Sixteen
THE INQUEST
IM iss Marple walked slowly along the village street on her way towards the market place where the inquest was totake place in the old-fashioned Georgian building which had been known for a hundred years as the Curfew Arms. Sheglanced at her watch. There was still a good twenty minutes before she need be there. She looked into the shops. Shepaused before the shop that sold wool and babies’ jackets, and peered inside for a few moments. A girl in the shop wasserving. Small woolly coats were being tried on two children. Further along the counter there was an elderly woman.
Miss Marple went into the shop, went along the counter to a seat opposite the elderly woman, and produced asample of pink wool. She had run out, she explained, of this particular brand of wool and had a little jacket she neededto finish. The match was soon made, some more samples of wool that Miss Marple had admired were brought out forher to look at, and soon she was in conversation. Starting with the sadness of the accident which had just taken place.
Mrs. Merrypit, if her name was identical with that which was written up outside the shop, was full of the importanceof the accident, and the general difficulties of getting local governments to do anything about the dangers of footpathsand public rights of way.
“After the rain, you see, you get all the soil washed off and then the boulders³ get loose and then down they comes. Iremember one year they had three falls—three accidents there was. One boy nearly killed, he was, and then later thatyear, oh six months later, I think, there was a man got his arm broken, and the third time it was poor old Mrs. Walker.
Blind she was and pretty well deaf too. She never heard nothing or she could have got out of the way, they say.
Somebody saw it and they called out to her, but they was too far away to reach her or to run to get her. And so she waskilled.”
“Oh how sad,” said Miss Marple, “how tragic⁴. The sort of thing that’s not easily forgotten, is it.”
“No indeed. I expect the Coroner’ll mention it today.”
“I expect he will,” said Miss Marple. “In a terrible way it seems quite a natural thing to happen, doesn’t it, thoughof course there are accidents sometimes by pushing things about, you know. Just pushing, making stones rock. Thatsort of thing.”
“Ah well, there’s boys as be up to anything. But I don’t think I’ve ever seen them up that way, fooling about.”
Miss Marple went on to the subject of pullovers. Bright coloured pullovers.
“It’s not for myself,” she said, “it’s for one of my great-nephews. You know he wants a polo-necked pullover andvery bright colours he’d like.”

分享到：