Five
M ISS M ARPLE M AKES A D ECISION
T he funeral service was said over the body of the late Major Palgrave on the following day. Miss Marple attended incompany with Miss Prescott. The Canon read the service—after that life went on as usual.
Major Palgrave’s death was already only an incident, a slightly unpleasant incident, but one that was soonforgotten. Life here was sunshine, sea, and social pleasures. A grim visitor had interrupted these activities, casting amomentary shadow, but the shadow was now gone. After all, nobody had known the deceased very well. He had beenrather a garrulous¹ elderly man of the club-bore type, always telling you personal reminiscences that you had noparticular desire to hear. He had had little to anchor himself to any particular part of the world. His wife had diedmany years ago. He had had a lonely life and a lonely death. But it had been the kind of loneliness that spends itself inliving amongst people, and in passing the time that way not unpleasantly. Major Palgrave might have been a lonelyman, he had also been quite a cheerful one. He had enjoyed himself in his own particular way. And now he was dead,buried, and nobody cared very much, and in another week’s time nobody would even remember him or spare him apassing thought.
The only person who could possibly be said to miss him was Miss Marple. Not indeed out of any personalaffection, but he represented a kind of life that she knew. As one grew older, so she reflected to herself, one got moreand more into the habit of listening; listening possibly without any great interest, but there had been between her andthe Major the gentle give and take of two old people. It had had a cheerful, human quality. She did not actually mournMajor Palgrave but she missed him.
On the afternoon of the funeral, as she was sitting knitting in her favourite spot, Dr. Graham came and joined her.
She put her needles down and greeted him. He said at once, rather apologetically:
“I am afraid I have rather disappointing news, Miss Marple.”
“Indeed? About my—”
“Yes. We haven’t found that precious snapshot of yours. I’m afraid that will be a disappointment to you.”
“Yes. Yes it is. But of course it does not really matter. It was a sentimentality. I do realize that now. It wasn’t inMajor Palgrave’s wallet?”
“No. Nor anywhere else among his things. There were a few letters and newspaper clippings and odds² and ends,and a few old photographs, but no sign of a snapshot such as you mentioned.”
“Oh dear,” said Miss Marple. “Well, it can’t be helped … Thank you very much, Dr. Graham, for the troubleyou’ve taken.”

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