DEATH BY DROWNING
S ir Henry Clithering, Ex-Commissioner of Scotland Yard, was staying with his friends the Bantrys at their place nearthe little village of St. Mary Mead1.
On Saturday morning, coming down to breakfast at the pleasant guestly hour of ten-fifteen, he almost collided withhis hostess, Mrs. Bantry, in the doorway2 of the breakfast room. She was rushing from the room, evidently in acondition of some excitement and distress3.
Colonel Bantry was sitting at the table, his face rather redder than usual.
“‘Morning, Clithering,” he said. “Nice day. Help yourself.”
Sir Henry obeyed. As he took his seat, a plate of kidneys and bacon in front of him, his host went on:
“Dolly’s a bit upset this morning.”
“Yes—er—I rather thought so,” said Sir Henry mildly.
He wondered a little. His hostess was of a placid4 disposition5, little given to moods or excitement. As far as SirHenry knew, she felt keenly on one subject only—gardening.
“Yes,” said Colonel Bantry. “Bit of news we got this morning upset her. Girl in the village—Emmott’s daughter—Emmott who keeps the Blue Boar.”
“Oh, yes, of course.”
“Ye-es,” said Colonel Bantry ruminatively6. “Pretty girl. Got herself into trouble. Usual story. I’ve been arguingwith Dolly about that. Foolish of me. Women never see sense. Dolly was all up in arms for the girl—you know whatwomen are—men are brutes—all the rest of it, etcetera. But it’s not so simple as all that—not in these days. Girlsknow what they’re about. Fellow who seduces7 a girl’s not necessarily a villain8. Fifty-fifty as often as not. I rather likedyoung Sandford myself. A young ass9 rather than a Don Juan, I should have said.”
“It is this man Sandford who got the girl into trouble?”
“So it seems. Of course I don’t know anything personally,” said the Colonel cautiously. “It’s all gossip and chat.
You know what this place is! As I say, I know nothing. And I’m not like Dolly—leaping to conclusions, flingingaccusations all over the place. Damn it all, one ought to be careful in what one says. You know—inquest and all that.”
“Inquest?”
Colonel Bantry stared.
“Yes. Didn’t I tell you? Girl drowned herself. That’s what all the pother’s about.”
“That’s a nasty business,” said Sir Henry.
“Of course it is. Don’t like to think of it myself. Poor pretty little devil. Her father’s a hard man by all accounts. Isuppose she just felt she couldn’t face the music.”
He paused.
“That’s what’s upset Dolly so.”
“Where did she drown herself?”
“In the river. Just below the mill it runs pretty fast. There’s a footpath10 and a bridge across. They think she threwherself off that. Well, well, it doesn’t bear thinking about.”
And with a portentous11 rustle12, Colonel Bantry opened his newspaper and proceeded to distract his mind frompainful matters by an absorption in the newest iniquities13 of the government.
Sir Henry was only mildly interested by the village tragedy. After breakfast, he established himself on acomfortable chair on the lawn, tilted14 his hat over his eyes and contemplated15 life from a peaceful angle.
It was about half past eleven when a neat parlourmaid tripped across the lawn.
“If you please, sir, Miss Marple has called, and would like to see you.”
“Miss Marple?”
Sir Henry sat up and straightened his hat. The name surprised him. He remembered Miss Marple very well—hergentle quiet old-maidish ways, her amazing penetration16. He remembered a dozen unsolved and hypothetical cases—and how in each case this typical “old maid of the village” had leaped unerringly to the right solution of the mystery.
Sir Henry had a very deep respect for Miss Marple. He wondered what had brought her to see him.
Miss Marple was sitting in the drawing room—very upright as always, a gaily17 coloured marketing18 basket offoreign extraction beside her. Her cheeks were rather pink and she seemed flustered19.
“Sir Henry—I am so glad. So fortunate to find you. I just happened to hear that you were staying down here .?.?. Ido hope you will forgive me.?.?.?.”
“This is a great pleasure,” said Sir Henry, taking her hand. “I’m afraid Mrs. Bantry’s out.”
“Yes,” said Miss Marple. “I saw her talking to Footit, the butcher, as I passed. Henry Footit was run overyesterday—that was his dog. One of those smooth-haired fox terriers, rather stout20 and quarrelsome, that butchersalways seem to have.”
“Yes,” said Sir Henry helpfully.
“I was glad to get here when she wasn’t at home,” continued Miss Marple. “Because it was you I wanted to see.
About this sad affair.”
“Henry Footit?” asked Sir Henry, slightly bewildered.
Miss Marple threw him a reproachful glance.
“No, no. Rose Emmott, of course. You’ve heard?”
Sir Henry nodded.
“Bantry was telling me. Very sad.”
He was a little puzzled. He could not conceive why Miss Marple should want to see him about Rose Emmott.
Miss Marple sat down again. Sir Henry also sat. When the old lady spoke21 her manner had changed. It was grave,and had a certain dignity.
“You may remember, Sir Henry, that on one or two occasions we played what was really a pleasant kind of game.
Propounding22 mysteries and giving solutions. You were kind enough to say that I—that I did not do too badly.”
“You beat us all,” said Sir Henry warmly. “You displayed an absolute genius for getting to the truth. And youalways instanced, I remember, some village parallel which had supplied you with the clue.”
He smiled as he spoke, but Miss Marple did not smile. She remained very grave.
“What you said has emboldened23 me to come to you now. I feel that if I say something to you—at least you will notlaugh at me.”
He realized suddenly that she was in deadly earnest.
“Certainly, I will not laugh,” he said gently.
“Sir Henry—this girl—Rose Emmott. She did not drown herself—she was murdered .?.?. And I know whomurdered her.”
Sir Henry was silent with sheer astonishment24 for quite three seconds. Miss Marple’s voice had been perfectly25 quietand unexcited. She might have been making the most ordinary statement in the world for all the emotion she showed.
“This is a very serious statement to make, Miss Marple,” said Sir Henry when he had recovered his breath.
She nodded her head gently several times.
“I know—I know—that is why I have come to you.”
“But, my dear lady, I am not the person to come to. I am merely a private individual nowadays. If you haveknowledge of the kind you claim, you must go to the police.”
“I don’t think I can do that,” said Miss Marple.
“But why not?”
“Because, you see, I haven’t got any—what you call knowledge.”
“You mean it’s only a guess on your part?”
“You can call it that, if you like, but it’s not really that at all. I know. I’m in a position to know; but if I gave myreasons for knowing to Inspector26 Drewitt—well, he’d simply laugh. And really, I don’t know that I’d blame him. It’svery difficult to understand what you might call specialized27 knowledge.”
“Such as?” suggested Sir Henry.
Miss Marple smiled a little.
“If I were to tell you that I know because of a man called Pease-good leaving turnips28 instead of carrots when hecame round with a cart and sold vegetables to my niece several years ago—”
She stopped eloquently29.
“A very appropriate name for the trade,” murmured Sir Henry. “You mean that you are simply judging from thefacts in a parallel case.”
“I know human nature,” said Miss Marple. “It’s impossible not to know human nature living in a village all theseyears. The question is, do you believe me, or don’t you?”
She looked at him very straight. The pink flush had heightened on her cheeks. Her eyes met his steadily30 withoutwavering.
Sir Henry was a man with a very vast experience of life. He made his decisions quickly without beating about thebush. Unlikely and fantastic as Miss Marple’s statement might seem, he was instantly aware that he accepted it.
“I do believe you, Miss Marple. But I do not see what you want me to do in the matter, or why you have come tome.”
“I have thought and thought about it,” said Miss Marple. “As I said, it would be useless going to the police withoutany facts. I have no facts. What I would ask you to do is to interest yourself in the matter—Inspector Drewitt would bemost flattered, I am sure. And, of course, if the matter went farther, Colonel Melchett, the Chief Constable31, I am sure,would be wax in your hands.”
She looked at him appealingly.
“And what data are you going to give me to work upon?”
“I thought,” said Miss Marple, “of writing a name—the name—on a piece of paper and giving it to you. Then if,on investigation32, you decided33 that the—the person—is not involved in any way—well, I shall have been quite wrong.”
She paused and then added with a slight shiver. “It would be so dreadful—so very dreadful—if an innocent personwere to be hanged.”
“What on earth—” cried Sir Henry, startled.
She turned a distressed34 face upon him.
“I may be wrong about that—though I don’t think so. Inspector Drewitt, you see, is really an intelligent man. But amediocre amount of intelligence is sometimes most dangerous. It does not take one far enough.”
Sir Henry looked at her curiously35.
Fumbling36 a little, Miss Marple opened a small reticule, took out a little notebook, tore out a leaf, carefully wrote aname on it and folding it in two, handed it to Sir Henry.
He opened it and read the name. It conveyed nothing to him, but his eyebrows37 lifted a little. He looked across atMiss Marple and tucked the piece of paper in his pocket.
“Well, well,” he said. “Rather an extraordinary business, this. I’ve never done anything like it before. But I’mgoing to back my judgment—of you, Miss Marple.”
Sir Henry was sitting in a room with Colonel Melchett, the Chief Constable of the county, and Inspector Drewitt.
The Chief Constable was a little man of aggressively military demeanour. The Inspector was big and broad andeminently sensible.
“I really do feel I’m butting38 in,” said Sir Henry with his pleasant smile. “I can’t really tell you why I’m doing it.”
(Strict truth this!)
“My dear fellow, we’re charmed. It’s a great compliment.”
“Honoured, Sir Henry,” said the Inspector.
The Chief Constable was thinking: “Bored to death, poor fellow, at the Bantrys. The old man abusing thegovernment and the old woman babbling39 on about bulbs.”
The Inspector was thinking: “Pity we’re not up against a real teaser. One of the best brains in England, I’ve heardit said. Pity it’s all such plain sailing.”
Aloud, the Chief Constable said:
“I’m afraid it’s all very sordid40 and straightforward41. First idea was that the girl had pitched herself in. She was inthe family way, you understand. However, our doctor, Haydock, is a careful fellow. He noticed the bruises42 on eacharm—upper arm. Caused before death. Just where a fellow would have taken her by the arms and flung her in.”
“Would that require much strength?”
“I think not. There would be no struggle—the girl would be taken unawares. It’s a footbridge of slippery wood.
Easiest thing in the world to pitch her over—there’s no handrail that side.”
“You know for a fact that the tragedy occurred there?”
“Yes. We’ve got a boy—Jimmy Brown—aged twelve. He was in the woods on the other side. He heard a kind ofscream from the bridge and a splash. It was dusk you know—difficult to see anything. Presently he saw somethingwhite floating down in the water and he ran and got help. They got her out, but it was too late to revive her.”
Sir Henry nodded.
“The boy saw no one on the bridge?”
“No. But, as I tell you, it was dusk, and there’s mist always hanging about there. I’m going to question him as towhether he saw anyone about just afterwards or just before. You see he naturally assumed that the girl had thrownherself over. Everybody did to start with.”
“Still, we’ve got the note,” said Inspector Drewitt. He turned to Sir Henry.
“Note in the dead girl’s pocket, sir. Written with a kind of artist’s pencil it was, and all of a sop43 though the paperwas we managed to read it.”
“And what did it say?”
“It was from young Sandford. ‘All right,’ that’s how it ran. ‘I’ll meet you at the bridge at eight thirty.—R.S.’ Well,it was near as might be to eight thirty—a few minutes after—when Jimmy Brown heard the cry and the splash.”
“I don’t know whether you’ve met Sandford at all?” went on Colonel Melchett. “He’s been down here about amonth. One of these modern day young architects who build peculiar44 houses. He’s doing a house for Allington. Godknows what it’s going to be like—full of new-fangled stuff, I suppose. Glass dinner table and surgical45 chairs made ofsteel and webbing. Well, that’s neither here nor there, but it shows the kind of chap Sandford is. Bolshie, you know—no morals.”
“Seduction,” said Sir Henry mildly, “is quite an old-established crime though it does not, of course, date back sofar as murder.”
Colonel Melchett stared.
“Oh! yes,” he said. “Quite. Quite.”
“Well, Sir Henry,” said Drewitt, “there it is—an ugly business, but plain. This young Sandford gets the girl intotrouble. Then he’s all for clearing off back to London. He’s got a girl there—nice young lady—he’s engaged to bemarried to her. Well, naturally this business, if she gets to hear of it, may cook his goose good and proper. He meetsRose at the bridge—it’s a misty46 evening, no one about—he catches her by the shoulders and pitches her in. A properyoung swine—and deserves what’s coming to him. That’s my opinion.”
Sir Henry was silent for a minute or two. He perceived a strong undercurrent of local prejudice. A new-fangledarchitect was not likely to be popular in the conservative village of St. Mary Mead.
“There is no doubt, I suppose, that this man, Sandford, was actually the father of the coming child?” he asked.
“He’s the father all right,” said Drewitt. “Rose Emmott let out as much to her father. She thought he’d marry her.
Marry her! Not he!”
“Dear me,” thought Sir Henry. “I seem to be back in mid-Victorian melodrama47. Unsuspecting girl, the villain fromLondon, the stern father, the betrayal—we only need the faithful village lover. Yes, I think it’s time I asked abouthim.”
And aloud he said:
“Hadn’t the girl a young man of her own down here?”
“You mean Joe Ellis?” said the Inspector. “Good fellow Joe. Carpentering’s his trade. Ah! If she’d stuck to Joe—”
Colonel Melchett nodded approval.
“Stick to your own class,” he snapped.
“How did Joe Ellis take this affair?” asked Sir Henry.
“Nobody knew how he was taking it,” said the Inspector. “He’s a quiet fellow, is Joe. Close. Anything Rose didwas right in his eyes. She had him on a string all right. Just hoped she’d come back to him someday—that was hisattitude, I reckon.”
“I’d like to see him,” said Sir Henry.
“Oh! We’re going to look him up,” said Colonel Melchett. “We’re not neglecting any line. I thought myself we’dsee Emmott first, then Sandford, and then we can go on and see Ellis. That suits you, Clithering?”
Sir Henry said it would suit him admirably.
They found Tom Emmott at the Blue Boar. He was a big burly man of middle-age with a shifty eye and a truculentjaw.
“Glad to see you, gentlemen—good morning, Colonel. Come in here and we can be private. Can I offer youanything, gentlemen? No? It’s as you please. You’ve come about this business of my poor girl. Ah! She was a goodgirl, Rose was. Always was a good girl—till this bloody48 swine—beg pardon, but that’s what he is—till he came along.
Promised her marriage, he did. But I’ll have the law on him. Drove her to it, he did. Murdering swine. Bringingdisgrace on all of us. My poor girl.”
“Your daughter distinctly told you that Mr. Sandford was responsible for her condition?” asked Melchett crisply.
“She did. In this very room she did.”
“And what did you say to her?” asked Sir Henry.
“Say to her?” The man seemed momentarily taken aback.
“Yes. You didn’t, for example, threaten to turn her out of the house.”
“I was a bit upset—that’s only natural. I’m sure you’ll agree that’s only natural. But, of course, I didn’t turn herout of the house. I wouldn’t do such a thing.” He assumed virtuous49 indignation. “No. What’s the law for—that’s whatI say. What’s the law for? He’d got to do the right by her. And if he didn’t, by God, he’d got to pay.”
He brought down his fist on the table.
“What time did you last see your daughter?” asked Melchett.
“Yesterday—teatime.”
“What was her manner then?”
“Well, much as usual. I didn’t notice anything. If I’d known—”
“But you didn’t know,” said the Inspector drily.
They took their leave.
“Emmott hardly creates a favourable50 impression,” said Sir Henry thoughtfully.
“Bit of a blackguard,” said Melchett. “He’d have bled Sandford all right if he’d had the chance.”
Their next call was on the architect. Rex Sandford was very unlike the picture Sir Henry had unconsciouslyformed of him. He was a tall young man, very fair and very thin. His eyes were blue and dreamy, his hair was untidyand rather too long. His speech was a little too ladylike.
Colonel Melchett introduced himself and his companions. Then passing straight to the object of his visit, heinvited the architect to make a statement as to his movements on the previous evening.
“You understand,” he said warningly. “I have no power to compel a statement from you and any statement youmake may be used in evidence against you. I want the position to be quite clear to you.”
“I—I don’t understand,” said Sandford.
“You understand that the girl Rose Emmott was drowned last night?”
“I know. Oh! it’s too, too distressing51. Really, I haven’t slept a wink52. I’ve been incapable53 of any work today. I feelresponsible—terribly responsible.”
He ran his hands through his hair, making it untidier still.
“I never meant any harm,” he said piteously. “I never thought. I never dreamt she’d take it that way.”
He sat down at a table and buried his face in his hands.
“Do I understand you to say, Mr. Sandford, that you refuse to make a statement as to where you were last night ateight thirty?”
“No, no—certainly not. I was out. I went for a walk.”
“You went to meet Miss Emmott?”
“No. I went by myself. Through the woods. A long way.”
“Then how do you account for this note, sir, which was found in the dead girl’s pocket?”
And Inspector Drewitt read it unemotionally aloud.
“Now, sir,” he finished. “Do you deny that you wrote that?”
“No—no. You’re right. I did write it. Rose asked me to meet her. She insisted. I didn’t know what to do. So Iwrote that note.”
“Ah, that’s better,” said the Inspector.
“But I didn’t go!” Sandford’s voice rose high and excited. “I didn’t go! I felt it would be much better not. I wasreturning to town tomorrow. I felt it would be better not—not to meet. I intended to write from London and—andmake—some arrangement.”
“You are aware, sir, that this girl was going to have a child, and that she had named you as its father?”
Sandford groaned54, but did not answer.
“Was that statement true, sir?”
Sandford buried his face deeper.
“I suppose so,” he said in a muffled55 voice.
“Ah!” Inspector Drewitt could not disguise the satisfaction. “Now about this ‘walk’ of yours. Is there anyone whosaw you last night?”
“I don’t know. I don’t think so. As far as I can remember, I didn’t meet anybody.”
“That’s a pity.”
“What do you mean?” Sandford stared wildly at him. “What does it matter whether I was out for a walk or not?
What difference does that make to Rose drowning herself?”
“Ah!” said the Inspector. “But you see, she didn’t. She was thrown in deliberately56, Mr. Sandford.”
“She was—” It took him a minute or two to take in all the horror of it. “My God! Then—”
He dropped into a chair.
Colonel Melchett made a move to depart.
“You understand, Sandford,” he said. “You are on no account to leave this house.”
The three men left together. The Inspector and the Chief Constable exchanged glances.
“That’s enough, I think, sir,” said the Inspector.
“Yes. Get a warrant made out and arrest him.”
“Excuse me,” said Sir Henry, “I’ve forgotten my gloves.”
He reentered the house rapidly. Sandford was sitting just as they had left him, staring dazedly57 in front of him.
“I have come back,” said Sir Henry, “to tell you that I personally, am anxious to do all I can to assist you. Themotive of my interest in you I am not at liberty to reveal. But I am going to ask you, if you will, to tell me as briefly59 aspossible exactly what passed between you and this girl Rose.”
“She was very pretty,” said Sandford. “Very pretty and very alluring60. And—and she made a dead seat at me.
Before God, that’s true. She wouldn’t let me alone. And it was lonely down here, and nobody liked me much, and—and, as I say she was amazingly pretty and she seemed to know her way about and all that—” His voice died away. Helooked up. “And then this happened. She wanted me to marry her. I didn’t know what to do. I’m engaged to a girl inLondon. If she ever gets to hear of this—and she will, of course—well, it’s all up. She won’t understand. How couldshe? And I’m a rotter, of course. As I say, I didn’t know what to do. I avoided seeing Rose again. I thought I’d getback to town—see my lawyer—make arrangements about money and so forth61, for her. God, what a fool I’ve been!
And it’s all so clear—the case against me. But they’ve made a mistake. She must have done it herself.”
“Did she ever threaten to take her life?”
Sandford shook his head.
“Never. I shouldn’t have said she was that sort.”
“What about a man called Joe Ellis?”
“The carpenter fellow? Good old village stock. Dull fellow—but crazy about Rose.”
“He might have been jealous?” suggested Sir Henry.
“I suppose he was a bit—but he’s the bovine62 kind. He’d suffer in silence.”
“Well,” said Sir Henry. “I must be going.”
He rejoined the others.
“You know, Melchett,” he said, “I feel we ought to have a look at this other fellow—Ellis—before we do anythingdrastic. Pity if you made an arrest that turned out to be a mistake. After all, jealousy63 is a pretty good motive58 for murder—and a pretty common one, too.”
“That’s true enough,” said the Inspector. “But Joe Ellis isn’t that kind. He wouldn’t hurt a fly. Why, nobody’s everseen him out of temper. Still, I agree we’d better just ask him where he was last night. He’ll be at home now. Helodges with Mrs. Bartlett—very decent soul—a widow, she takes in a bit of washing.”
The little cottage to which they bent66 their footsteps was spotlessly clean and neat. A big stout woman of middle-age opened the door to them. She had a pleasant face and blue eyes.
“Good morning, Mrs. Bartlett,” said the Inspector. “Is Joe Ellis here?”
“Came back not ten minutes ago,” said Mrs. Bartlett. “Step inside, will you, please, sirs.”
Wiping her hands on her apron67 she led them into a tiny front parlour with stuffed birds, china dogs, a sofa andseveral useless pieces of furniture.
She hurriedly arranged seats for them, picked up a whatnot bodily to make further room and went out calling:
“Joe, there’s three gentlemen want to see you.”
A voice from the back kitchen replied:
“I’ll be there when I’ve cleaned myself.”
Mrs. Bartlett smiled.
“Come in, Mrs. Bartlett,” said Colonel Melchett. “Sit down.”
“Oh, no, sir, I couldn’t think of it.”
Mrs. Bartlett was shocked at the idea.
“You find Joe Ellis a good lodger68?” inquired Melchett in a seemingly careless tone.
“Couldn’t have a better, sir. A real steady young fellow. Never touches a drop of drink. Takes a pride in his work.
And always kind and helpful about the house. He put up those shelves for me, and he’s fixed69 a new dresser in thekitchen. And any little thing that wants doing in the house—why, Joe does it as a matter of course, and won’t hardlytake thanks for it. Ah! there aren’t many young fellows like Joe, sir.”
“Some girl will be lucky someday,” said Melchett carelessly. “He was rather sweet on that poor girl, RoseEmmott, wasn’t he?”
Mrs. Bartlett sighed.
“It made me tired, it did. Him worshipping the ground she trod on and her not caring a snap of the fingers for him.”
“Where does Joe spend his evenings, Mrs. Bartlett?”
“Here, sir, usually. He does some odd piece of work in the evenings, sometimes, and he’s trying to learnbookkeeping by correspondence.”
“Ah! really. Was he in yesterday evening?”
“Yes, sir.”
“You’re sure, Mrs. Bartlett?” said Sir Henry sharply.
She turned to him.
“Quite sure, sir.”
“He didn’t go out, for instance, somewhere about eight to eight thirty?”
“Oh, no.” Mrs. Barlett laughed. “He was fixing the kitchen dresser for me nearly all the evening, and I was helpinghim.”
Sir Henry looked at her smiling assured face and felt his first pang70 of doubt.
A moment later Ellis himself entered the room.
He was a tall broad-shouldered young man, very good-looking in a rustic71 way. He had shy, blue eyes and a good-tempered smile. Altogether an amiable72 young giant.
Melchett opened the conversation. Mrs. Bartlett withdrew to the kitchen.
“We are investigating the death of Rose Emmott. You knew her, Ellis.”
“Yes.” He hesitated, then muttered, “Hoped to marry her one day. Poor lass.”
“You have heard of what her condition was?”
“Yes.” A spark of anger showed in his eyes. “Let her down, he did. But ’twere for the best. She wouldn’t havebeen happy married to him. I reckoned she’d come to me when this happened. I’d have looked after her.”
“In spite of—”
“’Tweren’t her fault. He led her astray with fine promises and all. Oh! she told me about it. She’d no call to drownherself. He weren’t worth it.”
“Where were you, Ellis, last night at eight thirty?”
Was it Sir Henry’s fancy, or was there really a shade of constraint73 in the ready—almost too ready—reply.
“I was here. Fixing up a contraption in the kitchen for Mrs. B. You ask her. She’ll tell you.”
“He was too quick with that,” thought Sir Henry. “He’s a slow-thinking man. That popped out so pat that I suspecthe’d got it ready beforehand.”
Then he told himself that it was imagination. He was imagining things—yes, even imagining an apprehensive74 glintin those blue eyes.
A few more questions and answers and they left. Sir Henry made an excuse to go to the kitchen. Mrs. Bartlett wasbusy at the stove. She looked up with a pleasant smile. A new dresser was fixed against the wall. It was not quitefinished. Some tools lay about and some pieces of wood.
“That’s what Ellis was at work on last night?” said Sir Henry.
“Yes, sir, it’s a nice bit of work, isn’t it? He’s a very clever carpenter, Joe is.”
No apprehensive gleam in her eye—no embarrassment75.
But Ellis—had he imagined it? No, there had been something.
“I must tackle him,” thought Sir Henry.
Turning to leave the kitchen, he collided with a perambulator.
“Not woken the baby up, I hope,” he said.
Mrs. Bartlett’s laugh rang out.
“Oh, no, sir. I’ve no children—more’s the pity. That’s what I take the laundry on, sir.”
“Oh! I see—”
He paused then said on an impulse:
“Mrs. Bartlett. You knew Rose Emmott. Tell me what you really thought of her.”
She looked at him curiously.
“Well, sir, I thought she was flighty. But she’s dead—and I don’t like to speak ill of the dead.”
“But I have a reason—a very good reason for asking.”
He spoke persuasively76.
She seemed to consider, studying him attentively77. Finally she made up her mind.
“She was a bad lot, sir,” she said quietly. “I wouldn’t say so before Joe. She took him in good and proper. Thatkind can—more’s the pity. You know how it is, sir.”
Yes, Sir Henry knew. The Joe Ellises of the world were peculiarly vulnerable. They trusted blindly. But for thatvery cause the shock of discovery might be greater.
He left the cottage baffled and perplexed78. He was up against a blank wall. Joe Ellis had been working indoors allyesterday evening. Mrs. Bartlett had actually been there watching him. Could one possibly get round that? There wasnothing to set against it—except possibly that suspicious readiness in replying on Joe Ellis’s part—that suggestion ofhaving a story pat.
“Well,” said Melchett, “that seems to make the matter quite clear, eh?”
“It does, sir,” agreed the Inspector. “Sandford’s our man. Not a leg to stand upon. The thing’s as plain as daylight.
It’s my opinion as the girl and her father were out to—well—practically blackmail79 him. He’s no money to speak of—he didn’t want the matter to get to his young lady’s ears. He was desperate and he acted accordingly. What do you say,sir?” he added, addressing Sir Henry deferentially80.
“It seems so,” admitted Sir Henry. “And yet—I can hardly picture Sandford committing any violent action.”
But he knew as he spoke that that objection was hardly valid81. The meekest82 animal, when cornered, is capable ofamazing actions.
“I should like to see the boy, though,” he said suddenly. “The one who heard the cry.”
Jimmy Brown proved to be an intelligent lad, rather small for his age, with a sharp, rather cunning face. He waseager to be questioned and was rather disappointed when checked in his dramatic tale of what he had heard on thefatal night.
“You were on the other side of the bridge, I understand,” said Sir Henry. “Across the river from the village. Didyou see anyone on that side as you came over the bridge?”
“There was someone walking up in the woods. Mr. Sandford, I think it was, the architecting gentleman who’sbuilding the queer house.”
The three men exchanged glances.
“That was about ten minutes or so before you heard the cry?”
The boy nodded.
“Did you see anyone else—on the village side of the river?”
“A man came along the path that side. Going slow and whistling he was. Might have been Joe Ellis.”
“You couldn’t possibly have seen who it was,” said the Inspector sharply. “What with the mist and its being dusk.”
“It’s on account of the whistle,” said the boy. “Joe Ellis always whistles the same tune83—‘I wanner84 be happy’—it’sthe only tune he knows.”
He spoke with the scorn of the modernist for the old-fashioned.
“Anyone might whistle a tune,” said Melchett. “Was he going towards the bridge?”
“No. Other way—to village.”
“I don’t think we need concern ourselves with this unknown man,” said Melchett. “You heard the cry and thesplash and a few minutes later you saw the body floating downstream and you ran for help, going back to the bridge,crossing it, and making straight for the village. You didn’t see anyone near the bridge as you ran for help?”
“I think as there were two men with a wheelbarrow on the river path; but they were some way away and I couldn’ttell if they were going or coming and Mr. Giles’s place was nearest—so I ran there.”
“You did well, my boy,” said Melchett. “You acted very creditably and with presence of mind. You’re a scout,aren’t you?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Very good. Very good indeed.”
Sir Henry was silent—thinking. He took a slip of paper from his pocket, looked at it, shook his head. It didn’tseem possible—and yet—
He decided to pay a call on Miss Marple.
She received him in her pretty, slightly overcrowded old-style drawing room.
“I’ve come to report progress,” said Sir Henry. “I’m afraid that from our point of view things aren’t going well.
They are going to arrest Sandford. And I must say I think they are justified85.”
“You have found nothing in—what shall I say—support of my theory, then?” She looked perplexed—anxious.
“Perhaps I have been wrong—quite wrong. You have such wide experience—you would surely detect it if it were so.”
“For one thing,” said Sir Henry, “I can hardly believe it. And for another we are up against an unbreakable alibi86.
Joe Ellis was fixing shelves in the kitchen all the evening and Mrs. Bartlett was watching him do it.”
Miss Marple leaned forward, taking in a quick breath.
“But that can’t be so,” she said. “It was Friday night.”
“Friday night?”
“Yes—Friday night. On Friday evenings Mrs. Bartlett takes the laundry she has done round to the differentpeople.”
Sir Henry leaned back in his chair. He remembered the boy Jimmy’s story of the whistling man and—yes—itwould all fit in.
He rose, taking Miss Marple warmly by the hand.
“I think I see my way,” he said. “At least I can try.?.?.?.”
Five minutes later he was back at Mrs. Bartlett’s cottage and facing Joe Ellis in the little parlour among the chinadogs.
“You lied to us, Ellis, about last night,” he said crisply. “You were not in the kitchen here fixing the dresserbetween eight and eight thirty. You were seen walking along the path by the river towards the bridge a few minutesbefore Rose Emmott was murdered.”
The man gasped87.
“She weren’t murdered—she weren’t. I had naught88 to do with it. She threw herself in, she did. She was desperatelike. I wouldn’t have harmed a hair on her head, I wouldn’t.”
“Then why did you lie as to where you were?” asked Sir Henry keenly.
The man’s eyes shifted and lowered uncomfortably.
“I was scared. Mrs. B. saw me around there and when we heard just afterwards what had happened—well, shethought it might look bad for me. I fixed I’d say I was working here, and she agreed to back me up. She’s a rare one,she is. She’s always been good to me.”
Without a word Sir Henry left the room and walked into the kitchen. Mrs. Bartlett was washing up at the sink.
“Mrs. Bartlett,” he said, “I know everything. I think you’d better confess—that is, unless you want Joe Ellishanged for something he didn’t do .?.?. No. I see you don’t want that. I’ll tell you what happened. You were out takingthe laundry home. You came across Rose Emmott. You thought she’d given Joe the chuck and was taking up with thisstranger. Now she was in trouble—Joe was prepared to come to the rescue—marry her if need be, and if she’d havehim. He’s lived in your house for four years. You’ve fallen in love with him. You want him for yourself. You hatedthis girl—you couldn’t bear that this worthless little slut should take your man from you. You’re a strong woman, Mrs.
Bartlett. You caught the girl by the shoulders and shoved her over into the stream. A few minutes later you met JoeEllis. The boy Jimmy saw you together in the distance—but in the darkness and the mist he assumed the perambulatorwas a wheelbarrow and two men wheeling it. You persuaded Joe that he might be suspected and you concocted89 whatwas supposed to be an alibi for him, but which was really an alibi for you. Now then, I’m right, am I not?”
He held his breath. He had staked all on this throw.
She stood before him rubbing her hands on her apron, slowly making up her mind.
“It’s just as you say, sir,” she said at last, in her quiet subdued90 voice (a dangerous voice, Sir Henry suddenly felt itto be). “I don’t know what came over me. Shameless—that’s what she was. It just came over me—she shan’t take Joefrom me. I haven’t had a happy life, sir. My husband, he was a poor lot—an invalid91 and cross-grained. I nursed andlooked after him true. And then Joe came here to lodge64. I’m not such an old woman, sir, in spite of my grey hair. I’mjust forty, sir. Joe’s one in a thousand. I’d have done anything for him—anything at all. He was like a little child, sir,so gentle and believing. He was mine, sir, to look after and see to. And this—this—” She swallowed—checked heremotion. Even at this moment she was a strong woman. She stood up straight and looked at Sir Henry curiously. “I’mready to come, sir. I never thought anyone would find out. I don’t know how you knew, sir—I don’t, I’m sure.”
Sir Henry shook his head gently.
“It was not I who knew,” he said—and he thought of the piece of paper still reposing92 in his pocket with the wordson it written in neat old-fashioned handwriting.
“Mrs. Bartlett, with whom Joe Ellis lodges65 at 2 Mill Cottages.”
Miss Marple had been right again.
点击
收听单词发音
收听单词发音 |
1
mead
|
|
| n.蜂蜜酒 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
2
doorway
|
|
| n.门口，(喻)入门；门路，途径 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
3
distress
|
|
| n.苦恼，痛苦，不舒适；不幸；vt.使悲痛 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
4
placid
|
|
| adj.安静的，平和的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
5
disposition
|
|
| n.性情，性格；意向，倾向；排列，部署 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
6
ruminatively
|
|
| adv.沉思默想地，反复思考地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
7
seduces
|
|
| 诱奸( seduce的第三人称单数 )； 勾引； 诱使堕落； 使入迷 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
8
villain
|
|
| n.反派演员，反面人物；恶棍；问题的起因 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
9
ass
|
|
| n.驴；傻瓜，蠢笨的人 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
10
footpath
|
|
| n.小路，人行道 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
11
portentous
|
|
| adj.不祥的，可怕的，装腔作势的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
12
rustle
|
|
| v.沙沙作响；偷盗(牛、马等)；n.沙沙声声 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
13
iniquities
|
|
| n.邪恶( iniquity的名词复数 )；极不公正 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
14
tilted
|
|
| v. 倾斜的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
15
contemplated
|
|
| adj. 预期的 动词contemplate的过去分词形式 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
16
penetration
|
|
| n.穿透，穿人，渗透 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
17
gaily
|
|
| adv.欢乐地，高兴地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
18
marketing
|
|
| n.行销，在市场的买卖，买东西 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
19
flustered
|
|
| adj.慌张的；激动不安的v.使慌乱，使不安( fluster的过去式和过去分词) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
21
spoke
|
|
| 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 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
22
propounding
|
|
| v.提出（问题、计划等）供考虑[讨论]，提议( propound的现在分词 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
23
emboldened
|
|
| v.鼓励，使有胆量( embolden的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
24
astonishment
|
|
| n.惊奇，惊异 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
25
perfectly
|
|
| adv.完美地，无可非议地，彻底地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
26
inspector
|
|
| n.检查员，监察员，视察员 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
27
specialized
|
|
| adj.专门的，专业化的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
28
turnips
|
|
| 芜青( turnip的名词复数 )； 芜菁块根； 芜菁甘蓝块根； 怀表 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
29
eloquently
|
|
| adv. 雄辩地(有口才地, 富于表情地) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
30
steadily
|
|
| adv.稳定地；不变地；持续地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
31
constable
|
|
| n.(英国)警察，警官 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
32
investigation
|
|
| n.调查，调查研究 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
33
decided
|
|
| adj.决定了的，坚决的；明显的，明确的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
34
distressed
|
|
| 痛苦的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
35
curiously
|
|
| adv.有求知欲地；好问地；奇特地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
36
fumbling
|
|
| n. 摸索,漏接 v. 摸索,摸弄,笨拙的处理 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
37
eyebrows
|
|
| 眉毛( eyebrow的名词复数 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
38
butting
|
|
| 用头撞人（犯规动作） | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
39
babbling
|
|
| n.胡说，婴儿发出的咿哑声adj.胡说的v.喋喋不休( babble的现在分词 )；作潺潺声（如流水）；含糊不清地说话；泄漏秘密 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
40
sordid
|
|
| adj.肮脏的，不干净的，卑鄙的，暗淡的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
41
straightforward
|
|
| adj.正直的，坦率的；易懂的，简单的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
42
bruises
|
|
| n.瘀伤，伤痕，擦伤( bruise的名词复数 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
43
sop
|
|
| n.湿透的东西，懦夫；v.浸，泡，浸湿 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
44
peculiar
|
|
| adj.古怪的，异常的；特殊的，特有的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
45
surgical
|
|
| adj.外科的，外科医生的，手术上的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
46
misty
|
|
| adj.雾蒙蒙的，有雾的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
47
melodrama
|
|
| n.音乐剧；情节剧 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
48
bloody
|
|
| adj.非常的的；流血的；残忍的；adv.很；vt.血染 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
49
virtuous
|
|
| adj.有品德的，善良的，贞洁的，有效力的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
50
favourable
|
|
| adj.赞成的，称赞的，有利的，良好的，顺利的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
51
distressing
|
|
| a.使人痛苦的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
52
wink
|
|
| n.眨眼，使眼色，瞬间；v.眨眼，使眼色，闪烁 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
53
incapable
|
|
| adj.无能力的，不能做某事的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
54
groaned
|
|
| v.呻吟( groan的过去式和过去分词 )；发牢骚；抱怨；受苦 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
55
muffled
|
|
| adj.（声音）被隔的；听不太清的；（衣服）裹严的；蒙住的v.压抑，捂住( muffle的过去式和过去分词 )；用厚厚的衣帽包着（自己） | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
56
deliberately
|
|
| adv.审慎地；蓄意地；故意地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
57
dazedly
|
|
| 头昏眼花地，眼花缭乱地，茫然地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
58
motive
|
|
| n.动机，目的；adv.发动的，运动的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
59
briefly
|
|
| adv.简单地，简短地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
60
alluring
|
|
| adj.吸引人的，迷人的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
61
forth
|
|
| adv.向前；向外，往外 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
62
bovine
|
|
| adj.牛的；n.牛 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
63
jealousy
|
|
| n.妒忌，嫉妒，猜忌 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
64
lodge
|
|
| v.临时住宿，寄宿，寄存，容纳；n.传达室，小旅馆 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
65
lodges
|
|
| v.存放( lodge的第三人称单数 )；暂住；埋入；（权利、权威等）归属 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
66
bent
|
|
| n.爱好，癖好；adj.弯的；决心的，一心的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
67
apron
|
|
| n.围裙；工作裙 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
68
lodger
|
|
| n.寄宿人，房客 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
69
fixed
|
|
| adj.固定的，不变的，准备好的；(计算机)固定的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
70
pang
|
|
| n.剧痛，悲痛，苦闷 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
71
rustic
|
|
| adj.乡村的，有乡村特色的；n.乡下人，乡巴佬 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
72
amiable
|
|
| adj.和蔼可亲的，友善的，亲切的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
73
constraint
|
|
| n.(on)约束，限制；限制(或约束)性的事物 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
74
apprehensive
|
|
| adj.担心的，恐惧的，善于领会的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
75
embarrassment
|
|
| n.尴尬；使人为难的人(事物)；障碍；窘迫 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
76
persuasively
|
|
| adv.口才好地；令人信服地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
77
attentively
|
|
| adv.聚精会神地；周到地；谛；凝神 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
78
perplexed
|
|
| adj.不知所措的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
79
blackmail
|
|
| n.讹诈，敲诈，勒索，胁迫，恫吓 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
80
deferentially
|
|
| adv.表示敬意地，谦恭地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
81
valid
|
|
| adj.有确实根据的；有效的；正当的，合法的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
82
meekest
|
|
| adj.温顺的，驯服的( meek的最高级 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
83
tune
|
|
| n.调子；和谐，协调；v.调音，调节，调整 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
84
wanner
|
|
| adj.苍白的( wan的最高级 )；无血色的；病态的；暗淡的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
85
justified
|
|
| a.正当的，有理的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
86
alibi
|
|
| n.某人当时不在犯罪现场的申辩或证明；借口 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
87
gasped
|
|
| v.喘气( gasp的过去式和过去分词 )；喘息；倒抽气；很想要 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
88
naught
|
|
| n.无，零 [=nought] | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
89
concocted
|
|
| v.将（尤指通常不相配合的）成分混合成某物( concoct的过去式和过去分词 )；调制；编造；捏造 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
90
subdued
|
|
| adj. 屈服的，柔和的，减弱的 动词subdue的过去式和过去分词 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
91
invalid
|
|
| n.病人，伤残人；adj.有病的，伤残的；无效的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
92
reposing
|
|
| v.将（手臂等）靠在某人（某物）上( repose的现在分词 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
| 欢迎访问英文小说网 |