III

“And that’s that,” said Craddock when he was walking away with SergeantFletcher. “Two young women whose stories flatly contradict each other.

Which one am I to believe?”

“Everyone seems to agree that this foreign girl tells whoppers,” saidFletcher. “It’s been my experience in dealing with aliens that lying comesmore easy than truth-telling. Seems to be clear she’s got a spite against thisMrs. Haymes.”

“So, if you were me, you’d believe Mrs. Haymes?”

“Unless you’ve got reason to think otherwise, sir.”

And Craddock hadn’t, not really—only the remembrance of a pair ofoversteady blue eyes and the glib enunciation of the words that morning.

For to the best of his recollection he hadn’t said whether the interview inthe summerhouse had taken place in the morning or the afternoon.

Still, Miss Blacklock, or if not Miss Blacklock, certainly Miss Bunner,might have mentioned the visit of the young foreigner who had come tocadge his fare back to Switzerland. And Phillipa Haymes might have there-fore assumed that the conversation was supposed to have taken place onthat particular morning.

But Craddock still thought that there had been a note of fear in her voiceas she asked:

“In the summerhouse?”

He decided to keep an open mind on the subject.

IV

It was very pleasant in the Vicarage garden. One of those sudden spells ofautumn warmth had descended upon England. Inspector Craddock couldnever remember if it was St. Martin’s or St. Luke’s Summer, but he knewthat it was very pleasant—and also very enervating. He sat in a deck chairprovided for him by an energetic Bunch, just on her way to a Mothers’

Meeting, and, well protected with shawls and a large rug round her knees,Miss Marple sat knitting beside him. The sunshine, the peace, the steadyclick of Miss Marple’s knitting needles, all combined to produce a soporificfeeling in the Inspector. And yet, at the same time, there was a nightmar-ish feeling at the back of his mind. It was like a familiar dream where anundertone of menace grows and finally turns Ease into Terror….

He said abruptly, “You oughtn’t to be here.”

Miss Marple’s needles stopped clicking for a moment. Her placid china-blue eyes regarded him thoughtfully.

She said, “I know what you mean. You’re a very conscientious boy. Butit’s perfectly all right. Bunch’s father (he was vicar of our parish, a veryfine scholar) and her mother (who is a most remarkable woman—realspiritual power) are very old friends of mine. It’s the most natural thing inthe world that when I’m at Medenham I should come on here to stay withBunch for a little.”

“Oh, perhaps,” said Craddock. “But—but don’t snoop around … I’ve afeeling—I have really—that it isn’t safe.”

Miss Marple smiled a little.

“But I’m afraid,” she said, “that we old women always do snoop. Itwould be very odd and much more noticeable if I didn’t. Questions aboutmutual friends in different parts of the world and whether they remem-ber so and so, and do they remember who it was that Lady Somebody’sdaughter married? All that helps, doesn’t it?”

“Helps?” said the Inspector, rather stupidly.

“Helps to find out if people are who they say they are,” said Miss Marple.

She went on:

“Because that’s what’s worrying you, isn’t it? And that’s really the partic-ular way the world has changed since the war. Take this place, ChippingCleghorn, for instance. It’s very much like St. Mary Mead where I live. Fif-teen years ago one knew who everybody was. The Bantrys in the big house— and the Hartnells and the Price Ridleys and the Weatherbys … Theywere people whose fathers and mothers and grandfathers and grand-mothers, or whose aunts and uncles, had lived there before them. If some-body new came to live there, they brought letters of introduction, orthey’d been in the same regiment or served in the same ship as someonethere already. If anybody new—really new—really a stranger—came,well, they stuck out—everybody wondered about them and didn’t rest tillthey found out.”

She nodded her head gently.

“But it’s not like that any more. Every village and small country place isfull of people who’ve just come and settled there without any ties to bringthem. The big houses have been sold, and the cottages have been conver-ted and changed. And people just come—and all you know about them iswhat they say of themselves. They’ve come, you see, from all over theworld. People from India and Hong Kong and China, and people who usedto live in France and Italy in little cheap places and odd islands. Andpeople who’ve made a little money and can afford to retire. But nobodyknows any more who anyone is. You can have Benares brassware in yourhouse and talk about tiffin and chota Hazri—and you can have pictures ofTaormina and talk about the English church and the library—like MissHinchcliffe and Miss Murgatroyd. You can come from the South of France,or have spent your life in the East. People take you at your own valuation.

They don’t wait to call until they’ve had a letter from a friend saying thatthe So-and-So’s are delightful people and she’s known them all their lives.”

And that, thought Craddock, was exactly what was oppressing him. Hedidn’t know. There were just faces and personalities and they were backedup by ration books and identity cards—nice neat identity cards with num-bers on them, without photographs or fingerprints. Anybody who took thetrouble could have a suitable identity card—and partly because of that,the subtler links that had held together English social rural life had fallenapart. In a town nobody expected to know his neighbour. In the countrynow nobody knew his neighbour either, though possibly he still thoughthe did….

Because of the oiled door, Craddock knew that there had been some-body in Letitia Blacklock’s drawing room who was not the pleasantfriendly country neighbour he or she pretended to be….

And because of that he was afraid for Miss Marple who was frail and oldand who noticed things….

He said: “We can, to a certain extent, check up on these people …” But heknew that that wasn’t so easy. India and China and Hong Kong and theSouth of France … It wasn’t as easy as it would have been fifteen yearsago. There were people, as he knew only too well, who were going aboutthe country with borrowed identities—borrowed from people who hadmet sudden death by “incidents’ in the cities. There were organizationswho bought up identities, who faked identity and ration cards — therewere a hundred small rackets springing into being. You could check up—but it would take time—and time was what he hadn’t got, because RandallGoedler’s widow was very near death.

It was then that, worried and tired, lulled by the sunshine, he told MissMarple about Randall Goedler and about Pip and Emma.

“Just a couple of names,” he said. “Nicknames at that! They mayn’t exist.

They may be respectable citizens living in Europe somewhere. On theother hand one, or both, of them may be here in Chipping Cleghorn.”

Twenty-five years old approximately—Who filled that description? Hesaid, thinking aloud:

“That nephew and niece of hers—or cousins or whatever they are … Iwonder when she saw them last—”

Miss Marple said gently: “I’ll find out for you, shall I?”

“Now, please, Miss Marple, don’t—”

“It will be quite simple, Inspector, you really need not worry. And itwon’t be noticeable if I do it, because, you see, it won’t be official. If thereis anything wrong you don’t want to put them on their guard.”

Pip and Emma, thought Craddock, Pip and Emma? He was getting ob-sessed by Pip and Emma. That attractive dare-devil young man, the good-looking girl with the cool stare….

He said: “I may find out more about them in the next forty-eight hours.

I’m going up to Scotland. Mrs. Goedler, if she’s able to talk, may know agood deal more about them.”

“I think that’s a very wise move.” Miss Marple hesitated. “I hope,” shemurmured, “that you have warned Miss Blacklock to be careful?”

“I’ve warned her, yes. And I shall leave a man here to keep an unobtrus-ive eye on things.”

He avoided Miss Marple’s eye which said plainly enough that a police-man keeping an eye on things would be little good if the danger was in thefamily circle….

“And remember,” said Craddock, looking squarely at her, “I’ve warnedyou.”

“I assure you, Inspector,” said Miss Marple, “that I can take care of my-self.”