The Mirror Crack'd: from Side to Side

by Agatha Christie

  “And we thought she was just being hysterical!”

  “She is hysterical! Who wouldn’t be? She has a woman drop dead at her feet practically. She gets threatening notes—one after another—there’s not been anything today, has there?”

  Ella shook her head.

  “Who plants the damned things? Oh well, I suppose it’s easy enough—all these open windows. Anyone could slip in.”

  “You mean we ought to keep the house barred and locked? But it’s such hot weather. There’s a man posted in the grounds, after all.”

  “Yes, and I don’t want to frighten her more than she’s frightened already. Threatening notes don’t matter two hoots. But arsenic, Ella, arsenic’s different….”

  “Nobody could tamper with food here in the house.”

  “Couldn’t they, Ella? Couldn’t they?”

  “Not without being seen. No unauthorized person—”

  He interrupted.

  “People will do things for money, Ella.”

  “Hardly murder!”

  “Even that. And they mightn’t realize it was murder… The servants….”

  “I’m sure the servants are all right.”

  “Giuseppe now. I doubt if I’d trust Giuseppe very far if it came to the question of money… He’s been with us some time, of course, but—”

  “Must you torture yourself like this, Jason?”

  He flung himself down in the chair. He leaned forward, his long arms hanging down between his knees.

  “What to do?” he said slowly and softly. “My God, what to do?”

  Ella did not speak. She sat there watching him.

  “She was happy here,” said Jason. He was speaking more to himself than to Ella. He stared down between his knees at the carpet. If he had looked up, the expression on her face might perhaps have surprised him.

  “She was happy,” he said again. “She hoped to be happy and she was happy. She was saying so that day, the day Mrs. What’s-her-name—”

  “Bantry?”

  “Yes. The day Mrs. Bantry came to tea. She said it was ‘so peaceful.’ She said that at last she’d found a place where she could settle down and be happy and feel secure. My goodness, secure!”

  “Happy ever after?” Ella’s voice held a slight tone of irony. “Yes, put like that, it sounds just like a fairy story.”

  “At any rate she believed it.”

  “But you didn’t,” said Ella. “You never thought it would be like that?”

  Jason Rudd smiled. “No. I didn’t go the whole hog. But I did think for a while, a year—two years—there might be a period of calm and content. It might have made a new woman of her. It might have given her confidence in herself. She can be happy, you know. When she is happy she’s like a child. Just like a child. And now—this had to happen to her.”

  Ella moved restlessly. “Things have to happen to all of us,” she said brusquely. “That’s the way life is. You just have to take it. Some of us can, some of us can’t. She’s the kind that can’t.”

  She sneezed.

  “Your hay fever bad again?”

  “Yes. By the way, Giuseppe’s gone to London.”

  Jason looked faintly surprised.

  “To London? Why?”

  “Some kind of family trouble. He’s got relations in Soho, and one of them’s desperately ill. He went to Marina about it and she said it was all right, so I gave him the day off. He’ll be back sometime tonight. You don’t mind do you?”

  “No,” said Jason, “I don’t mind….”

  He got up and walked up and down.

  “If I could take her away…now…at once.”

  “Scrap the picture? But just think.”

  His voice rose.

  “I can’t think of anything but Marina. Don’t you understand? She’s in danger. That’s all I can think about.”

  She opened her mouth impulsively, then closed it.

  She gave another muffled sneeze and rose.

  “I’d better get my atomizer.”

  She left the room and went to her bedroom, a word echoing in her mind.

  Marina… Marina… Marina… Always Marina….

  Fury rose up in her. She stilled it. She went into the bathroom and picked up the spray she used.

  She inserted the nozzle into one nostril and squeezed.

  The warning came a second too late… Her brain recognized the unfamiliar odour of bitter almonds…but not in time to paralyse the squeezing fingers.

  Eighteen

  I

  Frank Cornish replaced the receiver.

  “Miss Brewster is out of London for the day,” he announced.

  “Is she now?” said Craddock.

  “Do you think she—”

  “I don’t know. I shouldn’t think so, but I don’t know. Ardwyck Fenn?”

  “Out. I left word for him to ring you. And Margot Bence, Personality Photographer, has got an assignment somewhere in the country. Her pansy partner didn’t know where—or said he didn’t. And the butler’s hooked it to London.”

  “I wonder,” said Craddock thoughtfully, “if the butler has hooked it for good. I always suspect dying relatives. Why was he suddenly anxious to go to London today?”

  “He could have put the cyanide in the atomizer easily enough before he left.”

  “Anybody could.”

  “But I think he’s indicated. It could hardly be someone from outside.”

  “Oh, yes, it could. You’d have to judge your moment. You could leave a car in one of the side drives, wait until everyone is in the dining room, say, and slip in through a window and upstairs. The shrubberies come close up to the house.”

  “Damn’ risky.”

  “This murderer doesn’t mind taking risks, you know. That’s been apparent all along.”

  “We’ve had a man on duty in the grounds.”

  “I know. One man wasn’t enough. So long as it was a question of these anonymous letters I didn’t feel so much urgency. Marina Gregg herself is being well guarded. It never occurred to me that anyone else was in danger. I—”

  The telephone rang. Cornish took the call.

  “It’s the Dorchester. Mr. Ardwyck Fenn is on the line.”

  He proffered the receiver to Craddock who took it.

  “Mr. Fenn? This is Craddock here.”

  “Ah, yes. I heard you had rung me. I have been out all day.”

  “I am sorry to tell you, Mr. Fenn, that Miss Zielinsky died this morning—of cyanide poisoning.”

  “Indeed? I am shocked to hear it. An accident? Or not an accident?”

  “Not an accident. Prussic acid had been put in an atomizer she was in the habit of using.”

  “I see. Yes, I see…” There was a short pause. “And why, may I ask, should you ring me about this distressing occurrence?”

  “You knew Miss Zielinsky, Mr. Fenn?”

  “Certainly I knew her. I have known her for some years. But she was not an intimate friend.”

  “We hoped that you could, perhaps, assist us?”

  “In what way?”

  “We wondered if you could suggest any motive for her death. She is a stranger in this country. We know very little about her friends and associates and the circumstances of her life.”

  “I would suggest that Jason Rudd is the person to question about that.”

  “Naturally. We have done so. But there might be an off-chance that you might know something about her that he does not.”

  “I’m afraid that is not so. I know next to nothing about Ella Zielinsky except that she was a most capable young woman, and first-class at her job. About her private life I know nothing at all.”

  “So you have no suggestions to make?”

  Craddock was ready for the decisive negative, but to his surprise it did not come. Instead there was a pause. He could hear Ardwyck Fenn breathing rather heavily at the other end.

  “Are you still there, Chief-Inspector?”

  “Yes, Mr. Fenn. I’m here.�
�

  “I have decided to tell you something that may be of assistance to you. When you hear what it is, you will realize that I have every reason to keep it to myself. But I judge that in the end that might be unwise. The facts are these. A couple of days ago I received a telephone call. A voice spoke to me in a whisper. It said—I am quoting now—I saw you… I saw you put the tablets in the glass… You didn’t know there had been an eyewitness, did you? That’s all for now—very soon you will be told what you have to do.”

  Craddock uttered an ejaculation of astonishment.

  “Surprising, was it not, Mr. Craddock? I will assure you categorically that the accusation was entirely unfounded. I did not put tablets in anybody’s glass. I defy anyone to prove that I did. The suggestion is utterly absurd. But it would seem, would it not, that Miss Zielinsky was embarking on blackmail.”

  “You recognized her voice?”

  “You cannot recognize a whisper. But it was Ella Zielinsky all right.”

  “How do you know?”

  “The whisperer sneezed heavily before ringing off. I knew that Miss Zielinsky suffered from hay fever.”

  “And you think—what?”

  “I think that Miss Zielinsky got hold of the wrong person at her first attempt. It seems to me possible that she was more successful later. Blackmail can be a dangerous game.”

  Craddock pulled himself together.

  “I must thank you for your statement, Mr. Fenn. As a matter of form, I shall have to check upon your movements today.”

  “Naturally. My chauffeur will be able to give you precise information.”

  Craddock rang off and repeated what Fenn had said. Cornish whistled.

  “Either that lets him out completely. Or else—”

  “Or else it’s a magnificent piece of bluff. It could be. He’s the kind of man who has the nerve for it. If there’s the least chance that Ella Zielinsky left a record of her suspicions, then this taking of the bull by the horns is a magnificent bluff.”

  “And his alibi?”

  “We’ve come across some very good faked alibis in our time,” said Craddock. “He could afford to pay a good sum for one.”

  II

  It was past midnight when Giuseppe returned to Gossington. He took a taxi from Much Benham, as the last train on the branch line to St. Mary Mead had gone.

  He was in very good spirits. He paid off the taxi at the gate, and took a short cut through the shrubbery. He opened the back door with his key. The house was dark and silent. Giuseppe shut and bolted the door. As he turned to the stair which led to his own comfortable suite of bed and bath, he noticed that there was a draught. A window open somewhere, perhaps. He decided not to bother. He went upstairs smiling and fitted a key into his door. He always kept his suite locked. As he turned the key and pushed the door open, he felt the pressure of a hard round ring in his back. A voice said, “Put your hands up and don’t scream.”

  Giuseppe threw his hands up quickly. He was taking no chances. Actually there was no chance to take.

  The trigger was pressed—once—twice.

  Giuseppe fell forward….

  III

  Bianca lifted her head from her pillow.

  Was that a shot… She was almost sure she had heard a shot… She waited some minutes. Then she decided she had been mistaken and lay down again.

  Nineteen

  I

  “It’s too dreadful,” said Miss Knight. She put down her parcels and gasped for breath.

  “Something has happened?” asked Miss Marple.

  “I really don’t like to tell you about it, dear, I really don’t. It might be a shock to you.”

  “If you don’t tell me,” said Miss Marple, “somebody else will.”

  “Dear, dear, that’s true enough,” said Miss Knight. “Yes, that’s terribly true. Everybody talks too much, they say. And I’m sure there’s a lot in that. I never repeat anything myself. Very careful I am.”

  “You were saying,” said Miss Marple, “that something rather terrible had happened?”

  “It really quite bowled me over,” said Miss Knight. “Are you sure you don’t feel the draught from that window, dear?”

  “I like a little fresh air,” said Miss Marple.

  “Ah, but we mustn’t catch cold, must we?” said Miss Knight archly. “I’ll tell you what. I’ll just pop out and make you a nice eggnog. We’d like that, wouldn’t we?”

  “I don’t know whether you would like it,” said Miss Marple. “I should be delighted for you to have it if you would like it.”

  “Now, now,” said Miss Knight, shaking her finger, “so fond of our joke, aren’t we?”

  “But you were going to tell me something,” said Miss Marple.

  “Well, you mustn’t worry about it,” said Miss Knight, “and you mustn’t let it make you nervous in anyway, because I’m sure it’s nothing to do with us. But with all these American gangsters and things like that, well I suppose it’s nothing to be surprised about.”

  “Somebody else has been killed,” said Miss Marple, “is that it?”

  “Oh, that’s very sharp of you, dear. I don’t know what should put such a thing into your head.”

  “As a matter of fact,” said Miss Marple thoughtfully, “I’ve been expecting it.”

  “Oh, really!” exclaimed Miss Knight.

  “Somebody always sees something,” said Miss Marple, “only sometimes it takes a little while for them to realize what it is they have seen. Who is it who’s dead?”

  “The Italian butler. He was shot last night.”

  “I see,” said Miss Marple thoughtfully. “Yes, very likely, of course, but I should have thought that he’d have realized before now the importance of what he saw—”

  “Really!” exclaimed Miss Knight. “You talk as though you knew all about it. Why should he have been killed?”

  “I expect,” said Miss Marple, thoughtfully, “that he tried to blackmail somebody.”

  “He went to London yesterday, they say.”

  “Did he now,” said Miss Marple, “that’s very interesting, and suggestive too, I think.”

  Miss Knight departed to the kitchen intent on the concoction of nourishing beverages. Miss Marple remained sitting thoughtfully till disturbed by the loud aggressive humming of the vacuum cleaner, assisted by Cherry’s voice singing the latest favourite ditty of the moment, “I Said to You and You Said to Me.”

  Miss Knight popped her head round the kitchen door.

  “Not quite so much noise, please, Cherry,” she said. “You don’t want to disturb Miss Marple, do you? You mustn’t be thoughtless, you know.”

  She shut the kitchen door again as Cherry remarked, either to herself or the world at large, “And who said you could call me Cherry, you old jelly-bag?” The vacuum continued to whine while Cherry sang in a more subdued voice. Miss Marple called in a high clear voice:

  “Cherry, come here a minute.”

  Cherry switched off the vacuum and opened the drawing room door.

  “I didn’t mean to disturb you by singing, Miss Marple.”

  “Your singing is much pleasanter than the horrid noise that vacuum makes,” said Miss Marple, “but I know one has to go with the times. It would be no use on earth asking any of you young people to use the dustpan and brush in the old-fashioned way.”

  “What, get down on my knees with a dustpan and brush?” Cherry registered alarm and surprise.

  “Quite unheard of, I know,” said Miss Marple. “Come in and shut the door. I called you because I wanted to talk to you.”

  Cherry obeyed and came towards Miss Marple looking inquiringly at her.

  “We’ve not much time,” said Miss Marple. “That old— Miss Knight I mean—will come in any moment with an egg drink of some kind.”

  “Good for you, I expect. It’ll pep you up,” said Cherry encouragingly.

  “Had you heard,” asked Miss Marple, “that the butler at Gossington Hall was shot last night?”


  “What, the wop?” demanded Cherry.

  “Yes. His name is Giuseppe, I understand.”

  “No,” said Cherry, “I hadn’t heard that. I heard that Mr. Rudd’s secretary had a heart attack yesterday, and somebody said she was actually dead—but I suspect that was just a rumour. Who told you about the butler?”

  “Miss Knight came back and told me.”

  “Of course I haven’t seen anyone to speak to this morning,” said Cherry, “not before coming along here. I expect the news has only just got round. Was he bumped off?” she demanded.

  “That seems to be assumed,” said Miss Marple, “whether rightly or wrongly I don’t quite know.”

  “This is a wonderful place for talk,” said Cherry. “I wonder if Gladys got to see him or not,” she added thoughtfully.

  “Gladys?”

  “Oh, a sort of friend of mine. She lives a few doors away. Works in the canteen at the studios.”

  “And she talked to you about Giuseppe?”

  “Well, there was something that struck her as a bit funny and she was going to ask him what he thought about it. But if you ask me it was just an excuse—she’s a bit sweet on him. Of course he’s quite handsome and Italians do have a way with them— I told her to be careful about him, though. You know what Italians are.”

  “He went to London yesterday,” said Miss Marple, “and only returned in the evening I understand.”

  “I wonder if she managed to get to see him before he went.”

  “Why did she want to see him, Cherry?”

  “It was just something which she felt was a bit funny,” said Cherry.

  Miss Marple looked at her inquiringly. She was able to take the word “funny” at the valuation it usually had for the Gladyses of the neighbourhood.

  “She was one of the girls who helped at the party there,” explained Cherry. “The day of the fête. You know, when Mrs. Badcock got hers.”

  “Yes?” Miss Marple was looking more alert than ever, much as a fox terrier might look at a waiting rat hole.

  “And there was something that she saw that struck her as a bit funny.”

  “Why didn’t she go to the police about it?”

  “Well, she didn’t really think it meant anything, you see,” explained Cherry. “Anyway she thought she’d better ask Mr. Giuseppe first.”