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2
Lewis Serrocold arrived back at six thirty. He stopped the car at the gates
and walked to the house through the park. Looking out of her window,
men, having greeted one another, turned and paced to and fro, up and
down the terrace.
Miss Marple had been careful to bring her bird glasses with her. At this
moment she brought them into action. Was there, or was there not, a
of conversation floated up to her now and then. If either of the men
should look up, it would be quite clear that an enraptured5 bird-watcher
“—how to spare Carrie Louise the knowledge—” Gulbrandsen was say-
ing.
The next time they passed below, Lewis Serrocold was speaking.
“—if it can be kept from her. I agree that it is she who must be con-
sidered….”
Other faint snatches came to the listener.
“—Really serious—” “—not justified—” “too big a responsibility to take
—” “we should, perhaps, take outside advice—”
Finally Miss Marple heard Christian Gulbrandsen say, “Ach, it grows
cold. We must go inside.”
Miss Marple drew her head in through the window with a puzzled ex-
pression. What she had heard was too fragmentary to be easily pieced to-
gether—but it served to confirm that vague apprehension7 that had been
gradually growing upon her and about which Ruth Van Rydock had been
so positive.
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