It had been a surprisingly successful remark. So many people, Miss Marple reflected, have been in places where they are anxious not to be seen!
She dismissed Johnnie from her mind and concentrated on a vague something which Alex’s account of Inspector Curry’s remarks had stirred to life. Those remarks had given Alex an idea. She was not sure that they had not given her an idea, too. The same idea? Or a different one?
She stood where Alex Restarick had stood. She thought to herself, “This is not a real hall. This is only cardboard and canvas and wood. This is a stage scene….” Scrappy phrases flashed across her mind. “Illusion—” “In the eyes of the audience.” “They do it with mirrors….” Bowls of goldfish … yards of coloured ribbon … vanishing ladies … All the panoply and misdirection of the conjurer’s art….
Something stirred in her consciousness—a picture—something that Alex had said … something that he had described to her … Constable Dodgett puffing and panting … panting … something shifted in her mind—came into sudden focus….
“Why of course!” said Miss Marple. “That must be it….”
Eighteen
1
“Oh, Wally, how you startled me!”
Gina, emerging from the shadows by the theatre, jumped back a little, as the figure of Wally Hudd materialised out of the gloom. It was not yet quite dark, but had that eerie half light when objects lose their reality and take on the fantastic shapes of nightmare.
“What are you doing down here? You never come near the theatre as a rule.”
“Maybe I was looking for you, Gina. It’s usually the best place to find you, isn’t it?”
Wally’s soft, faintly drawling voice held no special insinuation and yet Gina flinched a little.
“It’s a job and I’m keen on it. I like the atmosphere of paint and canvas, and backstage generally.”
“Yes. It means a lot to you. I’ve seen that. Tell me, Gina, how long do you think it will be before this business is all cleared up?”
“The inquest’s tomorrow. It will just be adjourned for a fortnight or something like that. At least, that’s what Inspector Curry gave us to understand.”
“A fortnight,” said Wally thoughtfully. “I see. Say three weeks, perhaps. And after that—we’re free. I’m going back to the States then.”
“Oh! but I can’t run off like that,” cried Gina. “I couldn’t leave Grandam. And we’ve got these two new productions we’re working on”—
“I didn’t say ‘we.’ I said I was going.”
Gina stopped and looked up at her husband. Something in the effect of the shadows made him seem very big. A big, quiet figure—and in some way, or so it seemed to her, faintly menacing … standing over her. Threatening—what?
“Do you mean”—she hesitated—“you don’t want me to come?”
“Why, no—I didn’t say that.”
“You don’t care if I come or not? Is that it?”
She was suddenly angry.
“See here, Gina. This is where we’ve got to have a showdown. We didn’t know much about each other when we married—not much about each other’s backgrounds, not much about the other one’s folks. We thought it didn’t matter. We thought nothing mattered except having a swell time together. Well, stage one is over. Your folks didn’t—and don’t—think much of me. Maybe they’re right. I’m not their kind. But if you think I’m staying on here, kicking my heels, and doing odd jobs in what I consider is just a crazy setup—well, think again! I want to live in my own country, doing the kind of job I want to do, and can do. My idea of a wife is the kind of wife who used to go along with the old pioneers, ready for anything, hardship, unfamiliar country, danger, strange surroundings … Perhaps that’s too much to ask of you, but it’s that or nothing! Maybe I hustled you into marriage. If so, you’d better get free of me and start again. It’s up to you. If you prefer one of these arty boys—it’s your life and you’ve got to choose. But I’m going home.”
“I think you’re an absolute pig,” said Gina. “I’m enjoying myself here.”
“Is that so? Well, I’m not. You even enjoy murder, I suppose?”
Gina drew in her breath sharply.
“That’s a cruel, wicked thing to say. I was very fond of Uncle Christian. And don’t you realise that someone has been quietly poisoning Grandam for months? It’s horrible!”
“I told you I didn’t like it here. I don’t like the kind of things that go on. I’m quitting.”
“If you’re allowed to! Don’t you realise you’ll probably be arrested for Uncle Christian’s murder? I hate the way Inspector Curry looks at you. He’s just like a cat watching a mouse with a nasty sharp-clawed paw all ready to pounce. Just because you were out of the Hall fixing those lights, and because you’re not English, I’m sure they’ll go fastening it on you.”
“They’ll need some evidence first.”
Gina wailed:
“I’m frightened for you, Wally. I’ve been frightened all along.”
“No good being scared. I tell you, they’ve got nothing on me!”
They walked in silence towards the house.
Gina said:
“I don’t believe you really want me to come back to America with you….”
Walter Hudd did not answer.
Gina Hudd turned on him and stamped her foot.
“I hate you. I hate you. You are horrible—a beast—a cruel, unfeeling beast. After all I’ve tried to do for you! You want to be rid of me. You don’t care if you never see me again. Well, I don’t care if I never see you again! I was a stupid little fool ever to marry you, and I shall get a divorce as soon as possible, and I shall marry Stephen or Alexis and be much happier than I ever could be with you. And I hope you go back to the States and marry some horrible girl who makes you really miserable!”
“Fine!” said Wally. “Now we know where we are!”
2
Miss Marple saw Gina and Wally go into the house together.
She was standing at the spot where Inspector Curry had made his experiment with Constable Dodgett earlier in the afternoon.
Miss Bellever’s voice behind her made her jump.
“You’ll get a chill, Miss Marple, standing about like that after the sun’s gone down.”
Miss Marple fell meekly into step with her and they walked briskly through the house.
“I was thinking about conjuring tricks,” said Miss Marple. “So difficult when you’re watching them to see how they’re done, and yet, once they are explained, so absurdly simple. (Although, even now, I can’t imagine how conjurers produce bowls of goldfish!) Did you ever see the Lady who is Sawn in Half?—such a thrilling trick. It fascinated me when I was eleven years old, I remember. And I never could think how it was done. But the other day there was an article in some paper giving the whole thing away. I don’t think a newspaper should do that, do you? It seems it’s not one girl—but two. The head of the one and the feet of the other. You think it’s one girl and it’s really two—and the other way round would work equally well, wouldn’t it?”
Miss Bellever looked at her with faint surprise. Miss Marple was not often so fluffy and incoherent as this. “It’s been too much for the old lady, all this,” she thought.
“When you only look at one side of a thing, you only see one side,” continued Miss Marple. “But everything fits in perfectly well if you can only make up your mind what is reality and what is illusion.” She added abruptly, “Is Carrie Louise—all right?”
“Yes,” said Miss Bellever. “She’s all right. But it must have been a shock, you know—finding out that someone wanted to kill her. I mean particularly a shock to her, because she doesn’t understand violence.”
“Carrie Louise understands some things that we don’t,” said Miss Marple thoughtfully. “She always has.”
“I know what you mean—but she doesn’t live in the real world.”
“Doesn’t she?”
Miss Bellever looked at her
in surprise.
“There never was a more unworldly person than Cara—”
“You don’t think that perhaps—” Miss Marple broke off, as Edgar Lawson passed them, swinging along at a great pace. He gave a kind of shamefaced nod, but averted his face as he passed.
“I’ve remembered now who he reminds me of,” said Miss Marple. “It came to me suddenly, just a few moments ago. He reminds me of a young man called Leonard Wylie. His father was a dentist, but he got old and blind and his hand used to shake, and so people preferred to go to the son. But the old man was very miserable about it, and moped, said he was no good for anything anymore, and Leonard, who was very softhearted and rather foolish, began to pretend he drank more than he should. He always smelt of whisky, and he used to sham being rather fuddled when his patients came. His idea was that they’d go back to the father again and say the younger man was no good.”
“And did they?”
“Of course not,” said Miss Marple. “What happened was what anybody with any sense could have told him would happen! The patients went to Mr. Reilly, the rival dentist. So many people with good hearts have no sense. Besides, Leonard Wylie was so unconvincing … His idea of drunkenness wasn’t in the least like real drunkenness, and he overdid the whisky—spilling it on his clothes, you know, to a perfectly impossible extent.”
They went into the house by the side door.
Nineteen
Inside the house, they found the family assembled in the library. Lewis was walking up and down, and there was an air of general tension in the atmosphere.
“Is anything the matter?” asked Miss Bellever.
Lewis said shortly, “Ernie Gregg is missing from roll call tonight.”
“Has he run away?”
“We don’t know. Maverick and some of the staff are searching the grounds. If we cannot find him we must communicate with the police.”
“Grandam!” Gina ran over to Carrie Louise, startled by the whiteness of her face. “You look ill.”
“I am unhappy. The poor boy….”
Lewis said, “I was going to question him this evening as to whether he had seen anything noteworthy last night. I have the offer of a good post for him and I thought that after discussing that, I would bring up the other topic. Now—” he broke off.
Miss Marple murmured softly:
“Foolish boy … poor, foolish boy….”
She shook her head, and Mrs. Serrocold said gently:
“So you think so too, Jane …?”
Stephen Restarick came in. He said, “I missed you at the theatre, Gina. I thought you said you would—Hullo, what’s up?”
Lewis repeated his information, and as he finished speaking, Dr. Maverick came in with a fair-haired boy with pink cheeks and a suspiciously angelic expression. Miss Marple remembered his being at dinner on the night she had arrived at Stonygates.
“I’ve brought Arthur Jenkins along,” said Dr. Maverick. “He seems to have been the last person to talk to Ernie.”
“Now, Arthur,” said Lewis Serrocold, “please help us if you can. Where has Ernie gone? Is this just a prank?”
“I dunno, sir. Straight, I don’t. Didn’t say nothing to me, he didn’t. All full of the play at the theatre he was, that’s all. Said as how he’d had a smashing idea for the scenery, what Mrs. Hudd and Mr. Stephen thought was first class.”
“There’s another thing, Arthur. Ernie claims he was prowling about the grounds after lockup last night. Was that true?”
“’Course it ain’t. Just boasting, that’s all. Perishing liar, Ernie. He never got out at night. Used to boast he could, but he wasn’t that good with locks! He couldn’t do anything with a lock as was a lock. Anyway ’e was in larst night, that I do know.”
“You’re not saying that just to satisfy us, Arthur?”
“Cross my heart,” said Arthur virtuously.
Lewis did not look quite satisfied.
“Listen,” said Dr. Maverick. “What’s that?”
A murmur of voices was approaching. The door was flung open and, looking very pale and ill, the spectacled Mr. Birnbaum staggered in.
He gasped out, “We’ve found him—them. It’s horrible….”
He sank down on a chair and mopped his forehead.
Mildred Strete said sharply:
“What do you mean—found them?”
Birnbaum was shaking all over.
“Down at the theatre,” he said. “Their heads crushed in—the big counterweight must have fallen on them. Alexis Restarick and that boy Ernie Gregg. They’re both dead….”
Twenty
“I’ve brought you a cup of strong soup, Carrie Louise,” said Miss Marple. “Now please drink it.”
Mrs. Serrocold sat up in the big carved oak four poster bed. She looked very small and childlike. Her cheeks had lost their rose pink flush, and her eyes had a curiously absent look. She took the soup obediently from Miss Marple. As she sipped it, Miss Marple sat down in a chair beside the bed.
“First, Christian,” said Carrie Louise, “and now Alex—and poor, sharp, silly little Ernie. Did he really—know anything?”
“I don’t think so,” said Miss Marple. “He was just telling lies—making himself important by hinting that he had seen or knew something. The tragedy is that somebody believed his lies….”
Carrie Louise shivered. Her eyes went back to their faraway look.
“We meant to do so much for these boys … we did do something. Some of them have done wonderfully well. Several of them are in really responsible positions. A few slid back—that can’t be helped. Modern civilised conditions are so complex—too complex for some simple and undeveloped natures. You know Lewis’ great scheme? He always felt that transportation was a thing that had saved many a potential criminal in the past. They were shipped overseas—and they made new lives in simpler surroundings. He wants to start a modern scheme on that basis. To buy up a great tract of territory—or a group of islands. Finance it for some years, make it a cooperative self-supporting community—with everyone having a stake in it. But cut off so that the early temptation to go back to cities and the bad old ways can be neutralised. It’s his dream. But it will take a lot of money, of course, and there aren’t many philanthropists with vision now. We want another Eric. Eric would have been enthusiastic.”
Miss Marple picked up a little pair of scissors and looked at them curiously.
“What an odd pair of scissors,” she said. “They’ve got two finger holes on one side and one on the other.”
Carrie Louise’s eyes came back from that frightening far distance.
“Alex gave them to me this morning,” she said. “They’re supposed to make it easier to cut your right-hand nails. Dear boy, he was so enthusiastic. He made me try them then and there.”
“And I suppose he gathered up the nail clippings and took them tidily away,” said Miss Marple.
“Yes,” said Carrie Louise. “He—” she broke off. “Why did you say that?”
“I was thinking about Alex. He had brains. Yes, he had brains.”
“You mean—that’s why he died?”
“I think so—yes.”
“He and Ernie—it doesn’t bear thinking about. When do they think it happened?”
“Late this evening. Between six and seven o’clock probably….”
“After they’d knocked off work for the day?”
“Yes.”
Gina had been down there that evening—and Wally Hudd. Stephen, too, said he had been down to look for Gina….
But as far as that went, anybody could have—
Miss Marple’s train of thought was interrupted.
Carrie Louise said quietly and unexpectedly:
“How much do you know, Jane?”
Miss Marple looked up sharply. The eyes of the two women met.
Miss Marple said slowly, “If I was quite sure….”
“I think you are sure, Jane.”
Jane Marple said slowly, “What do
you want me to do?”
Carrie leaned back against her pillows.
“It is in your hands, Jane. You’ll do what you think right.”
She closed her eyes.
“Tomorrow”—Miss Marple hesitated—“I shall have to try and talk to Inspector Curry—if he’ll listen….”
Twenty-one
Inspector Curry said rather impatiently:
“Yes, Miss Marple?”
“Could we, do you think, go into the Great Hall?”
Inspector Curry looked faintly surprised.
“Is that your idea of privacy? Surely in here—”
He looked round the study.
“It’s not privacy I’m thinking of so much. It’s something I want to show you. Something Alex Restarick made me see.”
Inspector Curry, stifling a sigh, got up and followed Miss Marple.
“Somebody has been talking to you?” he suggested hopefully.
“No,” said Miss Marple. “It’s not a question of what people have said. It’s really a question of conjuring tricks. They do it with mirrors, you know—that sort of thing—if you understand me.”
Inspector Curry did not understand. He stared and wondered if Miss Marple was quite right in the head.
Miss Marple took up her stand and beckoned the Inspector to stand beside her.
“I want you to think of this place as a stage set, Inspector. As it was on the night Christian Gulbrandsen was killed. You’re here in the audience looking at the people on the stage. Mrs. Serrocold and myself and Mrs. Strete and Gina and Stephen—and just like on the stage, there are entrances and exits and the characters go out to different places. Only you don’t think when you’re in the audience where they are really going to. They go out ‘to the front door’ or ‘to the kitchen’ and when the door opens you see a little bit of painted backcloth. But really of course they go out to the wings—or the back of the stage with carpenters and electricians, and other characters waiting to come on—they go out—to a different world.”
“I don’t quite see, Miss Marple—”