谋杀启事24

Eight

ENTER MISS MARPLE

I
Craddock laid the typed transcript of the various interviews before theChief Constable. The latter had just finished reading the wire receivedfrom the Swiss Police.

“So he had a police record all right,” said Rydesdale. “H’m—very muchas one thought.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Jewellery … h’m, yes … falsified entries … yes … cheque … Definitely adishonest 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 thesepeople 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. Differ-ent people’s accounts of a few moments of stress never agree. But themain 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 bus from Medenhamto Chipping Cleghorn arriving there at six o’clock. Evidence of conductorand two passengers. From the bus stop he walked away in the direction ofLittle Paddocks. He got into the house with no particular difficulty—prob-ably through the front door. He held up the company with a revolver, hefired two shots, one of which slightly wounded Miss Blacklock, then hekilled himself with a third shot, whether accidentally or deliberately thereis not sufficient evidence to show. The reasons why he did all this are pro-foundly unsatisfactory, I agree. But why isn’t really a question we arecalled upon to answer. A Coroner’s jury may bring it in suicide—or acci-dental death. Whichever verdict it is, it’s the same as far as we’re con-cerned. We can write finis.”

“You mean we can always fall back upon Colonel Easterbrook’s psycho-logy,” 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 abouteverything 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 setup at Chipping Cleghornis lying to you?”

Craddock hesitated.

“I think the foreign girl knows more than she lets on. But that may bejust prejudice on my part.”

“You think she might possibly have been in it with this fellow? Let himinto the house? Put him up to it?”

“Something of the kind. I wouldn’t put it past her. But that surely indic-ates that there really was something valuable, money or jewellery, in thehouse, and that doesn’t seem to have been the case. Miss Blacklock negat-ived it quite decidedly. So did the others. That leaves us with the proposi-tion that there was something valuable in the house that nobody knewabout—”

“Quite a best-seller plot.”

“I agree it’s ridiculous, sir. The only other point is Miss Bunner’s cer-tainty 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 unreliablewitness. Highly suggestible. Anyone could put a thing into her head—butthe interesting thing is that this is quite her own theory—no one has sug-gested it to her. Everybody else negatives it. For once she’s not swimmingwith 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—unlessshe’s a much better liar than I think she is. Nobody knows. So presumablyit isn’t true.”

He sighed.

“Cheer up, Craddock,” said the Chief Constable. “I’m taking you off tolunch with Sir Henry and myself. The best that the Royal Spa Hotel inMedenham Wells can provide.”

“Thank you, sir.” Craddock looked slightly surprised.

“You see, we received a letter—” He broke off as Sir Henry Clitheringentered 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 Royal Spa Hotel.

Something she thinks we might like to know in connection with this Chip-ping Cleghorn 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 aspider in the ink bottle, and all underlined. A good deal about how shehopes it won’t be taking up our valuable time, but might possibly be ofsome 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 myown particular, one and only, four-starred Pussy. The super Pussy of allold Pussies. And she has managed somehow to be at Medenham Wells, in-stead of peacefully at home in St. Mary Mead, just at the right time to bemixed up in a murder. Once more a murder is announced—for the benefitand enjoyment of Miss Marple.”

“Well, Henry,” said Rydesdale sardonically, “I’ll be glad to see your par-agon. 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 bitfar.

 

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