Chapter Twenty-Four
I
In the train on the way down to Baydon Heath,
Inspector1 Neele had singu-
larly little success doing The Times
crossword2. His mind was distracted by
various possibilities. In the same way he read the news with only half his
brain taking it in. He read of an earthquake in Japan, of the discovery of
uranium deposits in Tanganyika, of the body of a merchant
seaman3
washed up near Southampton, and of the
imminent4 strike among the
dockers. He read of the latest victims of the cosh and of a new drug that
All these items made a queer kind of pattern in the back of his mind.
Presently he returned to the crossword puzzle and was able to put down
three clues in rapid succession.
When he reached Yewtree
Lodge6 he had come to a certain decision. He
“Where’s that old lady? Is she still there?”
“Miss Marple? Oh, yes, she’s here still. Great
buddies8 with the old lady
upstairs.”
“I see.” Neele paused for a moment and then said: “Where is she now?
I’d like to see her.”
Miss Marple arrived in a few minutes’ time, looking rather flushed and
breathing fast.
“You want to see me, Inspector Neele? I do hope I haven’t kept you wait-
ing. Sergeant Hay couldn’t find me at first. I was in the kitchen, talking to
Mrs. Crump. I was congratulating her on her
pastry9 and how light her
hand is, and telling her how delicious the soufflé was last night. I always
think, you know, it’s better to approach a subject gradually, don’t you? At
least, I suppose it isn’t so easy for you. You more or less have to come al-
most straight away to the questions you want to ask. But of course for an
old lady like me who has all the time in the world, as you might say, it’s
really expected of her that there should be a great deal of unnecessary talk.
And the way to a cook’s heart, as they say, is through her pastry.”
“What you really wanted to talk to her about,” said Inspector Neele,
“was Gladys Martin?”
Miss Marple nodded.
“Yes. Gladys. You see, Mrs. Crump could really tell me a lot about the
girl. Not in connection with the murder. I don’t mean that. But about her
spirits lately and the odd things she said. I don’t mean odd in the sense of
“Did you find it helpful?” asked Inspector Neele.
“Yes,” said Miss Marple. “I found it very helpful indeed. I really think,
you know, that things are becoming very much clearer, don’t you?”
“I do and I don’t,” said Inspector Neele.
Sergeant Hay, he noticed, had left the room. He was glad of it because
what he was about to do now was, to say the least of it, slightly unortho-
dox.
“Look here, Miss Marple,” he said, “I want to talk to you seriously.”
“Yes, Inspector Neele?”
“In a way,” said Inspector Neele, “you and I represent different points of
view. I admit, Miss Marple, that I’ve heard something about you at the
Yard.” He smiled: “It seems you’re fairly well-known there.”
“I don’t know how it is,” fluttered Miss Marple, “but I so often seem to
get mixed-up in the things that are really no concern of mine. Crimes, I
mean, and peculiar happenings.”
“You’ve got a reputation,” said Inspector Neele.
“Sir Henry Clithering, of course,” said Miss Marple, “is a very old friend
of mine.”
“As I said before,” Neele went on, “you and I represent opposite points
Miss Marple put her head a little on one side.
“Now what exactly do you mean by that, I wonder, Inspector?”
“Well, Miss Marple, there’s a
sane14 way of looking at things. This murder
benefits certain people. One person, I may say, in particular. The second
murder benefits the same person. The third murder one might call a
murder for safety.”
“But which do you call the third murder?” Miss Marple asked.
Her eyes, a very bright china blue, looked shrewdly at the inspector. He
nodded.
“Yes. You’ve got something there perhaps. You know, the other day
when the AC was speaking to me of these murders, something that he said
seemed to me to be wrong. That was it. I was thinking, of course, of the
nursery rhyme. The King in his counting-house, the Queen in the parlour
and the maid hanging out the clothes.”
“Exactly,” said Miss Marple. “A sequence in that order, but actually
Gladys must have been murdered before Mrs. Fortescue, mustn’t she?”
“I think so,” said Neele. “I take it it’s quite certainly so. Her body wasn’t
discovered till late that night, and of course it was difficult then to say ex-
actly how long she’d been dead. But I think myself that she must almost
certainly have been murdered round about five o’clock, because other-
wise… .”
Miss Marple cut in. “Because otherwise she would certainly have taken
the second tray into the drawing room?”
“Quite so. She took one tray in with the tea on it, she brought the second
tray into the hall, and then something happened. She saw something or
heard something. The question is what that something was. It might have
been Dubois coming down the stairs from Mrs. Fortescue’s room. It might
have been Elaine Fortescue’s young man, Gerald Wright, coming in at the
side door. Whoever it was
lured15 her away from the tea tray and out into
the garden. And once that had happened I don’t see any possibility of her
death being long delayed. It was cold out and she was only wearing her
thin uniform.”
“Of course you’re quite right,” said Miss Marple. “I mean it was never a
case of ‘the maid was in the garden hanging up the clothes.’ She wouldn’t
be hanging up clothes at that time of the evening and she wouldn’t go out
to the clothesline without putting a coat on. That was all
camouflage16, like
the clothes-peg, to make the thing fit in with the rhyme.”
“Exactly,” said Inspector Neele, “crazy. That’s where I can’t yet see eye to
eye with you. I can’t—I simply can’t swallow this nursery rhyme busi-
ness.”
“But it fits, Inspector. You must agree it fits.”
“It fits,” said Neele heavily, “but all the same the sequence is wrong. I
mean the rhyme definitely suggests that the maid was the third murder.
But we know that the Queen was the third murder. Adele Fortescue was
not killed until between twenty-five past five and five minutes to six. By
then Gladys must already have been dead.”
“And that’s all wrong, isn’t it?” said Miss Marple. “All wrong for the
nursery rhyme—that’s very significant, isn’t it?”
“It’s probably splitting hairs. The deaths fulfil the conditions of the
rhyme, and I suppose that’s all that was needed. But I’m talking now as
though I were on your side. I’m going to outline my side of the case now,
Miss Marple. I’m washing out the blackbirds and the rye and all the rest of
it. I’m going by sober facts and common sense and the reasons for which
sane people do murders. First, the death of Rex Fortescue, and who benefits
by his death. Well, it benefits quite a lot of people, but most of all it benefits
his son, Percival. His son Percival wasn’t at Yewtree Lodge that morning.
He couldn’t have put poison in his father’s coffee or in anything that he
ate for breakfast. Or that’s what we thought at first.”
“Ah,” Miss Marple’s eyes brightened. “So there was a method, was there?
I’ve been thinking about it, you know, a good deal, and I’ve had several
ideas. But of course no evidence or proof.”
“There’s no harm in my letting you know,” said Inspector Neele. “Taxine
was added to a new jar of marmalade. That jar of marmalade was placed
on the breakfast table and the top layer of it was eaten by Mr. Fortescue at
breakfast. Later that jar of marmalade was thrown out into the bushes
and a similar jar with a similar amount taken out of it was placed in the
pantry. The jar in the bushes was found and I’ve just had the result of the
analysis. It shows definite evidence of taxine.”
“So that was it,” murmured Miss Marple. “So simple and easy to do.”
“Consolidated Investments,” Neele went on, “was in a bad way. If the
firm had had to pay out a hundred thousand pounds to Adele Fortescue
under her husband’s will, it would, I think, have crashed. If Mrs. Fortescue
had survived her husband for a month that money would have had to be
paid out to her. She would have had no feeling for the firm or its diffi-
culties. But she didn’t survive her husband for a month. She died, and as a
result of her death the gainer was the residuary legatee of Rex Fortescue’s
will. In other words, Percival Fortescue again.
“Always Percival Fortescue,” the inspector continued bitterly. “And
though he could have
tampered18 with the marmalade, he couldn’t have
poisoned his stepmother or strangled Gladys. According to his secretary
he was in his city office at five o’clock that afternoon, and he didn’t arrive
back here until nearly seven.”
“That makes it very difficult, doesn’t it?” said Miss Marple.
“It makes it impossible,” said Inspector Neele gloomily. “In other words,
bitterness, almost
unaware21 of his listener. “Wherever I go, wherever I
turn, I always come up against the same person. Percival Fortescue! Yet it
can’t be Percival Fortescue.” Calming himself a little he said: “Oh, there
“Mr. Dubois, of course,” said Miss Marple sharply. “And that young Mr.
Wright. I do so agree with you, Inspector. Wherever there is a question of
gain, one has to be very suspicious. The great thing to avoid is having in
any way a trustful mind.”
In spite of himself, Neele smiled.
“Always think the worst, eh?” he asked.
fragile-looking old lady.
“Oh yes,” said Miss Marple
fervently26. “I always believe the worst. What
is so sad is that one is usually
justified27 in doing so.”
“All right,” said Neele, “let’s think the worst. Dubois could have done it,
Gerald Wright could have done it (that is to say if he’d been
acting28 in collu-
sion with Elaine Fortescue and she tampered with the marmalade), Mrs.
Percival could have done it, I suppose. She was on the spot. But none of
the people I have mentioned tie up with the crazy angle. They don’t tie up
with blackbirds and pockets full of rye. That’s your theory and it may be
that you’re right. If so, it boils down to one person, doesn’t it? Mrs. MacK-
enzie’s in a mental home and has been for a good number of years. She
hasn’t been messing about with marmalade pots or putting cyanide in the
drawing room afternoon tea. Her son Donald was killed at Dunkirk. That
leaves the daughter,
Ruby29 MacKenzie. And if your theory is correct, if this
whole series of murders arises out of the old Blackbird Mine business,
then Ruby MacKenzie must be here in this house, and there’s only one
person that Ruby MacKenzie could be.”
“I think, you know,” said Miss Marple, “that you’re being a little too dog-
matic.”
Inspector Neele paid no attention.
“Just one person,” he said grimly.
He got up and went out of the room.
分享到: