight guineas to six pound ten, and then Blacklock

comes along and buys the damned thing. I'd never seen 144

Morning Activities in Chipping Cleghom

as attractive a doorstop, you don't often get those glass

bubbles in that big size."

" Perhaps the burglar put the doorstop against the

door to keep it open," suggested Miss Murgatroyd.

" Use your common sense, Murgatroyd. What does he

do? Throw the door open, say ' excuse me a moment,'

stoop and put the stop into position and then resume

business by saying ' Hands up?' Try holding the door

with your shoulder."

" It's still very awkward," complained Miss Murgatroyd.

" Exactly," said Miss Hinchliffe. " A revolver, a torch and a door to hold open--a bit too much, isn't it? So

what's the answer?"

Miss Murgatroyd did not attempt to supply an answer.

She looked inquiringly and admiringly at her masterful

friend and waited to be enlightened.

" We know he'd got a revolver, because he fired it," said Miss Hinchliffe. " And we know he had a torch

because we all saw it--that is unless we're all the victims

of mass hypnotism like explanations of the Indian Rope

trick (what a bore that old Easterbrook is with his Indian

stories) so the question is, did someone hold that door

open for him?"

" But who could have done that?"

" Well, you could have for one, Murgatroyd. As far

as I remember, you were standing directly behind it

when the lights went out." Miss HinchlifTe laughed

heartily. " Highly suspicious character, aren't you, Murgatroyd

? But who'd think it to look at you. Here, give

me that trowel--thank heavens it isn't really a revolver.

You'd have shot yourself by now!"

145

A Murder is Announced

IV

" It's a most extraordinary thing," muttered Colonel Easterbrook. " Most extraordinary. Laura."

"Yes, darling?"

" Come into my dressing-room a moment."

"What is it, darling?"

Mrs. Easterbrook appeared through the open door.

" Remember my showing you that revolver of mine?"

" Oh, yes, Archie, a nasty horrid black thing."

" Yes. Hun souvenir. Was in this drawer, wasn't it?"

" Yes, it was."

" Well, it's not there now."

" Archie, how extraordinary!"

" You haven't moved it or anything?"

" Oh, no, I'd never dare to touch the horrid thing."

" Think old mother what'semame did ?"

" Oh, I shouldn't think so, for a minute. Mrs. Butt

would never do a thing like that. Shall I ask her?"

" No--no, better not. Don't want to start a lot of talk.

Tell me, do you remember when it was I showed it to

you?"

" Oh, about a week ago. You were grumbling about

your collars and the laundry and you opened this drawer

wide and there it was at the back and I asked you what

it was."

" Yes, that's right. About a week ago. You don't

remember the date ?"

Mrs. Easterbrook considered, eyelids down over her

eyes, a shrewd brain working.

" Of course," she said. " It was Saturday. The day we were to have gone in to the pictures, but we

didn't."

146

Morning Activities in Chipping Cleghom

"H'm--sure it wasn't before that? Wednesday?

Thursday or even the week before that again?"

" No, dear," said Mrs. Easterbrook. " I remember quite distinctly. It was Saturday the 30th. It just seems

a long time because of all the trouble there's been. And

I can tell you how I remember. It's because it was the

day after the hold-up at Miss Blacklock's. Because when

I saw your revolver it reminded me of the shooting the

night before."

" Ah," said Colonel Easterbrook, " then that's a great load off my mind."

"Oh. Archie, why?"

" Just because if that revolver had disappeared before

the shooting--well, it might possibly have been my revolver

that was pinched by that Swiss fellow."

" But how would he have known you had one ?"

" These gangs have a most extraordinary communication

service. They get to know everything about a place

and who lives there." - >

" What a lot you do know, Archie."

" Ha. Yes. Seen a thing or two in my time. Still as

you definitely remember seeing my revolver after the

hold-up--well, that settles it. The revolver that Swiss

fellow used can't have been mine, can it?"

" Of course it can't."

" A great relief. I should have had to go to the police

about it. And they ask a lot of awkward questions.

Bound to. As a matter of fact I never took out a licence

for it. Somehow, after a war, one forgets these peacetime

regulations. I looked on it as a war souvenir, not as a

firearm."

"Yes, I see. Of course."

" But all the same--where on earth can the damned

thing be?"

"Perhaps Mrs. Butt took it. She's always seemed i47

A Murder is Announced

quite honest, but perhaps she felt nervous after the holdup

and thought she'd like to--to have a revolver in the

house. Of course, she'll never admit doing that. I shan't

even ask her. She might get offended. And what should

we do then? This is such a big house--I simply

couldn't---->>

"Quite so," said Colonel Easterbrook. "Better not say anything."

i4>>

i3. Morning Activities in Chipping

Cleghorn (continued)

miss marple came out of the Vicarage gate and

walked down the little lane that led into the main street.

She walked fairly briskly with the aid of the Rev.

Julian Harmon's stout ashplant stick.

She passed the Red Cow and the butcher's and

stopped for a brief moment to look into the window of

Mr. Elliot's antique shop. This was cunningly situated

next door to the Bluebird Tearooms and Cafe so that

rich motorists, after stopping for a nice cup of tea and

somewhat euphemistically named " Home Made Cakes "

of a bright saffron colour, could be tempted by Mr.

Elliot's judiciously planned shop window.

In this antique bow frame, Mr. Elliot catered for all

tastes. Two pieces of Waterford glass reposed on an

impeccable wine cooler. A walnut bureau, made up of

various bits and pieces proclaimed itself a Genuine Bargain

and on a table, in the window itself, were a nice

assortment of cheap doorknockers and quaint pixies, a

few chipped bits of Dresden, a couple of sad-looking

bead necklaces, a mug with " A Present from Tunbridge

Wells" on it, and some tit-bits of Victorian silver.

Miss Marple gave the window her rapt attention, and

Mr. Elliot, an elderly obese spider, peeped out of his

web to appraise the possibilities of this new fly.

But just as he decided that the charms of the Present

from Tunbridge Wells were about to be too much for the 149

A Murder is Announced

lady who was staying at the Vicarage (for of course Mr.

Elliot, like everybody else, knew exactly who she was),

Miss Marple saw out of the corner of her eye Miss Dora

Bunner entering the Bluebird Cafe, and immediately

decided that what she needed to counteract the cold

wind was a nice cup of morning coffee.

Four or five ladies were already engaged in sweetening

their morning shopping by a pause for refreshment. Miss

Marple, blinking a little in the gloom of the interior of

the Bluebird, and hovering artistically, was greeted by

the voice of Dora Bunner at her elbow.

" Oh, good morning, Miss Marple. Do sit down here.

I'm all alone."

" Thank you."

Miss Marple subsided gratefully on to the rather

angular little blue-painted arm-chair which the Bluebird

affected.

" Such a sharp wind," she complained. " And I can't walk very fast because of my rheumatic leg."

" Oh, I know. I had sciatica one year--and really,

most of the time I was in agony."

The two ladies talked rheumatism, sciatica and neuritis

for some moments with avidity. A sulky-looking girl

in a pink overall with a flight of bluebirds down the

front of it took their order for coffee and cakes with a

yawn and an air of weary patience.

" The cakes," Miss Bunner said in a conspiratorial

whisper, " are really quite good here."

" I was so interested in that very pretty girl I met as

we were coming away from Miss Blacklock's the other

day," said Miss Marple. " I think she said she docs gardening. Or is she on the land ? Hynes--was that her

?"

namer

" Oh, yes, Phillipa Haymes. Our ' Lodger,' as we

call her." Miss Bunner laughed at her own humour. 750

Morning Activities in Chipping Cleghom

" Such a nice quiet girl. A lady, if you know what I

mean."

" I wonder now. I knew a Colonel Haymes--in the

Indian cavalry. Her father perhaps?"

" She's Mrs. Haymes. A widow. Her husband was

killed in Sicily or Italy. Of course, it might be his father."

" I wondered, perhaps, if there might be a little

romance on the way?" Miss Marple suggested roguishly.

" With that tall young man?"

" With Patrick, do you mean? Oh, I don't----"

" No, I meant a young man with spectacles. I've seen

him about."

" Oh, of course, Edmund Swettenham. Sh! That's his

mother, Mrs. Swettenham, over in tlie corner. I don't

know, I'm sure. You think he admires her? He's such

an odd young man--says the most disturbing things

sometimes. He's supposed to be clever, you know," said

Miss Bunner with frank disapproval.

" Cleverness isn't everything," said Miss Marple, shaking her head. " Ah, here is our coffee."

The sulky girl deposited it with a clatter. Miss Marple

and Miss Bunner pressed cakes on each other.

" I was so interested to hear you were at school with

Miss Blacklock. Yours is indeed an old friendship."

"Yes, indeed." Miss Bunner sighed. "Very few

people would be as loyal to their old friends as dear Miss

Blacklock is. Oh, dear, those days seem a long time ago.

Such a pretty girl and enjoyed life so much. It all

seemed so sad."

Miss Marple, though with no idea of what had seemed

so sad, sighed and shook her head.

" Life is indeed hard," she murmured.

And sad affliction bravely borne," murmured Miss

Bunner, her eyes suffusing with tears. " I always think

i51

A Murder is Announced

of that verse. True patience; true resignation. Such

courage and patience ought to be rewarded, that is what

I say. What I feel is that nothing is too good for dear

Miss Blacklock, and whatever good things come to her,

she truly deserves them."

" Money," said Miss Marple, " can do a lot to ease one's path in life."

She felt herself safe in this observation since she judged

that it must be Miss Blacklock's prospects of future

affluence to which her friend referred.

The remark, however, started Miss Bunner on another

train of thought.

"Money!" she exclaimed with bitterness. "I don't believe, you know, that until one has really experienced

it, one can know what money, or rather the lack of it,

means."

Miss Marple nodded her white head sympathetically.

Miss Bunner went on rapidly, working herself up, and

speaking with a flushed face :

" I've heard people say so often ' I'd rather have

flowers on the table than a meal without them.' But how

many meals have those people ever missed? They don't

know what it is--nobody knows who hasn't been through

it--to be really hungry. Bread, you know, and a jar of

meat paste, and a scrape of margarine. Day after day,

and how one longs for a good plate of meat and two

vegetables. And the shabbiness. Darning one's clothes

and hoping it won't show. And applying for jobs and

always being told you're too old. And then perhaps

getting a job and after all one isn't strong enough. One

faints. And you're back again. It's the rent--always

the rent--that's got to be paid--otherwise you're out

in the street. And in these days it leaves so little over.

One's old age pension doesn't go far--indeed it

doesn't."

^

Morning Activities in Chipping Cleghom

" I know," said Miss Marple gently. She looked with compassion at Miss Banner's twitching face.

" I wrote to Letty. I just happened to see her name

in the paper. It was a luncheon in aid of Milchestcr

Hospital. There it was in black and white. Miss Letitia

Blacklock. It brought the past back to me. I hadn't

heard of her for years and years. She'd been secretary,

you know, to that very rich man, Goedler. She was

always a clever girl--the kind that gets on in the world.

Not so much looks--as character. I thought--well, I

thought--perhaps she'll remember me--and she's one of

the people I could ask for a little help. I mean someone

you've known as a girl--been at school with--well, they

do know about you--they know you're not just a--

begging letter writer----"

Tears came into Dora Bunner's eyes.

" And then Lotty came and took me away--said she

needed someone to help her. Of course, I was very surprised--very surprised--but "then newspapers do get

things wrong. How kind she was--and how sympathetic.

And remembering all the old days so well ... I'd do

anything for her--I really would. And I try very hard,

but I'm afraid sometimes I muddle things--my head's

not what it was. I make mistakes. And I forget and say

foolish things. She's very patient. What's so nice about

her is that she always pretends that I am useful to her.

That's real kindness, isn't it?"

Miss Marple said gently: " Yes, that's real kindness."

" I used to worry, you know, even after I came to

Little Paddocks--about what would become of me if--

if anything were to happen to Miss Blacklock. After all,

there are so many accidents--these motors dashing about

--one never knows, docs one? But naturally I never

said anything--but she must have guessed. Suddenly,

one day she told me that she'd left me a small annuity

'53

A Murder is Announced

in her will--and--what I value far more--all her beautiful

furniture. I was quite overcome . . . But she said

nobody else would value it as I should--and that is quite

true--I can't bear to see some lovely piece of china

smashed--or wet glasses put down on a table and leaving

a mark. I do really look after her things. Some people

--some people especially, are so terribly careless--and

sometimes worse than careless!

" I'm not really as stupid as I look," Miss Bunner

continued with simplicity. " I can see, you know, when

Letty's being imposed upon. Some people--I won't

name names--but they take advantage. Dear Miss Blacklock is, perhaps, just a shade too trusting." Miss Marple shook her head.

" That's a mistake."

" Yes, it is. You and I, Miss Marple, know the world.

Dear Miss Blacklock----" She shook her head.

Miss Marple thought that as the secretary of a big

financier Miss Blacklock might be presumed to know the

world too. But probably what Dora Bunner meant was

that Letty Blacklock had always been comfortably off,

and that the comfortably off do not know the deeper

abysses of human nature.

" That Patrick!" said Miss Bunner with a suddenness and an asperity that made Miss Marple jump. " Twice,

at least, to my knowledge, he's got money out of her.

Pretending he's hard up. Run into debt. All that sort of

thing. She's far too generous. All she said to me when

I remonstrated with her was: ' The boy's young, Dora.

Youth is the time to have your fling.' "

" Well, that's true enough," said Miss Marple. " Such a handsome young man, too."

" Handsome is as handsome does," said Dora Bunner.

" Much too fond of poking fun at people. And a lot of

going on with girls. I expect. I'm just a figure of fun to '54

Morning Activities in Chipping Cleghom

him--that's all. He doesn't seem to realise that people have their feelings."

" Young people are rather careless that way," said

Miss Marple.

Miss Bunner leaned forward suddenly with a mysterious

air.

"You won't breathe a word, will you, my dear?" she

demanded. " But I can't help feeling that he was mixed

up in this dreadful business. I think he knew that young

man--or else Julia did. I daren't hint at such a thing to

dear Miss Blacklock--at least I did, and she just snapped

my head off. And, of course, it's awkward--because

he's her nephew--or at any rate her cousin--and if the

Swiss young man shot himself Patrick might be held

morally responsible, mightn't he? If he'd put him up to

it, I mean. I'm really terribly confused about the whole thing. Everyone making such a fuss about that other

door into the drawing-room. That's another thing that

worries me--the detective saying it had been oiled.

Because you see, I saw--:--"

She came to an abrupt stop. * Miss

Marple paused to select a phrase.

" Most difficult for you," she said sympathetically.

" Naturally you wouldn't want anything to get round to

the police."

" That's just it," Dora Bunner cried. " I lie awake at nights and worry . . . because, you see, I came upon

Patrick in the shrubbery the other day. I was looking for ^Sg5--one hen lays out--and there he was holding a

feather and a cup--an oily cup. And he jumped most

guiltily when he saw me and he said: ' I was just wondering

what this was doing here.' Well, of course, he's a

quick thinker. I should say he thought that up quickly when I startled him. And how did he come to find a

thing like that in the shrubbery unless he was looking for

/55

A Murder is Announced

it, knowing perfectly well it was there. Of course, I

didn't say anything."

" No, no, of course not."

" But I gave him a look, if you know what I

mean."

Dora Bunner stretched out her hand and bit abstractedly

into a lurid salmon coloured cake.

" And then another day I happened to overhear him

having a very curious conversation with Julia. They

seemed to be having a kind of quarrel. He was saying:

' If I thought you had anything to do with a thing like that!' and Julia (she's always so calm, you know) said:

' Well, little brother, what would you do about it ?' And

then, most unfortunately, I trod on that board that

always squeaks, and they saw me. So I said, quite gaily:

' You two having a quarrel?' and Patrick said, ' I'm

warning Julia not to go in for these black market deals.'

Oh, it was all very slick, but I don't believe they were talking about anything of the sort! And if you ask me,

I believe Patrick had tampered with that lamp in the

drawing-room--to make the lights go out, because I remember

distinctly that it was the shepherdess--not the shepherd. And the next day----" She stopped and her face grew pink. Miss Marple

turned her head to see Miss Blacklock, standing behind

them--she must just have come in.

" Coffee and gossip. Bunny?" said Miss Blacklock with quite a shade of reproach in her voice. " Good morning,

Miss Marple. Cold, isn't it ?"

" We were just talking," said Miss Bunner, hurriedly.

" So many rules and regulations nowadays. One really

doesn't know where one is."

The doors flew open with a clang and Bunch Harmon

came into the Bluebird with a rush.

" Hallo," she said, " am I too late for coffee ?" 156

Morning Activities in Chipping Cleghom

" No, dear," said Miss Marple. " Sit down and have a cup."

" We must get home," said Miss Blacklock. " Done your shopping. Bunny?"

Her tone was indulgent once more, but her eyes still

held a slight reproach.

' Yes--yes, thank you, Letty. I must just pop into the

chemists' in passing and get seme aspirin and some cornplasters." As

the doors of the Bluebird swung to behind them,

Bunch asked:

" What were you talking about?"

Miss Marple did not reply at once. She waited whilst

Bunch gave the order, then she said:

" Family solidarity is a very strong thing. Very strong. Do you remember some famous case--I really can't remember

what it was. They said the husband poisoned

his wife. In a glass of'wine; Then, at the trial, the

daughter said she'd drunk half her mother's glass--so

that knocked the case against her father to pieces. They

do say--but that may be just rumour--that she never

spoke to her father or lived with him again. Of course,

a father is one thing--and a nephew or a distant cousin

is another. But still there it is--no one wants a member

of their own family hanged, do they?"

" No," said Bunch, considering. " I shouldn't think they would."

Miss Marple leaned back in her chair. She murmured

under her breath, " People arc really very alike, everywhere."

"Who am I like?"

" Well, really, dear, you arc very much like yourself.

I don't know that you remind me of anyone in particular.

Except perhaps----"

" Here it comes," said Bunch. '57

A Murder is Announced

" I was just thinking of a parlourmaid of mine, dear."

"A parlourmaid? I should make a terrible parlourmaid."

"

Yes, dear, so did she. She was no good at all at

waiting at table. Put everything on the table crooked,

mixed up the kitchen knives with the dining-room ones,

and her cap (this was a long time ago, dear) her cap was never straight." Bunch adjusted her hat automatically.

" Anything else?" she demanded anxiously.

" I kept her because she was so pleasant to have about

the house--and because she used to make me laugh. I

liked the way she said things straight out. Came to me

one day, ' Of course, I don't know, m'am,' she says, ' but

Florric, the way she sits down, it's just like a married

woman.' And sure enough poor Florrie was in trouble-the gentlemanly assistant at the hairdresser's. Fortunately it was in good time, and I was able to have a little

talk with him, and they had a very nice wedding

and settled down quite happily. She was a good girl,

Florrie, but inclined to be taken in by a gentlemanly

appearance."

" She didn't do a murder, did she?" asked Bunch.

" The parlourmaid, I mean."

" No, indeed," said Miss Marple. " She married a Baptist Minister and they had a family of five."

" Just like me," said Bunch. " Though I've only got as far as Edward and Susan up to date."

She added, after a minute or two:

" Who are you thinking about now, Aunt Jane?"

" Quite a lot of people, dear, quite a lot of people," said Miss Marple, vaguely.

"In St. Mary Mead?"

" Mostly ... I was really thinking about Nurse Ellerton--really an excellent kindly woman. Took care of

158

Morning Activities in Chipping Cleghorn

an old lady, seemed really fond of her. Then the old

lady died. And another came and she died. Morphia.

It all came out. Done in the kindest way, and the shocking

thing was that the woman herself really couldn't see

that she'd done anything wrong. They hadn't long to

live in any case, she said, and one of them had cancer

and quite a lot of pain."

" You mean--it was a mercy killing?"

" No, no. They signed their money away to her. She

liked money, you know. .. .

" And then there was that young man on the liner-Mrs. Pusey at the paper shop, her nephew. Brought home stuff he'd stolen and got her to dispose of it. Said

it was things that he'd bought abroad. She was quite

taken in. And then when the police came round and

started asking questions, he tried to bash her on the head,

so that she shouldn't be able to give him away. . . . Not

a nice young man--but very good-looking. Had two

girls in Icve with him. He spent a lot" of money on one of them."

" The nastiest one, I suppose," said Bunch.

" Yes, dear. And there was Mrs. Cray at the wool

shop. Devoted to her son, spoilt him, of course. He got

in with a very queer lot. Do you remember Joan Croft,

Bunch?"

" N-no, I don't think so."

" I thought you might have seen her when you were

with me on a visit. Used to stalk about smoking a cigar

or a pipe. We had a Bank hold-up once, and Joan Croft

was in the Bank at the time. She knocked the man

down and took his revolver away from him. She was

congratulated on her courage by the Bench."

Bunch listened attentively. She seemed to be learning

by heart.

"And----" she prompted. i59

A Murder is Announced

" That girl at St. Jean des Collines that summer. Such

a quiet girl--not so much quiet as silent. Everybody liked

her, but they never got to know her much better. . . .

We heard afterwards that her husband was a forger. It

made her feel cut off from people. It made her, in the

end, a little queer. Brooding does, you know."

" Any Anglo-Indian Colonels in your reminiscences,

darling?"

" Naturally, dear. There was Major Vaughan at The Larches and Colonel Wright at Simla Lodge. Nothing

wrong with either of them. But I do remember Mr.

Hodgson, the Bank Manager, went on a cruise and

married a woman young enough to be his daughter. No

idea of where she came from--except what she told him

of course."

" And that wasn't true?"

" No, dear, it definitely wasn't."

"Not bad," said Bunch nodding, and ticking people

off on her fingers. " We've had devoted Dora, and handsome Patrick, and Mrs. Swettenham and Edmund, and

Phillipa Haymes, and Colonel Easterbrook and Mrs.

Easterbrook--and if you ask me, I should say you're

absolutely right about her. But there wouldn't be any

reason for her murdering Letty Blacklock."

" Miss Blacklock, of course, might know something

about her that she didn't want known."

" Oh, darling, that old Tanqueray stuff? Surely that's

dead as the hills."

" It might not be. You see, Bunch, you are not

the kind that minds much about what people think of you."

" I see what you mean," said Bunch suddenly. " If you'd been up against it, and then, rather like a shivering

stray cat, you'd found a home and a cream and a warm

stroking hand and you were called Pretty Pussy and

/6o

Morning Activities in Chipping Cleghom

somebody thought the world of you ... You'd do a lot to

keep that . . . Well, I must say, you've presented me

with a very complete gallery of people."

" You didn't get them all right, you know," said Miss Marple, mildly.

"Didn't I? Where did I slip up? Julia? Julia, pretty

Juliar is peculiar."

" Three and sixpence," said the sulky waitress, materialising out of the gloom.

" And," she added, her bosom heaving beneath the

bluebirds, " I'd like to know, Mrs. Harmon, why you call me peculiar. I had an aunt who joined the Peculiar

People, but I've always been good Church of England

myself, as the late Rev. Hopkinson can tell you."

" I'm terribly sorry," said Bunch. " I was just quoting a song. I didn't mean you at all. I didn't know your

name was Julia."

" Quite a coincidence," said the sulky waitress, cheering up. " No offence, I'm sure, but hearing my name, as

I thought--well, naturally if you think someone's talking

about you, it's only human nature to listen. Thank

you."

She departed with her tip.

"Aunt Jane," said Bunch, "don't look so upset. What is it?"

"But surely," murmured Miss Marple. "That

couldn't be so. There's no reason----"

"Aunt Jane!"

Miss Marple sighed and then smiled brightly.

" It's nothing, dear," she said.

" Did you think you knew who did the murder?"

asked Bunch. " Who was it ?"

" I don't know at all," said Miss Marple. " I got an idea for a moment--but it's gone. I wish I did know.

Time's so short. So terribly short." ; 161

A Murder is Announced

" What do you mean short?"

" That old lady up in Scotland may die any moment." Bunch said, staring:

" Then you really do believe in Pip and Emma. You

think it was them--and that they'll try again?"

"Of course they'll try again," said Miss Marple, almost abscntmindedly. " If they tried once, they'll try again. If you've made up your mind to murder someone,

you don't stop because the first time it didn't

come off. Especially if you're fairly sure you're not

suspected."

" But if it's Pip and Emma," said Bunch, " there are only two people it could be. It must be Patrick and

Julia. They're brother and sister and they're the only

ones who are the right age."

" My dear, it isn't nearly as simple as that. There are

all sort of ramifications and combinations. There's Pip's

wife if he's married, or Emma's husband. There's their

mother--she's an interested party even if she doesn't

inherit direct. If Letty Blacklock hasn't seen her for

thirty years, she'd probably not recognise her now. One

elderly woman is very like another. You remember Mrs.

Wotherspoon drew her own and Mrs. Bartlett's Old Age Pension although Mrs. Bartlett had been dead for years.

Anyway, Miss BIacklock's shortsighted. Haven't you

noticed how she peers at people? And then there's the

father. Apparently he was a real bad lot."

" Yes, but he's a foreigner."

" By birth. But there's no reason to believe he speaks

broken English and gesticulates with his hands. I dare

say he could play the part of--of an AngloIndian

Colonel as well as anybody else."

" Is that what you think?"

" No, I don't. I don't indeed, dear. I just think that

there's a great deal of money at stake, a great deal of 162

money. And I'm afraid I know only too well the really

terrible things that people will do to lay their hands on a

lot of money."

" I suppose they will," said Bunch. " It doesn't really do them any good, does it? Not in the end?"

" No--but they don't usually know that."

" I can understand it." Bunch smiled suddenly, her

sweet rather crooked smile. " One feels it would be

different for oneself. . . . Even I feel that." She considered

: " You pretend to yourself that you'd do a lot of

good with all that money. Schemes . . . Homes for

Unwanted Children . . . Tired Mothers ... A lovely rest

abroad somewhere for elderly women who have worked

too hard.. .."

Her face grew sombre. Her eyes were suddenly dark

and tragic.

" I know what you're thinking," she said to Miss

Marple. " You're thinking that I'd be the worst kind.

Because I'd kid myself. If you jusfwanted the money

for selfish reasons you'd at any rate see what you were

like. But once you began to pretend about doing good

with it, you'd be able to persuade yourself, perhaps, that

it wouldn't very much matter killing someone...."

Then her eyes cleared.

" But I shouldn't," she said. " I shouldn't really kill anyone. Not even if they were old, or ill, or doing a lot

of harm in the world. Not even if they were blackmailers

or--or absolute beasts." She fished a fly carefully

out of the dregs of the coffee and arranged it on the table

to dry. " Because people like living, don't they? So do

flies. Even if you're old and in pain and you can just

crawl out in the sun. Julian says those people like living

even more than young strong people do. It's harder, he ^ys, for them to die, the struggle's greater. I like living

myself--not just being happy and enjoying myself and 163

A Murder is Announced

having a good time. I mean living--waking up and

feeling, all over me, that I'm there--ticking over."

She blew on the fly gently; it waved its legs, and flew

rather drunkenly away.

" Cheer up, darling Aunt Jane," said Bunch. " Z'd never kill anybody."

164

14. Excursion into the Past

after a night in the train, Inspector Craddock

alighted at a small station in the Highlands.

It struck him for a moment as strange that the wealthy

Mrs. Goedler--an invalid--with a choice of a London

house in a fashionable square, an estate in Hampshire,

and a villa in the South of France, should have selected

this remote Scottish home as her residence. Surely she

was cut off here from many friends and distractions.

It must be a lonely life--or was she too ill to notice or

care about her surroundings?

A car was waiting to meet him. A big old-fashioned

Daimler with an elderly chauffeur driving it. It was a

sunny morning and the inspector enjoyed the twenty

mile drive, though he marvelled anew at this preference

for isolation. A tentative remark to the chauffeur

brought partial enlightenment.

" It's her own home as a girl. Ay, she's the last of the family. And she and Mr. Goedler were always happier

here than anywhere, though it wasn't often he could get

away from London. But when he did they enjoyed

themselves like a couple of bairns."

When the grey walls of the old keep came in sight,

Craddock felt that time was slipping backwards. An

elderly butler received him, and after a wash and a shave,

he was shown into a room with a huge fire burning in

the grate, and breakfast was served to him.

After breakfast, a tall middle-aged woman in nurse's

^65

A Murder is Announced

dress, with a pleasant and competent manner, came in

and introduced herself as Sister McClelland.

" I have my patient all ready for you, Mr. Craddock.

She is, indeed, looking forward to seeing you."

" I'll do my best not to excite her," Craddock promised.

" I had better warn you of what will happen. You

will find Mrs. Goedler apparently quite normal. She will

talk and enjoy talking and then--quite suddenly--her

powers will fail. Come away at once, then, and send for

me. She is, you see, kept almost entirely under the

influence of morphia. She drowses most of the time. In

preparation for your visit, I have given her a strong

stimulant. As soon as the effect of the stimulant wears

off, she will relapse into semiconsciousness."

" I quite understand, Miss McClelland. Would it be

in order for you to tell me exactly what the state of Mrs.

Goedler's health is?"

" Well, Mr. Craddock, she is a dying woman. Her life

cannot be prolonged for more than a few weeks. To say

that she should have been dead years ago would strike

you as odd, yet it is the truth. What has kept Mrs.

Goedler alive is her intense enjoyment and love of being

alive. That sounds, perhaps, an odd thing to say of

someone who has lived the life of an invalid for many

years and has not left her home here for fifteen years,

but it is true. Mrs. Goedler has never been a strong

woman--but she has retained to an astonishing degree

the will to live." She added with a smile, " She is a very charming woman, too, as you will find."

Craddock was shown into a large bedroom where a

fire was burning and where an old lady lay in a large

canopied bed. Though she was only about seven or eight

years older than Letitia Blacklock, her fragility made her

seem older than her years.

Her white hair was carefully arranged, a froth of pale 166

Excursion into the Past

*

blue wool enveloped her neck and shoulders. There were

lines of pain on the face, but lines of sweetness, too. And

there was, strangely enough, what Craddock could only

describe as a roguish twinkle in her faded blue eyes.

" Well, this is interesting," she said. " It's not often I receive a visit from the police. I hear Letitia BIacklock

wasn't much hurt by this attempt on her? How is my

dear Blackie?"

" She's very well, Mrs. Goedler. She sent you her love."

" It's a long time since I've seen her. . . . For many

years now, it's been just a card at Christmas. I asked her

to come up here when she came back to England after

Charlotte's death, but she said it would be painful after

so long and perhaps she was right. . . . Blackie always

had a lot of sense. I had an old school friend to sec me

about a year ago, and Lor!"--she smiled--"we bored

each other to death. After we'd finished all the ' Do you

remembers?' there wasn't anything to say. Most embarrassing."

Craddock was content to let her talk before pressing

his questions. He wanted, as it were, to get back into the

past, to get the feel of the Goedler-Blacklock menage.

" I suppose," said Belle shrewdly, " that you want to ask about the money? Randall left it all to go to Blackie

after my death. Really, of course, Randall never dreamed

that I'd outlive him. He was a big strong man, never a

day's illness, and I was always a mass of aches and pains

and complaints and doctors coming and pulling long

faces over me."

I don't think complaints would be the right word,

Mrs. Goedler."

The old lady chuckled.

" I didn't mean it in the complaining sense. I've never

been too sorry for myself. But it was always taken for

granted that I, being the weakly one, would go first. It 167

A Murder is Announced

didn't work out that way. No--it didn't work out that

way...."

" Why, exactly, did your husband leave his money the

way he did?"

" You mean, why did he leave it to Blackie? Not for

the reason you've probably been thinking." The roguish

twinkle was very apparent. " What minds you policemen

have! Randall was never in the least in love with her

and she wasn't with him. Letitia, you know, has really

got a man's mind. She hasn't any feminine feelings or

weaknesses. I don't believe she was ever in love with any

man. She was never particularly pretty and she didn't

care for clothes. She used ^ little make-up in deference

to prevailing custom, but not to make herself look

prettier." There was pity in the old voice as she went

on : " She never knew any of the fun of being a woman." Craddock looked at the frail little figure in the big bed

with interest. Belle Goedler, he realised, had enjoyed--

still enjoyed--being a woman. She twinkled at him.

" I've always thought," she said, " it must be terribly dull to be a man."

Then she said thoughtfully:

" I think Randall looked on Blackie very much as a

kind of younger brother. He relied on her judgment

which was always excellent. She kept him out of trouble

more than once, you know."

" She told me that she came to his rescue once with

money?"

" That, yes, but I meant more than that. One can

speak the truth after all these years. Randall couldn't

really distinguish between what was crooked and what

wasn't. His conscience wasn't sensitive. The poor dear

really didn't know what was just smart--and what was

dishonest. Blackie kept him straight. That's one thing

about Letitia Blacklock, she's absolutely dead straight.

168

Excursion into the Past

She would never do anything that was dishonest. She's a

very fine character, you know. I've always admired her.

They had a terrible girlhood, those girls. The father was

an old country doctor--terrifically pig-headed and

narrow-minded--the complete family tyrant. Letitia

broke away, came to London, and trained herself as a

chartered accountant. The other sister was an invalid,

there was a deformity of kinds and she never saw people

or went out. That's why when the old man died, Letitia

gave up everything to go home and look after her sister.

Randall was wild with her--but it made no difference.

If Letitia thought a thing was her duty she'd do it. And

you couldn't move her."

"How long was that before your husband died?"

" A couple of years, I think. Randall made his will

before she left the firm, and he didn't alter it. He said to

me: ' We've no one of our own.' (Our little boy died,

you know, when he was two years old.) ' After you and

I are gone, Blackie had better have the money. She'll play the markets and make 'cm sit up.'

"You see," Belle went on, "Randall enjoyed the whole money-making game so much--it wasn't just the

money--it was the adventure, the risks, the excitement

of it all. And Blackie liked it too. She had the same

adventurous spirit and the same judgment. Poor darling,

she'd never had any of the usual fun--being in love, and

leading men on and teasing them--and having a home

and children and all the real fun of life."

Craddock thought it was odd, the real pity and indulgent

contempt felt by this woman, a woman whose life

had been hampered by illness, whose only child had

died, whose husband had died, leaving her to a lonely

widowhood, and who had been a hopeless invalid for

years.

She nodded her head at him. i6g

A Murder is Announced

" I know what you're thinking. But I've had all the

things that make life worthwhile--they may have been

taken from me--but I have had them. I was pretty and

gay as a girl, I married the man I loved, and he never

stopped loving me . . . My child died, but I had him for

two precious years ... I've had a lot of physical pain

--but if you have pain, you know how to enjoy the

exquisite pleasure of the times when pain stops. And

everyone's been kind to me, always. . . . I'm a lucky

woman, really."

Craddock seized upon an opening in her former

remarks.

" You said just now, Mrs. Goedler, that your husband

left his fortune to Miss Blacklock because he had no one

else to leave it to. But that's not strictly true, is it? He

had a sister."

" Oh, Sonia. But they quarrelled years ago and made

a clean break of it."

" He disapproved of her marriage ?"

" Yes, she married a man called--now what was his

name----?"

" Stamfordis."

" That's it. Dmitri Stamfordis. Randall always said

he was a crook. The two men didn't like each other

from the first. But Sonia was wildly in love with him

and quite determined to marry him. And I really never

saw why she shouldn't. Men have such odd ideas about

these things. Sonia wasn't a mere girl--she was twentyfive,

and she knew exactly what she was doing. He was

a crook, I dare say--I mean really a crook. I believe he

had a criminal record--and Randall always suspected

the name he was passing under here wasn't his own.

Sonia knew all that. The point was, which of course

Randall couldn't appreciate, that Dmitri was really a

wildly attractive person to women. And he was just as

770

Excursion into the Past

much in love with Sonia as she was with him. Randall

insisted that he was just marrying her for her money--

but that wasn't true. Sonia was very handsome, you

know. And she had plenty of spirit. If the marriage had

turned out badly, if Dmitri had been unkind to her or

unfaithful to her, she would just have cut her losses and

walked out on him. She was a rich woman and could do

as she chose with her life."

" The quarrel was never made up?"

" No. Randall and Sonia never had got on very well.

She resented his trying to prevent the marriage. She

said, ' Very well. You're quite impossible! This is the

last you hear of me!' "

" But it was not the last you heard of her?"

Belle smiled.

" No, I got a letter from her about eighteen months

afterwards. She wrote from Budapest, I remember, but

she didn't give an address. She told me to tell Randall

that she was extremely happy and that she'd just had

twins." - - >> .

" And she told you their names?"

Again Belle smiled. " She said they were born just

after midday--and she intended to call them Pip and

Emma. That may have been just a joke, of course."

" Didn't you hear from her again ?"

" No. She said she and her husband and the babies

were going to America on a short stay. I never heard any

more. . . ."

" You don't happen, I suppose, to have kept that

letter?"

" No, I'm afraid not. ... I read it to Randall and he

Just grunted : ' She'll regret marrying that fellow one of

these days.' That's all he ever said about it. We really

forgot about her. She went right out of our lives. .. ."

" Nevertheless Mr. Goedler left his estate to her chil171

A Murder is Announced

dren in the event of Miss Blacklock predeceasing you?"

" Oh, that was my doing. I said to him, when he told

me about the will: ' And suppose Blackie dies before I

do?' He was quite surprised. I said, ' Oh, I know

Blackie is as strong as a horse and I'm a delicate creature

--but there's such a thing as accidents, you know, and

there's such a thing as creaking gates . . .' And he said,

' There's no one--absolutely no one.' I said, ' There's

Sonia.' And he said at once, 'And let that fellow get

hold of my money? No--indeed!' I said, 'Well, her

children then. Pip and Emma, and there may be lots

more by now'--and so he grumbled, but he did put it

in."

"And from that day to this," Craddock said slowly,

" you've heard nothing of your sister-in-law or her

children?"

" Nothing--they may be dead--they may be--anywhere."

They

may be in Chipping Cleghom, thought Craddock.

As

though she read his thoughts, a look of alarm came

into Belle Goedler's eyes. She said, " Don't let them hurt Blackie. Blackie's good--really good--you mustn't let

harm come to----"

Her voice trailed off suddenly. Craddock saw the

sudden grey shadows round her mouth and eyes.

" You're tired," he said. " I'll go."

She nodded.

" Send Mac to me," she whispered. " Yes, tired . . ." She made a feeble motion of her hand. " Look after

Blackie . . . Nothing must happen to Blackie . . . look

after her...."

" I'll do my very best, Mrs. Goedler." He rose and

went to the door.

Her voice, a thin thread of sound, followed him . . .

179

Excursion into the Past

" Not long now--until I'm dead--dangerous for her-Take care ..." Sister McClelland passed him as he went out. He said, uneasily:

" I hope I haven't done her harm."

" Oh, I don't think so, Mr. Craddock. I told you she

would tire quite suddenly."

Later, he asked the nurse :

" The only thing I hadn't time to ask Mrs. Goedler

was whether she had any old photographs? If so, I

wonder----"

She interrupted him.

" I'm afraid there's nothing of that kind. All her

personal papers and things were stored with their furniture

from the London house at the beginning of the war.

Mrs. Goedler was desperately ill at the time. Then the

storage depository was blitzed. Mrs. Goedler was very

upset at losing so many personal souvenirs and family

papers. I'm afraid there's nothing of that kind."

So that was that, Craddock thought.

Yet he felt his journey had not been in vain. Pip and

Emma, those twin wraiths, were not quite wraiths.

Craddock thought, " Here's a brother and sister

brought up somewhere in Europe. Sonia Goedler was a

rich woman at the time of her marriage, but money in

Europe hasn't remained money. Queer things have happened

to money during these war years. And so there

are two young people, the son and daughter of a man

who had a criminal record. Suppose they came to England,

more or less penniless. What would they do?

Find out about any rich relatives. Their uncle, a man

of vast fortune is dead. Possibly the first thing they'd do

would be to look up that uncle's will. See if by any

chance money had been left to them or to their mother.

"deg ^ey go to Somerset House and learn the contents of i?3

A Murder is Announced

his will, and then, perhaps, they learn of the existence of _

Miss Letitia Blacklock. Then they make inquiries about H

Randall Goedler's widow. She's an invalid, living up in ' 1

Scotland, and they find out she hasn't long to live. //

this Letitia Blacklock dies before her, they will come into

a vast fortune. What then ?"

Graddock thought, " They wouldn't go to Scotland.

They'd find out where Letitia Blacklock is living now.

And they'd go there--but not as themselves . . . They'd

go together--or separately? Emma ... I wonder? . . .

Pip and Emma . . . I'll eat my hat if Pip, or Emma, or

both of them, aren't in Chipping Cleghorn now. . . ."

i?4

15. Delicious Death

i n the kitchen at Little Paddocks, Miss Blacklock was

giving instructions to Mitzi.

" Sardine sandwiches as well as the tomato ones. And

some of those little scones you make so nicely. And I'd

like you to make that special cake of yours."

" Is it a party then, that you want all these things ?"

" It's Miss Bunner's birthday, and some people will be

coming to tea."

" At her age one does not have birthdays. It is better

to forget."

" Well, she doesn't want to forger". Several people are bringing her presents--and it will be nice to make a little

party of it."

" That is what you say last time--and see what happened!"

Miss Blacklock controlled her temper.

" Well, it won't happen this time."

" How do you know what may happen in this house?

All day long I shiver and at night I lock my door and I

look in the wardrobe to see no one is hidden there."

" That ought to keep you nice and safe," said Miss

Blacklock, coldly.

" The cake that you want me to make, it is the----" Mitzi uttered a sound that to Miss Blacklock's English

ear sounded like Schwitzebzr or alternatively like cats

spitting at each other.

" That's the one. The rich one." 175

A Murder is Announced

" Yes. It is rich. For it have I nothing! Impossible

to make such a cake. I need for it chocolate and much

butter, and sugar and raisins."

" You can use this tin of butter that was sent us from

America. And some of the raisins we were keeping for

Christmas, and here is a slab of chocolate and a pound

of sugar."

Mitzi's face suddenly burst into radiant smiles.

" So, I make him for you good--good," she cried, in

an ecstasy. " It will be rich, rich, of a melting richness!

And on top I will put the icing--chocolate icing--I

make him so nice--and write on it Good Wishes. These

English people with their cakes that tastes of sand, never

never, will they have tasted such a cake. Delicious, they

will say--delicious------"

Her face clouded again.

"Mr. Patrick. He called it Delicious Death. My

cake! I will not have my cake called that!"

" It was a compliment really," said Miss Blacklock.

" He meant it was worth dying to eat such a cake."

Mitzi looked at her doubtfully.

" Well, I do not like that word--death. They are not

dying because they eat my cake, no, they feel much

much better. ..."

"I'm sure we all shall."

Miss Blacklock turned away and left the kitchen with

a sigh of relief at the successful ending of the interview.

With Mitzi one never knew.

She ran into Dora Bunner outside.

" Oh, Lctty, shall I run in and tell Mitzi just how to

cut the sandwiches?"

" No," said Miss Blacklock, steering her friend firmly into the hall. " She's in a good mood now and I don't

want her disturbed."

" But I could just show her----"

176

Delicious Death

" Please don't show her anything, Dora. These central

Europeans don't like being shown. They hate it."

Dora looked at her doubtfully. Then she suddenly

broke into smiles.

" Edmund Swettenham just rang up. He wished me

many happy returns of the day and said he was bringing

me a pot of honey as a present this afternoon. Isn't it

kind ? I can't imagine how he knew it was my birthday."

" Everybody seems to know. You must have been

talking about it, Dora."

" Well, I did just happen to mention that to-day I

should be fifty-nine----"

" You're sixty-four," said Miss Blacklock with a twinkle.

" And Miss Hinchliffe said, ' You don't look it. What

age do you think I am?' Which was rather awkward

because Miss Hinchline always looks so peculiar that she

might be any age. She said she was bringing me some

eggs, by the way. I said our hens hadn't been laying

very well, lately."

" We're not doing so badly out of your birthday," said Miss Blacklock. " Honey, eggs--a magnificent box of

chocolates from Julia----"

" I don't know where she gets such things."

" Better not ask. Her methods are probably strictly

illegal."

" And your lovely brooch." Miss Bunner looked down

proudly at her bosom on which was pinned a small

diamond leaf.

" Do you like it? I'm glad. I never cared for jewellery."

" I love it."

" Good. Let's go and feed the ducks."

177

A Murder is Announced

" Yes. It is rich. For it have I nothing! Impossible

to make such a cake. I need for it chocolate and much

butter, and sugar and raisins."

" You can use this tin of butter that was sent us from

America. And some of the raisins we were keeping for

Christmas, and here is a slab of chocolate and a pound

of sugar."

Mitzi's face suddenly burst into radiant smiles.

" So, I make him for you good--good," she cried, in

an ecstasy. " It will be rich, rich, of a melting richness!

And on top I will put the icing--chocolate icing--I

make him so nice--and write on it Good Wishes. These

English people with their cakes that tastes of sand, never

never, will they have tasted such a cake. Delicious, they

will say--delicious----"

Her face clouded again.

"Mr. Patrick. He called it Delicious Death. My

cake! I will not have my cake called that!"

" It was a compliment really," said Miss BIacklock.

" He meant it was worth dying to eat such a cake."

Mitzi looked at her doubtfully.

" Well, I do not like that word--death. They are not

dying because they eat my cake, no, they feel much

much better. ..."

"I'm sure we all shall."

Miss BIacklock turned away and left the kitchen with

a sigh of relief at the successful ending of the interview.

With Mitzi one never knew.

She ran into Dora Bunner outside.

" Oh, Letty, shall I run in and tell Mitzi just how to

cut the sandwiches?"

" No," said Miss BIacklock, steering her friend firmly into the hall. " She's in a good mood now and I don't

want her disturbed."

" But I could just show her----"

176

Delicious Death

"Please don't show her anything, Dora. These central

Europeans don't like being shown. They hate it."

Dora looked at her doubtfully. Then she suddenly

broke into smiles.

" Edmund Swettenham just rang up. He wished me

many happy returns of the day and said he was bringing

me a pot of honey as a present this afternoon. Isn't it

kind ? I can't imagine how he knew it was my birthday."

" Everybody seems to know. You must have been

talking about it, Dora."

" Well, I did just happen to mention that to-day I

should be fifty-nine------"

" You're sixty-four," said Miss Blacklock with a twinkle.

" And Miss Hinchliffe said, ' You don't look it. What

age do you think I am?' Which was rather awkward

because Miss Hinchliffe always looks so peculiar that she

might be any age. She said she was bringing me some

eggs, by the way. I said our hens hadn't been laying

very well, lately."

" We're not doing so badly out of your birthday," said Miss Blacklock. " Honey, eggs--a magnificent box of

chocolates from Julia----"

" I don't know where she gets such things."

" Better not ask. Her methods are probably strictly

illegal."

" And your lovely brooch." Miss Bunner looked down

proudly at her bosom on which was pinned a small

diamond leaf.

" Do you like it? I'm glad. I never cared for jewellery."

" I love it."

" Good. Let's go and feed the ducks."

i77

A Murder is Announced

ii

" Ha," cried Patrick dramatically, as the party took their places round the dining-room table. " What do I

see before me? Delicious Death."

" Hush," said Miss Blacklock. " Don't let Mitzi hear you. She objects to your name for her cake very

much."

" Nevertheless, Delicious Death it is! Is it Bunny's

birthday cake?"

" Yes, it is," said Miss Bunner. " I really am having the most wonderful birthday."

Her cheeks were flushed with excitement and had been

ever since Colonel Easterbrook had handed her a small

box of sweets and declaimed with a bow, " Sweets to the

Sweet!"

Julia had turned her head away hurriedly, and had

been frowned at by Miss Blacklock.

Full justice was done to the good things on the tea

table and they rose from their seats after a round of

crackers.

" I feel slightly sick," said Julia. " It's that cake. I remember I felt just the same last time."

" It's worth it," said Patrick.

" These foreigners certainly understand confectionery," said Miss Hinchline. " What they can't make is a plain

boiled pudding."

Everybody was respectfully silent, though it seemed to

be hovering on Patrick's lips to ask if anyone really

wanted a plain boiled pudding.

" Got a new gardener?" asked Miss Hinchliffe of Miss Blacklock as they returned to the drawing-room.

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Delicious Death

" No, why?"

" Saw a man snooping round the henhouse. Quite a

decent-looking Army type."

" Oh, that," said Julia. " That's our detective." Mrs. Easterbrook dropped her handbag.

" Detective?" she exclaimed. " But--but--why?"

" I don't know," said Julia. " He prowls about and keeps an eye on the house. He's protecting Aunt Letty,

I suppose."

" Absolute nonsense," said Miss BIacklock. " I can protect myself, thank you."

" But surely it's all over now," cried Mrs. Easterbrook.

" Though I meant to ask you, why did they adjourn the

inquest ?"

" Police aren't satisfied," said her husband. " That's what that means."

" But aren't satisfied of what?"

Colonel Easterbrook shook his head -with the air of a

man who could say a good deal more if he chose.

Edmund, who disliked the Colonel, said, " The truth of

it is, we're all under suspicion."

" But suspicion of what?" repeated Mrs. Easterbrook.

" Never mind, kitten," said her husband.

" Loitering with intent," said Edmund. " The intent being to commit murder upon the first opportunity."

" Oh, don't, please don't, Mr. Swettenham." Dora

Bunner began to cry. " I'm sure nobody here could

possibly want to kill dear, dear Letty."

There was a moment of horrible embarrassment. Edmund

turned scarlet, murmured, " Just a joke." Phillipa

suggested in a high clear voice that they might listen to

the six o'clock news and the suggestion was received with

enthusiastic assent.

Patrick murmured to Julia : " We need Mrs. Harmon

here. She'd be sure to say in that high clear voice of

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A Murder is Announced

hers, ' But I suppose somebody is still waiting for a good

chance to murder you, Miss Blacklock ?' "

" I'm glad she and that old Miss Marple couldn't

come," said Julia. " That old woman is the prying kind. And a mind like a sink, I should think. Real Victorian

type."

Listening to the news led easily into a pleasant discussion

on the horrors of atomic warfare. Colonel

Easterbrook said that the real menace to civilisation was

undoubtedly Russia, and Edmund said that he had

several charming Russian friends--which announcement

was coldly received.

The party broke up with renewed thanks to the

hostess.

"Enjoy yourself, Bunny?" asked Miss Blacklock, as

the last guest was sped.

" Oh, I did. But I've got a terrible headache. It's the

excitement, I think."

" It's the cake," said Patrick. " I feel a bit liverish myself. And you've been nibbling chocolates all the

morning."

" I'll go and lie down, I think," said Miss Bunner.

" I'll take a couple of aspirins and try and have a nice sleep."

" That would be a very good plan," said Miss Blacklock. Miss

Bunner departed upstairs.

" Shall I shut up the ducks for you, Aunt Letty?"

Miss Blacklock looked at Patrick severely.

" If you'll be sure to latch that door properly."

" I will. I swear I will."

" Have a glass of sherry. Aunt Letty," said Julia. " As my old nurse used to say, ' It will settle your stomach.'

A revolting phrase--but curiously apposite at this

moment."

/8o

Delicious Death

" Well, I dare say it might be a good thing. The truth

is one isn't used to rich things. Oh, Bunny, how you

made me jump. What is it?"

" I can't find my aspirin," said Miss Bunner disconsolately.

" Well, take some of mine, dear, they're by my bed."

" There's a bottle on my dressing-table," said Phillipa.

" Thank you--thank you very much. If I can't find

mine--but I know I've got it somewhere. A new bottle.

Now where could I have put it?"

" There's heaps in the bathroom," said Julia impatiently.

" This house is chock full of aspirin."

" It vexes me to be so careless and mislay things," replied Miss Bunner, retreating up the stairs again.

" Poor old Bunny," said Julia, holding up her glass.

" Do you think we ought to have given her some sherry?"

" Better not, I think," said Miss Blacklock. " She had a lot of excitement to-day, and it isn't really good for

her. I'm afraid she'll be the worse for it tomorrow.

Still, I really do think she has enjoyed herself!"

" She's loved it," said Phillipa. > "

Let's give Mitzi a glass of sherry," suggested Julia.

" Hi, Pat," she called as she heard him entering the side door, " fetch Mitzi."

So Mitzi was brought in and Julia poured her out a

glass of sherry.

" Here's to the best cook in the world," said Patrick. Mitzi was gratified--but felt nevertheless that a protest

was due.

" That is not so. I am not really a cook. In my

country I do intellectual work."

" Then you're wasted," said Patrick. " What's intellectual work compared to a chef d'oeuvre like Delicious

Death?"

" Oo--I say to you I do not like----" 181

A Murder is Announced

" Never mind what you like, my girl," said Patrick.

" That's my name for it and here's to it. Let's all drink to Delicious Death and to hell with the after effects."

ill

" Phillipa, my dear, I want to talk to you."

"Yes, Miss Blacklock?"

Phillipa Haymes looked up in slight surprise.

"You're not worrying about anything, are you?"

"Worrying?"

" I've noticed that you've looked worried lately. There

isn't anything wrong, is there?"

"Oh no, Miss Blacklock. What should there be?"

" Well--I wondered. I thought, perhaps, that you

and Patrick----?"

" Patrick?" Phillipa looked really surprised.

" It's not so, then. Please forgive me if I've been

impertinent. But you've been thrown together a lot--

and although Patrick is my cousin, I don't think he's the

type to make a satisfactory husband. Not for some time

to come, at all events."

Phillipa's face had frozen into a hard immobility.

" I shan't marry again," she said.

" Oh, yes, you will someday, my child. You're young.

But we needn't discuss that. There's no other trouble.

You're not worried about--money, for instance ?"

" No, I'm quite all right."

" I know you get anxious sometimes about your boy's

education. That's why I want to tell you something. I

drove into Milchester this afternoon to see Mr. Beddingfeld,

my lawyer. Things haven't been very settled lately

and I thought I would like to make a new will--in view

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Delicious Death

of certain eventualities. Apart from Bunny's legacy,

everything goes to you, Phillipa."

" What?" Phillipa spun round. Her eyes stared. She

looked dismayed, almost frightened.

"But I don't want it--really I don't . . . Oh, I'd rather not... And anyway, why? Why to me?"

" Perhaps," said Miss Blacklock in a peculiar voice,

" because there's no one else."

" But there's Patrick and Julia."

"Yes, there's Patrick and Julia." The odd note in

Miss Blacklock's voice was still there.

" They are your relations."

" Very distant ones. They have no claim on me."

" But I--I haven't either--I don't know what you

think ... Oh, I don't want it."

Her gaze held more hostility than gratitude. There

was something almost like fear in her manner.

" I know what I'm doing, Phillipa. I've become fond

of you--and there's the-boy .... You won't get very much

if I should die now--but in a few weeks' time it might

be different."

Her eyes met Phillipa's steadily.

"But you're not going to die!" Phillipa protested.

" Not if I can avoid it by taking due precautions."

"Precautions?"

" Yes. Think it over . . . And don't worry any more." She left the room abruptly. Phillipa heard her speaking

to Julia in the hall.

Julia entered the drawing-room a few moments later.

There was a slightly steely glitter in her eyes.

" Played your cards rather well, haven't you, Phillipa?

I see you're one of those quiet ones ... a dark horse."

" So you heard------"

" Yes, I heard. I rather think I was meant to hear."

" What do you mean?"

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A Murder is Announced

" Our Letty's no fool . . . Well, anyway, you're all

right, Phillipa. Sitting pretty, aren't you?"

" Oh, Julia--I didn't mean--I never meant----"

" Didn't you ? Of course you did. You're fairly up

against things, aren't you? Hard up for money. But just

remember this--if anyone bumps off Aunt Letty now,

you'll be suspect No. i."

" But I shan't be. It would be idiotic if I killed her

now when--if I waited----"

" So you do know about old Mrs. Whatshername

dying up in Scotland? I wondered . . . Phillipa, I'm

beginning to believe you're a very dark horse indeed."

" I don't want to do you and Patrick out of anything."

" Don't you, my dear? I'm sorry--but I don't believe

you."

184

16. Inspector Craddock Returns

inspector craddock had had a bad night on

his night journey home. His dreams had been less dreams

than nightmares. Again and again he was racing through

the grey corridors of an old-world castle in a desperate

attempt to get somewhere, or to prevent something, in

time. Finally he dreamt that he awoke. An enormous

relief surged over him. Then the door of his compartment

slid slowly open, and Letitia Blacklock looked in at

him with blood running down her face, and said reproachfully:

"Why didn't you save me? You could

have if you'd tried." *

This time he really awoke.

Altogether, the inspector was thankful finally to reach

Milchester. He went straight away to make his report to

Rydesdale who listened carefully.

" It doesn't take us much further," he said. " But it confirms what Miss Blacklock told you. Pip and Emma

--h'm, I wonder."

" Patrick and Julia Simmons are the right age, sir. If

we could establish that Miss Blacklock hadn't seen them

since they were children----"

With a very faint chuckle, Rydesdale said : " Our ally,

Miss Marple, has established that for us. Actually Miss

Blacklock had never seen either of them at all until two

months ago."

" Then, surely, sir----"

" It's not so easy as all that, Craddock. We've been

checking up. On what we've got, Patrick and Julia seem 185

A Murder is Announced

definitely to be out of it. His Naval record is genuine-quite a good record bar a tendency to ' insubordination.'

We've checked with Cannes, and an indignant Mrs.

Simmons says of course her son and daughter are at

Chipping Cleghom with her cousin Letitia Blacklock. So

that's that!"

" And Mrs. Simmons is Mrs. Simmons?"

" She's been Mrs. Simmons for a very long time, that's

all I can say," said Rydesdale dryly.

"That seems clear enough. Only--those two fitted.

Right age. Not known to Miss Blacklock, personally. If

we wanted Pip and Emma--well, there they were."

The Chief Constable nodded thoughtfully, then he

pushed across a paper to Craddock.

" Here's a little something we've dug up on Mrs.

Eastcrbrook."

The Inspector read with lifted eyebrows.

" Very interesting," he remarked. " Hoodwinked that old ass pretty well, hasn't she? It doesn't tie in with this

business though, as far as I can see."

" Apparently not."

" And here's an item that concerns Mrs. Haymes."

Again Craddock's eyebrows rose.

" I think I'll have another talk with the lady," he said.

" You think this information might be relevant?"

" I think it might be. It would be a long shot, of

course.. .."

The two men were silent for a moment or two.

" How has Fletcher got on, sir?"

" Fletcher has been exceedingly active. He's made a

routine search of the house by agreement with Miss

Blacklock--but he didn't find anything significant. Then

he's been checking up on who could have had the opportunity

of oiling that door. Checking who was up at

the house on the days that that foreign girl was out. A 186

Inspector Craddock Returns

little more complicated than we thought, because it

appears she goes for a walk most afternoons. Usually

down to the village where she has a cup of coffee at the

Bluebird. So that when Miss Blacklock and Miss Bunner

are out--which is most afternoons--they go blackberrying--the

coast is clear."

" And the doors are always left unlocked?"

" They used to be. I don't suppose they are now."

" What are Fletcher's results? Who's known to have

been in the house when it was left empty?"

" Practically the whole lot of them."

Rydesdale consulted a page in front of him.

" Miss Murgatroyd was there with a hen to sit on

some eggs. (Sounds complicated but that's what she

says.) Very flustered about it all and contradicts herself,

but Fletcher thinks that's temperamental and not a sign

of guilt."

" Might be," Craddock admitted. " She flaps."

" Then Mrs. Swetteriham came up to fetch some horse

meat that Miss Blacklock had left for her on the kitchen

table, because Miss Blacklock had been in to Milchester

in the car that day and always gets Mrs. Swettenham's

horse meat for her. That makes sense to you ?"

Craddock considered.

" Why didn't Miss Blacklock leave the horse meat

when she passed Mrs. Swettenham's house on her way

back from Milchester?"

" I don't know, but she didn't. Mrs. Swettenham says

she (Miss B.) always leaves it on the kitchen table, and

she (Mrs. S.) likes to fetch it when Mitzi isn't there

because Mitzi is sometimes so rude."

" Hangs together quite well. And the next?"

" Miss Hinchliffe. Says she wasn't there at all lately.

But she was. Because Mitzi saw her coming out of the

side door one day and so did a Mrs. Butt (she's one of

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A Murder is Announced

the locals). Miss H. then admitted she might have been

there but had forgotten. Can't remember what she went

for. Says she probably just dropped in."

" That's rather odd."

" So was her manner, apparently. Then there's Mrs. Easterbrook. She was exercising the dear dogs out that

way and she just popped in to see if Miss Blacklock

would lend her a knitting pattern but Miss Blacklock

wasn't in. She says she waited a little."

" Just so. Might be snooping round. Or might be

oiling a door. And the Colonel ?"

" Went there one day with a book on India that Miss

Blacklock had expressed a desire to read."

"Had she?"

" Her account is that she tried to get out of having to

read it, but it was no use."

" And that's fair enough," sighed Craddock. " If anyone is really determined to lend you a book, you never

can get out of it!"

" We don't know if Edmund Swettenham was up

there. He's extremely vague. Said he did drop in occasionally on errands for his mother, but thinks not lately."

" In fact, it's all inconclusive."

" Yes."

Rydesdale said, with a slight grin :

" Miss Marple has also been active. Fletcher reports

that she had morning coffee at the Bluebird. She's been

to sherry at Boulders, and to tea at Little Paddocks.

She's admired Mrs. Swettenham's garden--and dropped

in to see Colonel Easterbrook's Indian curios."

" She may be able to tell us if Colonel Easterbrook's a

pukka Colonel or not."

" She'd know, I agree--he seems all right. We'd have

to check with the Far Eastern Authorities to get certain

identification."

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Inspector Craddock Returns

" And in the meantime "--Craddock broke off--" do you think Miss Blacklock would consent to go away?"

" Go away from Chipping Cleghorn ?"

" Yes. Take the faithful Bunner with her, perhaps,

and leave for an unknown destination. Why shouldn't

she go up to Scotland and stay with Belle Goedler. It's

a pretty unget-at-able place."

" Stop there and wait for her to die? I don't think

she'd do that. I don't think any nice-natured woman

would like that suggestion."

" If it's a matter of saving her life----"

" Come now, Craddock, it isn't quite so easy to bump

someone off as you seem to think."

" Isn't it, sir?"

" Well--in one way--it's easy enough I agree. Plenty of

methods. Weed-killer. A bash on the head when she's out

shutting up the poultry, a pot shot from behind a hedge.

All quite simple. But to bump someone off and not be suspected of bumping them off--that's not quite so easy.

And they must realise by now that they're all under observation. The original carefully planned scheme failed. Our

unknown murderer has got to think up something else."

" I know that, sir. But there's the time element to

consider. Mrs. Goedler's a dying woman--she might pop

off any minute. That means that our murderer can't

afford to wait."

" True."

"And another thing, sir. He--or she--must know

that we're checking up on everybody."

" And that takes time," said Rydcsdale with a sigh.

" It means checking with the East, with India. Yes, it's a long tedious business."

" So that's another reason for--hurry. I'm sure, sir,

that the danger is very real. It's a very large sum that's

at stake. If Belle Goedler dies----" 189

A Murder is Announced

He broke off as a constable entered.

" Constable Legg on the line from Chipping Cleghom,

sir."

" Put him through here."

Inspector Craddock, watching the Chief Constable,

saw his features harden and stiffen.

" Very good," barked Rydesdale. " Detective-Inspec-tor Craddock will be coming out immediately." He put the receiver down.

" Is it----" Craddock broke off.

Rydesdale shook his head.

" No," he said. " It's Dora Bunner. She wanted some aspirin. Apparently she took some from a bottle beside

Letitia Blacklock's bed. There were only a few tablets

left in the bottle. She took two and left one. The

doctor's got that one and is sending it to be analysed.

He says it's definitely not aspirin."

"She's dead?"

" Yes, found dead in her bed this morning. Died in

her sleep, doctor says. He doesn't think it was natural

though her health was in a bad state. Narcotic poisoning,

that's his guess. Autopsy's fixed for tonight."

" Aspirin tablets by Letitia Blacklock's bed. The clever clever devil. Patrick told me Miss Blacklock threw away

a half bottle of sherry--opened a new one. I don't suppose

she'd have thought of doing that with an open

bottle of aspirin. Who had been in the house this time--within the last day or two? The tablets can't have been there long."

Rydesdale looked at him.

" All our lot were there yesterday," he said. " Birthday party for Miss Bunner. Any of them could have nipped

upstairs and done a neat little substitution. Or of course

anyone living in the house could have done it any time." 790

iy. The Album

standing by the Vicarage gate, well wrapped up,

Miss Marple took the note from Bunch's hand.

" Tell Miss Blacklock," said Bunch, " that Julian is terribly sorry he can't come up himself. He's got a

parishioner dying out at Locke Hamlet. He'll come up

after lunch if Miss Blacklock would like to see him. The

note's about the arrangements for the funeral. He suggests

Wednesday if the inquest's on Tuesday. Poor old

Bunny. It's so typical of her, somehow, to get hold of

poisoned aspirin meant for someone else. Goodbye,

darling. I hope the walk won't be too much for you.

But I've simply got to get that child 'hospital at once." Miss Marple said the walk wouldn't be too much for

her, and Bunch rushed off.

Whilst waiting for Miss Blacklock, Miss Marple looked

round the drawing-room, and wondered just exactly

what Dora Bunner had meant that morning in the Bluebird

by saying that she believed Patrick had " tampered

with the lamp" to "make the lights go out." What lamp? And how had he " tampered " with it?

She must. Miss Marple decided, have meant the small

lamp that stood on the table by the archway. She had

said something about a shepherdess or a shepherd--and

this was actually a delicate piece of Dresden china, a

shepherd in a blue coat and pink breeches holding what

had originally been a candlestick and had now been

adapted to electricity. The shade was of plain vellum

and a little too big so that it almost masked the figure.

^

What else was it that Dora Bunner had said? " I remember distinctly that it was the shepherdess. And the

next day----" Certainly it was a shepherd now.

Miss Marple remembered that when she and Bunch

had come to tea, Dora Bunner had said something about

the lamp being one of a pair. Of course--a shepherd

and a shepherdess. And it had been the shepherdess on

the day of the hold-up--and the next morning it had

been the other lamp--the lamp that was here now, the

shepherd. The lamps had been changed over during the

night. And Dora Bunner had had reason to believe (or

had believed without reason) that it was Patrick who had

changed them.

Why? Because, if the original lamp were examined,

it would show just how Patrick had managed to " make

the lights go out." How had he managed ? Miss Marple

looked earnestly at the lamp in front of her. The flex ran along the table over the edge and was plugged into

the wall. There was a small pear-shaped switch halfway

along the flex. None of it suggested anything to Miss

Marple because she knew very little about electricity.

Where was the shepherdess lamp? she wondered. In

the " spare room " or thrown away, or--where was it Dora Bunner had come upon Patrick Simmons with a

feather and an oily cup? In the shrubbery? Miss

Marple made up her mind to put all these points to

Inspector Craddock.

At the very beginning Miss Blacklock had leaped to

the conclusion that her nephew Patrick had been behind

the insertion of that advertisement. That kind of instinctive belief was often justified, or so Miss Marple believed.

Because, if you knew people fairly well, you knew the

kind of things they thought of ...

Patrick Simmons ...

A handsome young man. An engaging young man. A iga

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young man whom women liked, both young women and

old women. The kind of man, perhaps, that Randall

Goedler's sister had married. Could Patrick Simons be

" Pip " ? But he'd been in the Navy during the war. The police could soon check up on that.

Only--sometimes--the most amazing impersonations

did happen.

You could get away with a great deal if you had

enough audacity ...

The door opened and Miss Blacklock came in. She

looked, Miss Marple thought, many years older. All the

life and energy had gone out of her.

" I'm very sorry, disturbing you like this," said Miss Marple. " But the Vicar had a dying parishioner and

Bunch had to rush a sick child to hospital. The Vicar

wrote you a note."

She held it out and Miss Blacklock took it and opened

it.

" Do sit down. Miss" Marple," she -said. " It's very kind of you to have brought this."

She read the note through.

" The Vicar's a very understanding man," she said

quietly. " He doesn't offer one fatuous consolation . . . Tell him that these arrangements will do very well. Her

--her favourite hymn was Lead Kindly Light."

Her voice broke suddenly.

Miss Marple said gently:

" I am only a stranger, but I am so very very sorry." And suddenly, uncontrollably, Letitia Blacklock wept.

It was a piteous overmastering grief, with a kind of

hopelessness about it. Miss Marple sat quite still.

Miss Blacklock sat up at last. Her face was swollen

and blotched with tears.

" I'm sorry," she said. " It--it just came over me. What I've lost. She--she was the only link with the past,

i93

A Murder is Announced

you see. The only one who--who remembered. Now

that she's gone I'm quite alone."

" I know what you mean," said Miss Marple. " One is alone when the last one who remembers is gone. I have

nephews and nieces and kind friends--but there's no one

who knew me as a young girl--no one who belongs to

the old days. I've been alone for quite a long time now." Both women sat silent for some moments.

" You understand very well," said Letitia Blacklock. She rose and went over to her desk. " I must write a few words to the Vicar." She held the pen rather awkwardly

and wrote slowly.

" Arthritic," she explained. " Sometimes I can hardly write at all."

She sealed up the envelope and addressed it.

" If you wouldn't mind taking it, it would be very

kind."

Hearing a man's voice in the hall she said quickly:

" That's Inspector Craddock."

She went to the mirror over the fireplace and applied

a small powder puff to her face.

Craddock came in with a grim, angry face.

He looked at Miss Marple with disapprobation.

" Oh," he said. " So you're here."

Miss Blacklock turned from the mantelpiece.

" Miss Marple kindly came up with a note from the

Vicar."

Miss Marple said in a flurried manner:

" I am going at once--at once. Please don't let me

hamper you in any way."

" Were you at the tea party here yesterday afternoon?" Miss Marple said, nervously :

" No--no, I wasn't. Bunch drove me over to call on

some friends."

" Then there's nothing you can tell me." Craddock

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held the door open in a pointed manner, and Miss

Marple scuttled out in a somewhat abashed fashion.

" Nosey Parkers, these old women," said Craddock.

" I think you're being unfair to her," said Miss Blacklock.

" She really did come with a note from the Vicar."

" I bet she did."

" I don't think it was idle curiosity."

" Well, perhaps you're right. Miss Blacklock, but my

own diagnosis would be a severe attack of Nosey

Parkeritis. ..."

" She's a very harmless old creature," said Miss Blacklock.

"

Dangerous as a rattlesnake if you Only knew," the

Inspector thought grimly. But he had no intention of

taking anyone into his confidence unnecessarily. Now

that he knew definitely there was a killer at large, he felt

that the less said the better. He didn't want the next

person bumped off to be Jane Marple.

Somewhere--a killer .., Where?

" I won't waste time offering sympathy, Miss Blacklock," he said. " As a matter of fact I feel pretty bad

about Miss Bunner's death. We ought to have been able

to prevent it."

" I don't see what you could have done."

" No--well, it wouldn't have been easy. But now

we've got to work fast. Who's doing this, Miss Blacklock

? Who's had two shots at killing you, and will probably,

if we don't work fast enough, soon have another?"

Letitia Blacklock shivered. " I don't know, Inspector --I don't know at all I"

" I've checked up with Mrs. Goedler. She's given me

all the help she can. It wasn't very much. There are

just a few people who would definitely profit by your

death. First Pip and Emma. Patrick and Julia Simmons

are the right age, but their background seems dear

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A Murder is Announced

enough. Anyway, we can't concentrate on these two

alone. Tell me. Miss Blacklock, would you recognise

Sonia Goedler if you saw her?"

" Recognise Sonia? Why, of course----" she stopped

suddenly. " No," she said slowly, " I don't know that I would. It's a long time. Thirty years . . . She'd be an

elderly woman now."

" What was she like when you remember her?"

"Sonia?" Miss Blacklock considered for some

moments. " She was rather small, dark ..."

" Any special peculiarities ? Mannerisms ?"

" No--no, I don't think so. She was gay--very gay."

" She mayn't be so gay now," said the Inspector.

" Have you got a photograph of her?"

"Of Sonia? Let me see--not a proper photograph.

I've got some old snapshots--in an album somewhere--

at least I think there's one of her."

"Ah. Can I have a look at it?"

"Yes, of course. Now where did I put that album?"

" Tell me. Miss Blacklock, do you consider it remotely

passible that Mrs. Swettenham might be Sonia Goedler?"

" Mrs. Swettenham?" Miss Blacklock looked at him in lively astonishment. " But her husband was in the

Government Service--in India first, I think, and then in

Hong Kong."

" What you mean is, that that's the story she's told

you. You don't, as we say in the Courts, know it of your

own knowledge, do you ?"

" No," said Miss Blacklock slowly. " When you put it like that, I don't . . . But Mrs. Swettenham? Oh, it's

absurd!"

" Did Sonia Goedler ever do any acting ? Amateur

theatricals?"

"Oh, yes. She was good."

"There you are! Another thing, Mrs. Swettenham

196

The Album

wears a wig. At least," the Inspector corrected himself,

" Mrs. Harmon says she does."

" Yes--yes, I suppose it might be a wig. All those little grey curls. But I still think it's absurd. She's really very

nice and exceedingly funny sometimes."

" Then there's Miss Hinchliffe and Miss Murgatroyd.

Could either of them be Sonia Goedler?"

" Miss Hinchliffe is too tall. She's as tall as a man."

" Miss Murgatroyd then ?"

" Oh, but--oh, no, I'm sure Miss Murgatroyd couldn't

be Sonia."

" You don't see very well, do you. Miss Blacklock ?"

" I'm short-sighted, is that what you mean?"

" Yes. What I'd like to see is a snapshot of this Sonia

Goedler, even if it's a long time ago and not a good likeness. We're trained, you know, to pick out resemblances,

in a way no amateur can ever do."

" I'll try and find it for you."

"Now?"

"What, at once?" .

" I'd prefer it"

" Very well. Now, let me see. I saw that album when

we were tidying a lot of books out of the cupboard. Julia

was helping me. She laughed, I remember, at the

clothes we used to wear in those days . . . The books we

put in the shelf in the drawing-room. Where did we put

the albums and the big bound volumes of the Art Journal?

What a wretched memory i have! Perhaps Julia

will remember. She's at home today."

" I'll find her."

The Inspector departed on his quest. He did not find

Julia in any of the downstairs rooms. Mitzi, asked where

Miss Simmons was, said crossly that it was not her

affair.

" Me! I stay in my kitchen and concern myself with 197

A Murder is Announced

the lunch. And nothing do I eat that I have not cooked

myself. Nothing, do you hear?"

The Inspector called up the stair " Miss Sinunons," and getting no response, went up.

He met Julia face to face just as he turned the corner

of the landing. She had just emerged from a door that

showed behind it a small twisty staircase.

" I was up in the attic," she explained. " What is it?" Inspector Craddock explained.

" Those old photograph albums? Yes, I remember

them quite well. We put them in the big cupboard in

the study, I think. I'll find them for you."

She led the way downstairs and pushed open the study

door. Near the window there was a large cupboard.

Julia pulled it open and disclosed a heterogeneous mass

of objects.

" Junk," said Julia. " All junk. But elderly people simply will not throw things away."

The Inspector knelt down and took a couple of oldfashioned

albums from the bottom shelf.

"Are these they?"

" Yes."

Miss Blacklock came in and joined them.

" Oh, so thafs where we put them. I couldn't remember."

Craddock had the books on the table and was turning

the pages.

Women in large cartwheel hats, women with dresses

tapering down to their feet so that they could hardly

walk. The photos had captions neatly printed underneath

them, but the ink was old and faded.

" It would be in this one," said Miss Blacklock. " On about the second or third page. The other book is after

Sonia had married and gone away." She turned a page.

" It ought to be here." She stopped. ig8

The Album

There were several empty spaces on the page. Craddock

bent down and deciphered the faded writing.

" Sonia ... Self ... R.G." A little farther along, " Sonia and Belle on beach." And again on the opposite page,

" Picnic at Skeyne." He turned over another page,

" Charlotte, Self, Sonia. R.G."

Craddock stood up. His lips were grim.

" Somebody has removed these photographs--not long

ago, I should say."

" There weren't any blank spaces when we looked at

them the other day. Were there, Julia?"

" I didn't look very closely--only at some of the

dresses. But no ... you're right, Aunt Letty, there

weren't any blank spaces."

Craddock looked grimmer still.

" Somebody," he said, " has removed every photo of Sonia Goedler from this album."

'90

18. The Letters

"sorry to worry you again, Mrs. Haymes."

" It doesn't matter," said Phillipa coldly.

" Shall we go into this room here?"

" The study ? Yes, if you like. Inspector. It's very cold. There's no fire."

" It doesn't matter. It's not for long. And we're not

so likely to be overheard here."

" Does that matter?"

" Not to me, Mrs. Haymes. It might to you."

" What do you mean?"

"I think you told me, Mrs. Haymes, that your

husband was killed fighting in Italy?"

"Well?"

" Wouldn't it have been simpler to have told me the

truth--that he was a deserter from his regiment."

He saw her face grow white, and her hands close and

unclose themselves.

She said bitterly:

" Do you have to rake up everything7"

Craddock said dryly:

" We expect people to tell us the truth about themselves."

She was silent. Then she said:

"Well?"

" What do you mean by ' Well?', Mrs. Haymes?"

" I mean, what are you going to do about it? Tell everybody ? Is that necessary--or fair--or kind ?" 200

The Letters

" Does nobody know?"

" Nobody here. Harry "--her voice changed--" my son, he doesn't know. I don't want him to know. I don't

want him to know--ever."

" Then let me tell you that you're taking a very big

risk, Mrs. Haymes. When the boy is old enough to

understand, tell him the truth. If he finds out by himself

some day--it won't be good for him. If you go on

stuffing him up with tales of his father dying like a

hero----"

" I don't do that. I'm not completely dishonest. I just

don't talk about it. His father was--killed in the war.

After all, that's what it amounts to--for us."

" But your husband is still alive?"

" Perhaps. How should I know?"

" When did you sec him last, Mrs. Haymes?"

Phillipa said quickly:

" I haven't seen him for years."

"Are you quite sure that's true? You didn't, for instance, see him about a fortnight ago?"

" What are you suggesting ?" * "

" It never seemed to me very likely that you met Rudi

Scherz in the summerhouse here. But Mitzi's story was

very emphatic. I suggest, Mrs. Haymes, that the man

you came back from work to meet that morning was

your husband."

" I didn't meet anybody in the summerhouse."

" He was hard up for money, perhaps, and you supplied

him with some?"

" I've not seen him, I tell you. I didn't meet anybody

in the summerhouse."

" Deserters are often rather desperate men. They often

take part in robberies, you know. Hold-ups. Things of

that kind. And they have foreign revolvers very often

that they've brought back from abroad." aoi

18. The Letters

"sorry to worry you again, Mrs. Haymes."

" It doesn't matter," said Phillipa coldly.

" Shall we go into this room here?"

"The study? Yes, if you like. Inspector. It's very cold. There's no fire."

" It doesn't matter. It's not for long. And we're not

so likely to be overheard here."

"Does that matter?"

" Not to me, Mrs. Haymes. It might to you."

"What do you mean?"

"I think you told me, Mrs. Haymes, that your

husband was killed fighting in Italy?"

"Well?"

" Wouldn't it have been simpler to have told me the

truth--that he was a deserter from his regiment."

He saw her face grow white, and her hands close and

unclose themselves.

She said bitterly:

" Do you have to rake up everything^"

Craddock said dryly:

" We expect people to tell us the truth about themselves."

She was silent. Then she said:

" Well?"

" What do you mean by ' Well?', Mrs. Haymes?"

" I mean, what are you going to do about it ? Tell everybody ? Is that necessary--or fair--or kind ?" 200

The Letters

" Does nobody know?"

" Nobody here. Harry "--her voice changed--" my son, he doesn't know. I don't want him to know. I don't

want him to know--ever."

" Then let me tell you that you're taking a very big

risk, Mrs. Haymes. When the boy is old enough to

understand, tell him the truth. If he finds out by himself

some day--it won't be good for him. If you go on

stuffing him up with tales of his father dying like a

hero----"

" I don't do that. I'm not completely dishonest. I just

don't talk about it. His father was--killed in the war.

After all, that's what it amounts to--for us."

" But your husband is still alive ?"

" Perhaps. How should I know?"

" When did you see him last, Mrs. Haymes?"

Phillipa said quickly:

" I haven't seen him for years."

" Are you quite sure that's true ? You didn't, for instance, see him about a fortnight ago?"

" What are you suggesting ?" ' "

It never seemed to me very likely that you met Rudi

Scherz in the summerhouse here. But Mitzi's story was

very emphatic. I suggest, Mrs. Haymes, that the man

you came back from work to meet that morning was

your husband."

" I didn't meet anybody in the summerhouse."

" He was hard up for money, perhaps, and you supplied

him with some ?"

" I've not seen him, I tell you. I didn't meet anybody

in the summerhouse."

" Deserters are often rather desperate men. They often

take part in robberies, you know. Hold-ups. Things of

that kind. And they have foreign revolvers very often

that they've brought back from abroad." 301

A Murder is Announced

" I don't know where my husband is. I haven't seen

him for years."

" Is that your last word, Mrs. Haymes?"

" I've nothing else to say."

ii

Craddock came away from his interview with Phillipa

Haymes feeling angry and baffled.

" Obstinate as a mule," he said to himself angrily. He was fairly sure that Phillipa was lying, but he

hadn't succeeded in breaking down her obstinate denials.

He wished he knew a little more about ex-Captain

Haymes. His information was meagre. An unsatisfactory

Army record, but nothing to suggest that Haymes was

likely to turn criminal.

And anyway Haymes didn't fit in with the oiled

door.

Someone in the house had done that, or someone with

easy access to it.

He stood looking up the staircase, and suddenly he

wondered what Julia had been doing up in the attic. An

attic, he thought, was an unlikely place for the fastidious

Julia to visit.

What had she been doing up there ?

He ran lightly up to the first floor. There was no one

about. He opened the door out of which Julia had come

and went up the narrow stairs to the attic.

There were trunks there, old suitcases, various broken

articles of furniture, a chair with a leg off, a broken

china lamp, part of an old dinner service.

He turned to the trunks and opened the lid of one.

Clothes. Old-fashioned, quite good quality women's

aoa

The Letters

clothes. Clothes belonging, he supposed, to Miss Blacklock,

or to her sister who had died.

He opened another trunk.

Curtains.

He passed to a small attache-case. It had papers in it

and letters. Very old letters, yellowed with time.

He looked at the outside of the case which had the

initials C.L.B. on it. He deduced correctly that it had

belonged to Letitia's sister Charlotte. He unfolded one

of the letters. It began Dearest Charlotte. Yesterday Belle felt well enough to go for a picnic. R.G. also took

a day off. The Asuogel flotation has gone splendidly,

R.G. is terribly pleased about it. The Preference shares

are at a premium.

He skipped the rest and looked at the signature:

Your loving sister, Letitia.

He picked up another.

Darling Charlotte. I wish you would sometimes make

up your mind to see people. You do exaggerate, you

know. It isn't nearly as bad as you think. And people

- really don't mind things like that. It's not the disfigurement you think it is. " *

He nodded his head. He remembered Belle Goedler

saying that Charlotte Blacklock had a disfigurement or

deformity of some kind. Letitia had, in the end, resigned

her job, to go and look after her sister. These letters all

breathed the anxious spirit of her affection and love for

an invalid. She had written her sister, apparently, long

accounts of everyday happenings, of any little detail that

she thought might interest the sick girl. And Charlotte

had kept these letters. Occasionally odd snapshots had

been enclosed.

Excitement suddenly flooded Craddock's mind. Here,

it might be, he would find a clue. In these letters there

would be written down things that Letitia Blacklock

203

A Murder is Announced

herself had long forgotten. Here was a faithful picture

of the past and somewhere amongst it, there might be a

clue that would help him to identify the unknown.

Photographs, too. There might, just possibly, be a photograph of Sonia Goedler here that the person who had

taken the other photos out of the album did not know

about.

Inspector Craddock packed the letters up again, carefully,

closed the case, and started down the stairs.

Letitia Blacklock, standing on the landing below,

looked at him in amazement.

" Was that you up in the attic? I heard footsteps. I

couldn't imagine who----"

" Miss Blacklock, I have found some letters here,

written by you to your sister Charlotte many years ago.

Will you allow me to take them away and read them ?"

She flushed angrily.

" Must you do a thing like that? Why? What good

can they be to you ?"

" They might give me a picture of Sonia Goedler, of

her character--there may be some allusion--some incident--that will help."

" They are private letters, Inspector."

" I know."

" I suppose you will take them anyway . . . You have

the power to do so, I suppose, or you can easily get it.

Take them--take them! But you'll find very little about

Sonia. She married and went away only a year or two

after I began to work for Randall Goedler."

Craddock said obstinately:

" There may be something" He added, " We've got to try everything. I assure you the danger is very real." She said, biting her lips:

" I know. Bunny is dead--from taking an aspirin

tablet that was meant for me. It may be Patrick, or ao4

The Letters

Julia, or Phillipa, or Mitzi next--somebody young with

their life in front of them. Somebody who drinks a glass

of wine that is poured out for me, or eats a chocolate

that is sent to me. Oh! take the letters--take them

away. And afterwards bum them. They don't mean

anything to anyone but me and Charlotte. It's all over

--gone--past. Nobody remembers now ..."

Her hand went up to the choker of false pearls she was

wearing. Craddock thought how incongruous it looked

with her tweed coat and skirt.

She said again:

" Take the letters."

Ill

It was the following afternoon that the Inspector called

at the Vicarage.

It was a darkgusty day. . ,, ^Miss

Marple had her chair pulled close to the fire and

was knitting. Bunch was on hands and knees, crawling

about the floor, cutting out material to a pattern.

She sat back and pushed a mop of hair out of her

eyes, looking up expectantly at Craddock.

" I don't know if it's a breach of confidence," said the Inspector, addressing himself to Miss Marple, " but I'd

like you to look at this letter."

He explained the circumstances of his discovery in the

attic.

" It's rather a touching collection of letters," he said.

" Miss Blacklock poured out everything in the hopes of

sustaining her sister's interest in life and keeping her

health good. There's a very clear picture of an old father

in the background--old Dr. Blacklock. A real old pig305

A Murder is Announced

headed bully, absolutely set in his ways, and convinced

that everything he thought and said was right. Probably

killed thousands of patients through obstinacy. He

wouldn't stand for any new ideas or methods."

" I don't really know that I blame him there," said Miss Marple. " I always feel that the young doctors are

only too anxious to experiment. After they've whipped

out all our teeth, and administered quantities of very

peculiar glands, and removed bits of our insides, they

then confess that nothing can be done for us. I really

prefer the old-fashioned remedy of big black bottles of

medicine. After all, one can always pour those down the

sink."

She took the letter that Craddcck handed her.

He said: " I want you to read it because I think that

that generation is more easily understood by you than by

me. I don't know really quite how these people's minds

worked."

Miss Marple unfolded the fragile paper.

Dearest Charlotte,

I've not written for two days because we've been

having the most terrible domestic complications.

Randall's sister Sonia (you remember her? She came

to take you out in the car that day? How I wish

you would go out more), Sonia has declared her

intention of marrying one, Dmitri Stamfordis. I

have only seen him once. Very attractive--not to

be trusted, I should say. R.G. raves against him and

says he is a crook and a swindler. Belle, bless her,

just smiles and lies on her sofa. Sonia, who though

she looks so impassive has really a terrific temper, is

simply wild with R.G. I really thought yesterday

she was going to murder him!

I've done my best. I've talked to Sonia and I've

206

The Letters

talked to R.G. and I've got them both into a more

reasonable frame of mind and then they come together

and it all starts over again! You've no idea

how tiring it is. R.G. has been making enquiries-and it does really seem as though this Stamfordis man was thoroughly undesirable.

In the meantime business is being neglected. I

carry on at the office and in a way it's rather fun

because R.G. gives me a free hand. He said to me

yesterday : " Thank Heaven, there's one sane person

in the world. You're never likely to fall in love with

a crook, Blackie, are you?" I said I didn't think I

was likely to fall in love with anybody. R.G. said :

" Let's start a few new hares in the City." He's

really rather a mischievous devil sometimes and he

sails terribly near the wind. " You're quite determined

to keep me on the straight and narrow path

aren't you, Blackie?" he said the other day. And I

shall too! I can't understand how people can't see when a thing's dishonest--but R.G. really and truly doesn't. He only knows what is actually against the

law.

Belle only laughs at all this. She thinks the fuss

about Sonia is all nonsense. " Sonia has her own

money," she said. " Why shouldn't she marry this

man if she wants to?" I said it might turn out to be

a terrible mistake and Belle said, " It's never a

mistake to marry a man you want to marry--even

if you regret it." And then she said, " I suppose

Sonia doesn't want to break with Randall because of

money. Sonia's very fond of money."

No more now. How is father? I won't say Give

him my love. But you can if you think it's better to

do so. Have you seen more people? You really

must not be morbid, darling.

207

A Murder is Announced

Sonia asks to be remembered to you. She has

just come in and is closing and unclosing her hands

like an angry cat sharpening its claws. I think she

and R.G. have had another row. Of course Sonia

can be very irritating. She stares you down with

that cool stare of hers.

Lots of love, darling, and buck up. This iodine

treatment may make a lot of difference. I've been

inquiring about it and it really does seem to have

good results.

Your loving sister,

Letitia

Miss Marple folded the letter and handed it back. She

looked abstracted.

"Well, what do you think about her?" Craddock

urged. " What picture do you get of her?"

"Of Sonia? It's difficult, you know, to see anyone

through another person's mind . . . Determined to get

her own way--that, definitely, I think. And wanting the

best of two worlds..."

" Closing and unclosing her hands like an angry cat," murmured Craddock. " You know, that reminds me of

someone..."

He frowned.

" Making inquiries ..." murmured Miss Marple.

" If we could get hold of the result of those inquiries," said Craddock.

" Does that letter remind you of anything in St. Mary

Mead?" asked Bunch rather indistinctly since her mouth

was full of pins.

" I really can't say it does, dear . . . Dr. Blacklock is, perhaps, a little like Mr. Curtiss the Wesleyan Minister.

He wouldn't let his child wear a plate on her teeth. Said

it was the Lord's Will if her teeth stuck out. ' After all,'

208

The Letters

I said to him, ' you do trim your beard and cut your

hair. It might be the Lord's Will that your hair

should grow out.' He said that was quite different.

So like a man. But that doesn't help us with our present

problem."

" We've never traced that revolver, you know. It

wasn't Rudi Schera. If I knew who had had a revolver

in Chipping Cleghorn----"

" Colonel Easterbrook has one," said Bunch. " He keeps it in his collar drawer."

" How do you know, Mrs. Harmon?"

" Mrs. Butt told me. She's my daily. Or rather, my

twice weekly. Being a military gentleman, she said, he'd

naturally have a revolver and very handy it would be if

burglars were to come along."

" When did she tell you this?"

" Ages ago. About six months ago, I should think."

" Colonel Easterbrook?" murmured Craddock.

" It's like those pointer things at fairs, isn't it?" said Bunch, still speaking through a mouthful of pins. " Go

round and round and stop at something different every

time."'

" You're telling me!" said Craddock and groaned.

" Colonel Easterbrook was up at Little Paddocks to

leave a book there one day. He could have oiled that

door then. He was quite straightforward about being

there though. Not like Miss Hinchliffe."

Miss Marple coughed gently. " You must make allowances

for the times we live in. Inspector," she said.

Craddock looked at her, uncomprchendingly.

" After all," said Miss Marple, " you are the Police, aren't you? People can't say everything they'd like to

say to the Police, can they?"

" I don't see why not," said Craddock. " Unless they've got some criminal matter to conceal." sog

A Murder is Announced

"She means butter," said Bunch, crawling actively

round a table leg to anchor a floating bit of paper.

" Butter and corn for hens, and sometimes cream--and

sometimes, even, a side of bacon."

" Show him that note from Miss Blacklock," said Miss Marple. " It's some time ago now, but it reads like a

first-class mystery story."

" What have I done with it. Is this the one you mean,

Aunt Jane?"

Miss Marple took it and looked at it.

" Yes," she said with satisfaction. " That's the one." She handed it to the Inspector.

" I have made inquiries--Thursday is the day," Miss

Blacklock had written. " Any time after three. If there

is any for me leave it in the usual place."

Bunch spat out her pins and laughed. Miss Marple

was watching the Inspector's face.

The Vicar's wife took it upon herself to explain.

"Thursday is the day one of the farms round here

makes butter. They let anybody they like have a bit. It's

usually Miss Hinchliffe who collects it. She's very much

in with all the farmers--because of her pigs, I think.

But it's all a bit hush-hush, you know, a kind of local

scheme of barter. One person gets butter, and sends

along cucumbers, or something like that--and a little

something when a pig's killed. And now and then an

animal has an accident and has to be destroyed. Oh,

you know the sort of thing. Only one can't, very wcU,

say it right out to the Police. Because I suppose quite a

lot of this barter is illegal--only nobody really knows

because it's all so complicated. But I expect Hinch had

slipped into Little Paddocks with a pound of butter or

something and had put it in the usual place. That's a

flour bin under the dresser, by the way. It doesn't have

flour in it."

910

The Letters

Craddock sighed.

" I'm glad I came here to you ladies," he said.

" There used to be clothing coupons, too," said Bunch.

" Not usually bought--that wasn't considered honest.

No money passes. But people like Mrs. Butt or Mrs.

Finch or Mrs. Huggins like a nice woollen dress or a

winter coat that hasn't seen too much wear, and they pay

for it with coupons instead of money."

" You'd better not tell me any more," said Craddock.

" It's all against the law."

" Then there oughtn't to be such silly laws," said

Bunch, filling her mouth up with pins again. " / don't

do it, of course, because Julian doesn't like me to, so I

don't. But I know what's going on, of course."

A kind of despair was coming over the Inspector.

" It all sounds so pleasant and ordinary," he said.

" Funny and petty and simple. And yet one woman and

a man have been killed, and another woman may be

killed before I can get anything definite to go on. I've

left off worrying about Pip and Emma for the moment.

I'm concentrating on Sonia. I wish I knew what

she looked like. There was a snapshot or two in with

these letters, but none of the snaps could have been of

her."

" How do you know it couldn't have been her? Do

you know what she looked like?"

" She was small and dark, Miss Blacklock said."

"Really," said Miss Marple, "that's very interesting."

" There was one snap that reminded me vaguely of

someone. A tall fair girl with her hair all done up on

top of her head. I don't know who she could have been.

Anyway, it can't have been Sonia. Do you think Mrs.

Swettenham could have been dark when she was a

girl?"

an

A Murder is Announced

"Not very dark," said Bunch. "She's got blue

eyes."

" I hoped there might be a photo of Dmitri Stamfordis

--but I suppose that was too much to hope for ... Will "--he took up the letter--" I'm sorry this doesn't suggest anything to you, Miss Marplc."

" Oh! but it does," said Miss Marple. " It suggests a good deal. Just read it through again. Inspector---especially where it says that Randall Goedler was making

inquiries about Dmitri Stamfordis."

Craddock stared at her.

The telephone rang.

Bunch got up from the floor and went out into the

hall where, in accordance with the best Victorian traditions, the telephone had originally been placed and where

it still was.

She re-entered the room to say to Craddock:

"It's for you."

Slightly surprised, the Inspector went out to the instrument--carefully shutting the door of the living-room

behind him.

"Craddock? Rydesdalc here."

" Yes, sir."

" I've been looking through your report. In the interview you had with Phillipa Haymes I see she states

positively that she hasn't seen her husband since his

desertion from the Army?"

" That's right, sir--she was most emphatic. But in my

opinion she wasn't speaking the truth."

" I agree with you. Do you remember a case about

ten days ago--man run over by a lorry--taken to

Milchester General with concussion and a fractured

pelvis?"

" The fellow who snatched a child practically from

under the wheels of a lorry, and got run down himself?"

313

The Letters

" That's the one. No papers of any kind on him and

nobody came forward to identify him. Looked as though

he might be on the run. He died last night without regaining

consciousness. But he's been identified--deserter

from the Army--Ronald Haymes, ex-Captain in the

South Loamshires."

" Phillipa Haymes' husband?"

" Yes. He'd got an old Chipping Cleghom bus ticket

on him, by the way--and quite a reasonable amount of

money."

" So he did get money from his wife? I always

thought he was the man Mitzi overheard talking to her

in the summerhouse. She denied it flatly, of course. But

surely, sir, that lorry accident was before----"

Rydesdale took the words out of his mouth.

" Yes, he was taken to Milchester General on the 28th.

The hold-up at Little Paddocks was on the agth. That

lets him out of any possible connection with it. But his

wife, of course, knew nothing about the accident. She

may have been thinking all along thatjie aw concerned

in it. She'd hold her tongue--naturally--after all he was her husband."

" It was a fairly gallant bit of work, wasn't it, sir?" said Craddock slowly.

"Rescuing that child from the lorry? Yes. Plucky.

Don't suppose it was cowardice that made Haymes

desert. Well, all that's past history. For a man who'd

blotted his copybook, it was a good death."

" I'm glad for her sake," said the Inspector. " And for that boy of theirs."

" Yes, he needn't be too ashamed of his father. And

the young woman will be able to marry again now."

Craddock said slowly:

" I was thinking of that, sir. ... It opens up--possibilities."

313

"i'll put on a lamp by you before I go," said Bunch.

" It's so dark in here. There's going to be a storm, I

think."

She lifted the small reading lamp to the other side of

the table where it would throw light on Miss Marple's

knitting as she sat in a wide high-backed chair.

As the flex pulled across the table, Tiglath Pileser the

cat, leapt upon it and bit and clawed it violently.

" No, Tiglath Pileser, you mustn't ... He really is

awful. Look, he's nearly bitten it through--it's all frayed.

Don't you understand, you idiotic puss, that you may

get a nasty electric shock if you do that?"

" Thank you, dear," said Miss Marple, and put out a hand to turn on the lamp.

" It doesn't turn on there. You have to press that silly little switch half-way along the flex. Wait a minute. I'll

take these flowers out of the way."

She lifted a bowl of Christmas roses across the table.

Tiglath Pileser, his tail switching, put out a mischievous

paw and clawed Bunch's arm. She spilled some of the

water out of the vase. It fell on the frayed area of flex

and on Tiglath Pileser himself, who leapt to the floor

with an indignant hiss.

Miss Marple pressed the small pear-shaped switch.

Where the water had soaked the frayed flex there was a

flash and a crackle.

" Oh, dear," said Bunch. " It's fused. Now I suppose a/5

A Murder is Announced

all the lights in here arc off." She tried them. " Yes, they are. So stupid being all on the same thingummibob.

And it's made a burn on the table, too. Naughty Tiglath

Pileser--it's all his fault. Aunt Jane--what's the matter?

Did it startle you?"

" It's nothing, dear. Just something I saw quite suddenly which I ought to have seen before ..."

"I'll go and fix the fuse and get the lamp from

Julian's study."

" No, dear, don't bother. You'll miss your bus. I don't

want any more light. I just want to sit quietly and-think about something. Hurry dear, or you won't catch your bus."

When Bunch had gone, Miss Marple sat quite still for

about two minutes. The air of the room was heavy and

menacing with the gathering storm outside.

Miss Marple drew a sheet of paper towards her.

She wrote first: Lamp? and underlined it heavily.

After a moment or two, she wrote another word.

Her pencil travelled down the paper, making brief

cryptic notes....

ll

In the rather dark living-room of Boulders with its

low ceiling and latticed window panes, Miss Hinchliffe

and Miss Murgatroyd were having an argument.

" The trouble with you, Murgatroyd," said Miss

Hinchliffe, " is that you won't try." " But I tell you, Hindi, I can't remember a thing."

" Now look here, Amy Murgatroyd, we're going to do

some constructive thinking. So far we haven't shone on

the detective angle. I was quite wrong over that door 216

Reconstruction of the Crime

business. You didn't hold the door open for the murderer

after all. You're cleared, Murgatroyd!"

Miss Murgatroyd gave a rather watery smile.

" It's just our luck to have the only silent cleaning

woman in Chipping Cleghorn," continued Miss Hinchliffe.

"Usually I'm thankful for it, but this time it

means we've got off to a bad start. Everybody else in

the place knows about that second door in the drawingroom

being used--and we only heard about it yesterday----"

" I still don't quite understand how----"

" It's perfectly simple. Our original premises were

quite right. You can't hold open a door, wave a torch

and shoot with a revolver all at the same time. We kept

in the revolver and the torch and cut out the door.

Well, we were wrong. It was the revolver we ought to

have cut out."

" But he did have a^revolver," said Miss Murgatroyd.

" I saw it. It was there on the floor beside him."

" When he was dead, yes. It's all quite dear. He didn't fire that revolver----"

"Then who did?"

"That's what we're going to find out. But whoever

did it, the same person put a couple of poisoned aspirin

tablets by Letty Blacklock's bed--and thereby bumped

off poor Dora Bunner. And that couldn't have been

Rudi Scherz, because he's as dead as a doornail. It was

someone who was in the room that night of the holdup and probably someone who was at the birthday party, too. And the only person that lets out is Mrs.

Harmon."

" You think someone put those aspirins there the day

of the birthday party?"

"Why not?"

'' But how could they?"

217

A Murder is Announced

" Well, we all went to the lou, didn't we?" said Miss HinchlifTe coarsely. " And I washed my hands in the

bathroom because of that sticky cake. And little Sweetie

Easterbrook powdered her grubby little face in Blacklock's

bedroom, didn't she?"

" Hinch! Do you think she----"

" I don't know yet. Rather obvious, if she did. I

don't think if you were going to plant some tablets, that

you'd want to be seen in the bedroom at all. Oh, yes,

there were plenty of opportunities."

" The men didn't go upstairs."

" There are back stairs. After all, if a man leaves the

room, you don't follow him to see if he really is going

where you think he is going. It wouldn't be delicate!

Anyway, don't argue, Murgatroyd. I want to get back

to the original attempt on Letty Blacklock. Now, to

begin with, get the facts firmly into your head, because

it's all going to depend upon you."

Miss Murgatroyd looked alarmed.

" Oh, dear, Hinch, you know what a muddle I get

into!"

" It's not a question of your brains, or the grey fluff

that passes for brains with you. It's a question of eyes.

It's a question of what you saw."

" But I didn't see anything."

" The trouble with you is, Murgatroyd, as I said just

now, that you won't try. Now pay attention. This is

what happened. Whoever it is that's got it in for Letty

Blacklock was there in that room that evening. He (I say

he because it's easier, but there's no reason why it should

be a man more than a woman except, of course, that

men are dirty dogs), well, he has previously oiled that

second door that leads out of the drawing-room and

which is supposed to be nailed up or something. Don't

ask me when he did it, because that confuses things.

218

Reconstruction of the Crime

Actually, by choosing my time, I could walk into any

house in Chipping Cleghom and do anything I liked

there for half an hour or so with no one being the wiser.

It's just a question of working out where the daily

women are and when the occupiers are out and exactly

where they've gone and how long they'll be. Just good

staff work. Now, to continue. He's oiled that second

door. It will open without a sound. Here's the set-up :

Lights go out, door A (the regular door) opens with a

nourish. Business with torch and hold-up lines. In the

meantime, while we're all goggling, X (that's the best

term to use) slips quietly out by door B into the dark hall,

comes up behind that Swiss idiot, takes a couple of shots

at Letty Blacklock and then shoots the Swiss. Drops the

revolver, where lazy thinkers like you will assume it's

evidence that the Swiss did the shooting, and nips back

into the room again by the time that someone gets a

lighter going. Got it?"

" Yes--ye-es, but who was it?"

" Well, if you don't know, Murgatroyd, nobody

docs!"

"Me?" Miss Murgatroyd fairly twittered in alarm.

"But I don't know anything at all. I don't really,

Hinch!"

" Use that fluff of yours you call a brain. To begin

with, where was everybody when the lights went

out?"

" I don't know."

" Yes, you do. You're maddening, Murgatroyd. You

know where you were, don't you? You were behind the

door."

Yes--yes, I was. It knocked against my corn when

it flew open."

" Why don't you go to a proper chiropodist instead of

messing about yourself with your feet. You'll give youraig

A Murder is Announced

self blood poisoning one of these days. Come on, now--you're behind the door. I'm standing against the mantelpiece

with my tongue hanging out for a drink. Lctty

Blacklock is by the table near the archway, getting the

cigarettes. Patrick Simmons has gone through the archway

into the small room where Letty Blacklock has had

the drinks put. Agreed?"

" Yes, yes, I remember all that."

" Good, now somebody else followed Patrick into that room or was just starting to follow him. One of the men.

The annoying thing is that I can't remember whether it

was Easterbrook or Edmund Swettenham. Do you

remember?"

" No, I don't."

"You wouldn't! And there was someone else who

went through to the small room; Phillipa Haymes. I

remember that distinctly because I remember noticing

what a nice flat back she has, and I thought to myself

' that girl would look well on a horse.' I was watching

her and thinking just that. She went over to the mantelpiece

in the other room. I don't know what it was she

wanted there, because at that moment the lights went

out.

" So that's the position. In the far drawing-room are

Patrick Simmons, Phillipa Haymes, and either Colonel

Easterbrook or Edmund Swettenham--we don't know

which. Now, Murgatroyd, pay attention. The most

probable thing is that it was one of those three who did

it. If anyone wanted to get out of that far door, they'd

naturally take care to put themselves in a convenient

place when the lights went out. So, as I say, in all

probability, it's one of those three. And in that case,

Murgatroyd, there's not a thing you can do about

it!"

Miss Murgatroyd brightened perceptibly. aao

Reconstruction of the Crime

" On the other hand," continued Miss Hinchliffe,

" there's the possibility that it wasn't one of those three. And that's where you come in, Murgatroyd."

" But how should I know anything about it?"

" As I said before, if you don't nobody does."

" But I don't! I really don't } I couldn't sec anything

atalll"

" Oh, yes, you could. You're the only ^person who could see. You were standing behind the door. You couldn't look at the torch--because the door was between

you and it. You were facing the other way, the

same way as the torch was pointing. The rest of us were

just dazzled. But you weren't dazzled."

" No--no, perhaps not, but I didn't see anything, the

torch went round and round----"

"Showing you what? It rested on faces, didn't it?

And on tables? And on chairs?"

" Yes--yes, it did . . . Miss Bunner, her mouth wide

open and her eyes popping out of her head, staring and

blinking." ~ " * - "That's the stuff!" Miss Hinchliffe gave a sigh of relief. " The difficulty there is in making you use that grey fluff of yours! Now then, keep it up."

" But I didn't see any more, I didn't, really."

" You mean you saw an empty room? Nobody standing

about? Nobody sitting down?"

" No, of course not that. Miss Bunner with her mouth

open and Mrs. Harmon was sitting on the arm of a

chair. She had her eyes tight shut and her knuckles all

doubled up to her face--like a child."

" Good, that's Mrs. Harmon and Miss Bunner. Don't

you see yet what I'm getting at? The difficulty is that I

don't want to put ideas into your head. But when we've

eliminated who you did see--we can get on to the important

point which is, was there anyone you didn't see. a a z

A Murder is Announced

Got it? Besides the tables and the chairs and the chrysanthemums and the rest of it, there were certain people;

Julia Simmons, Mrs. Swettenham, Mrs. Easterbrook--either Colonel Easterbrook or Edmund Swettenham-Dora Bunner and Bunch Harmon. All right, you saw

Bunch Harmon and Dora Bunner. Cross them off. Now think, Murgatroyd, think, was there one of those people

who definitely wasn't there?"

Miss Murgatroyd jumped slightly as a branch knocked

against the open window. She shut her eyes. She

murmured to herself ...

" The flowers ... on the table . . . the big armchair

. . . the torch didn't come round as far as you, Hinch-Mrs. Harmon, yes ..." The telephone rang sharply. Miss Hinchliffe went to it.

"Hallo, yes? The station?"

The obedient Miss Murgatroyd, her eyes closed, was

reliving the night of the agth. The torch, sweeping

slowly round ... a group of people . . . the windows . . .

the sofa . . . Dora Bunner . . . the wall .. . the table with lamp . . . the archway . . . the sudden spat of the

revolver.. .

". . . but that's extraordinary said Miss Murgatroyd.

"What?" Miss Hinchliffe was barking angrily into

the telephone. "Been there since this morning? What

time? Damn and blast you, and you only ring me up now? I'll set the S.P.C.A. after you. An oversight?

Is that all you've got to say?"

She banged down the receiver.

" It's that dog," she said. " The red setter. Been at the station since this morning--since this morning at

eight o'clock! Without a drop of water! And the idiots

only ring me up now. I'm going to get her right

away."

saa

Reconstruction of the Crime

She plunged out of the room, Miss Murgatroyd

squeaking shrilly in her wake.

" But listen, Hinch, a most extraordinary thing ... I

don't understand it..."

Miss Hinchliffe had dashed out of the door and across

to the shed which served as a garage.

" We'll go on with it when I come back," she called.

" I can't wait for you to come with me. You've got your

bedroom slippers on as usual."

She pressed the starter of the car and backed out of

the garage with a jerk. Miss Murgatroyd skipped nimbly

sideways.

" But listen, Hinch, I must tell you----"

" When I come back ..."

The car jerked and shot forwards. Miss Murgatroyd's

voice came faintly after it on a high excited note.

" But, Hinch, she wasn't there ..."

ill

Overhead, the clouds had been gathering thick and

blue. As Miss Murgatroyd stood looking after the retreating

car, the first big drops began to fall.

In an agitated fashion, Miss Murgatroyd plunged

across to a line of string on which she had, some hours

previously, hung out a couple of jumpers and a pair of

woollen combinations to dry.

She was murmuring under her breath :

" Really mast extraordinary . . . Oh, dear, I shall

never get these down in time . . . And they were nearly

dry...."

She struggled with a recalcitrant clothes peg, then

turned her head as she heard someone approaching. 223

A Murder is Announced

Then she smiled a pleased welcome.

" Hallo--do go inside, you'll get wet."

" Let me help you."

" Oh, if you don't mind ... so annoying if they all

get soaked again. I really ought to let down the line,

but I think I can just reach."

" Here's your scarf. Shall I put it round your neck?"

" Oh, thank you . . . Yes, perhaps ... If I could just

reach this peg ..."

The woollen scarf was slipped round her neck and

then, suddenly, pulled tight...

Miss Murgatroyd's mouth opened, but no sound came

except a small choking gurgle.

And the scarf was pulled tighter still...

IV

On her way back from the station. Miss Hinchliffe

stopped the car to pick up Miss Marple who was hurrying

along the street.

" Hallo," she shouted. " You'll get very wet. Come and have tea with us. I saw Bunch waiting for the bus.

You'll be all alone at the Vicarage. Come and join us.

Murgatroyd and I are doing a bit of reconstruction of

the crime. I rather think we're just getting somewhere.

Mind the dog. She's rather nervous."

" What a beauty."

" Yes, lovely bitch, isn't she? Those fools kept her at

the station since this morning without letting me know.

I told them off, the lazy b----s. Oh! excuse my

language. I was brought up by grooms at home in

Ireland."

The little car turned with a jerk into the small backyard

of Boulders.

234

Reconstruction of the Crime

A crowd of eager dudes and fowls encircled the two

ladies as they descended.

"Curse Murgatroyd," said Miss Hinchliffe, "she hasn't given 'em their corn."

" Is it difficult to get corn?" Miss Marple inquired. Miss Hinchliffe winked.

" I'm in with roost of the fanners," she said.

Shooing away the hens, she escorted Miss Marple

towards the cottage.

" Hope you're not too wet?"

" No, this is a very good mackintosh."

" I'll light the fire if Murgatroyd hasn't lit it. Hiyah, Murgatroyd? Where is the woman? Murgatroyd!

Where's that dog? She's disappeared now."

A slow dismal howl came from outside.

" Curse the silly bitch." Miss Hinchliffe tramped to the door and called:

" Hyoup, Cutie--Cutie. Damn' silly name but that's

what they called her apparently. We must find her

another name. Hiyah, Cutie."

The red setter was sniffing at something lying below

the taut string where a row of garments swirled in the

wind.

" Murgatroyd's not even had the sense to bring the

washing in. Where is she?"

Again the red setter nosed at what seemed to be a pile

of clothes, and raised her nose high in the air and howled

again.

" What's the matter with the dog?"

Miss Hinchliffe strode across the grass.

And quickly, apprehensively, Miss Marple ran after

her. They stood there, side by side, the rain beating

down on them and the older woman's arm went round

the younger one's shoulders.

She felt the muscles go stiff and taut as Miss

sag

A Murder is Announced

Hinchliffe stood looking down on the thing lying

there, with the blue congested face and the protruding

tongue.

" I'll kill whoever did this," said Miss Hinchliffe in a low quiet voice, " if I once get my hands on her..." Miss Marple said questioningly:

"Her?"

Miss Hinchliffe turned a ravaged face towards her.

" Yes. I know who it is--near enough ... That is, it's

one of three possibles."

She stood for another moment, looking down at her

dead friend, and then turned towards the house. Her

voice was dry and hard.

" We must ring up the police," she said. " And while we're waiting for them, I'll tell you. My fault, in a way,

that Murgatroyd's lying out there. I made a game of it

... Murder isn't a game...."

" No," said Miss Marple. " Murder isn't a game."

" You know something about it, don't you?" said Miss Hinchliffe as she lifted the receiver and dialled.

She made a brief report and hung up.

" They'll be here in a few minutes . . . Yes, I heard

that you'd been mixed up in this sort of business before

... I think it was Edmund Swettenham told me so ...

Do you want to hear what we were doing, Murgatroyd

and I?"

Succinctly she described the conversation held before

her departure for the station.

" She called after me, you know. Just as I was leaving

. . . That's how I know it's a woman and not a man .. .

If I'd waited--if only I'd listened! God dammit, the dog

could have stopped where she was for another quarter of

an hour."

" Don't blame yourself, my dear. That does no good.

One can't foresee."

aa6

Reconstruction of the Crime

"No, one can't . . . Something tapped against the

window, I remember. Perhaps she was outside there,

then--yes, of course, she must have been . . . coming to

the house ... and there were Murgatroyd and I shouting

at each other. Top of our voices . . . She heard . . .

She heard it all..."

" You haven't told me yet what your friend said."

" Just one sentence! ' She uwsn't there.'"

She paused. " You see? There were three women we

hadn't eliminated. Mrs. Swettenham, Mrs. Easterbrook,

Julia Simmons. And one of those three--wasn't there

. . . She wasn't there in the drawing-room because she

had slipped out through the other door and was out in

the hall."

" Yes," said Miss Marple, " I see."

" It's one of those three women. I don't know which.

But I'll find out!"

" Excuse me," said Miss Marple. " But did she--did Miss Murgatroyd, I mean, say it exactly as you said

it?"

" How d'you mean--as I said it?"

" Oh, dear, how can I explain ? You said it like this.

She-wasn't-there. An equal emphasis on every word.

You see, there are three ways you could say it. You

could say, ' She wasn't there.' Very personal. Or again.

' She wasn't there.' Confirming some suspicion already

held. Or else you could say (and this is nearer to the way

you said it just now), ' She wasn't there . ..' quite blankly

--with the emphasis, if there was emphasis--on the

* there: "

" I don't know," Miss Hinchliffe shook her head. " I can't remember . . . How the hell can I remember? I

think, yes, surely she'd say 'She wasn't there '? That

would be the natural way, I should think. But I simply

don't know. Does it make any difference?"

227

20. Miss Marple is Missing

the postman, rather to his disgust, had lately been

given orders to make an afternoon delivery of letters in

Chipping Cleghom as well as a morning one.

On this particular afternoon he left three letters at

Little Paddocks at exactly ten minutes to five.

One was addressed to Phillipa Haymes in a schoolboy's

hand; the other two were for Miss Blacklock. She

opened them as she and Phillipa sat down at the tea

table. The torrential rain had enabled Phillipa to leave

Dayas Hall early tCKiay, since once she had shut up the

greenhouses there was nothing more to do.

Miss Blacklock tore open her first letter which was a

bill for repairing the kitchen boiler. She snorted angrily.

"Dymond's prices are preposterous--quite preposterous.

Still, I suppose all the other people are just as bad."

She opened the second letter which was in a handwriting

quite unknown to her.

Dear Cousin Letty it said),

I hope it will be all right for me to come to you

on Tuesday? I wrote to Patrick two days ago but he hasn't answered. So I presume it's all right. Mother is coming to England next month and hopes to see

you then.

My train arrives at Chipping Cleghom at 6.15 if

that's convenient?

Yours affectionately,

/ulia Simmons

asg

A Murder is Announced

Miss Blacklock read the letter once with astonishment

pure and simple, and then again with a certain grimness.

She looked up at Phillipa who was smiling over her son's

letter.

" Are Julia and Patrick back, do you know?"

Phillipa looked up.

" Yes, they came in just after I did. They went upstairs to change. They were wet."

" Perhaps you'd not mind going and calling them."

" Of course, I will."

" Wait a moment--I'd like you to read this."

She handed Phillipa the letter she had received.

Phillipa read it and frowned. " I don't understand ..."

" Nor do I, quite ... I think it's about time I did. Call Patrick and Julia, Phillipa."

Phillipa called from the bottom of the stairs :

" Patrick! Julia! Miss Blacklock wants you."

Patrick came running down the stairs and entered the

room.

" Don't go, Phillipa," said Miss Blacklock.

" Hallo, Aunt Letty," said Patrick cheerfully. " Want me?"

" Yes, I do. Perhaps you'll give me an explanation of this?" Patrick's face showed an almost comical dismay as he

read.

" I meant to telegraph her! What an ass I am!"

" This letter, I presume, is from your sister Julia?"

" Yes--yes, it is."

Miss Blacklock said grimly:

" Then who, may I ask, is the young woman whom

you brought here as Julia Simmons, and whom I was

given to understand was your sister and my cousin?"

" Well--you see--Aunt Letty--the fact of the matter

is--I can explain it all--I know I oughtn't to have done 230

Miss Marple is Missing

jt--but it really seemed more of a lark than anything else.

If you'll just let me explain----"

" I am waiting for you to explain. Who is this young

woman?"

" Well, I met her at a cocktail party soon after I got

demobbed. We got talking and I said I was coming here and then--well, we thought it might be rather a good

wheeze if I brought her along . . . You sec, Julia, the real Julia was mad to go on the stage and Mother had

seven fits at the idea--however, Julia got a chance to join

a jolly good repertory company up in Perth or somewhere

and she thought she'd give it a try--but she

thought she'd keep Mum calm by letting Mum think

that she was here with me studying to be a dispenser like

a good little girl."

" I still want to know who this other young woman is." Patrick turned with relief as Julia, cool and aloof,

came into the room.

" The balloon's gone up," he said. " "

Julia raised her eyebrows. Then, still cool, she came

forward and sat down.

" O.K.," she said. " That's that. I suppose you're very angry?" She studied Miss Blacklock's face with

almost dispassionate interest. " I should be if I were you."

" Who are you?"

Julia sighed.

" I think the moment's come when I make a clean

breast of things. Here we go. I'm one half of the Pip

and Emma combination. To be exact, my christened

name is Emma Jocelyn Stamfordis--only Father soon

dropped the Stamfordis. I think he called himself dc

Courcy next.

" My father and mother, let me tell you, split up

about three years after Pip and I were born. Each of 231

A Murder is Announced

them went their own way. And they split us up. I was

Father's part of the loot. He was a bad parent on the

whole, though quite a charming one. I had various

desert spells of being educated in convents--when Father

hadn't any money, or was preparing to engage in some

particularly nefarious deal. He used to pay the first

term with every sign of affluence and then depart and

leave me on the nuns' hands for a year or two. In the

intervals, he and I had some very good times together,

moving in cosmopolitan society. However, the war separated

us completely. I've no idea of what's happened to

him. I had a few adventures myself. I was with the

French Resistance for a time. Quite exciting. To cut a

long story short, I landed up in London and began to

think about my future. I knew that Mother's brother

with whom she'd had a frightful row, had died a very

rich man. I looked up his will to see if there was anything

for me. There wasn't--not directly, that is to say.

I made a few inquiries about his widow--it seemed she

was quite gaga and kept under drugs and was dying by

inches. Frankly, it looked as though you were my best

bet. You were going to come into a hell of a lot of

money and from all I could find out, you didn't seem to

have anyone much to spend it on. I'll be quite frank. It

occurred to me that if I could get to know you in a

friendly kind of way, and if you took a fancy to me-well, after all, conditions have changed a bit, haven't they, since Uncle Randall died? I mean any money we

ever had has been swept away in the cataclysm of

Europe. I thought you might pity a poor orphan girl,

all alone in the world, and make her, perhaps a small

allowance."

" Oh, you did, did you?" said Miss Blacklock grimly.

"Yes. Of course, I hadn't seen you then ... I

visualised a kind of sob stuff approach . . . Then, by a sy

Miss Marple is Missing

marvellous stroke of lucky 1 met Patrick here--and he

turned out to be your nephew or your cousin, or something.

Well, that struck me as a marvellous chance. I

went bullheaded for Patrick and he fell for me in a most

gratifying way. The real Julia was all wet about this

acting stuff and I soon persuaded her it was her duty to

Art to go and fix herself up in some uncomfortable lodgings

in Perth and train to be the new Sarah Bemhardt.

" You mustn't blame Patrick too much. He felt awfully

sorry for me, all alone in the world--and he soon

thought it would be a really marvellous idea for me to

come here as his sister and do my stuff."

" And he also approved of your continuing to tell a

tissue of lies to the Police?"

" Have a heart, Letty. Don't you see that when that

ridiculous hold-up business happened--or rather after it

happened--I began to feel I was in a bit of a spot. Let's

face it, I've got a perfectly good motive for putting you

out of the way. You've only got my word for it now that

I wasn't the one who tried to do it.'You can't expect

me deliberately to go and incriminate myself. Even

Patrick got nasty ideas about me from time to time, and

if even he could think things like that, what on earth

would the police think? That Detective-Inspector struck

me as a man of singularly sceptical mind. No, I figured

out the only thing for me to do was to sit tight as Julia

and just fade away when term came to an end.

" How was I to know that fool Julia, the real Julia,

would go and have a row with the producer, and fling

the whole thing up in a fit of temperament? She writes

to Patrick and asks if she can come here, and instead of

wiring her ' Keep away' he goes and forgets to do anything

at all!" She cast an angry glance at Patrick. " Of

all the utter idiots'."

She sighed.

>>33

A Murder is Announced

" You don't know the straits I've been put to in Milchestcr! Of course, I haven't been to the hospital at all.

But I had to go somewhere. Hours and hours I've spent

in the pictures seeing the most frightful films over and

over again."

" Pip and Emma," murmured Miss Blacklock. " I

never believed, somehow, in spite of what the Inspector

said, that they were real----"

She looked searchingly at Julia.

" You're Emma," she said. " Where's Pip?" Julia's eyes, limpid and innocent, met hers.

"I don't know," she said. "I haven't the least idea."

" I think you're lying, Julia. When did you sec him

last?"

Was there a momentary hesitation before Julia spoke?

She said clearly and deliberately :

" I haven't seen him since we were both three years

old--when my mother took him away. I haven't seen

either him or my mother. I don't know where they

are."

" And that's all you have to say?"

Julia sighed.

" I could say I was sorry. But it wouldn't really be

true; because actually I'd do the same thing again--

though not if I'd known about this murder business, of

*i

course."

" Julia," said Miss Blacklock, " (I call you that because I'm used to it). You were with the French Resistance,

you say?"

"Yes. For eighteen months."

" Then I suppose you learned to shoot?"

Again those cool blue eyes met hers.

" I can shoot all right. I'm a first-class shot. I didn't shoot at you, Lctitia Blacklock, though you've only got

>>34

Miss Marple is Missing

my word for that. But I can tell you this, that if I had

shot at you, I wouldn't have been likely to miss."

ll

The sound of a car driving up to the door broke through

the tenseness of the moment.

" Who can that be?" asked Miss Blacklock.

Mitzi put a tousled head in. She was showing the whites of her eyes.

" It is the Police come again," she said. " This, it is persecution! Why will they not leave us alone ? I will

not bear it. I will write to the Prime Minister. I will

write to your King."

Craddock's hand put her firmly and not too kindly

aside. He came in with such a grim set to his lips that

they all looked at him apprehensively. This was a new

Inspector Craddock. " " He

said sternly:

" Miss Murgatroyd has been murdered. She was

strangled--not more than an hour ago." His eye singled

out Julia. " You--Miss Simmons--where have you

been all day?"

Julia said warily:

" In Milchester. I've just got in."

" And you ?" The eye went on to Patrick.

"Yes."

" Did you both come back here together?"

" Yes--yes, we did," said Patrick.

" No," said Julia. " It's no good, Patrick. That's the kind of lie that will be found out at once. The bus

people know us well. I came back on the earlier bus,

Inspector--the one that gets here at four o'clock."

>>35

A Murder is Announced

" And what did you do then?"

" I went for a walk."

" In the direction of Boulders?"

" No, I went across the fields."

He stared at her. Julia, her face pale, her lips tense,

stared back.

Before anyone could speak, the telephone rang.

Miss Blacklock, with an inquiring glance at Craddock,

picked up the receiver.

"Yes. Who? Oh, Bunch. What? No. No, she

hasn't. I've no idea ... Yes, he's here now."

She lowered the instrument and said :

" Mrs. Harmon would like to speak to you, Inspector.

Miss Marple has not come back to the Vicarage and

Mrs. Harmon is worried about her."

Craddock took two strides forward and gripped the

telephone.

" Craddock speaking."

" I'm worried. Inspector." Bunch's voice came through with a childish tremor in it. "Aunt Jane's out somewhere--and I don't know where. And they say that Miss

Murgatroyd's been killed. Is it true?"

" Yes, it's true, Mrs. Harmon. Miss Marple was there

with Miss Hinchliffe when they found the body."

" Oh, so that's where she is." Bunch sounded relieved.

" No--no, I'm afraid she isn't. Not now. She left

there about--let me see--half an hour ago. She hasn't

got home?"

" No--she hasn't. It's only ten minutes' walk. Where

can she be?"

" Perhaps she's called in on one of your neighbours ?"

" I've rung them up--all of them. She's not there.

I'm frightened. Inspector."

" So am I," thought Craddock.

He said quickly:

936

Miss Marple is Missing

" I'll come round to you--at once."

" Oh, do--there's a piece of paper. She was writing

on it before she went out. I don't know if it means

anything ... It just seems gibberish to me."

Craddock replaced the receiver.

Miss Blacklock said anxiously:

"Has something happened to Miss Marple? Oh, I

hope not."

" I hope not, too." His mouth was grim.

" She's so old--and frail."

" I know."

Miss Blacklock, standing with her hand pulling at

the choker of pearls round her neck, said in a hoarse

voice:

" It's getting worse and worse. Whoever's doing these

things must be mad. Inspector--quite mad ..."

" I wonder."

The choker of pearls round Miss Blacklock's neck

broke under the clutch of her nervous fingers. The

smooth white globules rolled all over the room.

Letitia cried out in an anguished tone.

" My pearls--my pearls----" The agony in her voice

was so acute that they all looked at her in astonishment.

She turned, her hand to her throat, and rushed sobbing

out of the room.

Phillipa began picking up the pearls.

" I've never seen her so upset over anything," she said.

" Of course--she always wears them. Do you think,

perhaps, that someone special gave them to her? Randall

Goedler, perhaps."

" It's possible," said the Inspector slowly.

" They're not--they couldn't be--real by any

chance?" Phillipa asked from where, on her knees, she

was still collecting the white shining globes.

Taking one in his hand, Craddock was just about to

237

A Murder is Announced

reply contemptuously, " Real? Of course not!" when he suddenly stifled the words.

After all, could the pearls be real?

They were so large, so even, so white that their falseness

seemed palpable, but Craddock remembered suddenly

a police case where a string of real pearls had been

bought for a few shillings in a pawnbroker's shop.

Letitia Blacklock had assured him that there was no

jewellery of value in the house. If these pearls were, by

any chance, genuine, they must be worth a fabulous

sum. And if Randall Goedler had given them to

her--then they might be worth any sum you cared to

name.

They looked false--they must be false, but--if they

were real?

Why not? She might herself be unaware of they value. Or she might choose to protect her treasure by treating

it as though it were a cheap ornament worth a couple

of guineas at most. What would they be worth if real?

A fabulous sum . . . Worth doing murder for--if anybody

knew about them.

With a start, the Inspector wrenched himself away

from his speculations. Miss Marple was missing. He

must go to the Vicarage.

ill

He found Bunch and her husband waiting for him, their

faces anxious and drawn.

" She hasn't come back," said Bunch.

" Did she say she was coming back here when she left

Boulders?" asked Julian.

" She didn't actually say so," said Craddock slowly, 338

Miss Marple is Missing

throwing his mind back to the last time he had seen Jane

Marple.

He remembered the grimness of her lips and the severe

frosty light in those usually gentle blue eyes.

Grimness, an inexorable determination ... to do what?

To go where?

" She was talking to Sergeant Fletcher when I last saw

her," he said. " Just by the gate. And then she went through it and out. I took it she was going straight home

to the Vicarage. I would have sent her in the car--but

there was so much to attend to, and she slipped away

very quietly. Fletcher may know something! Where's

Fletcher?"

But Sergeant Fletcher, it seemed, as Craddock learned

when he rang up Boulders, was neither to be found there

nor had he left any message where he had gone. There

was some idea that he had returned to Milchcster for

some reason.

The Inspector rang up headquarters in Milchester, but

no news of Fletcher was to be found there.

Then Craddock turned to Bunch as he remembered

what she had told him over the telephone.

" Where's that paper? You said she'd been writing

something on a bit of paper."

Bunch brought it to him. He spread it out on the table

and looked down on it. Bunch leant over his shoulder

and spelled it out as he read. The writing was shaky and

not easy to read:

Lamp.

Then came the word " Violets"

Then after a space:

Where is bottle of aspirin?

The next item in this curious list was more difficult to

make out. "Delicious Death," Bunch read. "That's Mitzi's cake."

>>39

A Murder is Announced

" Making enquiries," read Craddock.

"Inquiries? What about, I wonder? What's this?

Severe affliction bravely borne ... What on earth----!"

" Iodine," read the Inspector. " Pearls. Ah, pearls."

" And then Lotty--no, Letty. Her e's look like o's.

And then Berne. And what's this? Old Age Pension ..."

They looked at each other in bewilderment.

Craddock recapitulated swiftly:

"Lamp. Violets. Where is bottle of aspirin ? Delicious

Death. Making enquiries. Severe affliction bravely

borne. Iodine. Pearls. Letty. Beme. Old Age Pension."

Bunch asked: " Does it mean anything? Anything at

all ? I can't see any connection."

Craddock said slowly: " I've just a glimmer--but I

don't see. It's odd that she should have put down that

about pearls."

" What about pearls? What does it mean?"

"Does Miss Blacklock always wear that three tier

choker of pearls?"

" Yes, she does. We laugh about it sometimes. They're

so dreadfully false looking, aren't they? But I suppose

she thinks it's fashionable."

"There might be another reason," said Craddock

slowly.

" You don't mean that they're real. Oh! they couldn't

be!"

" How often have you had an opportunity of seeing

real pearls of that size, Mrs. Harmon?"

" But they're so glassy."

Craddock shrugged his shoulders.

" Anyway, they don't matter now. It's Miss Marple

that matters. We've got to find her."

They'd got to find her before it was too late--but

perhaps it was already too late? Those pencilled words

showed that she was on the track . . . But that was

Miss Marple is Missing

dangerous--horribly dangerous. And where the hell was

Fletcher?

Craddock strode out of the Vicarage to where he'd left

his car. Search--that was all he could do--search.

A voice spoke to him out of the dripping laurels.

" Sir!" said Sergeant Fletcher urgently. " Sir..." 241

21. Three Women

dinner was over at Little Paddocks. It had been a

silent and uncomfortable meal.

Patrick, uneasily aware of having fallen from grace,

only made spasmodic attempts at conversation--and

such as he did make were not well received. Phillipa

Haymes was sunk in abstraction. Miss Blacklock herself

had abandoned the effort to behave with her normal

cheerfulness. She had changed for dinner and had come

down wearing her necklace of cameos but for the first

time fear showed from her darkly circled eyes, and betrayed

itself by her twitching hands.

Julia alone, had maintained her air of cynical detachment

throughout the evening.

" I'm sorry, Letty," she said, " that I can't pack my bag and go. But I presume the police wouldn't allow it.

I don't suppose I'll darken your roof--or whatever the

expression is--for long. I should imagine that Inspector

Craddock will be round with a warrant and the handcuffs

any moment. In fact, I can't imagine why something

of the kind hasn't happened already."

" He's looking for the old lady--for Miss Marple,"

said Miss Blacklock.

"Do you think she's been murdered, too?" Patrick

asked with scientific curiosity. " But why ? What could

she know?"

" I don't know," said Miss Blacklock dully. " Perhaps Miss Murgatroyd told her something."

" If she's been murdered too," said Patrick, " there 242

Three Women

seems to be logically only one person who could have

done it."

" Who?"

" Hinchliffe, of course," said Patrick triumphantly.

" That's where she was last seen alive--at Boulders. My

solution would be that she never left Boulders."

" My head aches," said Miss Blacklock in a dull voice. She pressed her fingers to her forehead. " Why should

Hindi murder Miss Marple? It doesn't make sense."

" It would if Hinch had really murdered Murgatroyd," said Patrick triumphantly.

Phillipa came out of her apathy to say:

" Hinch wouldn't murder Murgatroyd."

Patrick was in an argumentative mood.

" She might have if Murgatroyd had blundered on

something to show that-she--:Hinch;--was the criminal."

" Anyway, Hinch was at the station when Murgatroyd

was killed."

" She could have murdered Murgatroyd before she

left."

Startling them all, Letitia Blacklock suddenly screamed

out:

" Murder, murder, murder----} Can't you talk of

anything else? I'm frightened, don't you understand?

I'm frightened. I wasn't before. I thought I could take

care of myself . . . But what can you do against a

murderer who's waiting--and watching--and biding his

time! Oh, God!"

She dropped her head forward on her hands. A

moment later she looked up and apologised stiffly.

" I'm sorry. I--I lost control."

"That's all right. Aunt Letty," said Patrick affectionately.

" I'll look after you."

You?" was all Letitia Blacklock said, but the disillusionment behind the word was almost an accusation.

>>43

A Murder is Announced

That had been shortly before dinner, and Mitzi had

ihen created a diversion by coming and declaring that

she was not going to cook the dinner.

" I do not do anything more in this house. I go to my

room. I lock myself in. I stay there until it is daylight.

I am afraid--people are being killed--that Miss Murgatroyd

with her stupid English face--who would want to

kill her? Only a maniac! Then it is a maniac that is

about! And a maniac does not care who he kills. But

me, I do not want to be killed! There are shadows in

that kitchen--and I hear noises--I think there is someone

out in the yard and then I think I see a shadow by

the larder door and then it is footsteps I hear. So I go

now to my room and I lock the door and perhaps even

I put the chest of drawers against it. And in the morning

I tell that cruel hard policeman that I go away from

here. And if he will not let me I say: ' I scream and I

scream and I scream until you have to let me go!'"

Everybody, with a vivid recollection of what Mitzi

could do in the screaming line, shuddered at the threat.

" So I go to my room," said Mitzi, repeating the statement once more to make her intentions quite clear. With

a symbolic action she cast off the cretonne apron she

had been wearing. " Good night, Miss Blacklock. Perhaps

in the morning, you may not be alive. So in case

that is so, I say goodbye."

She departed abruptly and the door, with its usual

gentle little whine, closed softly after her.

Julia got up.

" I'll see to dinner," she said in a matter-of-fact way.

" Rather a good arrangement--less embarrassing for you

all than having me sit down at table with you. Patrick

(since he's constituted himself your protector, Aunt Letty)

had better taste every dish first. I don't want to be

accused of poisoning you on top of everything else." 344

Three Women

So Julia had cooked and served a really excellent meal.

Phillipa had come out to the kitchen with an offer of

assistance but Julia had said firmly that she didn't want

any help.

" Julia, there's something I want to say----"

" This is no time for girlish confidences," said Julia firmly. " Go on back in the dining-room, Phillipa." Now dinner was over and they were in the drawingroom

with coffee on the small table by the fire--and

nobody seemed to have anything to say. They were

waiting--that was all.

At 8.30 Inspector Craddock rang up.

" I shall be with you in about a quarter of an hour's

time," he announced. " I'm bringing Colonel and Mrs. Easterbrook and Mrs. Swettenham and her son with

me."

"But really, Inspector ... I can't cope with people

tonight----"

Miss Blacklock's voice sounded as though she were at

the end of her tether. - * "

I know how you feel, Miss Blacklock. I'm sorry.

But this is urgent."

" Have you--found Miss Marple ?"

" No," said the Inspector and rang off.

Julia took the coffee tray out to the kitchen where, to

her surprise, she found Mitzi contemplating the piled up

dishes and plates by the sink.

Mitzi burst into a torrent of words.

" See what you do in my so nice kitchen! That frying

pan--only, only for omelettes do I use it! And you,

what have you used it for?"

" Frying onions."

' Ruined--ruined. It will have now to be washed and

never--never--do I wash my omelette pan. I rub it

carefully over with a greasy newspaper, that is all. And

>>45

A Murder is Announced

this saucepan here that you have used--that one, I use

him only for milk----"

" Well, I don't know what pans you use for what,"

said Julia crossly. " You chose to go to bed and why on

earth you've chosen to get up again, I can't imagine. Go

away again and leave me to wash up in peace."

" No, I will not let you use my kitchen."

" Oh, Mitzi, you are impossible!"

Julia stalked angrily out of the kitchen and at thai

moment the door bell rang.

" I do not go to the door," Mitzi called from

the kitchen. Julia muttered an impolite Continental

expression under her breath and stalked to the front

door.

It was Miss Hinchliffe.

" 'Evening," she said in her gruff voice. " Sorry to barge in. Inspector's rung up, I expect?"

" He didn't tell us you were coming," said Julia, leading the way to the drawing-room.

" He said I needn't come unless I liked," said Miss Hinchliffe. " But I do like."

Nobody offered Miss Hinchliffe sympathy or mentioned

Miss Murgatroyd's death. The ravaged face of

the tall vigorous woman told its own tale, and would

have made any expression of sympathy an impertinence.

" Turn all the lights on," said Miss Blacklock. " And put more coal on the fire. I'm cold--horribly cold.

Come and sit here by the fire, Miss Hinchliffe. The

Inspector said he would be here in a quarter of an hour.

It must be nearly that now."

" Mitzi's come down again," said Julia.

" Has she ? Sometimes I think that girl's mad--quite

mad. But then perhaps we're all mad."

" I've no patience with this saying that all people who

commit crimes are mad," barked Miss Hinchliffe. " Hor246

A Murder is Announced

" Mother," said Edmund in a voice of acute suffering,

" can't you shut up?"

" I'm sure, dear, I don't want to say a word," said Mrs. Swettcnham, and sat down on the sofa by Julia.

Inspector Craddock stood near the door. Facing him,

almost in a row, were the three women. Julia and Mrs.

Swettenham on the sofa. Mrs. Easterbrook on the arm

of her husband's chair. He had not brought about this

arrangement, but it suited him very well.

Miss Blacklock and Miss Hinchliffe were crouching

over the fire. Edmund stood near them. Phillipa was far

back in the shadows.

Craddock began without preamble.

" You all know that Miss Murgatroyd's been killed," he began. " We've reason to believe that the person

who killed her was a woman. And for certain other

reasons we can narrow it down still more. I'm about to

ask certain ladies here to account for what they were

doing between the hours of four and four-twenty this

afternoon. I have already had an account of her movements

from--from the young lady who has been calling

herself Miss Simmons. I will ask her to repeat that statement. At the same time. Miss Simmons, I must caution

you that you need not answer if you think your answers

may incriminate you, and anything you say will be taken

down by Constable Edwards and may be used as evidence

in court."

"You have to say that, don't you?" said Julia. She

was rather pale, but still composed. " I repeat that between four and four-thirty I was walking along the field

leading down to the brook by Compton Farm. I came

back to the road by that field with three poplars in it. I

didn't meet anyone as far as I can remember. I did not

go near Boulders."

"Mrs. Swettcnham?"

348

Three Women

Edmund said, " Are you cautioning all of us?"

The Inspector turned to him.

" No. At the moment only Miss Simmons. I have no

reason to believe that any other statement made will be

incriminating, but anyone, of course, is entitled to have

a solicitor present and to refuse to answer questions unless

he is present."

" Oh, but that would be very silly and a complete

waste of time," cried Mrs. Swettenham. " I'm sure I can tell you at once exactly what I was doing. That's what

you want, isn't it? Shall I begin now ?"

" Yes, please, Mrs. Swettenham."

" Now, let me see." Mrs. Swettenham closed her eyes, opened them again. " Of course I had nothing at all to

do with killing Miss Murgatroyd. I'm sure everybody here knows that. But I'm a woman of the world, I know

quite well that the police have to ask all the most unnecessary questions and write the answers down very carefully,

because it's all for what they call ' the record.'

That's it, isn't it?" Mrs. Swettenham flashed the question at the diligent Constable Edwards and added

graciously, " I'm not going too fast for you, I hope?" Const'ble Edwards, a good shorthand writer, but with

little social savoir-faire, turned red to the ears and

replied :

" It's quite all right, madam. Well, perhaps a little slower would be better." Mrs. Swettenham resumed her discourse with emphatic

pauses where she considered a comma or a full stop

might be appropriate.

" Well, of course it's difficult to say--exactly--because I've not got, really, a very good sense of time. And ever

since the war quite half our clocks haven't gone at all,

and the ones that do go are often either fast or slow or

stop because we haven't wound them up." Mrs. Swetten >>49

.. i

A Murder is Announced

ham paused to let this picture of confused time sink in

and then went on earnestly, " What I think I was doing

at four o'clock was turning the heel of my sock (and for

some extraordinary reason I was going round the wrong

way--in purl, you know, not plain) but if I wasn't doing

that, I must have been outside snipping off the dead

chrysanthemums--no, that was earlier--before the rain."

"The rain," said the inspector, "started at 4.10 exactly."

" Did it now ? That helps a lot. Of course, I was

upstairs putting a wash-basin in the passage where the

rain always comes through. And it was coming through

so fast that I guessed at once that the gutter was stopped

up again. So I came down and got my mackintosh and

rubber boots. I called Edmund, but he didn't answer, so

I thought perhaps he'd got to a very important place in

his novel and I wouldn't disturb him, and I've done it

quite often myself before. With the broom handle, you

know, tied on to that long thing you push up windows

with."

" You mean," said Craddock, noting bewilderment on

his subordinate's face, " that you were cleaning out the gutter?"

" Yes, it was all choked up with leaves. It took a long

time and I got rather wet, but I got it clear at last. And

then I went in and got changed and washed--so smelly, dead leaves--and then I went into the kitchen and put

the kettle on. It was 6.15 by the kitchen clock."

Constable Edwards blinked.

" Which means," finished Mrs. Swettenham triumphantly,

" that it was exactly twenty minutes to five."

" Or near enough," she added.

" Did anybody see what you were doing whilst you

were out cleaning the gutter?"

" No, indeed," said Mrs. Swettenham, " I'd soon have 250

Three Women

roped them in to help if they had! It's a most difficult

thing to do single-handed."

" So, by your own statement, you were outside, in a

mackintosh and boots, at the time when the rain was

coming down, and according to you, you were employed

during that time in cleaning out a gutter but you have

no one who can substantiate that statement?"

" You can look at the gutter," said Mrs. Swettenham.

" It's beautifully clear."

" Did you hear your mother call to you, Mr. Swettenham?"

"

No," said Edmund. " I was fast asleep."

" Edmund," said his mother reproachfully, " I thought you were writing."

Inspector Craddock turned to Mrs. Easterbrook.

"Now, Mrs. Easterbrook?"

" I was sitting with Archie in his study," said Mrs. Easterbrook fixing wide innocent eyes on him. " We

were listening to the wireless together, weren't we,

Archie?"

There was a pause. Colonel Easterbrook was very red

in the face. He took his wife's hand in his.

" You don't understand these things, kitten," he said.

"I--well, I must say, Inspector, you've rather sprung

this business on us. My wife, you know, has been terribly

upset by all this. She's nervous and highly strung and

doesn't appreciate the importance of--of taking due

consideration before she makes a statement."

" Archie," cried Mrs. Easterbrook reproachfully, " are you going to say you weren't with me?"

" Well, I wasn't, was I, my dear? I mean one's got to

stick to the facts. Very important in this sort of inquiry.

I was talking to Lampson, the farmer at Croft End,

about some chicken netting. That was about a quarter

to four. I didn't get home until after the rain had

>>5'

A Murder is Announced

stopped. Just before tea. A quarter to five. Laura was

toasting the scones."

" And had you been out also, Mrs. Easterbrook?"

The pretty face looked more like a weasel's than ever.

Her eyes had a trapped look.

" No--no, I just sat listening to the wireless. I didn't go out. Not then. I'd been out earlier. About--about

half-past three. Just for a little walk. Not far."

She looked as though she expected more questions, but

Craddock said quietly:

" That's all, Mrs. Easterbrook."

He went on: " These statements will be typed out.

You can read them and sign them if they are substantially

correct."

Mrs. Easterbrook looked at him with sudden venom.

"Why don't you ask the others where they were?

That Haymes woman? And Edmund Swettenham?

How do you know he was asleep indoors? Nobody saw

him."

Inspector Craddock said quietly:

" Miss Murgatroyd, before she died, made a certain

statement. On the night of the hold-up here, someone was absent from this room. Someone who was supposed

to have been in the room all the time. Miss Murgatroyd

told her friend the names of the people she did see. By a

process of elimination, she made the discovery that there

was someone she did not see."

" Nobody could see anything," said Julia.

" Murgatroyd could," said Miss Hinchliffe, speaking suddenly in her deep voice. " She was over there behind

the door, where Inspector Craddock is now. She was the

only person who could see anything of what was happening."

"Aha! That is what you think, is it!" demanded

Mitzi.

252

Three Women

She made one of her dramatic entrances, flinging open

the door and almost knocking Craddock sideways. She

was in a frenzy of excitement.

" Ah, you do not ask Mitzi to come in here with the

others, do you, you stiff policeman ? I am only Mitzi!

Mitzi in the kitchen! Let her stay in the kitchen where

she belongs! But I tell you that Mitzi, as well as anyone

else, and perhaps better, yes, better, can see things. Yes, I see things. I see something the night of the burglary.

I sec something and I do not quite believe it, and I hold

my tongue till now. I think to myself I will not tell what

it is I have seen, not yet. I will wait."

" And when everything had calmed down, you meant

to ask for a little money from a certain person, eh?" said Craddock.

Mitzi turned on him like an angry cat.

"And why not? Why look down your nose? Why

should I not be paid for it if I have been so generous as

to keep silence? Especially if some day there will be

money--much much money. Oh! I have heard things

--I know what goes on. I know this -Pippemmer--this

secret society of which she"--she flung a dramatic

finger towards Julia--" is an agent. Yes, I would have

waited and asked for money--but now I am afraid. I

would rather be safe. For soon, perhaps, someone will kill me. So I will tell what I know."

" All right then," said the Inspector sceptically. " What do you know?"

" I tell you." Mitzi spoke solemnly. " On that night I am not in the pantry cleaning silver as I say--I am

already in the dining-room when I hear the gun go off.

I look through the keyhole. The hall it is black, but the

gun go off again and the torch it falls--and it swings

round as it falls--and I see her. I see her there close to

him, with the gun in her hand. I see Miss Blacklock." >>53

A Murder is Announced

"Me?" Miss BIacklock sat up in astonishment. "You must be mad!"

" But that's impossible," cried Edmund. " Mitzi couldn't have seen Miss BIacklock----"

Craddock cut in and his voice had the corrosive quality

of a deadly acid.

" Couldn't she, Mr. Swettenham? And why not?

Because it wasn't Miss BIacklock who was standing there

with the gun ? It was you, wasn't it ?"

" I?--of course not--what the hell

" You took Colonel Easterbrook's revolver. You fixed

up the business with Rudi Scherz--as a good joke. You

had followed Patrick Simmons into the far room and

when the lights went out, you slipped out through the

carefully oiled door. You shot at Miss BIacklock and

then you killed Rudi Scherz. A few seconds later you

were back in the drawing-room clicking your lighter."

For a moment Edmund seemed at a loss for words,

then he spluttered out:

"The whole idea is monstrous. Why me? What

earthly motive had I got?"

"If Miss BIacklock dies before Mrs. Goedler, two

people inherit, remember. The two we know of as Pip

and Emma. Julia Simmons has turned out to be

Emma----"

" And you think I'm Pip?" Edmund laughed. "Fantastic--absolutely fantastic! I'm about the right age--

nothing else. And I can prove to you, you damned fool,

that I am Edmund Swettenham. Birth certificate,

schools, university--everything."

" He isn't Pip." The voice came from the shadows in the corner. Phillipa Haymes came forward, her face pale.

" I'm Pip, Inspector."

"You, Mrs. Haymes?"

"Yes. Everybody seems to have assumed that Pip

254

Three Women

was a boy--Julia knew, of course, that her twin was

another girl--I don't know why she didn't say so this

afternoon----"

" Family solidarity," said Julia. " I suddenly realised who you were. I'd had no idea till that moment."

" I'd-had the same idea as Julia did," said Phillipa, her voice trembling a little. " After I--lost my husband and the war was over, I wondered what I was going to

do. My mother died many years ago. I found out about

my Goedler relations. Mrs. Goedler was dying and at

her death the money would go to a Miss Blacklock. I

found out where Miss Blacklock lived and I--I came

here. I took a job with Mrs. Lucas. I hoped that, since this Miss Blacklock was an elderly woman without relatives,

she might, perhaps, be willing to help. Not me,

because I could work, but help with Harry's education.

After all; it "was Goedler money and she'd no one

particular of-her own to spend it on.

" And then," Phillipa spoke faster, it was as though, now her long reserve had broken down, she couldn't get

the words out fast enough, " that hold-up happened and

I began to be frightened. Because it seemed to me that

the only possible person with a motive for killing Miss

Blacklock was me. I hadn't the least idea who Julia was

--we aren't identical twins and we're not much alike to

look at. No, it seemed as though I was the only one

bound to be suspected."

She stopped and pushed her fair hair back from her

face, and Craddock suddenly realised that the faded

snapshot in the box of letters must have been a photograph

of Phillipa's mother. The likeness was undeniable.

He knew too why that mention of closing and unclosing

hands had seemed familiar--Phillipa was doing it now.

" Miss Blacklock has been good to me. Very very good

to me--I didn't try to kill her. I never thought of killing

255

A Murder is Announced

her. But all the same, I'm Pip." She added, " You see, you needn't suspect Edmund any more."

"Needn't I?" said Craddock. Again there was that

acid biting tone in his voice. " Edmund Swettenham's a

young man who's fond of money. A young man, perhaps,

who would like to marry a rich wife. But she

wouldn't be a rich wife unless Miss Blacklock died before

Mrs. Goedler. And since it seemed almost certain that

Mrs. Goedler would die before Miss Blacklock, well--he

had to do something about it--didn't you, Mr. Swettenham?"

"

It's a damned lie!" Edmund shouted.

And then, suddenly, a sound rose on the air. It came

from the kitchen--a long unearthly shriek of terror.

" That isn't Mitzi!" cried Julia.

" No," said Inspector Craddock, " it's someone who's murdered three people ..."

256

22. The Truth

when the Inspector turned on Edmund Swettenham,

Mitzi had crept quietly out of the room and back to the

kitchen. She was running water into the sink when Miss

Blacklock entered.

Mitzi gave her a shamefaced sideways look.

"What a liar you are, Mitzi," said Miss Blacklock

pleasantly. " Here--that isn't the way to wash up. The silver first, and fill the sink right up. You can't wash up

in about two inches of water."

Mitzi turned the taps on obediently.

" You are not angry at what I say. Miss Blacklock?" she asked. .

" If I were to be angry at all the lies you tell, I should never be out of a temper," said Miss Blacklock.

" I will go and say to the Inspector that I make it all

up, shall I ?" asked Mitzi.

" He knows that already," said Miss Blacklock, pleasantly.

Mitzi turned off the taps and as she did so two hands

came up behind her head and with one swift movement

forced it down into the water-filled sink.

" Only 7 know that you're telling the truth for once," said Miss Blacklock viciously. Mitzi thrashed and struggled but Miss Blacklock was

strong and her hands held the girl's head firmly under

water.

Then, from somewhere quite close behind her, Dora

Banner's voice rose piteously on the air :

957

A Murder is Announced

" Oh Lofty--Lotty--don't do it... Lotty."

Miss BIaddock screamed. Her hands flew up in the air, and Mitzi, released, came up choking and spluttering.

Miss BIaddock screamed again and again. For there

was no one, except Mitzi, there in the kitchen with

her.. .

" Dora, Dora, forgive me. I had to ... I had to----" She rushed distractedly towards the scullery door-and the bulk of Sergeant Fletcher barred her way, just as Miss Marple stepped, flushed and triumphant, out of the

broom cupboard.

" I could always mimic people's voices," said Miss

Marple.

" You'll have to come with me, madam," said Sergeant Fletcher. " I was a witness of your attempt to

drown this girl. And there will be other charges. I must

warn you, Letitia Blacklock----"

" Charlotte Blacklock," corrected Miss Marple. " That's who she is, you know. Under that choker of pearls she

always wears you'll find the scar of the operation."

"Operation?"

" Operation for goitre."

Miss Blacklock, quite calm now, looked at Miss

Marple.

" So you know all about it?" she said.

" Yes, I've known for some time."

Charlotte Blacklock sat down by the table and began

to cry.

"You shouldn't have done that," she said. "Not made Dora's voice come. I loved Dora. I really loved

Dora."

Inspector Craddock and the others had crowded in the

doorway.

Constable Edwards, who added a knowledge of firstaid

and artificial respiration to his other accomplishes

The Truth

ments, was busy with Mitzi. As soon as Mitzi could

speak she was lyrical with self-praise.

" I do that good, do I not? I am clever! And I am

brave! Oh, I am brave! Very very nearly was / murdered,

too. But I am so brave I risk everything."

With a rush Miss Hinchliffe thrust aside the others

and leapt upon the weeping figure of Charlotte Blacklock

by the table.

It took all Sergeant Fletcher's strength to hold her off.

" Now then----" he said. " Now then--no, no. Miss Hinchliffe----"

Between clenched teeth Miss Hinchliffe was muttering;

" Let me get at her. Just let me get at her. It was she

who killed Amy Murgatroyd."

Charlotte Blacklock looked up and sniffed.

" I didn't want to kill her. I didn't want to kill anybody--I had to--but it's Dora I mind about--after

Dora was dead, I was all alone--ever since she died-I've been alone--oh, Dora--Dora----" And once again she dropped her head on her hands

and wept. - - . 259

23. Evening at the Vicarage

miss marple sat in the tall arm-chair. Bunch was

on the floor in front of the fire with her arms round her

knees.

The Reverend Julian Harmon was leaning forward

and was for once looking more like a schoolboy than a

man foreshadowing his own maturity. And Inspector

Craddock was smoking his pipe and drinking a whisky

and soda and was clearly very much off duty. An outer

circle was composed of Julia, Patrick, Edmund and

Phillipa.

" I think it's your story. Miss Marple," said Craddock.

" Oh no, my dear boy. I only just helped a little, here

and there. You were in charge of the whole thing, and

conducted it all, and you know so much that I don't."

" Well, tell it together," said Bunch impatiently. " Bit each. Only let Aunt Jane start because I like the muddly

way her mind works. When did you first think that the

whole thing was a put up job by the Blacklock?"

" Well, my dear Bunch, it's hard to say. Of course,

right at the very beginning, it did seem as though the

ideal person--or rather the obvious person, I should say

--to have arranged the hold-up was Miss Blacklock

herself. She was the only person who was known to have

been in contact with Rudi Scherz, and how much easier

to arrange something like that when it's your own house.

The central heating, for instance. No fires--because that

would have meant light in the room. But the only person

a6o

Evening at the Vicarage

who could have arranged not to have a fire was the

mistress of the house herself.

" Not that I thought cf all that at the time--it just

seemed to me that it was a pity it couldn't be as simple

as that! Oh, no, I was taken in like everyone else, I

thought that someone really did want to kill Ledtia

Blacklock."

"I think I'd like to get clear first on what really

happened," said Bunch. " Did this Swiss boy recognise her?"

" Yes. He'd worked in---->>

She hesitated and looked at Craddock.

" In Dr. Adolf Koch's clinic in Beme," said Craddock.

" Koch was a world famous specialist on operations for

goitre. Charlotte Blacklock went there to have her goitre

removed and Rudi Scherz was one of the orderlies.

When he came to England he recognised in the hotel a

lady who had been a patient and en the spur of the

moment he spoke to her. I dare say he mightn't have

done that if he'd paused to think, because he left the

place under a cloud, but that was sometime after Charlotte

had been there, so she wouldn't know anything

about it."

" So he never said anything to her about Montreux

and his father being a hotel proprietor?"

" Oh, no, she made that up to account for his having

spoken to her."

" It must have been a great shock to her," said Miss Marple, thoughtfully. " She felt reasonably safe--and

then---the almost impossible mischance of somebody

turning up who had known her--not as one of the two

Miss Blacklocks--she was prepared for that--but definitely

as Charlotte Blacklock, a patient who'd been

operated on for goitre.

" But you wanted to go through it all from the be261

A Murder is Announced

ginning. Well, the beginning, I think--if Inspector

Craddock agrees with me--was when Charlotte Blacklock,

a pretty, light-hearted, affectionate girl, developed

that enlargement of the thyroid gland that's called a

goitre. It ruined her life, because she was a very sensitive

girl. A girl, too, who had always set a lot of stress on

her personal appearance. And girls just at that age in

their teens, are particularly sensitive about themselves.

If she'd had a mother, or a reasonable father, I don't

think she would have got into the morbid state she

undoubtedly did get into. She had no one, you see, to

take her out of herself, and force her to sec people and

lead a normal life and not think too much about her

infirmity. And, of course, in a different household, she

might have been sent for an operation many years earlier.

" But Dr. Blacklock, I think, was an old-fashioned,

narrow-minded, tyrannical and obstinate man. He didn't

believe in these operations. Charlotte must take it from

him that nothing could be done--apart from dosage with

iodine and other drugs. Charlotte did take it from him,

and I think her sister also placed more faith in Dr.

Blacklock's powers as a physician than he deserved.

" Charlotte was devoted to her father in a rather weak

and soppy way. She thought, definitely, that her father

knew best. But she shut herself up more and more as

the goitre became larger and more unsightly, and refused

to see people. She was actually a kindly, affectionate

creature."

"That's an odd description of a murderess," said

Edmund.

" I don't know that it is," ccsaid Miss Marple. " Weak and kindly people are often very treacherous. And if

they've got a grudge against life it saps the little moral

strength that they may possess.

"Letitia Blacklock, of course, had quite a different

262

Evening at the Vicarage

personality. Inspector Craddock told me that Belle Goedler described her as really good--and I think Letitia was good. She was a woman of great integrity who

found--as she put it herself--a great difficulty in understanding how people couldn't sec what was dishonest.

Letitia Blacklock, however tempted, would never have

contemplated any kind of fraud for a moment.

" Letitia was devoted to her sister. She wrote her long

accounts of everything that happened in an effort to

keep her sister in touch with life. She was worried by

the morbid state Charlotte was getting into.

" Finally Dr. Blacklock died. Letitia, without hesitation, threw up her position with Randall Goedler and

devoted herself to Charlotte. She took her to Switzerland

to consult authorities there on the possibility of operating. It had been left very late--but as we know the operation

was successful. The deformity was gone--and the scar

this operation had left was easily hidden by a choker of

pearls or beads. "

" The war had broken out. A return to England was

difficult and the two sisters stayed in Switzerland doing

various Red Cross and other work. That's right, isn't it,

Inspector?"

" Yes, Miss Marplc."

" They got occasional news from England--amongst

other things, I expect, they heard that Belle Goedler

could not live long. I'm sure it would be only human

nature for them both to have planned and talked together

of the days ahead when a big fortune would be theirs to spend. One has got to realise, I think, that this prospect meant much more to Charlotte than it did to

Letitia. For the first time in her life, Charlotte could go

about feeling herself a normal woman, a woman at

whom no one looked with either repulsion or pity. She

was free at last to enjoy life--and she had a whole life-s6j

A Murder is Announced

time, as it were, to crowd into her remaining years. To

travel, to have a house and beautiful grounds--to have

clothes and jewels, and go to plays and concerts, to

gratify every whim--it was all a kind of fairy tale come

true to Charlotte.

" And then Letitia, the strong healthy Letida, got flu

which turned to pneumonia and died within the space

of a week! Not only had Charlotte lost her sister, but

the whole dream existence she had planned for herself

was cancelled. I think, you know, that she may have felt

almost resentful towards Letida. Why need Letitia have

died, just then, when they had just had a letter saying

Belle Goedler could not last long? Just one more month,

perhaps, and the money would have been Lctitia's--and

hers when Letitia died ...

" Now this is where I think the difference between the

two came in. Charlotte didn't really feel that what she

suddenly thought of doing was wrong--not really wrong.

The money was meant to come to Letitia--it would have

come to Letitia in the course of a few months--and she regarded herself and Letitia as one.

' " Perhaps the idea didn't occur to her until the doctor or someone asked her her sister's Christian name--and

then she realised how to nearly everyone they had appeared

as the two Miss Blacklocks--elderly, well-bred

Englishwomen, dressed much the same, with a strong

family resemblance--(and, as I pointed out to Bunch,

one elderly woman is so like another). Why shouldn't it

be Charlotte who had died and Letitia who was alive?

" It was an impulse, perhaps, more than a plan.

Letitia was buried under Charlotte's name. ' Charlotte'

was dead, ' Letitia' came to England. All the natural

initiative and energy, dormant for so many years, were now in the ascendant. As Charlotte she had played

second fiddle. She now assumed the airs of command, 364

Evening at the Vicarage

the feeling of command that had been Letitia's. They

were not really so unlike in mentality--though there

was, I think, a big difference morally.

" Charlotte had, of course, to take one or two obvious

precautions. She bought a house in a part of England

quite unknown to her. The only people she had to avoid

were a few people in her own native town in Cumberland

(where in any case she'd lived as a recluse) and, of

course. Belle Goedler who had known Letitia so well that

any impersonation would have been out of the question.

Handwriting difficulties were got over by the arthritic

condition of her hands. It was really very easy because

so few people had ever really known Charlotte."

" But supposing she'd met people who'd known

Letitia?" asked Bunch. " There must have been plenty of those."

" They wouldn't matter in the same way. Someone

might say: ' I came across Letitia Blacklock the other

day. She's changed so much I really, wouldn't have

known her.' But there still wouldn't be any suspicion in

their minds that she wasn't Letitia. People do change in

the course of ten years. Her failure to recognise them

could always be put down to her short-sightedness: and

you must remember that she knew every detail of Letitia's

life in London--the people she met--the places she went.

She'd got Letitia's letters to refer to, and she could

quickly have disarmed any suspicion by mention of some

incident, or an inquiry after a mutual friend. No, it was

recognition as Charlotte that was the only thing she had

to fear.

" She settled down at Little Paddocks, got to know her

neighbours and, when she got a letter asking dear Letitia

to be kind, she accepted with pleasure the visit of two

young cousins she had never seen. Their acceptance of

her as Aunt Letty increased her security.

365

A Murder is Announced

" The whole thing was going splendidly. And then-she made her big mistake. It was a mistake that arose solely from her kindness of heart and her naturally affectionate nature. She got a letter from an old school friend

who had fallen on evil days, and she hurried to the rescue.

Perhaps it may have been partly because she was, in

spite of everything, lonely. Her secret kept her in a way

apart from people. And she had been genuinely fond of

Dora Bunner and remembered her as a symbol of her

own gay carefree days at school. Anyway, on an impulse,

she answered Dora's letter in person. And very surprised

Dora must have been! She'd written to Letitia and the

sister who turned up in answer to her letter was Charlotte. There was never any question of pretending to be

Letitia to Dora. Dora was one of the few old friends who

had been admitted to see Charlotte in her lonely and

unhappy days.

" And because she knew that Dora would look at the

matter in exactly the same way as she did herself, she

told Dora what she had done. Dora approved wholeheartedly.

In her confused muddle-headed mind it

seemed only right that dear Lotty should not be done out

of her inheritance by Letty's untimely death. Lotty deserved a reward for all the patient suffering she had borne so bravely. It would have been most unfair if all

that money should have gone to someone nobody had

ever heard of.

" She quite understood that nothing must be allowed

to get out. It was like an extra pound of butter. You

couldn't talk about it but there was nothing wrong about

having it. So Dora came to Little Paddocks--and very

soon Charlotte began to understand that she had made a

terrible mistake. It was not merely the fact that Dora

Bunner, with her muddles and her mistakes and her

bungling, was quite maddening to live with. Charlotte 266

Evening at the Vicarage

could have put up with that--because she really cared

for Dora, and anyway knew from the doctor that Dora

hadn't got a very long time to live. But Dora very soon

became a real danger. Though Charlotte and Letitia

had called each other by their full names, Dora was the

kind of person who always uses abbreviations. To her

the sisters had always been Letty and Lotty. And though

she schooled her tongue resolutely to call her friend Letty

--the old name often slipped out. Memories of the past,

too, were rather apt to cometo her tongue--and Charlotte

had constantly to be on) the watch to check these

forgetful allusions. It began tp^get on her nerves.

" Still, nobody was likely to pay much attention to

Dora's inconsistencies. The real blow to Charlotte's

security came, as I say, when she was recognised and

spoken to by Rudi Scherz at the Royal Spa Hotel.

" I think that the money Rudi Scherz used to replace

his earlier defalcations at the hotel may have come from

Charlotte Blacklock. Inspector Craddock doesn't believe

--and I don't either--that Rudi Scherz applied to her

for money with any idea of blackmail in his head."

" He hadn't the faintest idea he knew anything to

blackmail her about," said Inspector Craddock. "He

knew that he was quite a personable young man--and

he was aware by experience that personable young men

sometimes can get money out of elderly ladies if they tell

a hard luck story convincingly enough.

" But she may have seen it differently. She may have

thought that it waa a form of insidious blackmail, that

perhaps he suspected something--and that later, if there

was publicity in the papers as there might be after Belle

Goedler's death, he would realise that in her he had

found a gold mine.

" And she was committed to the fraud now. She'd

established herself as Letitia Blacklock. With the Bank.

267

A Murder is Announced

With Mrs. Goedler. The only snag was this rather

dubious Swiss hotel clerk, an unreliable character, and

possibly a blackmailer. If only he were out of the way-she'd be safe.

" Perhaps she made it all up as a kind of fantasy first. She'd been starved of emotion and drama in her life.

She pleased herself by working out the details. How

would she go about getting rid of him?

" She made her plan. And at last she decided to act

on it. She told her story of a sham hold-up at a party

to Rudi Scherz, explained that she wanted a stranger to

act the part of the ' gangster,' and offered him a generous

sum for his cooperation.

" And the fact that he agreed without any suspicion is

what makes me quite certain that Scherz had no idea

that he had any kind of hold over her. To him she was

just a rather foolish old woman, very ready to part with

money.

" She gave him the advertisement to insert, arranged

for him to pay a visit to Little Paddocks to study the

geography of the house, and showed him the spot where

she would meet him and let him into the house on the

night in question. Dora Bunner, of course, knew nothing

about all this.

" The day came----" He paused.

Miss Marple took up the tale in her gentle voice.

" She must have spent a very miserable day. You see,

it still wasn't too late to draw back ... Dora Bunner told

us that Letty was frightened that day and she must have

been frightened. Frightened of what she was going to do,

frightened of the plan going wrong--but not frightened enough to draw back.

" It had been fun, perhaps, getting the revolver out of Colonel Easterbrook's collar drawer. Taking along eggs,

or jam--slipping upstairs in the empty house. It had

268

Evening at the Vicarage

been fun getting the second door in the drawing-room

oiled, so that it would open and shut noiselessly. Fun

suggesting the moving of the table outside the door so

that Phillipa's flower arrangements would show to better

advantage. It may have all seemed like a game. But

what was going to happen next definitely wasn't a game

any longer. Oh, yes, she was frightened ... Dora Bunner

was right about that."

" All the same, she went through with it," said Craddock.

"

And it all went according to plan. She went out

just after six to ' shut up the ducks,' and she let Scherz

in then and gave him the mask and cloak and gloves and

the torch. Then, at 6.30, when the clock begins to chime,

she's ready by that table near the archway with her hand

on the cigarette-box. It's all so natural. Patrick, acting

as host, has gone for the drinks. She, the hostess, is

fetching the cigarettes. She's judged, quite correctly, that

when the clock begins to chime, everyone will look at the

clock. They did. Only one person, the devoted Dora,

kept her eyes fixed on her friend. And she told us, in

her very first statement, exactly what Miss Blacklock did.

She said that Miss Blacklock had picked up the vase of

violets.

" She'd previously frayed the cord of the lamp so that

the wires were nearly bare. The whole thing only took a

second. The cigarette-box, the vase and the little switch

were all close together. She picked up the violets,

spilt the water on the frayed place, and switched on the

lamp. Water's a good conductor of electricity. The wires

fused."

" Just like the other afternoon at the Vicarage," said Bunch. "That's what startled you so, wasn't it. Aunt

Jane?"

" Yes, my dear. I've been puzzling about those lights.

I'd realised that there were two lamps, a pair, and that

269

A Murder is Announced

one had been changed for the other--probably during

the night."

"That's right," said Craddock. "When Fletcher

examined that lamp the next morning it was, like all the

others, perfectly in order, no frayed flex or fused wires."

" I'd understood what Dora Bunner meant by saying

it had been the shepherdess the night before," said Miss Marple, " but I fell into the error of thinking, as she thought, that Patrick had been responsible. The interesting

thing about Dora Bunner was that she was quite unreliable in repeating things she had heard--she always used her imagination to exaggerate or distort them, and

ahc was usually wrong in what she thought--but she was

quite accurate about the things she saw. She saw Letitia

pick up the violets----"

"And she saw what she described as a flash and a

crackle," put in Craddock.

" And of course, when dear Bunch spilt the water

from the Christmas roses on to the lamp wire--I realised

at once that only Miss Blacklock herself could have fused

the lights because only she was near that table."

" I could kick myself," said Craddock. " Dora Bunner even prattled about a bum on the table where someone had ' put their cigarette down'--but nobody had even

lit a cigarette . . . And the violets were dead because

there was no water in the vase--a slip on Lctitia's part-she ought to have filled it up again. But I suppose she thought nobody would notice and as a matter of fact

Miss Bunner was quite ready to believe that she herself

had put no water in the vase to begin with."

He went on:

" She was highly suggestible, of course. 'And Miss

Blacklock took advantage of that more than once.

Bunny's suspicions of Patrick were I think, induced by

her."

370

Evening at the Vicarage

"Why pick on me?" demanded Patrick in an aggrieved

tone.

" It was not, I think, a serious suggestion--but it

would keep Bunny distracted from any suspicion that

Miss Blacklock might be stage managering the business.

Well, we know what happened next. As soon as the

lights went and everyone was exclaiming, she slipped out

through the previously oiled door and up behind Rudi

Scherz who was flashing his torch round the room and

playing his part with gusto. I don't suppose he realised

for a moment she was there behind him with her gardening

gloves pulled on and the revolver in her hand. She

waits till the torch reaches the spot she must aim for-the wall near which she is supposed to be standing. Then she fires rapidly twice and as he swings round startled,

she holds the revolver close to his body and fires again.

She lets the revolver fall by his body, throws her gloves

carelessly on the hall table, then back through the other

door and across to where she had been standing when

the lights went out. She nicked her ear--I don't quite

know how----"

" Nail scissors, I expect," said Miss Marple. " Just a snip on the lobe of the ear lets out a lot of blood. That

was very good psychology, of course. The actual blood

running down over her white blouse made it seem certain

that she had been shot at, and that it had been a near

miss."

"It ought to have gone off quite all right," said

Craddock. "Dora Bunner's insistence that Scherz had

definitely aimed at Miss Blacklock had its uses. Without

meaning it, Dora Bunner conveyed the impression that

she'd actually seen her friend wounded. It might have

been brought in Suicide or Accidental Death. And the

case would have been closed. That it was kept open is

due to Miss Marple here."

371

A Murder is Announced

" Oh, no, no." Miss Marple shook her head energetically.

" Any little efforts on my pan were quite incidental.

It was you who weren't satisfied, Mr. Craddock. It

was you who wouldn't let the case be closed."

" I wasn't happy about it," said Craddock. " I knew it was all wrong somewhere. But I didn't see where it

was wrong, till you showed me. And after that Miss

Blacklock had a real piece of bad luck. I discovered that

that second door had been tampered with. Until that

moment, whatever we agreed might have happened-we'd nothing to go upon but a pretty theory. But that oiled door was evidence. And I hit upon it by pure chance--by catching hold of a handle by mistake."

" I think you were led to it. Inspector," said Miss Marple. " But then I'm old-fashioned."

" So the hunt was up again," said Craddock. " But this time with a difference. We were looking now for

someone with a motive to kill Letitia Blacklock."

"And there was someone with a motive, and Miss

Blacklock knew it," said Miss Marple. " I think she recognised Phillipa almost at once. Because Sonia Goedler

seems to have been one of the very few people who had

been admitted to Charlotte's privacy. And when one is

old (you wouldn't know this yet, Mr. Craddock) one has

a much better memory for a face you've seen when you

were young than you have for anyone you've only met a

year or two ago. Phillipa must have been just about the

same age as her mother was when Charlotte remembered

her, and she was very like her mother. The odd thing is

that I think Charlotte was very pleased to recognise

Phillipa. She became very fond of Phillipa and I think,

unconsciously, it helped to stifle any qualms of conscience ahc may have had. She told herself that when she inherited

the money, she was going to look after Phillipa. She would treat her as a daughter. Phillipa and Harry ays

Evening of the Vicarage

should live with her. She felt quite happy and beneficent

about it. But once the Inspector began asking questions and finding out about ' Pip and Emma' Charlotte became

very uneasy. She didn't want to make a scapegoat

of Phillipa. Her whole idea had been to make the business

look like a hold-up by a young criminal and his

accidental death. But now, with the discovery of the

oiled door, the whole viewpoint was changed. And,

except for Phillipa, there wasn't (as far as she knew, for

she had absolutely no idea of Julia's identity) anyone

with the least possible motive for wishing to kill her. She

did her best to shield Phillipa's identity. She was quickwitted enough to tell you when you asked her, that Sonia

was small and dark and she took the old snapshots out of

the album, so that you shouldn't notice any resemblance,

at the same time as she removed snapshots of Letitia

herself."

" And to think I suspected Mrs. Swettenham of being

Sonia Goedler," said Craddock disgustedly.

" My poor Mamma," murmured Edmund. " A

woman of blameless life--or so I have always believed."

" But of course," Miss Marple went on. " It was Dora Bunner who was the real danger. Every day Dora got

more forgetful and more talkative. I remember the way

Miss Blacklock looked at her the day we went to tea

there. Do you know why? Dora had just called her

Lotty again. It seemed to us a mere harmless slip of the

tongue. But it frightened Charlotte. And so it went on.

Poor Dora could not stop herself talking. That day we had coffee together in the Bluebird, I had the oddest

impression that Dora was talking about two people, not

one--and so, of course, she was. At one moment she

spoke of her friend as not pretty but having so much

character--but almost at the same moment she described

her as a pretty light-hearted girl. She'd talk of Letty as

373

A Murder is Announced

so clever and so successful--and then say what a sad life

she'd had, and then there was that quotation about stern

affliction bravely borne--which really didn't seem to fit

Letida's life at all. Charlotte must, I think, have overheard a good deal that morning she came into the cafe.

She certainly must have heard Dora mention about the

lamp having been changed--about its being the shepherd

and not the shepherdess. And she realised then what a

very real danger to her security poor devoted Dora

Bunner was.

" I'm afraid that that conversation with me in the cafe

really sealed Dora's fate--if you'll excuse such a melodramatic expression. But I think it would have come to

the same in the end . . . Because life couldn't be safe

for Charlotte while Dora Bunner was alive. She loved

Dora--she didn't want to kill Dora--but she couldn't see

any other way. And, I expect (like Nurse Ellerton that I

was telling you about, Bunch) she persuaded herself that

it was really almost a kindness. Poor Bunny--not long

to live anyway and perhaps a painful end. The queer

thing is that she did her best to make Bunny's last day a

happy day. The birthday party--and the special

cake . . ."

" Delicious Death," said Phillipa with a shudder.

" Yes--yes, it was rather like that . . . she tried to

give her friend a delicious death . . . The party, and

all the things she liked to eat, and trying to stop people

saying things to upset her. And then the tablets, whatever

they were, in the aspirin bottle by her own bed so

that Bunny, when she couldn't find the new bottle of

aspirin she'd just bought, would go there to get some.

And it would look, as it did look, that the tablets had

been meant for Letitia ...

" And so Bunny died in her sleep, quite happily, and

Charlotte felt safe again. But she missed Dora Bunner--374

Evening at the Vicarage

she missed her affection and her loyalty, the missed being

able to talk to her about the old days . . . She cried

bitterly the day I came up with that note from Julian-and her grief was quite genuine. She'd killed her own dear friend ..."

" That's horrible," said Bunch. " Horrible."

" But it's very human," said Julian Harmon. " One forgets how human murderers are."

" I know," said Miss Marple. " Human. And often very much to be pitied. But very dangerous, too. Especially

a weak kindly murderer like Charlotte Blacklock.

Because, once a weak person gets realty frightened, they

get savage with terror and they've no self-control at

all."

" Murgatroyd?" said Julian.

" Yes, poor Miss Murgatroyd. Charlotte must have come up to the cottage and heard them rehearsing the

murder. The window was open and she listened. It had

never occurred to her until that moment that there was

anyone else who could be a danger to her. Miss Hinchliffe

was urging her friend to remember what she'd seen

and until that moment Charlotte hadn't realised that

anyone could have seen anything at all. She'd assumed

that everybody would automatically be looking at Rudi

Scherz. She must have held her breath outside the

window and listened. Was it going to be all right? And

then, just as Miss Hinchliffe rushed off to the station

Miss Murgatroyd got to a point which showed that she

had stumbled on the truth. She called after Miss Hinchliffe

: ' She wasn't there ...'

" I asked Miss Hinchliffe, you know, if that was the

way she said it ... Because if she'd said ''She wasn't

there ' it wouldn't have meant the same thing."

" Now that's too subtle a point for me," said Craddock. 275

A Murder is Announced

Miss Marple turned her eager pink and white face to

him.

"Just think what's going on in Miss Murgatroyd's

mind . . . One does see things, you know, and not know

one sees them. In a railway accident once, I remember

noticing a large blister of paint at the side of the carriage. I could have drawn it for you afterward. And once,

when there was a fly-bomb in London--splinters of glass

everywhere--and the shock--but what I remember best

is a woman standing in front of me who had a big hole

half-way up the leg of her stockings and the stockings

didn't match. So when Miss Murgatroyd stopped thinking

and just tried to remember what she saw, she remembered

a good deal.

" She started, I think, near the mantelpiece, where the

torch must have hit first--then it went along the two

windows and there were people in between the windows

and her. Mrs. Hannon with her knuckles screwed into

her eyes for instance. She went on in her mind following

the torch past Miss Bunner with her mouth open and her

eyes staring--past a blank wall and a table with a lamp

and a cigarette-box. And then came the shots--and

quite suddenly she remembered a most incredible thing.

She'd seen the wall where, later, there were the two

bullet holes, the wall where Letitia Blacklock had been

standing when she was shot, and at the moment when

the revolver went off and Letty was shot, Letty hadn't

been there ...

" You see what I mean now? She'd been thinking of

the three women Miss Hinchliffe had told her to think

about. If one of them hadn't been there, it would have

been the personality she'd have fastened upon. She'd

have said--in effect--' That's the one! She wasn't

there!' But it was a place that was in her mind--a place

where someone should have been--but the place wasn't

270

Evening of the Vicarage

filled--there wasn't anybody there. The place was there

--but the person wasn't. And she couldn't take it in all

at once. ' How extraordinary, Hindi,' she said. ' She

wasn't there.' ... So that could only mean Ledtia

Blacklock..."

" But you knew before that, didn't you?" said Bunch.

" When the lamp fused. When you wrote down those

things on the paper."

" Yes, my dear. It all came together then, you see--

all the various isolated bits--and made a coherent

pattern."

Bunch quoted softly:

" Lamp? Yes. Violets? Yes. Battle of Aspirin. You

meant that Bunny had been going to buy a new bottle

that day, and so she ought not to have needed to take

Letitia's?"

" Not unless her own bottle had been taken or hidden.

It had to appear as though Letitia Blacklock was the one

meant to be killed."

" Yes, I see. And then ' Delicious Death.' The cake--

but more than the cake. The whole party set-up. A

happy day for Bunny before she died. Treating her

rather like a dog you were going to destroy. That's what

I find the most horrible thing of all--the sort of--of

spurious kindness."

" She was quite a kindly woman. What she said at

the last in the kitchen was quite true. ' I didn't want to

kill anybody.' What she wanted was a great deal of

money that didn't belong to her! And before that desire

--(and it had become a kind of obsession--the money

was to pay her back for all the suffering life had inflicted

on her)--everything else went to the wall. People with

a grudge against the world are always dangerous. They

seem to think life owes them something. I've known

many an invalid who has suffered far worse and been

277

A Murder is Announced

cut off from life much more than Charlotte Blacklock-and they've managed to lead happy contented lives. It's what's in yourself that makes you happy or unhappy.

But, oh dear, I'm afraid I'm straying away from what

we were talking about. Where were we?"

" Going over your list," said Bunch. " What did you mean by ' Making enquiries?' Inquiries about what?"

Miss Marple shook her head playfully at Inspector

Craddock.

" You ought to have seen that, Inspector Craddock.

You showed me that letter from Letitia Blacklock to her

sister. It had the word ' enquiries' in it twice--each time

spelt with an e. But in the note I asked Bunch to show

you. Miss Blacklock had written ' inquiries' with an i.

People don't often alter their spelling as they get older.

It seemed to me very significant."

" Yes," Craddock agreed. " I ought to have spotted that."

Bunch was continuing. " Severe affliction bravely

borne. That's what Bunny said to you in the cafe and of

course Letitia hadn't had any affliction. Iodine. That

put you on the track of goitre?"

" Yes, dear. Switzerland, you know, and Miss Blacklock

giving the impression that her sister had died of

consumption. But I remembered then that the greatest

authorities on goitre and the most skilful surgeons operating on it are Swiss. And it linked up with those really

rather preposterous pearls that Letitia Blacklock always

wore. Not really her style--but just right for concealing

the scar."

" I understand now her agitation the night the string

broke," said Craddock. " It seemed at the time quite disproportionate."

" And after that, it was Lotty you wrote not Letty as

we thought," said Bunch.

278

Evening at the Vicarage

" Yes, I remembered that the sister's name was Charlotte, and that Dora Bunner had called Miss Blacklock

Lotty once or twice--and that each time she did so, she

had been very upset afterwards."

" And what about Bemc and Old Age Pension?"

" Rudi Scherz had been an orderly in a hospital in

Berne."

" And Old Age Pension."

" Oh, my dear Bunch, I mentioned that to you in the

Bluebird though I didn't really see the application then.

How Mrs. Wotherspoon drew Mrs. Bartlett's Old Age

Pension as well as her own--though Mrs. Bartlett had

been dead for years--simply because one old woman is

so like another old woman--yes, it all made a pattern

and I felt so worked up I went out to cool my head a

little and think what could be done about proving all

this. Then Miss HinchlifTe picked me up and we found

Miss Murgatroyd..."

Miss Marple's voice dropped. It was no longer excited

and pleased. It was quiet and remorseless.

" I knew then something had got to be done. Quickly!

But there still wasn't any proof. I thought out a possible

plan and I talked to Sergeant Fletcher."

" And I have had Fletcher on the carpet for it!" said Craddock. " He'd no business to go agreeing to your

plans without reporting first to me."

" He didn't like it, but I talked him into it," said Miss Marple. " We went up to Little Paddocks and I got hold

of Mitzi."

Julia drew a deep breath and said, " I can't imagine

how you ever got her to do it."

" I worked on her, my dear," said Miss Marple. " She thinks far too much about herself anyway, and it will

be good for her to have done something for others. I

flattered her up, of course, and said I was sure if she'd

279

A Murder is Announced

been in her own country she'd have been in the Resistance

movement, and she said,' Yes, indeed.' And I said

I could see she had got just the temperament for that

sort of work. She was brave, didn't mind taking risks, and could act a part. I told her stories of deeds done by

girls in the Resistance movements, some of them true, and

some of them, I'm afraid, invented. She got tremendously

worked up!"

" Marvellous," said Patrick.

"And then I got her to agree to do her part. I

rehearsed her til] she was word perfect. Then I told her

to go upstairs to her room and not come down until

Inspector Craddock came. The worst of these excitable

people is that they're apt to go off half-cocked and start

the whole thing before the time."

" She did it very well," said Julia.

" I don't quite see the point," said Bunch. " Of course, I wasn't there----" she added apologetically.

" The point was a little complicated--and rather touch

and go. The idea was that Mitzi whilst admitting, as

though casually, that blackmail had been in her mind, .was now so worked up and terrified that she was willing

to come out with the truth. She'd seen, through the

keyhole of the dining-room, Miss Blacklock in the hall

with a revolver behind Rudi Scherz. She'd seen, that is, what had actually taken place. Now the only danger

was that Charlotte Blacklock might have realised that, as

the key was in the keyhole, Mitzi couldn't possibly have

seen anything at all. But I banked on the fact that you

don't think of things like that when you've just had a bad

shock. All she could take in was that Mitzi had seen her." Craddock took over the story.

" But--and this was essential--I pretended to receive this with scepticism, and I made an immediate attack

as though unmasking my batteries at last, upon someone 280

Evening at the Vicarage

who had not been previously suspected. I accused

Edmund----"

"And very nicely I played my part," said Edmund.

"Hot denial. All according to plan. What wasn't

according to plan, Phillipa, my love, was you throwing

in your little chirp and coming out into the open as * Pip.'

Neither the Inspector nor I had any idea you were Pip.

/ was going to be Pip! It threw us off our stride for the

moment, but the Inspector made a masterly comeback

and made some perfectly filthy insinuations about my

wanting a rich wife which will probably stick in your

subconscious and make irreparable trouble between us

one day."

" I don't see why that was necessary?"

"Don't you? It meant that, from Charlotte Blacklock's

point of view, the only person who suspected or

knew the truth, was Mitd. The suspicions of the police

were elsewhere. They had treated Mitzi for the moment

as a liar. But if Mitzi were to persist, they might listen

to her and take her seriously. So Mitzi had got to be

silenced."

" Mitzi went straight out of the room and back to the

kitchen--just like I had told her," said Miss Marple.

" Miss Blacklock came out after her almost immediately.

Mitzi was apparently alone in the kitchen. Sergeant

Fletcher was behind the scullery door. And I was in the

broom cupboard in the kitchen. Luckily I'm very thin."

Bunch looked at Miss Marple.

" What did you expect to happen, Aunt Jane?"

"One of two things. Either Charlotte would offer

Mitzi money to hold her tongue--and Sergeant Fletcher

would be a witness to that offer, or dsc--or else I

thought she'd try to kill Mitzi."

" But she couldn't hope to get away with that7 She'd

have been suspected at once."

a8i

A Murder is Announced

" Oh, my dear, she was past reasoning. She was just a

snapping terrified cornered rat. Think what had happened

that day. The scene between Miss Hinchliffe and

Miss Murgatroyd. Miss Hinchliffe driving off to the

station. As soon as she comes back Miss Murgatroyd will

explain that Letitia Blacklock wasn't in the room that

night. There's just a few minutes in which to make sure

Miss Murgatroyd can't tell anything. No time to make

a plan or set a stage. Just crude murder. She greets the

poor woman and strangles her. Then a quick rush home,

to change, to be sitting by the fire when the others come

in, as though she'd never been out.

" And then came the revelation of Julia's identity.

She breaks her pearls and is terrified they may notice her

scar. Later, the Inspector telephones that he's bringing

everyone there. No time to think, to rest. Up to her neck

in murder now, no mercy killing--or undesirable young

man to be put out of the way. Crude plain murder. Is

she safe? Yes, so far. And then comes Mitzi--yet another danger. Kill Mitzi, stop her tongue! She's beside herself with fear. Not human any longer. Just a

dangerous animal."

" But why were you in the broom cupboard. Aunt

Jane?" asked Bunch. "Couldn't you have left it to

Sergeant Fletchcr?"

" It was safer with two of us, my dear. And besides, I knew I could mimic Dora Bunner's voice. If anything

could break Charlotte Blacklock down--that

would."

"And it did...!"

" Yes ... she went to pieces."

There was a long silence as memory laid hold of them

and then, speaking with determined lightness, to case the

strain, Julia said :

" It's made a wonderful difference to Mitzi. She told a8a Evening at the Vicarage

me yesterday that she was taking a post near Southampton. And she said (Julia produced a very good imitation

of Mitzi's accent):

" ' I go there and if they say to me you have to register with the Police--you are an alien, I say to them, " Yes,

I will register! The Police, they know me well. I assist

the Police! Without me the Police never would they

have made the arrest of a very dangerous criminal. I

risked my life because I am brave--brave like a lion--I

do not care about risks." " Mitzi," they say to me, " you are a heroine, you are superb." " Ach! it is nothing, I say.'""

Julia stopped.

" And a great deal more," she added.

"I think," said Edmund thoughtfully, "that soon Mitzi will have assisted the Police in not one but

hundreds of cases!"

" She's softened towards me," said Phillipa. " She actually presented me with the recipe for Delicious Death

as a kind of wedding present. She added that I was on

no account to divulge the secret to Julia, because Julia

had ruined her omelette pan."

" Mrs. Lucas," said Edmund, " is all over Phillipa now that since Belle Goedler's death, Phillipa and Julia have

inherited the Goedler millions. She sent us some silver

asparagus tongs as a wedding present. I shall have

enormous pleasure in not asking her to the wedding!"

" And so they lived happily ever after," said Patrick.

"Edmund and Phillipa--and Julia and Patrick?" he

added, tentatively.

" Not with me, you won't live happily ever after," said Julia. " The remarks that Inspector Craddock improvised

to address to Edmund apply far more aptly to you.

You are the sort of soft young man who would like a rich

wife. Nothing doing!"

a83

A Murder is Announced

" There's gratitude for you," said Patrick. " After all I did for that girl."

" Nearly landed me in prison on a murder charge--

that's what your forgetfulness nearly did for me," said

Julia. " I shall never forget that evening when your

sister's letter came. I really thought I was for it. I

couldn't see any way out.

" As it is," she added musingly, " I think I shall go on the stage."

" What? You, too?" groaned Patrick.

" Yes. I might go to Perth. See if I can get your

Julia's place in the rep there. Then, when I've learnt

my job, I shall go into theatre management--and put on

Edmund's plays, perhaps."

" I thought you wrote novels," said Julian Harmon.

" Well, so did I," said Edmund. " I began writing a novel. Rather good it was. Pages about an unshaven

man getting out of bed and what be smelt like, and the

grey streets, and a horrible old woman with dropsy and

a vicious young tart who dribbled down her chin--and

they all talked interminably about the state of the world

and wondered what they were alive for. And suddenly

I began to wonder too . .. And then a rather comic idea

occurred to me . . . and I jotted it down--and then I

worked up rather a good little scene . .. All very obvious

stuff. But somehow, I got interested . . . And before I

knew what I was doing I'd finished a roaring farce in

three acts."

" What's it called?" asked Patrick. " What the butler saw?"

" Well, it easily might be ... As a matter of fact I've

called it Elephants Do Forget. What's more, it's been

accepted and it's going to be produced!"

" Elephants Do Forget," murmured Bunch. " I thought they didn't?"

984

Evening at the Vicarage

The Rev. Julian Harmon gave a guilty start.

"My goodness. I've been so interested. Mywrmon!"

" Detective stories again," said Bunch. " Real life ones this time."

" You might preach on Thou Shall Do No Murder,"

suggested Patrick.

" No," said Julian Harmon quietly. " I shan't take that as my text."

"No," said Bunch. "You're quite right, Julian. I know a much nicer text, a happy text." She quoted in a

fresh voice, " For lo the Spring is here and the Voice of the Turtle is heard in the Land--I haven't got it quite

right--but you know the one I mean. Though why a

turtle I can't think. I shouldn't think turtles have got

nice voices at all."

"The word turtle," explained the Rev. Julian

Harmon, " is not very happily translated. It doesn't

mean a reptile but the turtle dove. The Hebrew word in

the original is----"

Bunch interrupted him by giving him a hug and

saying:

" I know one thing--You think that the Ahasuerus of

the Bible is Artaxerxcs the Second, but between you and

me it was Artaxerxes the Third."

As always, Julian Harmon wondered why his wife

should think that story so particularly funny ...

"Tiglath Pileser wants to go and help you," said

Bunch. " He ought to be a very proud cat. He showed

us how the lights fused."

385

"we ought to order some papers," said Edmund to

Phillipa upon the day of their return to Chipping Cleghom

after the honeymoon." Let's go along to Totman's."

Mr. Totman, a heavy-breathing, slow-moving man, received them with affability.

" Glad to see you back, sir. And madam."

" We want to order some papers."

" Certainly, sir. And your mother is keeping well, I

hope? Quite settled down at Bournemouth?"

" She loves it," said Edmund, who had not the faintest idea whether this was so or not, but like most sons,

preferred to believe that all was well with those loved,

but frequently irritating beings, parents.

" Yes, sir. Very agreeable place. Went there for my

holiday last year. Mrs. Totman enjoyed it very much."

" I'm glad. About papers, we'd like----"

" And I hear you have a play on in London, sir. Very

amusing, so they tell me."

" Yes, it's doing very well."

" Called Elephants Do Forget, so I hear. You'll excuse

me, sir, asking you, but I always thought that they didn't

--forget, I mean."

"Yes--yes, exactly--I've begun to think it was a

mistake calling it that. So many people have said just

what you say."

" A kind of natural history fact, I've always understood."

" Yes--yes. Like earwigs making good mothers."

280

Epilogue

"Do they indeed, sir? Now, that's a fact I didn't

know."

" About the papers----"

" The Times, sir, I think it was?" Mr. Totman paused with pencil uplifted.

" The Daily Worker," said Edmund firmly. " And the Daily Telegraph," said Phillipa. " And the New Statesman," said Edmund. " The Radio Times," said Phillipa. "The Spectator," said Edmund. " The Gardener's

Chronicle," said Phillipa.

They both paused to take breath.

"Thank you, sir," said Mr. Totman. "And the Gazette, I suppose?"

" No," said Edmund.

" No," said Phillipa.

" Excuse me, you do want the Gazette ?"

"No."

"No." "

" You mean "--Mr. Totman liked to get things perfectly clear--" You don't want the Gazette I"

" No, we don't."

" Certainly not."

" You don't want the North Benham News and the

Chipping Cleghorn Gazette7"

" No."

" You don't want me to send it along to you every

week?"

" No." Edmund added: " Is that quite clear now?"

" Oh, yes, sir--yes."

Edmund and Phillipa went out, and Mr. Totman

padded into his back parlour.

" Got a pencil. Mother?" he said. " My pen's run out."

" Here you are," said Mrs. Totman, seizing the order book. "I'll do it. What do they want?"

287

A Murder is Announced

"Daily Worker, Daily Telegraph, Radio Times, New

Statesman, Spectator--let me see--Gardener's Chronicle."

" Gardener's Chronicle," repeated Mrs. Totman, writing busily. " And the Gazette."

" They don't want the Gazette." "What?"

" They don't want the Gazette. They said so."

"Nonsense," said Mrs. Totman. "You don't hear

properly. Of course they want the Gazette! Everybody

has the Gazette. How else would they know what's going

on round here?"

a88

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