The Thirteen Problems (miss marple)

by Agatha Christie

'I haven't the least idea.'

  'What?'

  'I've always wondered. I thought you were all so clever one of you would be able to tell me.'

  Everybody harboured feelings of annoyance. It was all very well for Jane to be so beautiful - but at this moment everyone felt that stupidity could be carried too far. Even the most transcendent loveliness could not excuse it.

  'You mean the truth was never discovered?' said Sir Henry.

  'No. That's why, as I say, I did think you would be able to tell me.'

  Jane sounded injured. It was plain that she had a grievance.

  'Well - I'm - I'm - ' said Colonel Bantry, words failing him.

  'You are the most aggravating girl, Jane.' said his wife. 'Anyway, I'm sure and always will be that I was right. If you just tell us the proper names of the people, I shall be quite sure.'

  'I don't think I could do that,' said Jane slowly.

  'No, dear,' said Miss Marple. 'Miss Helier couldn't do that.'

  'Of course she could,' said Mrs Bantry. 'Don't be so high-minded, Jane. We older folk must have a bit of scandal. At any rate tell us who the city magnate was.

  'But Jane shook her head, and Miss Marple, in her old-fashioned way, continued to support the girl.

  'It must have been a very distressing business,' she said.

  'No,' said Jane truthfully. 'I think - I think I rather enjoyed it.'

  'Well, perhaps you did,' said Miss Marple. 'I suppose it was a break in the monotony. What play were you acting in?'

  'Smith.'

  'Oh, yes. That's one of Mr Somerset Maugham's, isn't it? All his are very clever, I think. I've seen them nearly all.'

  'You're reviving it to go on tour next autumn, aren't you?' asked Mrs Bantry.

  Jane nodded.

  'Well,' said Miss Marple rising. 'I must go home. Such late hours! But we've had a very entertaining evening. Most unusually so. I think Miss Helier's story wins the prize. Don't you agree?'

  'I'm sorry you're angry with me,' said Jane. 'About not knowing the end, I mean. I suppose I should have said so sooner.'

  Her tone sounded wistful. Dr Lloyd rose gallantly to the occasion.'My dear young lady, why should you? You gave us a very pretty problem to sharpen our wits on. I am only sorry we could none of us solve it convincingly.'

  'Speak for yourself,' said Mrs Bantry. 'I did solve it. I'm convinced I am right.'

  'Do you know, I really believe you are,' said Jane. 'What you said sounded so probable.'

  'Which of her seven solutions do you refer to?' asked Sir Henry teasingly.

  Dr Lloyd gallantly assisted Miss Marple to put on her goloshes. 'Just in case,' as the old lady explained. The doctor was to be her escort to her old-world cottage. Wrapped in several woollen shawls, Miss Marple wished everyone good night once more. She came to Jane Helier last and leaning forward, she murmured something in the actress's ear. A startled 'Oh!' burst from Jane - so loud as to cause the others to turn their heads.

  Smiling and nodding, Miss Marple made her exit, Jane Helier staring after her.

  'Are you coming to bed, Jane?' asked Mrs Bantry. 'What's the matter with you? You're staring as though you'd seen a ghost.'

  With a deep sigh Jane came to herself, shed a beautiful and bewildering smile on the two men and followed her hostess up the staircase. Mrs Bantry came into the girl's room with her.

  'Your fire's nearly out,' said Mrs Bantry, giving it a vicious and ineffectual poke. 'They can't have made it up properly. How stupid housemaids are. Still, I suppose we are rather late tonight. Why, it's actually past one o'clock!'

  'Do you think there are many people like her?' asked Jane Helier.

  She was sitting on the side of the bed apparently wrapped in thought.'Like the housemaid?'

  'No. Like that funny old woman - what's her name - Marple?'

  'Oh! I don't know. I suppose she's a fairly common type in a small village.'

  'Oh dear.' said Jane. 'I don't know what to do.'

  She sighed deeply.

  'What's the matter?'

  'I'm worried.'

  'What about?'

  'Dolly,' Jane Helier was portentously solemn. 'Do you know what that queer old lady whispered to me before she went out of the door tonight?'

  'No. What?'

  'She said: "I shouldn't do it if I were you, my dear. Never put yourself too much in another woman's power, even if you do think she's your friend at the moment." You know, Dolly, that's awfully true.'

  'The maxim? Yes, perhaps it is. But I don't see the application.'

  'I suppose you can't ever really trust a woman. And I should be in her power. I never thought of that.'

  'What woman are you talking about?'

  'Netta Greene, my understudy.'

  'What on earth does Miss Marple know about your understudy?'

  'I suppose she guessed - but I can't see how.'

  'Jane, will you kindly tell me at once what you are talking about?'

  'The story. The one I told. Oh, Dolly, that woman, you know - the one that took Claud from me?'

  Mrs Bantry nodded, casting her mind back rapidly to the first of Jane's unfortunate marriages - to Claud Averbury, the actor.

  'He married her; and I could have told him how it would be. Claud doesn't know, but she's carrying on with Sir Joseph Salmon - week-ends with him at the bungalow I told you about I wanted her shown up - I would like everyone to know the sort of woman she was. And you see, with a burglary, everything would be bound to come out.'

  'Jane!' gasped Mrs Bantry. 'Did you engineer this story you've been telling us?'

  Jane nodded.

  'That's why I chose Smith. I wear parlourmaid's kit in it, you know. So I should have it handy. And when they sent for me to the police station it's the easiest thing in the world to say I was rehearsing my part with my understudy at the hotel. Really, of course, we would be at the bungalow. I just have to open the door and bring in the cocktails, and Netta to pretend to be me. He'd never see her again, of course, so there would be no fear of his recognizing her. And I can make myself look quite different as a parlourmaid; and besides, one doesn't look at parlourmaids as though they were people. We planned to drag him out into the road afterwards, bag the jewel case, telephone the police and get back to the hotel. I shouldn't like the poor young man to suffer, but Sir Henry didn't seem to think he would, did he? And she'd be in the papers and everything - and Claud would see what she was really like.'

  Mrs Bantry sat down and groaned.

  'Oh! my poor head. And all the time - Jane Helier, you deceitful girl! Telling us that story the way you did!'

  'I am a good actress,' said Jane complacently. 'I always have been, whatever people choose to say. I didn't give myself away once, did I?'

  'Miss Marple was right,' murmured Mrs Bantry. 'The personal element. Oh, yes, the personal element. Jane, my good child, do you realize that theft is theft, and you might have been sent to prison?'

  'Well, none of you guessed,' said Jane. 'Except Miss Marple.' The worried expression returned to her face. 'Dolly, do you really think there are many like her?'

  'Frankly, I don't,' said Mrs Bantry.

  Jane sighed again.

  'Still, one had better not risk it. And of course I should be in Netta's power - that's true enough. She might turn against me or blackmail me or anything. She helped me think out the details and she professed to be devoted to me, but one never does know with women. No, I think Miss Marple was right. I had better not risk it.'

  'But, my dear, you have risked it.'

  'Oh, no.' Jane opened her blue eyes very wide. 'Don't you understand? None of this has happened yet! I was - well, trying it on the dog, so to speak.'

  'I don't profess to understand your theatrical slang,' said Mrs Bantry with dignity. 'Do you mean this is a future project - not a past deed?'

  'I was going to do it this autumn - in September. I don't know what to do now.'

  'And Jane Marple guessed - actually guessed the truth and neve
r told us,' said Mrs Bantry wrathfully.

  'I think that was why she said that - about women sticking together. She wouldn't give me away before the men. That was nice of her. I don't mind your knowing, Dolly.'

  'Well, give the idea up, Jane. I beg of you.'

  'I think I shall,' murmured Miss Helier. 'There might be other Miss Marples... '

  Death by Drowning

  I

  Sir Henry Clithering, ex-Commissioner of Scotland Yard, was staying with his friends the Bantrys at their place near the little village of St Mary Mead.

  On Saturday morning, coming down to breakfast at the pleasant guestly hour of ten fifteen, he almost collided with his hostess, Mrs Bantry, in the doorway of the breakfast room. She was rushing from the room, evidently in a condition of some excitement and distress.

  Colonel Bantry was sitting at the table, his face rather redder than usual.'

  'Morning, Clithering,' he said. 'Nice day. Help yourself.'

  Sir Henry obeyed. As he took his seat, a plate of kidneys and bacon in front of him, his host went on: 'Dolly's a bit upset this morning.'

  'Yes - er - I rather thought so,' said Sir Henry mildly.

  He wondered a little. His hostess was of a placid disposition, little given to moods or excitement. As far as Sir Henry knew, she felt keenly on one subject only - gardening.

  'Yes,' said Colonel Bantry. 'Bit of news we got this morning upset her. Girl in the village - Emmott's daughter - Emmott who keeps the Blue Boar.'

  'Oh, yes, of course.'

  'Ye-es,' said Colonel Bantry ruminatively. 'Pretty girl. Got herself into trouble. Usual story. I've been arguing with Dolly about that. Foolish of me. Women never see sense. Dolly was all up in arms for the girl - you know what women are - men are brutes - all the rest of it, etcetera. But it's not so simple as all that - not in these days. Girls know what they're about. Fellow who seduces a girl's not necessarily a villain. Fifty-fifty as often as not. I rather liked young Sandford myself. A young ass rather than a Don Juan, I should have said.'

  'It is this man Sandford who got the girl into trouble?'

  'So it seems. Of course I don't know anything personally,' said the colonel cautiously. 'It's all gossip and chat. You know what this place is! As I say, I know nothing. And I'm not like Dolly - leaping to conclusions, flinging accusations all over the place. Damn it all, one ought to be careful in what one says. You know - inquest and all that.'

  'Inquest?'

  Colonel Bantry stared.

  'Yes. Didn't I tell you? Girl drowned herself. That's what all the bother's about.'

  'That's a nasty business,' said Sir Henry.

  'Of course it is. Don't like to think of it myself. Poor pretty little devil. Her father's a hard man by all accounts. I suppose she just felt she couldn't face the music.'

  He paused.

  'That's what's upset Dolly so.'

  'Where did she drown herself?'

  'In the river. Just below the mill it runs pretty fast. There's a footpath and a bridge across. They think she threw herself off that. Well, well, it doesn't bear thinking about.'

  And with a portentous rustle, Colonel Bantry opened his newspaper and proceeded to distract his mind from painful matters by an absorption in the newest iniquities of the government.

  Sir Henry was only mildly interested by the village tragedy. After breakfast, he established himself on a comfortable chair on the lawn, tilted his hat over his eyes and contemplated life from a peaceful angle.

  It was about half past eleven when a neat parlourmaid tripped across the lawn.

  'If you please, sir, Miss Marple has called, and would like to see you.'

  'Miss Marple?'

  Sir Henry sat up and straightened his hat. The name surprised him. He remembered Miss Marple very well - her gentle quiet old-maidish ways, her amazing penetration. He remembered a dozen unsolved and hypothetical cases - and how in each case this typical 'old maid of the village' had leaped unerringly to the right solution of the mystery. Sir Henry had a very deep respect for Miss Marple. He wondered what had brought her to see him.

  Miss Marple was sitting in the drawing-room - very upright as always, a gaily coloured marketing basket of foreign extraction beside her. Her cheeks were rather pink and she seemed flustered.

  'Sir Henry - I am so glad. So fortunate to find you. I just happened to hear that you were staying down here... I do hope you will forgive me... '

  'This is a great pleasure,' said Sir Henry, taking her hand. 'I'm afraid Mrs Bantry's out.'

  'Yes,' said Miss Marple. 'I saw her talking to Footit, the butcher, as I passed. Henry Footit was run over yesterday - that was his dog. One of those smooth-haired fox terriers, rather stout and quarrelsome, that butchers always seem to have.'

  'Yes,' said Sir Henry helpfully.

  'I was glad to get here when she wasn't at home,' continued Miss Marple. 'Because it was you I wanted to see. About this sad affair.'

  'Henry Footit?' asked Sir Henry, slightly bewildered.

  Miss Marple threw him a reproachful glance.

  'No, no. Rose Emmott, of course. You've heard?'

  Sir Henry nodded.

  'Bantry was telling me. Very sad.'

  He was a little puzzled. He could not conceive why Miss Marple should want to see him about Rose Emmott.

  Miss Marple sat down again. Sir Henry also sat. When the old lady spoke her manner had changed. It was grave, and had a certain dignity.

  'You may remember, Sir Henry, that on one or two occasions we played what was really a pleasant kind of game. Propounding mysteries and giving solutions. You were kind enough to say that I - that I did not do too badly.'

  'You beat us all,' said Sir Henry warmly. 'You displayed an absolute genius for getting to the truth. And you always instanced, I remember, some village parallel which had supplied you with the clue.'

  He smiled as he spoke, but Miss Marple did not smile. She remained very grave.

  'What you said has emboldened me to come to you now. I feel that if I say something to you - at least you will not laugh at me.'

  He realized suddenly that she was in deadly earnest.

  'Certainly, I will not laugh,' he said gently.

  'Sir Henry - this girl - Rose Emmott. She did not drown herself - she was murdered... And I know who murdered her.'

  Sir Henry was silent with sheer astonishment for quite three seconds. Miss Marple's voice had been perfectly quiet and unexcited. She might have been making the most ordinary statement in the world for all the emotion she showed.

  'This is a very serious statement to make, Miss Marple,' said Sir Henry when he had recovered his breath.

  She nodded her head gently several times.'I know - I know - that is why I have come to you.'

  'But, my dear lady, I am not the person to come to. I am merely a private individual nowadays. If you have knowledge of the kind you claim, you must go to the police.'

  'I don't think I can do that,' said Miss Marple.

  'But why not?'

  'Because, you see, I haven't got any - what you call knowledge.'

  'You mean it's only a guess on your part?'

  'You can call it that, if you like, but it's not really that at all. I know. I'm in a position to know; but if I gave my reasons for knowing to Inspector Drewitt - well, he'd simply laugh. And really, I don't know that I'd blame him. It's very difficult to understand what you might call specialized knowledge.'

  'Such as?' suggested Sir Henry.

  Miss Marple smiled a little.

  'If I were to tell you that I know because of a man called Peasegood leaving turnips instead of carrots when he came round with a can and sold vegetables to my niece several years ago - 'She stopped eloquently.

  'A very appropriate name for the trade,' murmured Sir Henry. 'you mean that you are simply judging from the facts in a parallel case.'

  'I know human nature,' said Miss Marple. 'It's impossible not to know human nature living in a village all these years. The question
is, do you believe me, or don't you?'

  She looked at him very straight. The pink flush had heightened on her cheeks. Her eyes met his steadily without wavering.

  Sir Henry was a man with a very vast experience of life. He made his decisions quickly without beating about the bush. Unlikely and fantastic as Miss Marple's statement might seem, he was instantly aware that he accepted it.

  'I do believe you, Miss Marple. But I do not see what you want me to do in the matter, or why you have come to me.'

  'I have thought and thought about it,' said Miss Marple. 'As I said, it would be useless going to the police without any facts. I have no facts. What I would ask you to do is to interest yourself in the matter - Inspector Drewitt would be most flattered, I am sure. And, of course, if the matter went farther, Colonel Melchett, the Chief Constable, I am sure, would be wax in your hands.'

  She looked at him appealingly.

  'And what data are you going to give me to work upon?'

  'I thought,' said Miss Marple, 'of writing a name - the name - on a piece of paper and giving it to you. Then if, on investigation, you decided that the - the person - is not involved in any way - well, I shall have been quite wrong.'

  She paused and then added with a slight shiver. 'It would be so dreadful - so very dreadful - if an innocent person were to be hanged.'

  'What on earth - ' cried Sir Henry, startled.

  She turned a distressed face upon him.

  'I may be wrong about that - though I don't think so. Inspector Drewitt you see, is really an intelligent man. But a mediocre amount of intelligence is sometimes most dangerous. It does not take one far enough.'

  Sir Henry looked at her curiously.

  Fumbling a little, Miss Marple opened a small reticule, took out a little notebook, tore out a leaf, carefully wrote a name on it and folding it in two, handed it to Sir Henry.

  He opened it and read the name. It conveyed nothing to him, but his eyebrows lifted a little. He looked across at Miss Marple and tucked the piece of paper in his pocket.

  'Well, well,' he said. 'Rather an extraordinary business, this. I've never done anything like it before. But I'm going to back my judgment - of you, Miss Marple.'