A CHRISTMAS TRAGEDY
“ I have a complaint to make,” said Sir Henry Clithering. His eyes twinkled gently as he looked round at theassembled company. Colonel Bantry, his legs stretched out, was frowning at the mantelpiece as though it were adelinquent soldier on parade, his wife was surreptitiously glancing at a catalogue of bulbs which had come by the latepost, Dr. Lloyd was gazing with frank admiration1 at Jane Helier, and that beautiful young actress herself wasthoughtfully regarding her pink polished nails. Only that elderly, spinster lady, Miss Marple, was sitting bolt upright,and her faded blue eyes met Sir Henry’s with an answering twinkle.
“A complaint?” she murmured.
“A very serious complaint. We are a company of six, three representatives of each sex, and I protest on behalf ofthe downtrodden males. We have had three stories told tonight—and told by the three men! I protest that the ladieshave not done their fair share.”
“Oh!” said Mrs. Bantry with indignation. “I’m sure we have. We’ve listened with the most intelligent appreciation2.
We’ve displayed the true womanly attitude—not wishing to thrust ourselves in the limelight!”
“It’s an excellent excuse,” said Sir Henry; “but it won’t do. And there’s a very good precedent3 in the ArabianNights! So, forward, Scheherazade.”
“Meaning me?” said Mrs. Bantry. “But I don’t know anything to tell. I’ve never been surrounded by blood ormystery.”
“I don’t absolutely insist upon blood,” said Sir Henry. “But I’m sure one of you three ladies has got a pet mystery.
Come now, Miss Marple—the ‘Curious Coincidence of the Charwoman’ or the ‘Mystery of the Mothers’ Meeting.’
Don’t disappoint me in St. Mary Mead4.”
Miss Marple shook her head.
“Nothing that would interest you, Sir Henry. We have our little mysteries, of course—there was that gill of pickedshrimps that disappeared so incomprehensibly; but that wouldn’t interest you because it all turned out to be so trivial,though throwing a considerable light on human nature.”
“You have taught me to dote on human nature,” said Sir Henry solemnly.
“What about you, Miss Helier?” asked Colonel Bantry. “You must have had some interesting experiences.”
“Yes, indeed,” said Dr. Lloyd.
“Me?” said Jane. “You mean—you want me to tell you something that happened to me?”
“Or to one of your friends,” amended6 Sir Henry.
“Oh!” said Jane vaguely7. “I don’t think anything has ever happened to me—I mean not that kind of thing. Flowers,of course, and queer messages—but that’s just men, isn’t it? I don’t think”—she paused and appeared lost in thought.
“I see we shall have to have that epic8 of the shrimps5,” said Sir Henry. “Now then, Miss Marple.”
“You’re so fond of your joke, Sir Henry. The shrimps are only nonsense; but now I come to think of it, I doremember one incident—at least not exactly an incident, something very much more serious—a tragedy. And I was, ina way, mixed up in it; and for what I did, I have never had any regrets—no, no regrets at all. But it didn’t happen in St.
Mary Mead.”
“That disappoints me,” said Sir Henry. “But I will endeavour to bear up. I knew we should not rely upon you invain.”
He settled himself in the attitude of a listener. Miss Marple grew slightly pink.
“I hope I shall be able to tell it properly,” she said anxiously. “I fear I am very inclined to become rambling9. Onewanders from the point—altogether without knowing that one is doing so. And it is so hard to remember each fact inits proper order. You must all bear with me if I tell my story badly. It happened a very long time ago now.
“As I say, it was not connected with St. Mary Mead. As a matter of fact, it had to do with a Hydro—”
“Do you mean a seaplane?” asked Jane with wide eyes.
“You wouldn’t know, dear,” said Mrs. Bantry, and explained. Her husband added his quota10:
“Beastly places—absolutely beastly! Got to get up early and drink filthy-tasting water. Lot of old women sittingabout. Ill-natured tittle tattle. God, when I think—”
“Now, Arthur,” said Mrs. Bantry placidly12. “You know it did you all the good in the world.”
“Lot of old women sitting round talking scandal,” grunted13 Colonel Bantry.
“That I am afraid is true,” said Miss Marple. “I myself—”
“My dear Miss Marple,” cried the Colonel, horrified14. “I didn’t mean for one moment—”
With pink cheeks and a little gesture of the hand, Miss Marple stopped him.
“But it is true, Colonel Bantry. Only I should just like to say this. Let me recollect15 my thoughts. Yes. Talkingscandal, as you say—well, it is done a good deal. And people are very down on it—especially young people. Mynephew, who writes books—and very clever ones, I believe—has said some most scathing16 things about takingpeople’s characters away without any kind of proof—and how wicked it is, and all that. But what I say is that none ofthese young people ever stop to think. They really don’t examine the facts. Surely the whole crux17 of the matter is this:
How often is tittle tattle, as you call it, true! And I think if, as I say, they really examined the facts they would find thatit was true nine times out of ten! That’s really just what makes people so annoyed about it.”
“The inspired guess,” said Sir Henry.
“No, not that, not that at all! It’s really a matter of practice and experience. An Egyptologist, so I’ve heard, if youshow him one of those curious little beetles18, can tell you by the look and the feel of the thing what date BC it is, or ifit’s a Birmingham imitation. And he can’t always give a definite rule for doing so. He just knows. His life has beenspent handling such things.
“And that’s what I’m trying to say (very badly, I know). What my nephew calls ‘superfluous women’ have a lot oftime on their hands, and their chief interest is usually people. And so, you see, they get to be what one might callexperts. Now young people nowadays—they talk very freely about things that weren’t mentioned in my young days,but on the other hand their minds are terribly innocent. They believe in everyone and everything. And if one tries towarn them, ever so gently, they tell one that one has a Victorian mind—and that, they say, is like a sink.”
“After all,” said Sir Henry, “what is wrong with a sink?”
“Exactly,” said Miss Marple eagerly. “It’s the most necessary thing in any house; but, of course, not romantic.
Now I must confess that I have my feelings, like everyone else, and I have sometimes been cruelly hurt by unthinkingremarks. I know gentlemen are not interested in domestic matters, but I must just mention my maid Ethel—a verygood-looking girl and obliging in every way. Now I realized as soon as I saw her that she was the same type as AnnieWebb and poor Mrs. Bruitt’s girl. If the opportunity arose mine and thine would mean nothing to her. So I let her go atthe month and I gave her a written reference saying she was honest and sober, but privately19 I warned old Mrs.
Edwards against taking her; and my nephew, Raymond, was exceedingly angry and said he had never heard ofanything so wicked—yes, wicked. Well, she went to Lady Ashton, whom I felt no obligation to warn—and whathappened? All the lace cut off her underclothes and two diamond brooches taken—and the girl departed in the middleof the night and never heard of since!”
Miss Marple paused, drew a long breath, and then went on.
“You’ll be saying this has nothing to do with what went on at Keston Spa Hydro—but it has in a way. It explainswhy I felt no doubt in my mind the first moment I saw the Sanders together that he meant to do away with her.”
“Eh?” said Sir Henry, leaning forward.
Miss Marple turned a placid11 face to him.
“As I say, Sir Henry, I felt no doubt in my own mind. Mr. Sanders was a big, good-looking, florid-faced man, veryhearty in his manner and popular with all. And nobody could have been pleasanter to his wife than he was. But Iknew! He meant to make away with her.”
“My dear Miss Marple—”
“Yes, I know. That’s what my nephew, Raymond West, would say. He’d tell me I hadn’t a shadow of proof. But Iremember Walter Hones, who kept the Green Man. Walking home with his wife one night she fell into the river—andhe collected the insurance money! And one or two other people that are walking about scot-free to this day—oneindeed in our own class of life. Went to Switzerland for a summer holiday climbing with his wife. I warned her not togo—the poor dear didn’t get angry with me as she might have done—she only laughed. It seemed to her funny that aqueer old thing like me should say such things about her Harry20. Well, well, there was an accident—and Harry ismarried to another woman now. But what could I do? I knew, but there was no proof.”
“Oh! Miss Marple,” cried Mrs. Bantry. “You don’t really mean—”
“My dear, these things are very common—very common indeed. And gentlemen are especially tempted21, being somuch the stronger. So easy if a thing looks like an accident. As I say, I knew at once with the Sanders. It was on atram. It was full inside and I had had to go on top. We all three got up to get off and Mr. Sanders lost his balance andfell right against his wife, sending her headfirst down the stairs. Fortunately the conductor was a very strong youngman and caught her.”
“But surely that must have been an accident.”
“Of course it was an accident—nothing could have looked more accidental! But Mr. Sanders had been in theMerchant Service, so he told me, and a man who can keep his balance on a nasty tilting22 boat doesn’t lose it on top of atram if an old woman like me doesn’t. Don’t tell me!”
“At any rate we can take it that you made up your mind, Miss Marple,” said Sir Henry. “Made it up then andthere.”
The old lady nodded.
“I was sure enough, and another incident in crossing the street not long afterwards made me surer still. Now I askyou, what could I do, Sir Henry? Here was a nice contented23 happy little married woman shortly going to bemurdered.”
“My dear lady, you take my breath away.”
“That’s because, like most people nowadays, you won’t face facts. You prefer to think such a thing couldn’t be.
But it was so, and I knew it. But one is so sadly handicapped! I couldn’t, for instance, go to the police. And to warnthe young woman would, I could see, be useless. She was devoted24 to the man. I just made it my business to find out asmuch as I could about them. One has a lot of opportunities doing one’s needlework round the fire. Mrs. Sanders(Gladys, her name was) was only too willing to talk. It seems they had not been married very long. Her husband hadsome property that was coming to him, but for the moment they were very badly off. In fact, they were living on herlittle income. One has heard that tale before. She bemoaned25 the fact that she could not touch the capital. It seems thatsomebody had had some sense somewhere! But the money was hers to will away—I found that out. And she and herhusband had made wills in favour of each other directly after their marriage. Very touching26. Of course, when Jack’saffairs came right—That was the burden all day long, and in the meantime they were very hard up indeed—actuallyhad a room on the top floor, all among the servants—and so dangerous in case of fire, though, as it happened, therewas a fire escape just outside their window. I inquired carefully if there was a balcony—dangerous things, balconies.
One push—you know!
“I made her promise not to go out on the balcony; I said I’d had a dream. That impressed her—one can do a lotwith superstition27 sometimes. She was a fair girl, rather washed-out complexion28, and an untidy roll of hair on her neck.
Very credulous29. She repeated what I had said to her husband, and I noticed him looking at me in a curious way once ortwice. He wasn’t credulous; and he knew I’d been on that tram.
“But I was very worried—terribly worried—because I couldn’t see how to circumvent30 him. I could preventanything happening at the Hydro, just by saying a few words to show him I suspected. But that only meant his puttingoff his plan till later. No, I began to believe that the only policy was a bold one—somehow or other to lay a trap forhim. If I could induce him to attempt her life in a way of my own choosing—well, then he would be unmasked, andshe would be forced to face the truth however much of a shock it was to her.”
“You take my breath away,” said Dr. Lloyd. “What conceivable plan could you adopt?”
“I’d have found one—never fear,” said Miss Marple. “But the man was too clever for me. He didn’t wait. Hethought I might suspect, and so he struck before I could be sure. He knew I would suspect an accident. So he made itmurder.”
A little gasp31 went round the circle. Miss Marple nodded and set her lips grimly together.
“I’m afraid I’ve put that rather abruptly32. I must try and tell you exactly what occurred. I’ve always felt very bitterlyabout it—it seems to me that I ought, somehow, to have prevented it. But doubtless Providence33 knew best. I did what Icould at all events.
“There was what I can only describe as a curiously34 eerie35 feeling in the air. There seemed to be something weighingon us all. A feeling of misfortune. To begin with, there was George, the hall porter. Had been there for years and kneweverybody. Bronchitis and pneumonia36, and passed away on the fourth day. Terribly sad. A real blow to everybody.
And four days before Christmas too. And then one of the housemaids—such a nice girl—a septic finger, actually diedin twenty-four hours.
“I was in the drawing room with Miss Trollope and old Mrs. Carpenter, and Mrs. Carpenter was being positivelyghoulish—relishing it all, you know.
“‘Mark my words,’ she said. ‘This isn’t the end. You know the saying? Never two without three. I’ve proved it truetime and again. There’ll be another death. Not a doubt of it. And we shan’t have long to wait. Never two withoutthree.’
“As she said the last words, nodding her head and clicking her knitting needles, I just chanced to look up and therewas Mr. Sanders standing37 in the doorway38. Just for a minute he was off guard, and I saw the look in his face as plain asplain. I shall believe till my dying day that it was that ghoulish Mrs. Carpenter’s words that put the whole thing intohis head. I saw his mind working.
“He came forward into the room smiling in his genial39 way.
“‘Any Christmas shopping I can do for you ladies?’ he asked. ‘I’m going down to Keston presently.’
“He stayed a minute or two, laughing and talking, and then went out. As I tell you, I was troubled, and I saidstraight away:
“‘Where’s Mrs. Sanders? Does anyone know?’
“Mrs. Trollope said she’d gone out to some friends of hers, the Mortimers, to play bridge, and that eased my mindfor the moment. But I was still very worried and most uncertain as to what to do. About half an hour later I went up tomy room. I met Dr. Coles, my doctor, there, coming down the stairs as I was going up, and as I happened to want toconsult him about my rheumatism40, I took him into my room with me then and there. He mentioned to me then (inconfidence, he said) about the death of the poor girl Mary. The manager didn’t want the news to get about, he said, sowould I keep it to myself. Of course I didn’t tell him that we’d all been discussing nothing else for the last hour—eversince the poor girl breathed her last. These things are always known at once, and a man of his experience should knowthat well enough; but Dr. Coles always was a simple unsuspicious fellow who believed what he wanted to believe andthat’s just what alarmed me a minute later. He said as he was leaving that Sanders had asked him to have a look at hiswife. It seemed she’d been seedy of late—indigestion, etc.
“Now that very self-same day Gladys Sanders had said to me that she’d got a wonderful digestion41 and wasthankful for it.
“You see? All my suspicions of that man came back a hundredfold. He was preparing the way—for what? Dr.
Coles left before I could make up my mind whether to speak to him or not—though really if I had spoken I shouldn’thave known what to say. As I came out of my room, the man himself—Sanders—came down the stairs from the floorabove. He was dressed to go out and he asked me again if he could do anything for me in the town. It was all I coulddo to be civil to the man! I went straight into the lounge and ordered tea. It was just on half past five, I remember.
“Now I’m very anxious to put clearly what happened next. I was still in the lounge at a quarter to seven when Mr.
Sanders came in. There were two gentlemen with him and all three of them were inclined to be a little on the livelyside. Mr. Sanders left his two friends and came right over to where I was sitting with Miss Trollope. He explained thathe wanted our advice about a Christmas present he was giving his wife. It was an evening bag.
“‘And you see, ladies,’ he said. ‘I’m only a rough sailorman. What do I know about such things? I’ve had threesent to me on approval and I want an expert opinion on them.’
“We said, of course, that we would be delighted to help him, and he asked if we’d mind coming upstairs, as hiswife might come in any minute if he brought the things down. So we went up with him. I shall never forget whathappened next—I can feel my little fingers tingling43 now.
“Mr. Sanders opened the door of the bedroom and switched on the light. I don’t know which of us saw it first.?.?.?.
“Mrs. Sanders was lying on the floor, face downwards—dead.
“I got to her first. I knelt down and took her hand and felt for the pulse, but it was useless, the arm itself was coldand stiff. Just by her head was a stocking filled with sand—the weapon she had been struck down with. Miss Trollope,silly creature, was moaning and moaning by the door and holding her head. Sanders gave a great cry of ‘My wife, mywife,’ and rushed to her. I stopped him touching her. You see, I was sure at the moment he had done it, and theremight have been something that he wanted to take away or hide.
“‘Nothing must be touched,’ I said. ‘Pull yourself together, Mr. Sanders. Miss Trollope, please go down and fetchthe manager.’
“I stayed there, kneeling by the body. I wasn’t going to leave Sanders alone with it. And yet I was forced to admitthat if the man was acting44, he was acting marvellously. He looked dazed and bewildered and scared out of his wits.
“The manager was with us in no time. He made a quick inspection45 of the room then turned us all out and lockedthe door, the key of which he took. Then he went off and telephoned to the police. It seemed a positive age before theycame (we learnt afterwards that the line was out of order). The manager had to send a messenger to the police station,and the Hydro is right out of the town, up on the edge of the moor46; and Mrs. Carpenter tried us all very severely47. Shewas so pleased at her prophecy of ‘Never two without three’ coming true so quickly. Sanders, I hear, wandered outinto the grounds, clutching his head and groaning48 and displaying every sign of grief.
“However, the police came at last. They went upstairs with the manager and Mr. Sanders. Later they sent down forme. I went up. The Inspector49 was there, sitting at a table writing. He was an intelligent-looking man and I liked him.
“‘Miss Jane Marple?’ he said.
“‘Yes.’
“‘I understand, Madam, that you were present when the body of the deceased was found?’
“I said I was and I described exactly what had occurred. I think it was a relief to the poor man to find someonewho could answer his questions coherently, having previously50 had to deal with Sanders and Emily Trollope, who, Igather, was completely demoralized—she would be, the silly creature! I remember my dear mother teaching me that agentlewoman should always be able to control herself in public, however much she may give way in private.”
“An admirable maxim,” said Sir Henry gravely.
“When I had finished the Inspector said:
“‘Thank you, Madam. Now I’m afraid I must ask you just to look at the body once more. Is that exactly theposition in which it was lying when you entered the room? It hasn’t been moved in any way?’
“I explained that I had prevented Mr. Sanders from doing so, and the Inspector nodded approval.
“‘The gentleman seems terribly upset,’ he remarked.
“‘He seems so—yes,’ I replied.
“I don’t think I put any special emphasis on the ‘seems,’ but the Inspector looked at me rather keenly.
“‘So we can take it that the body is exactly as it was when found?’ he said.
“‘Except for the hat, yes,’ I replied.
“The Inspector looked up sharply.
“‘What do you mean—the hat?’
“I explained that the hat had been on poor Gladys’s head, whereas now it was lying beside her. I thought, ofcourse, that the police had done this. The Inspector, however, denied it emphatically. Nothing had, as yet, been movedor touched. He stood looking down at that poor prone51 figure with a puzzled frown. Gladys was dressed in her outdoorclothes—a big dark-red tweed coat with a grey fur collar. The hat, a cheap affair of red felt, lay just by her head.
“The Inspector stood for some minutes in silence, frowning to himself. Then an idea struck him.
“‘Can you, by any chance, remember, Madam, whether there were earrings52 in the ears, or whether the deceasedhabitually wore earrings?’
“Now fortunately I am in the habit of observing closely. I remembered that there had been a glint of pearls justbelow the hat brim, though I had paid no particular notice to it at the time. I was able to answer his first question in theaffirmative.
“‘Then that settles it. The lady’s jewel case was rifled—not that she had anything much of value, I understand—and the rings were taken from her fingers. The murderer must have forgotten the earrings, and come back for themafter the murder was discovered. A cool customer! Or perhaps—’ He stared round the room and said slowly, ‘He mayhave been concealed53 here in this room—all the time.’
“But I negatived that idea. I myself, I explained, had looked under the bed. And the manager had opened the doorsof the wardrobe. There was nowhere else where a man could hide. It is true the hat cupboard was locked in the middleof the wardrobe, but as that was only a shallow affair with shelves, no one could have been concealed there.
“The Inspector nodded his head slowly whilst I explained all this.
“‘I’ll take your word for it, Madam,’ he said. ‘In that case, as I said before, he must have come back. A very coolcustomer.’
“‘But the manager locked the door and took the key!’
“‘That’s nothing. The balcony and the fire escape—that’s the way the thief came. Why, as likely as not, youactually disturbed him at work. He slips out of the window, and when you’ve all gone, back he comes and goes onwith his business.’
“‘You are sure,’ I said, ‘that there was a thief?’
“He said drily:
“‘Well, it looks like it, doesn’t it?’
“But something in his tone satisfied me. I felt that he wouldn’t take Mr. Sanders in the role of the bereavedwidower too seriously.
“You see, I admit it frankly54. I was absolutely under the opinion of what I believe our neighbours, the French, callthe idée fixe. I knew that that man, Sanders, intended his wife to die. What I didn’t allow for was that strange andfantastic thing, coincidence. My views about Mr. Sanders were—I was sure of it—absolutely right and true. The manwas a scoundrel. But although his hypocritical assumptions of grief didn’t deceive me for a minute, I do rememberfeeling at the time that his surprise and bewilderment were marvellously well done. They seemed absolutely natural—if you know what I mean. I must admit that after my conversation with the Inspector, a curious feeling of doubt creptover me. Because if Sanders had done this dreadful thing, I couldn’t imagine any conceivable reason why he shouldcreep back by means of the fire escape and take the earrings from his wife’s ears. It wouldn’t have been a sensiblething to do, and Sanders was such a very sensible man—that’s just why I always felt he was so dangerous.”
Miss Marple looked round at her audience.
“You see, perhaps, what I am coming to? It is, so often, the unexpected that happens in this world. I was so sure,and that, I think, was what blinded me. The result came as a shock to me. For it was proved, beyond any possibledoubt, that Mr. Sanders could not possibly have committed the crime.?.?..”
A surprised gasp came from Mrs. Bantry. Miss Marple turned to her.
“I know, my dear, that isn’t what you expected when I began this story. It wasn’t what I expected either. But factsare facts, and if one is proved to be wrong, one must just be humble55 about it and start again. That Mr. Sanders was amurderer at heart I knew—and nothing ever occurred to upset that firm conviction of mine.
“And now, I expect, you would like to hear the actual facts themselves. Mrs. Sanders, as you know, spent theafternoon playing bridge with some friends, the Mortimers. She left them at about a quarter past six. From her friends’
house to the Hydro was about a quarter of an hour’s walk—less if one hurried. She must have come in then about sixthirty. No one saw her come in, so she must have entered by the side door and hurried straight up to her room. Thereshe changed (the fawn56 coat and skirt she wore to the bridge party were hanging up in the cupboard) and was evidentlypreparing to go out again, when the blow fell. Quite possibly, they say, she never even knew who struck her. Thesandbag, I understand, is a very efficient weapon. That looks as though the attackers were concealed in the room,possibly in one of the big wardrobe cupboards—the one she didn’t open.
“Now as to the movements of Mr. Sanders. He went out, as I have said, at about five thirty—or a little after. He didsome shopping at a couple of shops and at about six o’clock he entered the Grand Spa Hotel where he encounteredtwo friends—the same with whom he returned to the Hydro later. They played billiards57 and, I gather, had a good manywhiskies and sodas58 together. These two men (Hitchcock and Spender, their names were) were actually with him thewhole time from six o’clock onwards. They walked back to the Hydro with him and he only left them to come acrossto me and Miss Trollope. That, as I told you, was about a quarter to seven—at which time his wife must have beenalready dead.
“I must tell you that I talked myself to these two friends of his. I did not like them. They were neither pleasant norgentlemanly men, but I was quite certain of one thing, that they were speaking the absolute truth when they said thatSanders had been the whole time in their company.
“There was just one other little point that came up. It seems that while bridge was going on Mrs. Sanders wascalled to the telephone. A Mr. Littleworth wanted to speak to her. She seemed both excited and pleased aboutsomething—and incidentally made one or two bad mistakes. She left rather earlier than they had expected her to do.
“Mr. Sanders was asked whether he knew the name of Little-worth as being one of his wife’s friends, but hedeclared he had never heard of anyone of that name. And to me that seems borne out by his wife’s attitude—she too,did not seem to know the name of Littleworth. Nevertheless she came back from the telephone smiling and blushing,so it looks as though whoever it was did not give his real name, and that in itself has a suspicious aspect, does it not?
“Anyway, that is the problem that was left. The burglar story, which seems unlikely—or the alternative theory thatMrs. Sanders was preparing to go out and meet somebody. Did that somebody come to her room by means of the fireescape? Was there a quarrel? Or did he treacherously59 attack her?”
Miss Marple stopped.
“Well?” said Sir Henry. “What is the answer?”
“I wondered if any of you could guess.”
“I’m never good at guessing,” said Mrs. Bantry. “It seems a pity that Sanders had such a wonderful alibi60; but if itsatisfied you it must have been all right.”
Jane Helier moved her beautiful head and asked a question.
“Why,” she said, “was the hat cupboard locked?”
“How very clever of you, my dear,” said Miss Marple, beaming. “That’s just what I wondered myself. Though theexplanation was quite simple. In it were a pair of embroidered61 slippers62 and some pocket handkerchiefs that the poorgirl was embroidering63 for her husband for Christmas. That’s why she locked the cupboard. The key was found in herhandbag.”
“Oh!” said Jane. “Then it isn’t very interesting after all.”
“Oh! but it is,” said Miss Marple. “It’s just the one really interesting thing—the thing that made all the murderer’splans go wrong.”
Everyone stared at the old lady.
“I didn’t see it myself for two days,” said Miss Marple. “I puzzled and puzzled—and then suddenly there it was,all clear. I went to the Inspector and asked him to try something and he did.”
“What did you ask him to try?”
“I asked him to fit that hat on the poor girl’s head—and of course he couldn’t. It wouldn’t go on. It wasn’t her hat,you see.”
Mrs. Bantry stared.
“But it was on her head to begin with?”
“Not on herh ead—”
Miss Marple stopped a moment to let her words sink in, and then went on.
“We took it for granted that it was poor Gladys’s body there; but we never looked at the face. She was facedownwards, remember, and the hat hid everything.”
“But she was killed?”
“Yes, later. At the moment that we were telephoning to the police, Gladys Sanders was alive and well.”
“You mean it was someone pretending to be her? But surely when you touched her—”
“It was a dead body, right enough,” said Miss Marple gravely.
“But, dash it all,” said Colonel Bantry, “you can’t get hold of dead bodies right and left. What did they do with the—the first corpse64 afterwards?”
“He put it back,” said Miss Marple. “It was a wicked idea—but a very clever one. It was our talk in the drawingroom that put it into his head. The body of poor Mary, the housemaid—why not use it? Remember, the Sanders’ roomwas up amongst the servants’ quarters. Mary’s room was two doors off. The undertakers wouldn’t come till after dark—he counted on that. He carried the body along the balcony (it was dark at five), dressed it in one of his wife’s dressesand her big red coat. And then he found the hat cupboard locked! There was only one thing to be done, he fetched oneof the poor girl’s own hats. No one would notice. He put the sandbag down beside her. Then he went off to establishhis alibi.
“He telephoned to his wife—calling himself Mr. Littleworth. I don’t know what he said to her—she was acredulous girl, as I said just now. But he got her to leave the bridge party early and not to go back to the Hydro, andarranged with her to meet him in the grounds of the Hydro near the fire escape at seven o’clock. He probably told herhe had some surprise for her.
“He returns to the Hydro with his friends and arranges that Miss Trollope and I shall discover the crime with him.
He even pretends to turn the body over—and I stop him! Then the police are sent for, and he staggers out into thegrounds.
“Nobody asked him for an alibi after the crime. He meets his wife, takes her up the fire escape, they enter theirroom. Perhaps he has already told her some story about the body. She stoops over it, and he picks up his sandbag andstrikes.?.?. Oh, dear! It makes me sick to think of, even now! Then quickly he strips off her coat and skirt, hangs themup, and dresses her in the clothes from the other body.
“But the hat won’t go on. Mary’s head is shingled—Gladys Sanders, as I say, had a great bun of hair. He is forcedto leave it beside the body and hope no one will notice. Then he carries poor Mary’s body back to her own room andarranges it decorously once more.”
“It seems incredible,” said Dr. Lloyd. “The risks he took. The police might have arrived too soon.”
“You remember the line was out of order,” said Miss Marple. “That was a piece of his work. He couldn’t afford tohave the police on the spot too soon. When they did come, they spent some time in the manager’s office before goingup to the bedroom. That was the weakest point—the chance that someone might notice the difference between a bodythat had been dead two hours and one that had been dead just over half an hour; but he counted on the fact that thepeople who first discovered the crime would have no expert knowledge.”
Dr. Lloyd nodded.
“The crime would be supposed to have been committed about a quarter to seven or thereabouts, I suppose,” hesaid. “It was actually committed at seven or a few minutes after. When the police surgeon examined the body it wouldbe about half past seven at the earliest. He couldn’t possibly tell.”
“I am the person who should have known,” said Miss Marple. “I felt the poor girl’s hand and it was icy cold. Yet ashort time later the Inspector spoke42 as though the murder must have been committed just before we arrived—and Isaw nothing!”
“I think you saw a good deal, Miss Marple,” said Sir Henry. “The case was before my time. I don’t even rememberhearing of it. What happened?”
“Sanders was hanged,” said Miss Marple crisply. “And a good job too. I have never regretted my part in bringingthat man to justice. I’ve no patience with modern humanitarian65 scruples66 about capital punishment.”
Her stern face softened67.
“But I have often reproached myself bitterly with failing to save the life of that poor girl. But who would havelistened to an old woman jumping to conclusions? Well, well—who knows? Perhaps it was better for her to die whilelife was still happy than it would have been for her to live on, unhappy and disillusioned68, in a world that would haveseemed suddenly horrible. She loved that scoundrel and trusted him. She never found him out.”
“Well, then,” said Jane Helier, “she was all right. Quite all right. I wish—” she stopped.
Miss Marple looked at the famous, the beautiful, the successful Jane Helier and nodded her head gently.
“I see, my dear,” she said very gently. “I see.”
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1
admiration
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| n.钦佩，赞美，羡慕 | |
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appreciation
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| n.评价；欣赏；感谢；领会，理解；价格上涨 | |
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precedent
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| n.先例，前例；惯例；adj.在前的，在先的 | |
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mead
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| n.蜂蜜酒 | |
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shrimps
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| n.虾，小虾( shrimp的名词复数 )；矮小的人 | |
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Amended
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| adj. 修正的 动词amend的过去式和过去分词 | |
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vaguely
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| adv.含糊地，暖昧地 | |
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epic
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| n.史诗，叙事诗；adj.史诗般的，壮丽的 | |
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rambling
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| adj.[建]凌乱的，杂乱的 | |
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quota
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| n.（生产、进出口等的）配额，（移民的）限额 | |
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placid
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| adj.安静的，平和的 | |
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placidly
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| adv.平稳地，平静地 | |
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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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14
horrified
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| a.(表现出)恐惧的 | |
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recollect
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| v.回忆，想起，记起，忆起，记得 | |
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scathing
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| adj.（言词、文章）严厉的，尖刻的；不留情的adv.严厉地，尖刻地v.伤害，损害（尤指使之枯萎）( scathe的现在分词) | |
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17
crux
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| adj.十字形；难事，关键，最重要点 | |
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18
beetles
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| n.甲虫( beetle的名词复数 ) | |
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19
privately
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| adv.以私人的身份，悄悄地，私下地 | |
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harry
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| vt.掠夺，蹂躏，使苦恼 | |
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tempted
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| v.怂恿（某人）干不正当的事；冒…的险（tempt的过去分词） | |
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22
tilting
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| 倾斜，倾卸 | |
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contented
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| adj.满意的，安心的，知足的 | |
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devoted
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| adj.忠诚的，忠实的，热心的，献身于...的 | |
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bemoaned
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| v.为（某人或某事）抱怨( bemoan的过去式和过去分词 )；悲悼；为…恸哭；哀叹 | |
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26
touching
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| adj.动人的，使人感伤的 | |
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superstition
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| n.迷信，迷信行为 | |
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complexion
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| n.肤色；情况，局面；气质，性格 | |
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credulous
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| adj.轻信的，易信的 | |
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circumvent
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| vt.环绕，包围；对…用计取胜，智胜 | |
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gasp
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| n.喘息，气喘；v.喘息；气吁吁他说 | |
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32
abruptly
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| adv.突然地，出其不意地 | |
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providence
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| n.深谋远虑，天道，天意；远见；节约；上帝 | |
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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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eerie
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| adj.怪诞的；奇异的；可怕的；胆怯的 | |
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pneumonia
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| n.肺炎 | |
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standing
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| n.持续，地位；adj.永久的，不动的，直立的，不流动的 | |
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doorway
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| n.门口，(喻)入门；门路，途径 | |
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genial
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| adj.亲切的，和蔼的，愉快的，脾气好的 | |
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rheumatism
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| n.风湿病 | |
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41
digestion
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| n.消化，吸收 | |
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42
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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43
tingling
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| v.有刺痛感( tingle的现在分词 ) | |
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44
acting
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| n.演戏，行为，假装；adj.代理的，临时的，演出用的 | |
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inspection
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| n.检查，审查，检阅 | |
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46
moor
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| n.荒野，沼泽；vt.(使)停泊；vi.停泊 | |
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severely
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| adv.严格地；严厉地；非常恶劣地 | |
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48
groaning
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| adj. 呜咽的, 呻吟的 动词groan的现在分词形式 | |
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inspector
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| n.检查员，监察员，视察员 | |
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50
previously
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| adv.以前，先前（地） | |
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51
prone
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| adj.(to)易于…的，很可能…的；俯卧的 | |
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52
earrings
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| n.耳环( earring的名词复数 )；耳坠子 | |
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53
concealed
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| a.隐藏的，隐蔽的 | |
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frankly
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| adv.坦白地，直率地；坦率地说 | |
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55
humble
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| adj.谦卑的，恭顺的；地位低下的；v.降低，贬低 | |
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56
fawn
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| n.未满周岁的小鹿；v.巴结，奉承 | |
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57
billiards
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| n.台球 | |
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58
sodas
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| n.苏打( soda的名词复数 )；碱；苏打水；汽水 | |
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59
treacherously
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| 背信弃义地； 背叛地； 靠不住地； 危险地 | |
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60
alibi
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| n.某人当时不在犯罪现场的申辩或证明；借口 | |
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61
embroidered
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| adj．绣花的 | |
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slippers
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| n. 拖鞋 | |
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embroidering
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| v.（在织物上）绣花( embroider的现在分词 )；刺绣；对…加以渲染（或修饰）；给…添枝加叶 | |
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64
corpse
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| n.尸体，死尸 | |
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65
humanitarian
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| n.人道主义者，博爱者，基督凡人论者 | |
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66
scruples
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| n.良心上的不安( scruple的名词复数 )；顾虑，顾忌v.感到于心不安，有顾忌( scruple的第三人称单数 ) | |
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67
softened
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| （使）变软( soften的过去式和过去分词 )； 缓解打击； 缓和； 安慰 | |
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68
disillusioned
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| a.不再抱幻想的，大失所望的，幻想破灭的 | |
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