supper we can go into the matter thoroughly and discuss it from every aspect.’
Mrs McGillicuddy concurred with this suggestion. The two ladies had supper, discussing, as they ate, various aspects of life as lived in the village of St Mary Mead. Miss Marple commented on the general distrust of the new organist, related the recent scandal about the chemist’s wife, and touched on the hostility between the schoolmistress and the village institute. They then discussed Miss Marple’s and Mrs McGillicuddy’s gardens.
‘Paeonies,’ said Miss Marple as she rose from table, ‘are most unaccountable. Either they do—or they don’t do. But if they do establish themselves, they are with you for life, so to speak, and really most beautiful varieties nowadays.’
They settled themselves by the fire again, and Miss Marple brought out two old Waterford glasses from a corner cupboard, and from another cupboard produced a bottle.
‘No coffee to-night for you, Elspeth,’ she said. ‘You are already over-excited (and no wonder!) and probably would not sleep. I prescribe a glass of my cowslip wine, and later, perhaps, a cup of camomile tea.’
Mrs McGillicuddy acquiescing in these arrangements, Miss Marple poured out the wine.
‘Jane,’ said Mrs McGillicuddy, as she took an appreciative sip, ‘you don’t think, do you, that I dreamt it, or imagined it?’
‘Certainly not,’ said Miss Marple with warmth.
Mrs McGillicuddy heaved a sigh of relief.
‘That ticket collector,’ she said, ‘he thought so. Quite polite, but all the same—’
‘I think, Elspeth, that that was quite natural under the circumstances. It sounded—and indeed was—a most unlikely story. And you were a complete stranger to him. No, I have no doubt at all that you saw what you’ve told me you saw. It’s very extraordinary—but not at all impossible. I recollect myself being interested when a train ran parallel to one on which I was travelling, to notice what a vivid and intimate picture one got of what was going on in one or two of the carriages. A little girl, I remember once, playing with a teddy bear, and suddenly she threw it deliberately at a fat man who was asleep in the corner and he bounced up and looked most indignant, and the other passengers looked so amused. I saw them all quite vividly. I could have described afterwards exactly what they looked like and what they had on.’
Mrs McGillicuddy nodded gratefully.
‘That’s just how it was.’
‘The man had his back to you, you say. So you didn’t see his face?’
‘No.’
‘And the woman, you can describe her? Young, old?’
‘Youngish. Between thirty and thirty-five, I should think. I couldn’t say closer than that.’
‘Good-looking?’
‘That again, I couldn’t say. Her face, you see, was all contorted and—’
Miss Marple said quickly:
‘Yes, yes, I quite understand. How was she dressed?’
‘She had on a fur coat of some kind, a palish fur. No hat. Her hair was blonde.’
‘And there was nothing distinctive that you can remember about the man?’
Mrs McGillicuddy took a little time to think carefully before she replied.
‘He was tallish—and dark, I think. He had a heavy coat on so that I couldn’t judge his build very well.’ She added despondently, ‘It’s not really very much to go on.’
‘It’s something,’ said Miss Marple. She paused before saying: ‘You feel quite sure, in your own mind, that the girl was—dead?’
‘She was dead, I’m sure of it. Her tongue came out and—I’d rather not talk about it …’
‘Of course not. Of course not,’ said Miss Marple quickly. ‘We shall know more, I expect, in the morning.’
‘In the morning?’
‘I should imagine it will be in the morning papers. After this man had attacked and killed her, he would have a body on his hands. What would he do? Presumably he would leave the train quickly at the first station—by the way, can you remember if it was a corridor carriage?’
‘No, it was not.’
‘That seems to point to a train that was not going far afield. It would almost certainly stop at Brackhampton. Let us say he leaves the train at Brackhampton, perhaps arranging the body in a corner seat, with her face hidden by the fur collar to delay discovery. Yes—I think that that is what he would do. But of course it will be discovered before very long—and I should imagine that the news of a murdered woman discovered on a train would be almost certain to be in the morning papers—we shall see.’
But it was not in the morning papers.
Miss Marple and Mrs McGillicuddy, after making sure of this, finished their breakfast in silence. Both were reflecting.
After breakfast, they took a turn round the garden. But this, usually an absorbing pastime, was to-day somewhat half-hearted. Miss Marple did indeed call attention to some new and rare species she had acquired for her rock-garden but did so in an almost absent-minded manner. And Mrs McGillicuddy did not, as was customary, counter-attack with a list of her own recent acquisitions.
‘The garden is not looking at all as it should,’ said Miss Marple, but still speaking absent-mindedly. ‘Doctor Haydock has absolutely forbidden me to do any stooping or kneeling—and really, what can you do if you don’t stoop or kneel? There’s old Edwards, of course—but so opinionated. And all this jobbing gets them into bad habits, lots of cups of tea and so much pottering—not any real work.’
‘Oh, I know,’ said Mrs McGillicuddy. ‘Of course, there’s no question of my being forbidden to stoop, but really, especially after meals—and having put on weight’—she looked down at her ample proportions—‘it does bring on heartburn.’
There was a silence and then Mrs McGillicuddy planted her feet sturdily, stood still, and turned on her friend.
‘Well?’ she said.
It was a small insignificant word, but it acquired full significance from Mrs McGillicuddy’s tone, and Miss Marple understood its meaning perfectly.
‘I know,’ she said.
The two ladies looked at each other.
‘I think,’ said Miss Marple, ‘we might walk down to the police station and talk to Sergeant Cornish. He’s intelligent and patient, and I know him very well, and he knows me. I think he’ll listen—and pass the information on to the proper quarter.’
Accordingly, some three-quarters of an hour later, Miss Marple and Mrs McGillicuddy were talking to a fresh-faced grave man between thirty and forty who listened attentively to what they had to say.
Frank Cornish received Miss Marple with
