I N THE S MALL H OURS
IM iss Marple woke early. Like many old people she slept lightly and had periods of wakefulness which she used forthe planning of some action or actions to be carried out on the next or following days. Usually, of course, these wereof a wholly private or domestic nature, of little interest to anybody but herself. But this morning Miss Marple laythinking soberly and constructively1 of murder, and what, if her suspicions were correct, she could do about it. Itwasn’t going to be easy. She had one weapon and one weapon only, and that was conversation.
Old ladies were given to a good deal of rambling2 conversation. People were bored by this, but certainly did notsuspect them of ulterior motives3. It would not be a case of asking direct questions. (Indeed, she would have found itdifficult to know what questions to ask!) It would be a question of finding out a little more about certain people. Shereviewed these certain people in her mind.
She could find out, possibly, a little more about Major Palgrave, but would that really help her? She doubted if itwould. If Major Palgrave had been killed it was not because of secrets in his life or to inherit his money or for revengeupon him. In fact, although he was the victim, it was one of those rare cases where a greater knowledge of the victimdoes not help you or lead you in any way to his murderer. The point, it seemed to her, and the sole point, was thatMajor Palgrave talked too much!
She had learnt one rather interesting fact from Dr. Graham. He had had in his wallet various photographs: one ofhimself in company with a polo pony4, one of a dead tiger, also one or two other shots of the same nature. Now whydid Major Palgrave carry these about with him? Obviously, thought Miss Marple, with long experience of oldadmirals, brigadier-generals and mere5 majors behind her, because he had certain stories which he enjoyed telling topeople. Starting off with “Curious thing happened once when I was out tiger shooting in India….” Or a reminiscenceof himself and a polo pony. Therefore this story about a suspected murderer would in due course be illustrated6 by theproduction of the snapshot from his wallet.
He had been following that pattern in his conversation with her. The subject of murder having come up, and tofocus interest on his story, he had done what he no doubt usually did, produced his snapshot and said something in thenature of “Wouldn’t think this chap was a murderer, would you?”
The point was that it had been a habit of his. This murderer story was one of his regular repertoire7. If any referenceto murder came up, then away went the Major, full steam ahead.
In that case, reflected Miss Marple, he might already have told his story to someone else here. Or to more than oneperson—If that were so, then she herself might learn from that person what the further details of the story had been,possibly what the person in the snapshot had looked like.
She nodded her head in satisfaction—That would be a beginning.
And, of course, there were the people she called in her mind the “Four Suspects.” Though really, since MajorPalgrave had been talking about a man—there were only two. Colonel Hillingdon or Mr. Dyson, very unlikely-lookingmurderers, but then murderers so often were unlikely. Could there have been anyone else? She had seen no one whenshe turned her head to look. There was the bungalow8 of course. Mr. Rafiel’s bungalow. Could somebody have comeout of the bungalow and gone in again before she had had time to turn her head? If so, it could only have been thevalet-attendant. What was his name? Oh yes, Jackson. Could it have been Jackson who had come out of the door?
That would have been the same pose as the photograph. A man coming out of a door. Recognition might have strucksuddenly. Up till then, Major Palgrave would not have looked at Arthur Jackson, valet-attendant, with any interest. Hisroving and curious eye was essentially9 a snobbish10 eye—Arthur Jackson was not a pukka sahib—Major Palgravewould not have glanced at him twice.
Until, perhaps, he had had the snapshot in his hand, and had looked over Miss Marple’s right shoulder and had seena man coming out of a door …?
Miss Marple turned over on her pillow—Programme for tomorrow—or rather for today—Further investigation11 ofthe Hillingdons, the Dysons and Arthur Jackson, valet-attendant.
II
Dr. Graham also woke early. Usually he turned over and went to sleep again. But today he was uneasy and sleep failedto come. This anxiety that made it so difficult to go to sleep again was a thing he had not suffered from for a long time.
What was causing this anxiety? Really, he couldn’t make it out. He lay there thinking it over. Something to do with—something to do with—yes, Major Palgrave. Major Palgrave’s death? He didn’t see, though, what there could be tomake him uneasy there. Was it something that that twittery old lady had said? Bad luck for her about her snapshot.
She’d taken it very well. But now what was it she had said, what chance word of hers had it been, that had given himthis funny feeling of uneasiness? After all, there was nothing odd about the Major’s death. Nothing at all. At least hesupposed there was nothing at all.
It was quite clear that in the Major’s state of health—a faint check came in his thought process. Did he really knowmuch about Major Palgrave’s state of health? Everybody said that he’d suffered from high blood pressure. But hehimself had never had any conversation with the Major about it. But then he’d never had much conversation withMajor Palgrave anyway. Palgrave was an old bore and he avoided old bores. Why on earth should he have this ideathat perhaps everything mightn’t be all right? Was it that old woman? But after all she hadn’t said anything. Anyway,it was none of his business. The local authorities were quite satisfied. There had been that bottle of Serenite tablets,and the old boy had apparently12 talked to people about his blood pressure quite freely.
Dr. Graham turned over in bed and soon went to sleep again.
III
Outside the hotel grounds, in one of a row of shanty13 cabins beside a creek14, the girl Victoria Johnson rolled over and satup in bed. The St. Honoré girl was a magnificent creature with a torso of black marble such as a sculptor15 would haveenjoyed. She ran her fingers through her dark, tightly curling hair. With her foot she nudged her sleeping companion inthe ribs16.
“Wake up, man.”
The man grunted17 and turned.
“What you want? It’s not morning.”
“Wake up, man. I want to talk to you.”
The man sat up, stretched, showed a wide mouth and beautiful teeth.
“What’s worrying you, woman?”
“That Major man who died. Something I don’t like. Something wrong about it.”
“Ah, what d’you want to worry about that? He was old. He died.”
“Listen, man. It’s them pills. Them pills the doctor asked me about.”
“Well, what about them? He took too many maybe.”
“No. It’s not that. Listen.” She leant towards him, talking vehemently18. He yawned and lay down again.
“There’s nothing in that. What’re you talking about?”
“All the same, I’ll speak to Mrs. Kendal about it in the morning. I think there’s something wrong theresomewhere.”
“Shouldn’t bother,” said the man who, without benefit of ceremony, she considered as her present husband. “Don’tlet’s look for trouble,” he said and rolled over on his side yawning.

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1
constructively
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ad.有益的,积极的 | |
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2
rambling
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adj.[建]凌乱的,杂乱的 | |
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3
motives
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n.动机,目的( motive的名词复数 ) | |
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4
pony
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adj.小型的;n.小马 | |
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5
mere
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adj.纯粹的;仅仅,只不过 | |
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6
illustrated
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adj. 有插图的,列举的 动词illustrate的过去式和过去分词 | |
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7
repertoire
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n.(准备好演出的)节目,保留剧目;(计算机的)指令表,指令系统, <美>(某个人的)全部技能;清单,指令表 | |
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8
bungalow
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n.平房,周围有阳台的木造小平房 | |
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9
essentially
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adv.本质上,实质上,基本上 | |
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10
snobbish
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adj.势利的,谄上欺下的 | |
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11
investigation
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n.调查,调查研究 | |
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12
apparently
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adv.显然地;表面上,似乎 | |
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13
shanty
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n.小屋,棚屋;船工号子 | |
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14
creek
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n.小溪,小河,小湾 | |
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15
sculptor
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n.雕刻家,雕刻家 | |
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16
ribs
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n.肋骨( rib的名词复数 );(船或屋顶等的)肋拱;肋骨状的东西;(织物的)凸条花纹 | |
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17
grunted
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(猪等)作呼噜声( grunt的过去式和过去分词 ); (指人)发出类似的哼声; 咕哝着说 | |
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18
vehemently
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adv. 热烈地 | |
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