Twenty
“I’ve brought you a cup of strong soup, Carrie Louise,” said Miss Marple.
“Now please drink it.”
Mrs. Serrocold sat up in the big carved oak four poster bed. She looked
very small and childlike. Her cheeks had lost their rose pink flush, and her
eyes had a
curiously1 absent look. She took the soup obediently from Miss
Marple. As she
sipped2 it, Miss Marple sat down in a chair beside the bed.
“First, Christian,” said Carrie Louise, “and now Alex—and poor, sharp,
silly little Ernie. Did he really—know anything?”
“I don’t think so,” said Miss Marple. “He was just telling lies—making
himself important by hinting that he had seen or knew something. The
tragedy is that somebody believed his lies….”
Carrie Louise shivered. Her eyes went back to their faraway look.
“We meant to do so much for these boys … we did do something. Some
of them have done wonderfully well. Several of them are in really re-
sponsible positions. A few slid back—that can’t be helped. Modern civil-
ised conditions are so complex—too complex for some simple and unde-
veloped natures. You know Lewis’ great scheme? He always felt that trans-
portation was a thing that had saved many a potential criminal in the
past. They were shipped overseas—and they made new lives in simpler
surroundings. He wants to start a modern scheme on that basis. To buy up
a great
tract3 of territory—or a group of islands. Finance it for some years,
make it a cooperative self-supporting community—with everyone having
a stake in it. But cut off so that the early temptation to go back to cities and
the bad old ways can be neutralised. It’s his dream. But it will take a lot of
money, of course, and there aren’t many philanthropists with vision now.
We want another Eric. Eric would have been enthusiastic.”
Miss Marple picked up a little pair of scissors and looked at them curi-
ously.
“What an odd pair of scissors,” she said. “They’ve got two finger holes on
one side and one on the other.”
Carrie Louise’s eyes came back from that frightening far distance.
“Alex gave them to me this morning,” she said. “They’re supposed to
make it easier to cut your right-hand nails. Dear boy, he was so enthusias-
tic. He made me try them then and there.”
“And I suppose he gathered up the nail clippings and took them tidily
away,” said Miss Marple.
“Yes,” said Carrie Louise. “He—” she broke off. “Why did you say that?”
“I was thinking about Alex. He had brains. Yes, he had brains.”
“You mean—that’s why he died?”
“I think so—yes.”
“He and Ernie—it doesn’t bear thinking about. When do they think it
happened?”
“Late this evening. Between six and seven o’clock probably….”
“After they’d knocked off work for the day?”
“Yes.”
Gina had been down there that evening—and Wally Hudd. Stephen, too,
said he had been down to look for Gina….
But as far as that went, anybody could have—
Miss Marple’s train of thought was interrupted.
Carrie Louise said quietly and unexpectedly:
“How much do you know, Jane?”
Miss Marple looked up sharply. The eyes of the two women met.
Miss Marple said slowly, “If I was quite sure….”
“I think you are sure, Jane.”
Jane Marple said slowly, “What do you want me to do?”
Carrie leaned back against her pillows.
“It is in your hands, Jane. You’ll do what you think right.”
She closed her eyes.
“Tomorrow”—Miss Marple hesitated—“I shall have to try and talk to In-
spector Curry—if he’ll listen….”
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