“You had no idea there was anything but an accident?”
“No, indeed. I can hardly see how it could have been anything but an accident.”
“You saw no one above you on the hillside?”
“No. This is the main path round the hill but of course people do wander about over the top. I did not see anyone that particular afternoon.”
Then Joanna Crawford was called. After particulars of her name and age Dr. Stokes asked,
“You were not walking with the remainder of the party?”
“No, we had left the path. We’d gone round the hill a little higher up the slope.”
“You were walking with a companion?”
“Yes. With Mr. Emlyn Price.”
“There was no one else actually walking with you?”
“No. We were talking and we were looking at one or two of the flowers. They seemed of rather an uncommon kind. Emlyn’s interested in botany.”
“Were you out of sight of the rest of the party?”
“Not all the time. They were walking along the main path—some way below us, that is.”
“Did you see Miss Temple?”
“I think so. She was walking ahead of the others, and I think I saw her turn a corner of the path ahead of them after which we didn’t see her because the contour of the hill hid her.”
“Did you see someone walking above you on the hillside?”
“Yes. Up amongst a good many boulders. There’s a sort of great patch of boulders on the side of the hill.”
“Yes,” said Dr. Stokes, “I know exactly the place you mean. Large granite boulders. People call them the Wethers, or the Grey Wethers sometimes.”
“I suppose they might look like sheep from a distance but we weren’t so very far away from them.”
“And you saw someone up there?”
“Yes. Someone was more or less in the middle of the boulders, leaning over them.”
“Pushing them, do you think?”
“Yes. I thought so, and wondered why. He seemed to be pushing at one on the outside of the group near the edge. They were so big and so heavy I would have thought it was impossible to push them. But the one he or she was pushing seemed to be balanced like a rocking stone.”
“You said first he, now you say he or she, Miss Crawford. Which do you think it was?”
“Well, I thought—I suppose—I suppose I thought it was a man, but I wasn’t actually thinking at the time. It was—he or she was—wearing trousers and a pullover, a sort of man’s pullover with a polo-neck.”
“What colour was the pullover?”
“Rather a bright red and black in checks. And there was longish hair at the back of a kind of beret, rather like a woman’s hair, but then it might just as well have been a man’s.”
“It certainly might,” said Dr. Stokes, rather drily. “Identifying a male or female figure by their hair is certainly not easy these days.” He went on, “What happened next?”
“Well, the stone began to roll over. It sort of toppled over the edge and then it began to gain speed. I said to Emlyn, “Oh it’s going to go right over down the hill.” Then we heard a sort of crash as it fell. And I think I heard a cry from below but I might have imagined it.”
“And then?”
“Oh, we ran on up a bit and round the corner of the hill to see what happened to the stone.”
“And what did you see?”
“We saw the boulder below on the path with a body underneath it—and people coming running round the corner.”
“Was it Miss Temple who uttered the cry?”
“I think it must have been. It might have been one of the others who was catching up and turned the corner. Oh! it was—it was horrible.”
“Yes, I’m sure it was. What had happened to the figure you’d seen above? The man or woman in the red and black pullover? Was that figure still there among the stones?”
“I don’t know. I never looked up there. I was—I was busy looking at the accident, and running down the hill to see if one could do anything. I did just look up, I think, but there wasn’t anyone in sight. Only the stones. There were a lot of contours and you could lose anyone quite easily from view.”
“Could it have been one of your party?”
“Oh, no. I’m sure it wasn’t one of us. I would have known because, I mean, one would have known by their clothes. I’m sure nobody was wearing a scarlet and black pullover.”
“Thank you, Miss Crawford.”
Emlyn Price was called next. His story was practically a replica of Joanna’s.
There was a little more evidence which did not amount to much.
The Coroner brought in that there was not sufficient evidence to show how Elizabeth Temple had come to her death, and adjourned the inquest for a fortnight.
Seventeen
MISS MARPLE MAKES A VISIT
I
As they walked back from the inquest to the Golden Boar hardly anyone spoke. Professor Wanstead walked beside Miss Marple, and since she was not a very fast walker, they fell slightly behind the others.
“What will happen next?” Miss Marple asked at last.
“Do you mean legally or to us?”
“I suppose both,” said Miss Marple, “because one will surely affect the other.”
“It will be presumably a case of the police making further enquiries, arising out of the evidence given by those two young people.”
“Yes.”
“Further enquiry will be necessary. The inquest was bound to be adjourned. One can hardly expect the Coroner to give a verdict of accidental death.”
“No, I understand that.” She said, “What did you think of their evidence?”
Professor Wanstead directed a sharp glance from under his beetling eyebrows.
“Have you any ideas on the subject, Miss Marple?” His voice was suggestive. “Of course,” said Professor Wanstead, “we knew beforehand what they were going to say.”
“Yes.”
“What you mean is that you are asking what I thought about them themselves, their feelings about it.”
“It was interesting,” said Miss Marple. “Very interesting. The red and black check pullover. Rather important, I think, don’t you? Rather striking?”
“Yes, exactly that.”
He shot again that look at her under his eyebrows. “What does it suggest to you exactly?”
“I think,” said Miss Marple, “I think the description of that might give us a valuable clue.”
They came to the Golden Boar. It was only about half past twelve and Mrs. Sandbourne suggested a little refreshment before going in to luncheon. As sherry and tomato juice and other liquors were being consumed, Mrs. Sandbourne proceeded to make certain announcements.
“I have taken advice,” she said, “both from the Coroner and Inspector Douglas. Since the medical evidence has been taken fully, there will be at the church a funeral memorial service tomorrow at eleven o’clock. I’m going to make arrangements with Mr. Courtney, the local vicar, about it. On the following day it will be best, I think, to resume our tour. The programme will be slightly altered, since we have lost three days, but I think it can be reorganized on rather simpler lines. I have heard from one or two members of our party that they would prefer to return to London, presumably by rail. I can quite understand the feelings lying behind this, and would not like to try and influence you in any way. This death has been a very sad occurrence. I still cannot help but believe that Miss Temple’s death was the result of an accident. Such a thing has happened before on that particular pathway, though there do not appear in this case to have been any geological or atmospherical conditions causing it. I think a good deal more investigation will have to be made. Of course, some hiker on a walking tour—that kind of thing—may have been pushing about boulders quite innocently, not realizing that there was a danger for someone walking below in what he or she was doing. If so, if that person comes forward, the whole thing may be cleared up quite quickly,
but I agree one cannot take that for granted at present. It seems unlikely that the late Miss Temple could have had an enemy, or anyone who wished her harm of any kind. What I should suggest is, that we do not discuss the accident any further. Investigations will be made by the local authorities whose business it is. I think we will probably all like to attend the memorial service in the church tomorrow. And after that, on continuing the tour, I hope that it may distract our minds from the shock we have had. There are still some very interesting and famous houses to see and some very beautiful scenery also.”
Luncheon being announced shortly after that, the subject was not discussed any further. That is to say, not openly. After lunch, as they took coffee in the lounge, people were prone to get together in little groups, discussing their further arrangements.
“Are you continuing on the tour?” asked Professor Wanstead of Miss Marple.
“No,” said Miss Marple. She spoke thoughtfully. “No. I think—I think that what has happened inclines me to remain here a little longer.”
“At the Golden Boar or at The Old Manor House?”
“That rather depends as to whether I receive any further invitation to go back to The Old Manor House. I would not like to suggest it myself because my original invitation was for the two nights that the tour was to have stayed here originally. I think possibly it would be better for me to remain at the Golden Boar.”
“You don’t feel like returning to St. Mary Mead?”
“Not yet,” said Miss Marple. “There are one or two things I could do here, I think. One thing I have done already.” She met his enquiring gaze. “If you are going on,” she said, “with the rest of the party, I will tell you what I have put in hand, and suggest a small sideline of enquiry that might be helpful. The other reason that I wish to stay here I will tell you later. There are certain enquiries—local enquiries—that I want to make. They may not lead anywhere so I think it as well not to mention them now. And you?”
“I should like to return to London. I have work there waiting to be done. Unless, that is, I can be helpful to you here?”
“No,” said Miss Marple, “I do not think so at present. I expect you have various enquiries of your own that you wish to put in hand.”
“I came on the tour to meet you, Miss Marple.”
“And now you have met me and know what I know, or practically all that I know, you have other enquiries to put in hand. I understand that. But before you leave here, I think there are one or two things—well, that might be helpful, might give a result.”
“I see. You have ideas.”
“I am remembering what you said.”
“You have perhaps pinned down the smell of evil?”
“It is difficult,” said Miss Marple, “to know exactly what something wrong in the atmosphere really means.”
“But you do feel that there is something wrong in the atmosphere?”
“Oh yes. Very clearly.”
“And especially since Miss Temple’s death which, of course, was not an accident, no matter what Mrs. Sandbourne hopes.”
“No,” said Miss Marple, “it was not an accident. What I don’t think I have told you is that Miss Temple said to me once that she was on a pilgrimage.”
“Interesting,” said the Professor. “Yes, interesting. She didn’t tell you what the pilgrimage was, to where or to whom?”
“No,” said Miss Marple, “if she’d lived just a little longer and not been so weak, she might have told me. But unfortunately, death came a little too soon.”
“So that you have not any further ideas on that subject.”
“No. Only a feeling of assurance that her pilgrimage was put an end to by malign design. Someone wanted to stop her going wherever she was going, or stop her going to whomever she was going to. One can only hope that chance or Providence may throw light on that.”
“That’s why you’re staying here?”
“Not only that,” said Miss Marple. “I want to find out something more about a girl called Nora Broad.”
“Nora Broad.” He looked faintly puzzled.
“The other girl who disappeared about the same time as Verity Hunt did. You remember you mentioned her to me. A girl who had boyfriends and was, I understand, very ready to have boyfriends. A foolish girl, but attractive apparently to the male sex. I think,” said Miss Marple, “that to learn a little more about her might help me in my enquiries.”
“Have it your own way, Detective-Inspector Marple,” said Professor Wanstead.
II
The service took place on the following morning. All the members of the tour were there. Miss Marple looked round the church. Several of the locals were there also. Mrs. Glynne was there and her sister Clotilde. The youngest one, Anthea, did not attend. There were one or two people from the village also, she thought. Probably not acquainted with Miss Temple but there out of a rather morbid curiosity in regard to what was now spoken of by the term “foul play.” There was, too, an elderly clergyman; in gaiters, well over seventy, Miss Marple thought, a broad-shouldered old man with a noble mane of white hair. He was slightly crippled and found it difficult both to kneel and to stand. It was a fine face, Miss Marple thought, and she wondered who he was. Some old friend of Elizabeth Temple, she presumed, who might perhaps have come from quite a long distance to attend the service?
As they came out of the church Miss Marple exchanged a few words with her fellow travellers. She knew now pretty well who was doing what. The Butlers were returning to London.
“I told Henry I just couldn’t go on with it,” said Mrs. Butler. “You know—I feel all the time that any minute just as we might be walking round a corner, someone, you know, might shoot us or throw a stone at us. Someone who has got a down on the Famous Houses of England.”
“Now then, Mamie, now then,” said Mr. Butler, “don’t you let your imagination go as far as that!”
“Well, you just don’t know nowadays. What with hijackers about and kidnapping and all the rest of it, I don’t feel really protected anywhere.”
Old Miss Lumley and Miss Bentham were continuing with the tour, their anxieties allayed.
“We’ve paid very highly for this tour and it seems a pity to miss anything just because this very sad accident has happened. We rang up a very good neighbour of ours last night, and they are going to see to the cats, so we don’t need to worry.”
It was going to remain an accident for Miss Lumley and Miss Bentham. They had decided it was more comfortable that way.
Mrs. Riseley-Porter was also continuing on the tour. Colonel and Mrs. Walker were resolved that nothing would make them miss seeing a particularly rare collection of fuchsias in the garden due to be visited the day after tomorrow. The architect, Jameson, was also guided by his wish to see various buildings of special interest for him. Mr. Caspar, however, was departing by rail, he said. Miss Cooke and Miss Barrow seemed undecided.
“Pretty good walks round here,” said Miss Cooke. “I think we’ll stay at the Golden Boar for a little. That’s what you’re going to do, isn’t it, Miss Marple?”
“I really think so,” said Miss Marple. “I don’t feel quite equal to going on travelling and all that. I think a day or two’s rest would be helpful to me after what’s happened.”
As the little crowd dispersed, Miss Marple took an unostentatious route of her own. From her handbag she took out a leaf torn from her notebook on which she had entered two addresses. The first, a Mrs. Blackett, lived in a neat little house and garden just by the end of the road where it sloped down towards the valley. A small neat woman opened the door.
“Mrs. Blackett?”
“Yes, yes, ma’am, that’s my name.”
“I wonder if I might just come in and speak to you for a minute or two. I have just been to the service and I am feeling a little giddy. If I could just sit down for a minute or two?”
“Dear me, now, dear me. Oh, I’m sorry for that. Come right in, ma’am, come right in. That’s right. You sit down
here. Now I’ll get you a glass of water—or maybe you’d like a pot of tea?”
“No, thank you,” said Miss Marple, “a glass of water would put me right.”
Mrs. Blackett returned with a glass of water and a pleasurable prospect of talking about ailments and giddiness and other things.
“You know, I’ve got a nephew like that. He oughtn’t to be at his age, he’s not much over fifty but now and then he’ll come over giddy all of a sudden and unless he sits down at once—why you don’t know, sometimes he’ll pass out right on the floor. Terrible, it is. Terrible. And doctors, they don’t seem able to do anything about it. Here’s your glass of water.”
“Ah,” said Miss Marple, sipping, “I feel much better.”
“Been to the service, have you, for the poor lady as got done in, as some say, or accident as others. I’d say it’s accident every time. But these inquests and coroners, they always want to make things look criminal, they do.”
“Oh yes,” said Miss Marple. “I’ve been so sorry to hear of a lot of things like that in the past. I was hearing a great deal about a girl called Nora. Nora Broad, I think.”
“Ah, Nora, yes. Well, she was my cousin’s daughter. Yes. A long while ago, that was. Went off and never come back. These girls, there’s no holding them. I said often, I did, to Nancy Broad—that’s my cousin—I said to her, ‘You’re out working all day’ and I said ‘What’s Nora doing? You know she’s the kind that likes the boys. Well,’ I said, ‘there’ll be trouble. You see if there isn’t.’ And sure enough, I was quite right.”
“You mean—?”
“Ah, the usual trouble. Yes, in the family way. Mind you, I don’t think as my cousin Nancy knew about it yet. But of course, I’m sixty-five and I know what’s what and I know the way a girl looks and I think I know who it was, but I’m not sure. I might have been wrong because he went on living in the place and he was real cut up when Nora was missing.”
“She went off, did she?”
“Well, she accepted a lift from someone—a stranger. That’s the last time she was seen. I forget the make of the car now. Some funny name it had. An Audit or something like that. Anyway, she’d been seen once or twice in that car. And off she went in it. And it was said it was that same car that the poor girl what got herself murdered used to go riding in. But I don’t think as that happened to Nora. If Nora’d been murdered, the body would have come to light by now. Don’t you think so?”
The Complete Miss Marple Collection Page 216