"Major Palgrave!" said Mr. Rafiel. "Really, that man!"
"He brought about his own murder," said Miss Marple, "and that poor girl Victoria 's murder, and he nearly brought about Molly's murder. But he recognised a murderer all right."
"What made you suddenly remember about his glass eye?" asked Mr. Rafiel curiously.
"Something that Seсora de Caspearo said. She talked some nonsense about his being ugly, and having the Evil Eye; and I said it was only a glass eye, and he couldn't help that, poor man, and she said his eyes looked different ways, they were cross-eyes – which, of course, they were. And she said it brought bad luck. I knew – I knew that I had heard something that day that was important. Last night, just after Lucky's death, it came to me what it was! And then I realised there was no time to waste…"
"How did Tim Kendal come to kill the wrong woman?"
"Sheer chance. I think his plan was this: Having convinced everybody – and that included Molly herself – that she was mentally unbalanced, and after giving her a sizeable dose of the drug he was using, he told her that between them they were going to clear up all these murder puzzles. But she had got to help him. After everyone was asleep, they would go separately and meet at an agreed spot by the creek. He said he had a very good idea who the murderer was, and they would trap him. Molly went off obediently but she was confused and stupefied with the drug she had been given, and it slowed her up. Tim arrived there first and saw what he thought was Molly. Golden hair and pale green shawl. He came up behind her, put his hand over her mouth, and forced her down into the water and held her there."
"Nice fellow! But wouldn't it have been easier just to give her an overdose of narcotic?"
"Much easier, of course. But that might have given rise to suspicion. All narcotics and sedatives had been carefully removed from Molly's reach, remember. And if she had got hold of a fresh supply, who more likely to have supplied it than her husband? But if, in a fit of despair, she went out and drowned herself whilst her innocent husband slept, the whole thing would be a romantic tragedy, and no one would be likely to suggest that she had been drowned deliberately. Besides," added Miss Marple, "murderers always find it difficult to keep things simple. They can't keep themselves from elaborating."
"You seem convinced you know all there is to be known about murderers! So you believe Tim didn't know he had killed the wrong woman?"
Miss Marple shook her head. "He didn't even look at her face, just hurried off as quickly as he could, let an hour elapse, then started to organise a search for her, playing the part of a distracted husband."
"But what the devil was Lucky doing hanging about the creek in the middle of the night?"
Miss Marple gave an embarrassed little cough.
"It is possible, I think, that she was- er- waiting to meet someone."
"Edward Hillingdon?"
"Oh no," said Miss Marple. "That's all over. I wondered whether- just possibly- she might have been waiting for Jackson."
"Waiting for Jackson?"
"I've noticed her look at him once or twice," murmured Miss Marple, averting her eyes.
Mr. Rafiel whistled. "My tomcat Jackson! I wouldn't put it past him! Tim must have had a shock later when he found he'd killed the wrong woman."
"Yes, indeed. He must have felt quite desperate. Here was Molly alive and wandering about. And the story he'd circulated so carefully about her mental condition wouldn't stand up for a moment once she got into the hands of competent mental specialists. And once she told her damning story of his having asked her to meet him at the creek, where would Tim Kendal be? He'd only one hope – to finish off Molly as quickly as possible. Then there was a very good chance that everyone would believe that Molly, in a fit of mania, had drowned Lucky, and had then, horrified by what she had done, taken her own life."
"And it was then," said Mr. Rafiel, "that you decided to play Nemesis, eh?" He leaned back suddenly and roared with laughter. "It's a damned good joke," he said. "If you knew what you looked like that night with that fluffy pink wool all round your head, standing there and saying you were Nemesis! I'll never forget it!"
Epilogue
The time had come and Miss Marple was waiting at the airport for her plane. Quite a lot of people had come to see her off. The Hillingdons had left already. Gregory Dyson had flown to one of the other islands and the rumour had come that he was devoting himself to an Argentinian widow. Seсora de Caspearo had returned to South America. Molly had come to see Miss Marple off. She was pale and thin but she had weathered the shock of her discovery bravely and with the help of one of Mr. Rafiel's nominees whom he had wired for to England she was carrying on with the running of the hotel.
"Do you good to be busy," Mr. Rafiel observed. "Keep you from thinking. Got a good thing here."
"You don't think the murders-"
"People love murders when they're all cleared up," Mr. Rafiel assured her. "You carry on, girl, and keep your heart up. Don't distrust all men because you've met one bad lot."
"You sound like Miss Marple," Molly had said, "she's always telling me Mr. Right will come along one day."
Mr. Rafiel grinned at this sentiment. So Molly was there and the two Prescotts and Mr. Rafiel, of course, and Esther – an Esther who looked older and sadder and to whom Mr. Rafiel was quite often unexpectedly kind. Jackson also was very much to the fore, pretending to be looking after Miss Marple's baggage. He was all smiles these days and let it be known that he had come into money.
There was a hum in the sky. The plane was arriving. Things were somewhat informal here. There was no "taking your place by Channel 8" or Channel 9. You just walked out from the little flower-covered pavilion on to the tarmac.
"Goodbye, darling Miss Marple." Molly kissed her.
"Goodbye. Do try and come and visit us." Miss Prescott shook her warmly by the hand.
"It has been a great pleasure to know you," said the Canon. "I second my sister's invitation most warmly."
"All the best. Madam," said Jackson, "and remember any time you want any massage free, just you send me a line and we'll make an appointment."
Only Esther Walters turned slightly away when the time came for goodbyes. Miss Marple did not force one upon her. Mr. Rafiel came last. He took her hand. "Ave Caesar, nos morituri te salutamus," he said.
"I'm afraid," said Miss Marple, "I don't know very much Latin."
"But you understand that?"
"Yes." She said no more. She knew quite well what he was telling her. "It has been a great pleasure to know you," she said.
Then she walked across the tarmac and got into the plane.
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A Caribbean Mystery (miss marple) Page 17