I
“Now, Elspeth, you’re quite clear as to what I want you to do?”
“I’m clear enough,” said Mrs. McGillicuddy, “but what I say to you is, Jane, that it seems very odd.”
“It’s not odd at all,” said Miss Marple.
“Well, I think so. To arrive at the house and to ask almost immediately whether I can—er—go upstairs.”
“It’s very cold weather,” Miss Marple pointed out, “and after all, you might have eaten something that disagreed with you and—er—have to ask to go upstairs. I mean, these things happen. I remember poor Louisa Felby came to see me once and she had to ask to go upstairs five times during one little half hour. That,” added Miss Marple parenthetically, “was a bad Cornish pasty.”
“If you’d just tell me what you’re driving at, Jane,” said Mrs. McGillicuddy.
“That’s just what I don’t want to do,” said Miss Marple.
“How irritating you are, Jane. First you make me come all the way back to England before I need—”
“I’m sorry about that,” said Miss Marple; “but I couldn’t do anything else. Someone, you see, may be killed at any moment. Oh, I know they’re all on their guard and the police are taking all the precautions they can, but there’s always the outside chance that the murderer might be too clever for them. So you see, Elspeth, it was your duty to come back. After all, you and I were brought up to do our duty, weren’t we?”
“We certainly were,” said Mrs. McGillicuddy, “no laxness in our young days.”
“So that’s quite all right,” said Miss Marple, “and that’s the taxi now,” she added, as a faint hoot was heard outside the house.
Mrs. McGillicuddy donned her heavy pepper-and-salt coat and Miss Marple wrapped herself up with a good many shawls and scarves. Then the two ladies got into the taxi and were driven to Rutherford Hall.
II
“Who can this be driving up?” Emma asked, looking out of the window, as the taxi swept past it. “I do believe it’s Lucy’s old aunt.”
“What a bore,” said Cedric.
He was lying back in a long chair looking at Country Life with his feet reposing on the side of the mantelpiece.
“Tell her you’re not at home.”
“When you say tell her I’m not at home, do you mean that I should go out and say so? Or that I should tell Lucy to tell her aunt so?”
“Hadn’t thought of that,” said Cedric. “I suppose I was thinking of our butler and footman days, if we ever had them. I seem to remember a footman before the war. He had an affair with the kitchen maid and there was a terrific rumpus about it. Isn’t there one of those old hags about the place cleaning?”
But at that moment the door was opened by Mrs. Hart, whose afternoon it was for cleaning the brasses, and Miss Marple came in, very fluttery, in a whirl of shawls and scarves, with an uncompromising figure behind her.
“I do hope,” said Miss Marple, taking Emma’s hand, “that we are not intruding. But you see, I’m going home the day after tomorrow, and I couldn’t bear not to come over and see you and say good-bye, and thank you again for your goodness to Lucy. Oh, I forgot. May I introduce my friend, Mrs. McGillicuddy, who is staying with me?”
“How d’you do,” said Mrs. McGillicuddy, looking at Emma with complete attention and then shifting her gaze to Cedric, who had now risen to his feet. Lucy entered the room at this moment.
“Aunt Jane, I had no idea….”
“I had to come and say good-bye to Miss Crackenthorpe,” said Miss Marple, turning to her, “who has been so very, very kind to you, Lucy.”
“It’s Lucy who’s been very kind to us,” said Emma.
“Yes, indeed,” said Cedric. “We’ve worked her like a galley slave. Waiting on the sick room, running up and down the stairs, cooking little invalid messes….”
Miss Marple broke in. “I was so very, very sorry to hear of your illness. I do hope you’re quite recovered now, Miss Crackenthorpe?”
“Oh, we’re quite well again now,” said Emma.
“Lucy told me you were all very ill. So dangerous, isn’t it, food poisoning? Mushrooms, I understand.”
“The cause remains rather mysterious,” said Emma.
“Don’t you believe it,” said Cedric. “I bet you’ve heard the rumours that are flying round, Miss—er—”
“Marple,” said Miss Marple.
“Well, as I say, I bet you’ve heard the rumours that are flying round. Nothing like arsenic for raising a little flutter in the neighbourhood.”
“Cedric,” said Emma, “I wish you wouldn’t. You know Inspector Craddock said….”
“Bah,” said Cedric, “everybody knows. Even you’ve heard something, haven’t you?” he turned to Miss Marple and Mrs. McGillicuddy.
“I myself,” said Mrs. McGillicuddy, “have only just returned from abroad—the day before yesterday,” she added.
“Ah, well, you’re not up on our local scandal then,” said Cedric. “Arsenic in the curry, that’s what it was. Lucy’s aunt knows all about it, I bet.”
“Well,” said Miss Marple, “I did just hear—I mean, it was just a hint, but of course I didn’t want to embarrass you in any way, Miss Crackenthorpe.”
“You must pay no attention to my brother,” said Emma. “He just likes making people uncomfortable.” She gave him an affectionate smile as she spoke.
The door opened and Mr. Crackenthorpe came in, tapping angrily with his stick.
“Where’s tea?” he said, “why isn’t tea ready? You! Girl!” he addressed Lucy, “why haven’t you brought tea in?”
“It’s just ready, Mr. Crackenthorpe. I’m bringing it in now. I was just setting the table ready.”
Lucy went out of the room again and Mr. Crackenthorpe was introduced to Miss Marple and Mrs. McGillicuddy.
“Like my meals on time,” said Mr. Crackenthorpe. “Punctuality and economy. Those are my watchwords.”
“Very necessary, I’m sure,” said Miss Marple, “especially in these times with taxation and everything.”
Mr. Crackenthorpe snorted. “Taxation! Don’t talk to me of those robbers. A miserable pauper—that’s what I am. And it’s going to get worse, not better. You wait, my boy,” he addressed Cedric, “when you get this place ten to one the Socialists will have it off you and turn it into a Welfare Centre or something. And take all your income to keep it up with!”
Lucy reappeared with a tea tray, Bryan Eastley followed her carrying a tray of sandwiches, bread and butter and cake.
“What’s this? What’s this?” Mr. Crackenthorpe inspected the tray. “Frosted cake? We having a party today? Nobody told me about it.”
A faint flush came into Emma’s face.
“Dr. Quimper’s coming to tea, Father. It’s his birthday today and—”
“Birthday?” snorted the old man. “What’s he doing with a birthday? Birthdays are only for children. I never count my birthdays and I won’t let anyone else celebrate them either.”
“Much cheaper,” agreed Cedric. “You save the price of candles on your cake.”
“That’s enough from you, boy,” said Mr. Crackenthorpe.
Miss Marple was shaking hands with Bryan Eastley. “I’ve heard about you, of course,” she said, “from Lucy. Dear me, you remind me so of someone I used to know at St. Mary Mead. That’s the village where I’ve lived for so many years, you know. Ronnie Wells, the solicitor’s son. Couldn’t seem to settle somehow when he went into his father’s business. He went out to East Africa and started a series of cargo boats on the lake out there. Victoria Nyanza, or is it Albert, I mean? Anyway, I’m sorry to say that it wasn’t a success, and he lost all his capital. Most unfortunate! Not any relation of yours, I suppose? The likeness is so great.”
“No,” said Bryan, “I don’t think I’ve any relations called Wells.”
“He was engaged to a very nice girl,” said Miss Marple. “Very sensible. She tried to dissuade him, but he wouldn’t listen to her. He was wrong of course. Women have a lot of sense, you know, when it comes to money matters. Not high finance, of course. No woman can hope to understand that, my dear father said. But everyday L.s.d.—that sort of thing. What a delightful view you have from this window,” she added, making her way across and looking out.
Emma joined her.
“Such an expanse of parkland! How picturesque the cattle look against the trees. One would never dream that one was in the middle of a town.”
“We’re rather an anachronism, I think,” said Emma. “If the windows were open now you’d hear far off the noise of the traffic.”
“Oh, of course,” said Miss Marple, “there’s noise everywhere, isn’t there? Even in St. Mary Mead. We’re now quite close to an airfield, you know, and really the way those jet planes fly over! Most frightening. Two panes in my little greenhouse broken the other day. Going through the sound barrier, or so I understand, though what it means I never have known.”
“It’s quite simple, really,” said Bryan, approaching amiably. “You see, it’s like this.”
Miss Marple dropped her handbag and Bryan politely picked it up. At the same moment Mrs. McGillicuddy approached Emma and murmured, in an anguished voice—the anguish was quite genuine since Mrs. McGillicuddy deeply disliked the task which she was now performing:
“I wonder—could I go upstairs for a moment?”
“Of course,” said Emma.
“I’ll take you,” said Lucy.
Lucy and Mrs. McGillicuddy left the room together.
“Very cold, driving today,” said Miss Marple in a vaguely explanatory manner.
“About the sound barrier,” said Bryan, “you see it’s like this… Oh, hallo, there’s Quimper.”
The doctor drove up in his car. He came in rubbing his hands and looking very cold.
“Going to snow,” he said, “that’s my guess. Hallo, Emma, how are you? Good lord, what’s all this?”
“We made you a birthday cake,” said Emma. “D’you remember? You told me today was your birthday.”
“I didn’t expect all this,” said Quimper. “You know it’s years—why, it must be—yes sixteen years since anyone’s remembered my birthday.” He looked almost uncomfortably touched.
“Do you know Miss Marple?” Emma introduced him.
“Oh, yes,” said Miss Marple, “I met Dr. Quimper here before and he came and saw me when I had a very nasty chill the other day and he was most kind.”
“All right again now, I hope?” said the doctor.
Miss Marple assured him that she was quite all right now.
“You haven’t been to see me lately, Quimper,” said Mr. Crackenthorpe. “I might be dying for all the notice you take of me!”
“I don’t see you dying yet awhile,” said Dr. Quimper.
“I don’t mean to,” said Mr. Crackenthorpe. “Come on, let’s have tea. What’re we waiting for?”
“Oh, please,” said Miss Marple, “don’t wait for my friend. She would be most upset if you did.”
They sat down and started tea. Miss Marple accepted a piece of bread and butter first, and then went on to a sandwich.
“Are they—?” she hesitated.
“Fish,” said Bryan. “I helped make ’em.”
Mr. Crackenthorpe gave a cackle of laughter.
“Poisoned fishpaste,” he said. “That’s what they are. Eat ’em at your peril.”
“Please, Father!”
“You’ve got to be careful what you eat in this house,” said Mr. Crackenthorpe to Miss Marple. “Two of my sons have been murdered like flies. Who’s doing it—that’s what I want to know.”
“Don’t let him put you off,” said Cedric, handing the plate once more to Miss Marple. “A touch of arsenic improves the complexion, they say, so long as you don’t have too much.”
“Eat one yourself, boy,” said old Mr. Crackenthorpe.
“Want me to be official taster?” said Cedric. “Here goes.”
He took a sandwich and put it whole into his mouth. Miss Marple gave a gentle, ladylike little laugh and took a sandwich. She took a bite, and said:
“I do think it’s so brave of you all to make these jokes. Yes, really, I think it’s very brave indeed. I do admire bravery so much.”
She gave a sudden gasp and began to choke. “A fish bone,” she gasped out, “in my throat.”
Quimper rose quickly. He went across to her, moved her backwards towards the window and told her to open her mouth. He pulled out a case from his pocket, selecting some forceps from it. With quick professional skill he peered down the old lady’s throat. At that moment the door opened and Mrs. McGillicuddy, followed by Lucy, came in. Mrs. McGillicuddy gave a sudden gasp as her eyes fell on the tableau in front of her, Miss Marple leaning back and the doctor holding her throat and tilting up her head.
“But that’s him,” cried Mrs. McGillicuddy. “That’s the man in the train….”
With incredible swiftness Miss Marple slipped from the doctor’s grasp and came towards her friend.
“I thought you’d recognize him, Elspeth!” she said. “No. Don’t say another word.” She turned triumphantly round to Dr. Quimper. “You didn’t know, did you, Doctor, when you strangled that woman in the train, that somebody actually saw you do it? It was my friend here. Mrs. McGillicuddy. She saw you. Do you understand? Saw you with her own eyes. She was in another train that was running parallel with yours.”
“What the hell?” Dr. Quimper made a quick step towards Mrs. McGillicuddy but again, swiftly, Miss Marple was between him and her.
“Yes,” said Miss Marple. “She saw you, and she recognizes you, and she’ll swear to it in court. It’s not often, I believe,” went on Miss Marple in her gentle plaintive voice, “that anyone actually sees a murder committed. It’s usually circumstantial evidence of course. But in this case the conditions were very unusual. There was actually an eyewitness to murder.”
“You devilish old hag,” said Dr. Quimper. He lunged forward at Miss Marple but this time it was Cedric who caught him by the shoulder.
“So you’re the murdering devil, are you?” said Cedric as he swung him round. “I never liked you and I always thought you were a wrong ’un, but lord knows, I never suspected you.”
Bryan Eastley came quickly to Cedric’s assistance. Inspector Craddock and Inspector Bacon entered the room from the farther door.
“Dr. Quimper,” said Bacon, “I must caution you that….”
“You can take your caution to hell,” said Dr. Quimper. “Do you think anyone’s going to believe what a couple of old women say? Who’s ever heard of all this rigmarole about a train!”
Miss Marple said: “Elspeth McGillicuddy reported the murder to the police at once on the 20th December and gave a description of the man.”
Dr. Quimper gave a sudden heave of the shoulders. “If ever a man had the devil’s own luck,” said Dr. Quimper.
“But—” said Mrs. McGillicuddy.
“Be quiet, Elspeth,” said Miss Marple.
“Why should I want to murder a perfectly strange woman?” said Dr. Quimper.
“She wasn’t a strange woman,” said Inspector Craddock. “She was your wife.”
Chapter Twenty-six