Saturday, November 22, 2014

Twenty-two. 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 I 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 Bunner’s voice rose piteously on the air:

“Oh Lotty—Lotty—don’t do it … Lotty.”

Miss Blacklock screamed. Her hands flew up in the air, and Mitzi, released, came up chocking and spluttering.

Miss Blacklock screamed again and again. For there was no one 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 first aid and artificial respiration to his other accomplishments, 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 I murdered, too. But I was so brave I risk everything.”

With a rush Miss Hinchcliffe 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 Hinchcliffe—”

Between clenched teeth Miss Hinchcliffe 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.



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