寓所谜案33

Thirty-two

There is little more to be told. Miss Marple’s plan succeeded. LawrenceRedding was not an innocent man, and the hint of a witness of the changeof capsule did indeed cause him to do “something foolish.” Such is thepower of an evil conscience.

He was, of course, peculiarly placed. His first impulse, I imagine, musthave been to cut and run. But there was his accomplice to consider. Hecould not leave without getting word to her, and he dared not wait tillmorning. So he went up to Old Hall that night — and two of ColonelMelchett’s most efficient officers followed him. He threw gravel at AnneProtheroe’s window, aroused her, and an urgent whisper brought herdown to speak with him. Doubtless they felt safer outside than in—withthe possibility of Lettice waking. But as it happened, the two police officerswere able to overhear the conversation in full. It left the matter in nodoubt. Miss Marple had been right on every count.

The trial of Lawrence Redding and Anne Protheroe is a matter of publicknowledge. I do not propose to go into it. I will only mention that greatcredit was reflected upon Inspector Slack, whose zeal and intelligence hadresulted in the criminals being brought to justice. Naturally, nothing wassaid of Miss Marple’s share in the business. She herself would have beenhorrified at the thought of such a thing.

Lettice came to see me just before the trial took place. She driftedthrough my study window, wraithlike as ever. She told me then that shehad all along been convinced of her stepmother’s complicity. The loss ofthe yellow beret had been a mere excuse for searching the study. Shehoped against hope that she might find something the police had over-looked.

“You see,” she said in her dreamy voice, “they didn’t hate her like I did.

And hate makes things easier for you.”

Disappointed in the result of her search, she had deliberately droppedAnne’s earring by the desk.

“Since I knew she had done it, what did it matter? One way was as goodas another. She had killed him.”

I sighed a little. There are always some things that Lettice will never see.

In some respects she is morally colour blind.

“What are you going to do, Lettice?” I asked.

“When—when it’s all over, I am going abroad.” She hesitated and thenwent on. “I am going abroad with my mother.”

I looked up, startled.

She nodded.

“Didn’t you ever guess? Mrs. Lestrange is my mother. She is—is dying,you know. She wanted to see me and so she came down here under an as-sumed name. Dr. Haydock helped her. He’s a very old friend of hers—hewas keen about her once—you can see that! In a way, he still is. Men al-ways went batty about mother, I believe. She’s awfully attractive evennow. Anyway, Dr. Haydock did everything he could to help her. She didn’tcome down here under her own name because of the disgusting waypeople talk and gossip. She went to see father that night and told him shewas dying and had a great longing to see something of me. Father was abeast. He said she’d forfeited all claim, and that I thought she was dead—as though I had ever swallowed that story! Men like father never see aninch before their noses!

“But mother is not the sort to give in. She thought it only decent to go tofather first, but when he turned her down so brutally she sent a note tome, and I arranged to leave the tennis party early and meet her at the endof the footpath at a quarter past six. We just had a hurried meeting and ar-ranged when to meet again. We left each other before half past six. After-wards I was terrified that she would be suspected of having killed father.

After all, she had got a grudge against him. That’s why I got hold of thatold picture of her up in the attic and slashed it about. I was afraid the po-lice might go nosing about and get hold of it and recognize it. Dr. Haydockwas frightened too. Sometimes, I believe, he really thought she had doneit! Mother is rather a—desperate kind of person. She doesn’t count conse-quences.”

She paused.

“It’s queer. She and I belong to each other. Father and I didn’t. Butmother—well, anyway, I’m going abroad with her. I shall be with her till—till the end….”

She got up and I took her hand.

“God bless you both,” I said. “Some day, I hope, there is a lot of happi-ness coming to you, Lettice.”

“There should be,” she said, with an attempt at a laugh. “There hasn’tbeen much so far—has there? Oh, well, I don’t suppose it matters. Good-bye, Mr. Clement. You’ve been frightfully decent to me always—you andGriselda.”

Griselda!

I had to own to her how terribly the anonymous letter had upset me,and first she laughed, and then solemnly read me a lecture.

“However,” she added, “I’m going to be very sober and Godfearing in fu-ture—quite like the Pilgrim fathers.”

I did not see Griselda in the r?le of a Pilgrim father.

She went on:

“You see, Len, I have a steadying influence coming into my life. It’s com-ing into your life, too, but in your case it will be a kind of—of rejuvenatingone—at least, I hope so! You can’t call me a dear child half so much whenwe have a real child of our own. And, Len, I’ve decided that now I’m goingto be a real ‘wife and mother’ (as they say in books), I must be a house-keeper too. I’ve bought two books on Household Management and one onMother Love, and if that doesn’t turn me out a pattern I don’t know whatwill! They are all simply screamingly funny—not intentionally, you know.

Especially the one about bringing up children.”

“You haven’t bought a book on How to Treat a Husband, have you?” Iasked, with sudden apprehension as I drew her to me.

“I don’t need to,” said Griselda. “I’m a very good wife. I love you dearly.

What more do you want?”

“Nothing,” I said.

“Could you say, just for once, that you love me madly?”

“Griselda,” I said—“I adore you! I worship you! I am wildly, hopelesslyand quite unclerically crazy about you!”

My wife gave a deep and contented sigh.

Then she drew away suddenly.

“Bother! Here’s Miss Marple coming. Don’t let her suspect, will you? Idon’t want everyone offering me cushions and urging me to put my feetup. Tell her I’ve gone down to the golf links. That will put her off the scent—and it’s quite true because I left my yellow pullover there and I want it.”

Miss Marple came to the window, halted apologetically, and asked forGriselda.

“Griselda,” I said, “has gone to the golf links.”

An expression of concern leaped into Miss Marple’s eyes.

“Oh, but surely,” she said, “that is most unwise—just now.”

And then in a nice, old- fashioned, ladylike, maiden lady way, sheblushed.

And to cover the moment’s confusion, we talked hurriedly of the Pro-theroe case, and of “Dr. Stone,” who had turned out to be a well-knowncracksman with several different aliases. Miss Cram, by the way, had beencleared of all complicity. She had at last admitted taking the suitcase to thewood, but had done so in all good faith, Dr. Stone having told her that hefeared the rivalry of other archaeologists who would not stick at burglaryto gain their object of discrediting his theories. The girl apparently swal-lowed this not very plausible story. She is now, according to the village,looking out for a more genuine article in the line of an elderly bachelor re-quiring a secretary.

As we talked, I wondered very much how Miss Marple had discoveredour latest secret. But presently, in a discreet fashion, Miss Marple herselfsupplied me with a clue.

“I hope dear Griselda is not overdoing it,” she murmured, and, after adiscreet pause, “I was in the bookshop in Much Benham yesterday—”

Poor Griselda—that book on Mother Love has been her undoing!

“I wonder, Miss Marple,” I said suddenly, “if you were to commit amurder whether you would ever be found out.”

“What a terrible idea,” said Miss Marple, shocked. “I hope I could neverdo such a wicked thing.”

“But human nature being what it is,” I murmured.

Miss Marple acknowledged the hit with a pretty old-ladyish laugh.

“How naughty of you, Mr. Clement.” She rose. “But naturally you are ingood spirits.”

She paused by the window.

“My love to dear Griselda—and tell her—that any little secret is quitesafe with me.”

Really Miss Marple is rather a dear….

 

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