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II
Yard.
The assistant commissioner2 at the other end said:
“We ought to be able to get that information for you—by circularizing
the various private sanatoriums. Of course she may be dead.”
“Probably is. It’s a long time ago.”
Old sins cast long shadows. Miss Ramsbottom had said that—said it with
a significance, too—as though she was giving him a hint.
“It’s a fantastic theory,” said the AC.
“Don’t I know it, sir. But I don’t feel we can ignore it altogether. Too
much fits in—”
Neele said:
“I’m concentrating on the other lines too—Dubois is a possibility—so is
Wright—the girl Gladys could have caught sight of either of them outside
the side door—she could have left the tea tray in the hall and gone out to
see who it was and what they were doing—whoever it was could have
strangled her then and there and then carried her body round to the
“A crazy thing to do in all conscience! A nasty one too.”
“Yes, sir. That’s what upset the old lady—Miss Marple, I mean. Nice old
lady—and very shrewd. She’s moved into the house—to be near old Miss
Ramsbottom—and I’ve no doubt she’ll get to hear anything that’s going.”
“What’s your next move, Neele?”
“I’ve an appointment with the London solicitors5. I want to find out a
little more about Rex Fortescue’s affairs. And though it’s old history, I
want to hear a little more about the Blackbird Mine.”
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