THE BLUE GERANIUM
“ W hen I was down here last year—” said Sir Henry Clithering, and stopped.
His hostess, Mrs. Bantry, looked at him curiously1.
The Ex-Commissioner of Scotland Yard was staying with old friends of his, Colonel and Mrs. Bantry, who livednear St. Mary Mead2.
Mrs. Bantry, pen in hand, had just asked his advice as to who should be invited to make a sixth guest at dinner thatevening.
“Yes?” said Mrs. Bantry encouragingly. “When you were here last year?”
“Tell me,” said Sir Henry, “do you know a Miss Marple?”
Mrs. Bantry was surprised. It was the last thing she had expected.
“Know Miss Marple? Who doesn’t! The typical old maid of fiction. Quite a dear, but hopelessly behind the times.
Do you mean you would like me to ask her to dinner?”
“You are surprised?”
“A little, I must confess. I should hardly have thought you—but perhaps there’s an explanation?”
“The explanation is simple enough. When I was down here last year we got into the habit of discussing unsolvedmysteries—there were five or six of us—Raymond West, the novelist, started it. We each supplied a story to which weknew the answer, but nobody else did. It was supposed to be an exercise in the deductive faculties—to see who couldget nearest the truth.”
“Well?”
“Like in the old story—we hardly realized that Miss Marple was playing; but we were very polite about it—didn’twant to hurt the old dear’s feelings. And now comes the cream of the jest. The old lady outdid us every time!”
“What?”
“I assure you—straight to the truth like a homing pigeon.”
“But how extraordinary! Why, dear old Miss Marple has hardly ever been out of St. Mary Mead.”
“Ah! But according to her, that has given her unlimited3 opportunities of observing human nature—under themicroscope as it were.”
“I suppose there’s something in that,” conceded Mrs. Bantry. “One would at least know the petty side of people.
But I don’t think we have any really exciting criminals in our midst. I think we must try her with Arthur’s ghost storyafter dinner. I’d be thankful if she’d find a solution to that.”
“I didn’t know that Arthur believed in ghosts?”
“Oh! he doesn’t. That’s what worries him so. And it happened to a friend of his, George Pritchard—a most prosaicperson. It’s really rather tragic4 for poor George. Either this extraordinary story is true—or else—”
“Or else what?”
Mrs. Bantry did not answer. After a minute or two she said irrelevantly5:
“You know, I like George—everyone does. One can’t believe that he—but people do do such extraordinarythings.”
Sir Henry nodded. He knew, better than Mrs. Bantry, the extraordinary things that people did.
So it came about that that evening Mrs. Bantry looked round her dinner table (shivering a little as she did so,because the dining room, like most English dining rooms, was extremely cold) and fixed6 her gaze on the very uprightold lady sitting on her husband’s right. Miss Marple wore black lace mittens7; an old lace fichu was draped round hershoulders and another piece of lace surmounted8 her white hair. She was talking animatedly9 to the elderly doctor, Dr.
Lloyd, about the Workhouse and the suspected shortcomings of the District Nurse.
Mrs. Bantry marvelled10 anew. She even wondered whether Sir Henry had been making an elaborate joke—but thereseemed no point in that. Incredible that what he had said could be really true.
Her glance went on and rested affectionately on her red-faced broad-shouldered husband as he sat talking horses toJane Helier, the beautiful and popular actress. Jane, more beautiful (if that were possible) off the stage than on, openedenormous blue eyes and murmured at discreet11 intervals12: “Really?” “Oh fancy!” “How extraordinary!” She knewnothing whatever about horses and cared less.
“Arthur,” said Mrs. Bantry, “you’re boring poor Jane to distraction13. Leave horses alone and tell her your ghoststory instead. You know .?.?. George Pritchard.”
“Eh, Dolly? Oh! but I don’t know—”
“Sir Henry wants to hear it too. I was telling him something about it this morning. It would be interesting to hearwhat everyone has to say about it.”
“Oh do!” said Jane. “I love ghost stories.”
“Well—” Colonel Bantry hesitated. “I’ve never believed much in the supernatural. But this—“I don’t think any of you know George Pritchard. He’s one of the best. His wife—well, she’s dead now, poorwoman. I’ll just say this much: she didn’t give George any too easy a time when she was alive. She was one of thosesemi-invalids—I believe she had really something wrong with her, but whatever it was she played it for all it wasworth. She was capricious, exacting14, unreasonable15. She complained from morning to night. George was expected towait on her hand and foot, and every thing he did was always wrong and he got cursed for it. Most men, I’m fullyconvinced, would have hit her over the head with a hatchet16 long ago. Eh, Dolly, isn’t that so?”
“She was a dreadful woman,” said Mrs. Bantry with conviction. “If George Pritchard had brained her with ahatchet, and there had been any woman on the jury, he would have been triumphantly17 acquitted18.”
“I don’t quite know how this business started. George was rather vague about it. I gather Mrs. Pritchard hadalways had a weakness for fortune-tellers, palmists, clairvoyantes—anything of that sort. George didn’t mind. If shefound amusement in it well and good. But he refused to go into rhapsodies himself, and that was another grievance19.
“A succession of hospital nurses was always passing through the house, Mrs. Pritchard usually becomingdissatisfied with them after a few weeks. One young nurse had been very keen on this fortune-telling stunt20, and for atime Mrs. Pritchard had been very fond of her. Then she suddenly fell out with her and insisted on her going. She hadback another nurse who had been with her previously—an older woman, experienced and tactful in dealing21 with aneurotic patient. Nurse Copling, according to George, was a very good sort—a sensible woman to talk to. She put upwith Mrs. Pritchard’s tantrums and nerve storms with complete indifference22.
“Mrs. Pritchard always lunched upstairs, and it was usual at lunchtime for George and the nurse to come to somearrangement for the afternoon. Strictly23 speaking, the nurse went off from two to four, but ‘to oblige’ as the phrasegoes, she would sometimes take her time off after tea if George wanted to be free for the afternoon. On this occasion,she mentioned that she was going to see a sister at Golders Green and might be a little late returning. George’s facefell, for he had arranged to play a round of golf. Nurse Copling, however, reassured24 him.
“‘We’ll neither of us be missed, Mr. Pritchard.’ A twinkle came into her eye. ‘Mrs. Pritchard’s going to have moreexciting company than ours.’
“‘Who’s that?’
“‘Wait a minute,’ Nurse Copling’s eyes twinkled more than ever. ‘Let me get it right. Zarida, Psychic25 Reader ofthe Future.’
“‘Oh Lord!’ groaned26 George. ‘That’s a new one, isn’t it?’
“‘Quite new. I believe my predecessor27, Nurse Carstairs, sent her along. Mrs. Pritchard hasn’t seen her yet. Shemade me write, fixing an appointment for this afternoon.’
“‘Well, at any rate, I shall get my golf,’ said George, and he went off with the kindliest feelings towards Zarida,the Reader of the Future.
“On his return to the house, he found Mrs. Pritchard in a state of great agitation28. She was, as usual, lying on herinvalid couch, and she had a bottle of smelling salts in her hand which she sniffed29 at frequent intervals.
“‘George,’ she exclaimed. ‘What did I tell you about this house? The moment I came into it, I felt there wassomething wrong! Didn’t I tell you so at the time?’
“Repressing his desire to reply, ‘You always do,’ George said, ‘No, I can’t say I remember it.’
“‘You never do remember anything that has to do with me. Men are all extraordinarily31 callous—but I reallybelieve that you are even more insensitive than most.’
“‘Oh, come now, Mary dear, that’s not fair.’
“‘Well, as I was telling you, this woman knew at once! She—she actually blenched—if you know what I mean—asshe came in at the door, and she said: ‘There is evil here—evil and danger. I feel it’”
“Very unwisely George laughed.
“‘Well, you have had your money’s worth this afternoon.’
“His wife closed her eyes and took a long sniff30 from her smelling bottle.
“‘How you hate me! You would jeer32 and laugh if I were dying.’
“George protested and after a minute or two she went on.
“‘You may laugh, but I shall tell you the whole thing. This house is definitely dangerous to me—the woman saidso.’
“George’s formerly33 kind feeling towards Zarida underwent a change. He knew his wife was perfectly34 capable ofinsisting on moving to a new house if the caprice got hold of her.
“‘What else did she say?’ he asked.
“‘She couldn’t tell me very much. She was so upset. One thing she did say. I had some violets in a glass. Shepointed at them and cried out:
“‘Take those away. No blue flowers—never have blue flowers. Blue flowers are fatal to you—remember that’”
“‘And you know,’ added Mrs. Pritchard, ‘I always have told you that blue as a colour is repellent to me. I feel anatural instinctive35 sort of warning against.’
“George was much too wise to remark that he had never heard her say so before. Instead he asked what themysterious Zarida was like. Mrs. Pritchard entered with gusto upon a description.
“‘Black hair in coiled knobs over her ears—her eyes were half closed—great black rims36 round them—she had ablack veil over her mouth and chin—and she spoke37 in a kind of singing voice with a marked foreign accent—Spanish,I think—’
“‘In fact all the usual stock-in-trade,’ said George cheerfully.
“His wife immediately closed her eyes.
“‘I feel extremely ill,’ she said. ‘Ring for nurse. Unkindness upsets me, as you know only too well.’
“It was two days later that Nurse Copling came to George with a grave face.
“‘Will you come to Mrs. Pritchard, please. She has had a letter which upsets her greatly.’
“He found his wife with the letter in her hand. She held it out to him.
“‘Read it,’ she said.
“George read it. It was on heavily scented38 paper, and the writing was big and black.
“I have seen the future. Be warned before it is too late. Beware of the Full Moon. The Blue Primrose39 meansWarning; the Blue Hollyhock means Danger; the Blue Geranium means Death.?.?.?.
“Just about to burst out laughing, George caught Nurse Copling’s eye. She made a quick warning gesture. He saidrather awkwardly, ‘The woman’s probably trying to frighten you, Mary. Anyway there aren’t such things as blueprimroses and blue geraniums.’
“But Mrs. Pritchard began to cry and say her days were numbered. Nurse Copling came out with George upon thelanding.
“‘Of all the silly tomfoolery,’ he burst out.
“‘I suppose it is.’
“Something in the nurse’s tone struck him, and he stared at her in amazement41.
“‘Surely, nurse, you don’t believe—’
“No, no, Mr. Pritchard. I don’t believe in reading the future—that’s nonsense. What puzzles me is the meaning ofthis. Fortunetellers are usually out for what they can get. But this woman seems to be frightening Mrs. Pritchard withno advantage to herself. I can’t see the point. There’s another thing—’
“‘Yes?’
“‘Mrs. Pritchard says that something about Zarida was faintly familiar to her.’
“‘Well?’
“‘Well, I don’t like it, Mr. Pritchard, that’s all.’
“‘I didn’t know you were so superstitious42, nurse.’
“‘I’m not superstitious; but I know when a thing is fishy43.’
“It was about four days after this that the first incident happened. To explain it to you, I shall have to describe Mrs.
Pritchard’s room—”
“You’d better let me do that,” interrupted Mrs. Bantry. “It was papered with one of those new wallpapers whereyou apply clumps44 of flowers to make a kind of herbaceous border. The effect is almost like being in a garden—though,of course, the flowers are all wrong. I mean they simply couldn’t be in bloom all at the same time—”
“Don’t let a passion for horticultural accuracy run away with you, Dolly,” said her husband. “We all know you’rean enthusiastic gardener.”
“Well, it is absurd,” protested Mrs. Bantry. “To have bluebells45 and daffodils and lupins and hollyhocks andMichaelmas daisies all grouped together.”
“Most unscientific,” said Sir Henry. “But to proceed with the story.”
“Well, among these massed flowers were primroses40, clumps of yellow and pink primroses and—oh go on, Arthur,this is your story—”
Colonel Bantry took up the tale.
“Mrs. Pritchard rang her bell violently one morning. The household came running—thought she was in extremis;not at all. She was violently excited and pointing at the wallpaper; and there sure enough was one blue primrose in themidst of the others.?.?.?.”
“Oh!” said Miss Helier, “how creepy!”
“The question was: Hadn’t the blue primrose always been there? That was George’s suggestion and the nurse’s.
But Mrs. Pritchard wouldn’t have it at any price. She had never noticed it till that very morning and the night beforehad been full moon. She was very upset about it.”
“I met George Pritchard that same day and he told me about it,” said Mrs. Bantry. “I went to see Mrs. Pritchardand did my best to ridicule46 the whole thing; but without success. I came away really concerned, and I remember I metJean Instow and told her about it. Jean is a queer girl. She said, ‘So she’s really upset about it?’ I told her that I thoughtthe woman was perfectly capable of dying of fright—she was really abnormally superstitious.
“I remember Jean rather startled me with what she said next. She said, ‘Well, that might be all for the best,mightn’t it?’ And she said it so coolly, in so matter-of-fact a tone that I was really—well, shocked. Of course I knowit’s done nowadays—to be brutal47 and outspoken48; but I never get used to it. Jean smiled at me rather oddly and said,‘You don’t like my saying that—but it’s true. What use is Mrs. Pritchard’s life to her? None at all; and it’s hell forGeorge Pritchard. To have his wife frightened out of existence would be the best thing that could happen to him.’ Isaid, ‘George is most awfully49 good to her always.’ And she said, ‘Yes, he deserves a reward, poor dear. He’s a veryattractive person, George Pritchard. The last nurse thought so—the pretty one—what was her name? Carstairs. Thatwas the cause of the row between her and Mrs. P.’
“Now I didn’t like hearing Jean say that. Of course one had wondered—”
Mrs. Bantry paused significantly.
“Yes, dear,” said Miss Marple placidly50. “One always does. Is Miss Instow a pretty girl? I suppose she plays golf?”
“Yes. She’s good at all games. And she’s nice-looking, attractive-looking, very fair with a healthy skin, and nicesteady blue eyes. Of course we always have felt that she and George Pritchard—I mean if things had been different—they are so well suited to one another.”
“And they were friends?” asked Miss Marple.
“Oh yes. Great friends.”
“Do you think, Dolly,” said Colonel Bantry plaintively51, “that I might be allowed to go on with my story?”
“Arthur,” said Mrs. Bantry resignedly, “wants to get back to his ghosts.”
“I had the rest of the story from George himself,” went on the Colonel. “There’s no doubt that Mrs. Pritchard gotthe wind up badly towards the end of the next month. She marked off on a calendar the day when the moon would befull, and on that night she had both the nurse and then George into her room and made them study the wallpapercarefully. There were pink hollyhocks and red ones, but there were no blue amongst them. Then when George left theroom she locked the door—”
“And in the morning there was a large blue hollyhock,” said Miss Helier joyfully52.
“Quite right,” said Colonel Bantry. “Or at any rate, nearly right. One flower of a hollyhock just above her head hadturned blue. It staggered George; and of course the more it staggered him the more he refused to take the thingseriously. He insisted that the whole thing was some kind of practical joke. He ignored the evidence of the locked doorand the fact that Mrs. Pritchard discovered the change before anyone—even Nurse Copling—was admitted.
“It staggered George; and it made him unreasonable. His wife wanted to leave the house, and he wouldn’t let her.
He was inclined to believe in the supernatural for the first time, but he wasn’t going to admit it. He usually gave in tohis wife, but this time he wouldn’t. Mary was not to make a fool of herself, he said. The whole thing was the mostinfernal nonsense.
“And so the next month sped away. Mrs. Pritchard made less protest than one would have imagined. I think shewas superstitious enough to believe that she couldn’t escape her fate. She repeated again and again: ‘The blueprimrose—warning. The blue hollyhock—danger. The blue geranium—death.’ And she would lie looking at theclump of pinky-red geraniums nearest her bed.
“The whole business was pretty nervy. Even the nurse caught the infection. She came to George two days beforefull moon and begged him to take Mrs. Pritchard away. George was angry.
“‘If all the flowers on that damned wall turned into blue devils it couldn’t kill anyone!’ he shouted.
“‘It might. Shock has killed people before now.’
“‘Nonsense,’ said George.
“George has always been a shade pigheaded. You can’t drive him. I believe he had a secret idea that his wifeworked the change herself and that it was all some morbid53 hysterical54 plan of hers.
“Well, the fatal night came. Mrs. Pritchard locked the door as usual. She was very calm—in almost an exaltedstate of mind. The nurse was worried by her state—wanted to give her a stimulant55, an injection of strychnine, but Mrs.
Pritchard refused. In a way, I believe, she was enjoying herself. George said she was.”
“I think that’s quite possible,” said Mrs. Bantry. “There must have been a strange sort of glamour56 about the wholething.”
“There was no violent ringing of a bell the next morning. Mrs. Pritchard usually woke about eight. When, at eightthirty, there was no sign from her, nurse rapped loudly on the door. Getting no reply, she fetched George, and insistedon the door being broken open. They did so with the help of a chisel57.
“One look at the still figure on the bed was enough for Nurse Copling. She sent George to telephone for the doctor,but it was too late. Mrs. Pritchard, he said, must have been dead at least eight hours. Her smelling salts lay by her handon the bed, and on the wall beside her one of the pinky-red geraniums was a bright deep blue.”
“Horrible,” said Miss Helier with a shiver.
Sir Henry was frowning.
“No additional details?”
Colonel Bantry shook his head, but Mrs. Bantry spoke quickly.
“The gas.”
“What about the gas?” asked Sir Henry.
“When the doctor arrived there was a slight smell of gas, and sure enough he found the gas ring in the fireplacevery slightly turned on; but so little it couldn’t have mattered.”
“Did Mr. Pritchard and the nurse not notice it when they first went in?”
“The nurse said she did notice a slight smell. George said he didn’t notice gas, but something made him feel veryqueer and overcome; but he put that down to shock—and probably it was. At any rate there was no question of gaspoisoning. The smell was scarcely noticeable.”
“And that’s the end of the story?”
“No, it isn’t. One way and another, there was a lot of talk. The servants, you see, had overheard things—had heard,for instance, Mrs. Pritchard telling her husband that he hated her and would jeer if she were dying. And also morerecent remarks. She had said one day, apropos58 of his refusing to leave the house: ‘Very well, when I am dead, I hopeeveryone will realize that you have killed me.’ And as ill luck would have it, he had been mixing some weed killer59 forthe garden paths the day before. One of the younger servants had seen him and had afterwards seen him taking up aglass of hot milk for his wife.
“The talk spread and grew. The doctor had given a certificate—I don’t know exactly in what terms—shock,syncope, heart failure, probably some medical terms meaning nothing much. However the poor lady had not been amonth in her grave before an exhumation60 order was applied61 for and granted.”
“And the result of the autopsy62 was nil63, I remember,” said Sir Henry gravely. “A case, for once, of smoke withoutfire.”
“The whole thing is really very curious,” said Mrs. Bantry. “That fortune-teller, for instance—Zarida. At theaddress where she was supposed to be, no one had ever heard of any such person!”
“She appeared once—out of the blue,” said her husband, “and then utterly64 vanished. Out of the blue—that’s rathergood!”
“And what is more,” continued Mrs. Bantry, “little Nurse Carstairs, who was supposed to have recommended her,had never even heard of her.”
They looked at each other.
“It’s a mysterious story,” said Dr. Lloyd. “One can make guesses; but to guess—”
He shook his head.
“Has Mr. Pritchard married Miss Instow?” asked Miss Marple in her gentle voice.
“Now why do you ask that?” inquired Sir Henry.
Miss Marple opened gentle blue eyes.
“It seems to me so important,” she said. “Have they married?”
Colonel Bantry shook his head.
“We—well, we expected something of the kind—but it’s eighteen months now. I don’t believe they even see muchof each other.”
“That is important,” said Miss Marple. “Very important.”
“Then you think the same as I do,” said Mrs. Bantry. “You think—”
“Now, Dolly,” said her husband. “It’s unjustifiable—what you’re going to say. You can’t go about accusing peoplewithout a shadow of proof.”
“Don’t be so—so manly65, Arthur. Men are always afraid to say anything. Anyway, this is all between ourselves.
It’s just a wild fantastic idea of mine that possibly—only possibly—Jean Instow disguised herself as a fortune-teller.
Mind you, she may have done it for a joke. I don’t for a minute think that she meant any harm; but if she did do it, andif Mrs. Pritchard was foolish enough to die of fright—well, that’s what Miss Marple meant, wasn’t it?”
“No, dear, not quite,” said Miss Marple. “You see, if I were going to kill anyone—which, of course, I wouldn’tdream of doing for a minute, because it would be very wicked, and besides I don’t like killing—not even wasps66,though I know it has to be, and I’m sure the gardener does it as humanely68 as possible. Let me see, what was I saying?”
“If you wished to kill anyone,” prompted Sir Henry.
“Oh yes. Well, if I did, I shouldn’t be at all satisfied to trust to fright. I know one reads of people dying of it, but itseems a very uncertain sort of thing, and the most nervous people are far more brave than one really thinks they are. Ishould like something definite and certain, and make a thoroughly69 good plan about it.”
“Miss Marple,” said Sir Henry, “you frighten me. I hope you will never wish to remove me. Your plans would betoo good.”
Miss Marple looked at him reproachfully.
“I thought I had made it clear that I would never contemplate70 such wickedness,” she said. “No, I was trying to putmyself in the place of—er—a certain person.”
“Do you mean George Pritchard?” asked Colonel Bantry. “I’ll never believe it of George—though—mind you,even the nurse believes it. I went and saw her about a month afterwards, at the time of the exhumation. She didn’tknow how it was done—in fact, she wouldn’t say anything at all—but it was clear enough that she believed George tobe in some way responsible for his wife’s death. She was convinced of it.”
“Well,” said Dr. Lloyd, “perhaps she wasn’t so far wrong. And mind you, a nurse often knows. She can’t say—she’s got no proof—but she knows.”
Sir Henry leant forward.
“Come now, Miss Marple,” he said persuasively71. “You’re lost in a daydream72. Won’t you tell us all about it?”
Miss Marple started and turned pink.
“I beg your pardon,” she said. “I was just thinking about our District Nurse. A most difficult problem.”
“More difficult than the problem of the blue geranium?”
“It really depends on the primroses,” said Miss Marple. “I mean, Mrs. Bantry said they were yellow and pink. If itwas a pink primrose that turned blue, of course, that fits in perfectly. But if it happened to be a yellow one—”
“It was a pink one,” said Mrs. Bantry.
She stared. They all stared at Miss Marple.
“Then that seems to settle it,” said Miss Marple. She shook her head regretfully. “And the wasp67 season andeverything. And of course the gas.”
“It reminds you, I suppose, of countless73 village tragedies?” said Sir Henry.
“Not tragedies,” said Miss Marple. ‘And certainly nothing criminal. But it does remind me a little of the trouble weare having with the District Nurse. After all, nurses are human beings, and what with having to be so correct in theirbehaviour and wearing those uncomfortable collars and being so thrown with the family—well, can you wonder thatthings sometimes happen?”
A glimmer74 of light broke upon Sir Henry.
“You mean Nurse Carstairs?”
“Oh no. Not Nurse Carstairs. Nurse Copling. You see, she had been there before, and very much thrown with Mr.
Pritchard, who you say is an attractive man. I dare say she thought, poor thing—well, we needn’t go into that. I don’tsuppose she knew about Miss Instow, and of course afterwards, when she found out, it turned her against him and shetried to do all the harm she could. Of course the letter really gave her away, didn’t it?”
“What letter?”
“Well, she wrote to the fortune-teller at Mrs. Pritchard’s request, and the fortune-teller came, apparently75 in answerto the letter. But later it was discovered that there never had been such a person at that address. So that shows thatNurse Copling was in it. She only pretended to write—so what could be more likely than that she was the fortune-teller herself?”
“I never saw the point about the letter,” said Sir Henry. “That’s a most important point, of course.”
“Rather a bold step to take,” said Miss Marple, “because Mrs. Pritchard might have recognized her in spite of thedisguise—though of course if she had, the nurse could have pretended it was a joke.”
“What did you mean,” said Sir Henry, “when you said that if you were a certain person you would not have trustedto fright?”
“One couldn’t be sure that way,” said Miss Marple. “No, I think that the warnings and the blue flowers were, if Imay use a military term,” she laughed self-consciously—“just camouflage76.”
“And the real thing?”
“I know,” said Miss Marple apologetically, “that I’ve got wasps on the brain. Poor things, destroyed in theirthousands—and usually on such a beautiful summer’s day. But I remember thinking, when I saw the gardener shakingup the cyanide of potassium in a bottle with water, how like smelling salts it looked. And if it were put in a smellingsalt bottle and substituted for the real one—well, the poor lady was in the habit of using her smelling salts. Indeed yousaid they were found by her hand. Then, of course, while Mr. Pritchard went to telephone to the doctor, the nursewould change it for the real bottle, and she’d just turn on the gas a little bit to mask any smell of almonds and in caseanyone felt queer, and I always have heard that cyanide leaves no trace if you wait long enough. But, of course I maybe wrong, and it may have been something entirely77 different in the bottle; but that doesn’t really matter, does it?”
Miss Marple paused, a little out of breath.
Jane Helier leant forward and said, “But the blue geranium, and the other flowers?”
“Nurses always have litmus paper, don’t they?” said Miss Marple, “for—well, for testing. Not a very pleasantsubject. We won’t dwell on it. I have done a little nursing myself.” She grew delicately pink. “Blue turns red withacids, and red turns blue with alkalis. So easy to paste some red litmus over a red flower—near the bed, of course. Andthen, when the poor lady used her smelling salts, the strong ammonia fumes78 would turn it blue. Really most ingenious.
Of course, the geranium wasn’t blue when they first broke into the room—nobody noticed it till afterwards. Whennurse changed the bottles, she held the Sal Ammoniac against the wallpaper for a minute, I expect.”
“You might have been there, Miss Marple,” said Sir Henry.
“What worries me,” said Miss Marple, “is poor Mr. Pritchard and that nice girl, Miss Instow. Probably bothsuspecting each other and keeping apart—and life so very short.”
She shook her head.
“You needn’t worry,” said Sir Henry. “As a matter of fact I have something up my sleeve. A nurse has beenarrested on a charge of murdering an elderly patient who had left her a legacy79. It was done with cyanide of potassiumsubstituted for smelling salts. Nurse Copling trying the same trick again. Miss Instow and Mr. Pritchard need have nodoubts as to the truth.”
“Now isn’t that nice?” cried Miss Marple. “I don’t mean about the new murder, of course. That’s very sad, andshows how much wickedness there is in the world, and that if once you give way—which reminds me I must finish mylittle conversation with Dr. Lloyd about the village nurse.”
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curiously
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| adv.有求知欲地；好问地；奇特地 | |
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mead
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unlimited
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tragic
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irrelevantly
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fixed
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| adj.固定的，不变的，准备好的；(计算机)固定的 | |
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mittens
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surmounted
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| 战胜( surmount的过去式和过去分词 )； 克服（困难）； 居于…之上； 在…顶上 | |
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animatedly
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| adv.栩栩如生地，活跃地 | |
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marvelled
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| v.惊奇，对…感到惊奇( marvel的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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discreet
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| adj.(言行)谨慎的；慎重的；有判断力的 | |
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intervals
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| n.[军事]间隔( interval的名词复数 )；间隔时间；[数学]区间；（戏剧、电影或音乐会的）幕间休息 | |
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distraction
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| n.精神涣散，精神不集中，消遣，娱乐 | |
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exacting
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| adj.苛求的，要求严格的 | |
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unreasonable
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| adj.不讲道理的，不合情理的，过度的 | |
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hatchet
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| n.短柄小斧；v.扼杀 | |
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triumphantly
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| ad.得意洋洋地；得胜地；成功地 | |
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acquitted
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| 宣判…无罪( acquit的过去式和过去分词 )； 使（自己）作出某种表现 | |
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grievance
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| n.怨愤，气恼，委屈 | |
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stunt
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| n.惊人表演，绝技，特技；vt.阻碍...发育，妨碍...生长 | |
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dealing
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| n.经商方法，待人态度 | |
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indifference
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| n.不感兴趣，不关心，冷淡，不在乎 | |
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strictly
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| adv.严厉地，严格地；严密地 | |
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reassured
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| adj.使消除疑虑的；使放心的v.再保证，恢复信心( reassure的过去式和过去分词) | |
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psychic
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| n.对超自然力敏感的人；adj.有超自然力的 | |
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groaned
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| v.呻吟( groan的过去式和过去分词 )；发牢骚；抱怨；受苦 | |
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predecessor
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| n.前辈，前任 | |
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agitation
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| n.搅动；搅拌；鼓动，煽动 | |
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sniffed
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| v.以鼻吸气，嗅，闻( sniff的过去式和过去分词 )；抽鼻子（尤指哭泣、患感冒等时出声地用鼻子吸气）；抱怨，不以为然地说 | |
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sniff
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| vi.嗅…味道；抽鼻涕；对嗤之以鼻，蔑视 | |
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extraordinarily
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| adv.格外地；极端地 | |
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jeer
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| vi.嘲弄，揶揄；vt.奚落；n.嘲笑，讥评 | |
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formerly
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| adv.从前，以前 | |
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perfectly
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| adv.完美地，无可非议地，彻底地 | |
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instinctive
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| adj.(出于)本能的；直觉的；(出于)天性的 | |
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rims
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| n.（圆形物体的）边( rim的名词复数 )；缘；轮辋；轮圈 | |
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spoke
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| n.（车轮的）辐条；轮辐；破坏某人的计划；阻挠某人的行动 v.讲，谈（speak的过去式）；说；演说；从某种观点来说 | |
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38
scented
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| adj.有香味的；洒香水的；有气味的v.嗅到(scent的过去分词) | |
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primrose
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| n.樱草，最佳部分， | |
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primroses
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| n.报春花( primrose的名词复数 )；淡黄色；追求享乐（招至恶果） | |
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amazement
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| n.惊奇，惊讶 | |
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superstitious
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| adj.迷信的 | |
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fishy
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| adj. 值得怀疑的 | |
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clumps
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| n.（树、灌木、植物等的）丛、簇( clump的名词复数 )；（土、泥等）团；块；笨重的脚步声v.（树、灌木、植物等的）丛、簇( clump的第三人称单数 )；（土、泥等）团；块；笨重的脚步声 | |
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bluebells
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| n.圆叶风铃草( bluebell的名词复数 ) | |
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ridicule
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| v.讥讽，挖苦；n.嘲弄 | |
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brutal
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| adj.残忍的，野蛮的，不讲理的 | |
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outspoken
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| adj.直言无讳的，坦率的，坦白无隐的 | |
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awfully
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| adv.可怕地，非常地，极端地 | |
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placidly
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| adv.平稳地，平静地 | |
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plaintively
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| adv.悲哀地，哀怨地 | |
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joyfully
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| adv. 喜悦地, 高兴地 | |
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morbid
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| adj.病的；致病的；病态的；可怕的 | |
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hysterical
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| adj.情绪异常激动的，歇斯底里般的 | |
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stimulant
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| n.刺激物，兴奋剂 | |
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glamour
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| n.魔力，魅力；vt.迷住 | |
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chisel
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| n.凿子；v.用凿子刻，雕，凿 | |
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apropos
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| adv.恰好地；adj.恰当的；关于 | |
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killer
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| n.杀人者，杀人犯，杀手，屠杀者 | |
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exhumation
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| n.掘尸，发掘；剥璐 | |
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applied
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| adj.应用的；v.应用，适用 | |
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autopsy
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| n.尸体解剖；尸检 | |
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nil
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| n.无，全无，零 | |
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utterly
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| adv.完全地，绝对地 | |
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manly
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| adj.有男子气概的；adv.男子般地，果断地 | |
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wasps
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| 黄蜂( wasp的名词复数 )； 胡蜂； 易动怒的人； 刻毒的人 | |
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wasp
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| n.黄蜂，蚂蜂 | |
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humanely
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| adv.仁慈地；人道地；富人情地；慈悲地 | |
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thoroughly
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| adv.完全地，彻底地，十足地 | |
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contemplate
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| vt.盘算，计议；周密考虑；注视，凝视 | |
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persuasively
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| adv.口才好地；令人信服地 | |
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daydream
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| v.做白日梦，幻想 | |
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countless
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| adj.无数的，多得不计其数的 | |
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glimmer
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| v.发出闪烁的微光；n.微光，微弱的闪光 | |
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apparently
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| adv.显然地；表面上，似乎 | |
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76
camouflage
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| n./v.掩饰，伪装 | |
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entirely
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| ad.全部地，完整地；完全地，彻底地 | |
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78
fumes
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| n.(强烈而刺激的)气味，气体 | |
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legacy
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| n.遗产，遗赠；先人(或过去)留下的东西 | |
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