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II
gone to tea with Mrs. Bantry. He said he’d call in again tomorrow.”
She helped Miss Marple off with her wraps.
“And now, I expect, we’re tired out,” she said accusingly.
“You may be,” said Miss Marple. “I am not.”
attention. (“You don’t need to take much notice of what the old dears say. I
just humour them.”) “And how would we fancy a nice cup of Ovaltine? Or
Horlicks for a change?”
Miss Marple thanked her and said she would like a small glass of dry
sherry. Miss Knight looked disapproving3.
“I don’t know what the doctor would say to that, I’m sure,” she said,
when she returned with the glass.
“We will make a point of asking him tomorrow morning,” said Miss
Marple.
On the following morning Miss Knight met Dr. Haydock in the hall, and
The elderly doctor came into the room rubbing his hands, for it was a
gloves, Doctor?”
“They’ll be all right here,” said Haydock, casting them carelessly on a
table. “Quite a nippy morning.”
“A little glass of sherry perhaps?” suggested Miss Marple.
“I heard you were taking to drink. Well, you should never drink alone.”
The decanter and the glasses were already on a small table by Miss
Marple. Miss Knight left the room.
Dr. Haydock was a very old friend. He had semiretired, but came to at-
tend certain of his old patients.
“I hear you’ve been falling about,” he said as he finished his glass. “It
won’t do, you know, not at your age. I’m warning you. And I hear you
didn’t want to send for Sandford.”
Sandford was Haydock’s partner.
“That Miss Knight of yours sent for him anyway—and she was quite
right.”
have waited quite well until you were back.”
“Now look here, my dear. I can’t go on forever. And Sandford, let me tell
you, has better qualifications than I have. He’s a first class man.”
“The young doctors are all the same,” said Miss Marple. “They take your
blood pressure, and whatever’s the matter with you, you get some kind of
mass produced variety of new pills. Pink ones, yellow ones, brown ones.
Medicine nowadays is just like a supermarket—all packaged up.”
your chest with camphorated oil.”
“I do that myself when I’ve got a cough,” said Miss Marple with spirit,
“and very comforting it is.”
“We don’t like getting old, that’s what it is,” said Haydock gently. “I hate
it.”
“You’re quite a young man compared to me,” said Miss Marple. “And I
“I think I know what you mean.”
“Never being alone! The difficulty of geting out for a few minutes by
oneself. And even my knitting—such a comfort that has always been, and I
really am a good knitter. Now I drop stitches all the time—and quite often
I don’t even know I’ve dropped them.”
Haydock looked at her thoughtfully.
Then his eyes twinkled.
“There’s always the opposite.”
“Now what do you mean by that?”
“If you can’t knit, what about unravelling12 for a change? Penelope did.”
“I’m hardly in her position.”
“But unravelling’s rather in your line, isn’t it?”
He rose to his feet.
“I must be getting along. What I’d prescribe for you is a nice juicy
murder.”
“That’s an outrageous13 thing to say!”
“Isn’t it? However, you can always make do with the depth the parsley
sank into the butter on a summer’s day. I always wondered about that.
Good old Holmes. A period piece, nowadays, I suppose. But he’ll never be
forgotten.”
“There,” she said, “we look much more cheerful. Did the doctor recom-
“He recommended me to take an interest in murder.”
“A nice detective story?”
“No,” said Miss Marple. “Real life.”
“Goodness,” exclaimed Miss Knight. “But there’s not likely to be a
murder in this quiet spot.”
“Murders,” said Miss Marple, “can happen anywhere. And do.”
Teddy-looking boys carry knives.”
But the murder, when it came, was not at the Development.
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